Armor of Light (Advent 1C)

 

Armor of Light

29 November 2015; 8 a.m. Said, 10:00 a.m. Sung Mass

Homily Delivered at Trinity Parish Ashland, Oregon

Advent 1 C

Jeremiah 33:14-16; Psalm 25:1-9; 1 Thessalonians 3:9-13; Luke 21:25-36

God, give us hearts to feel and love,

take away our hearts of stone, and give us hearts of flesh.  Amen

           

On Thursday, Elena and I went up to Camp Latgawa for Thanksgiving Day dinner.  The drive was beautiful, the snow lying on the ground beneath the pines and cedars, with the sunshine bright in dappled spots as the snow and ice from the branches melted and rained down.  At my count, we had 18 Trinitarians there, plus a lot of Methodists from Ashland, Medford, and Klamath Falls.  About an hour before the dinner was scheduled to begin, the power went out.  The ice fall had knocked a tree branch and downed a power line lower in the valley, but we didn’t know that yet.  It was dark.   The various cooking and heating appliances that used electricity were out.  I turned to our hosts, Lisa Marie and James Ryder from our parish and asked if there was anything we could do.  “We’ve called the power company, but it will be several hours before they can get the grid back up.  But most of the food is already prepared and heating in the ovens, run by gas.  We should be able to do this under candlelight and maybe only miss a couple of the trickier side dishes.  All the staples of the meal are already ready.  We’ll just have to have some guests help serve to bring things hot to the tables.  And so they proceeded according to the plan.  It was a wonderful meal, and all the more memorable for the candlelight.    I have to say, I was impressed:  James and Lisa Marie maintained a complete air of calm, and never missed a beat.   And the meal went on, and marvelously so.  Another parishioner remarked to me—I have to say, those kids—sorry, Lisa Marie and James, though twenty and thirty something counts as full adults to most the world, to many of our parishioners, you are the age of our children!—those kids  are accomplished! Imagine handling such a potentially disastrous situation so well and so matter-of-fact!” 

Trinitarians at Camp Latgawa Thanksgiving Day Dinner, 2015.

It got me to thinking about how we handle challenges in our lives.  We can do so gracefully and gently, or we can try to bull doze the world and beat it into submission to us.  We can prepare and then proceed, knowing that we have done what is in our power and can do no more than this, or we can regret, whine, and pity ourselves.  

Today is the First Sunday of the Christian Year, First Advent.  It is all about preparing for the coming of the Lord, and getting through the rough spots mythically associated with the end time’s setting all things right not only relatively unscathed, but joyous. 

Today’s Collect from the Prayer Book is a summing prayer for all of Advent, to be said each day in daily prayers throughout the season.  It is based on the closing section of Romans.  Paul counsels us to be good, to amend our lives:  “The hour has come for you to wake up from your sleep, because our salvation is nearer now than when we first came to faith. The night is nearly over; day is almost here. So let us put aside the deeds of darkness and put on the armor of light. Let us conduct ourselves properly as in the day, not in orgies and drunkenness, not in promiscuity and licentiousness, not in rivalry and jealousy.  Rather, clothe yourselves with the Lord Jesus Christ, and stop worrying about how to gratify the raging desires of the you that resists God” (Romans 13:8-10). 

This idea—putting on Christ as a garment that acts as armor and shield—is present in all of today’s readings. 

Jeremiah says that the Lord is our righteousness, and this will keep us safe.  It is not our own doing, but God’s promise, that keeps us safe. 

The Psalm says that putting trust in God allows us to learn his ways, and this keeps us safe.  The Lord teaches sinners and the lowly his ways because of their trust and hope in him. 

Paul’s earliest letter, the earliest writing in the New Testament, is First Thessalonians.  Paul prays that God will increase the love in the hearts of his correspondents, and so strengthen their hearts in holiness and make them blameless, ready for Jesus to come.  

The Gospel is part of Luke’s version of the little Apocalypse found in Mark 14 and Matthew 25.  Jesus here says that scary things will precede the final salvation: “People will faint from fear and foreboding.”  But he continues, “Be on guard so that your hearts are not weighed down with dissipation and drunkenness and the worries of this life, and that day catch you unexpectedly, like a trap.”  He advises, “Be alert at all times, praying that you may have the strength to … stand before” Jesus when he comes. 

I have had a lot of parishioner and friends express to me great anxiety over the last couple of weeks.  The terror attacks in Paris have cast a pall over the season; this week’s domestic terror with gun violence at a Colorado Planned Parenthood office has only added to the sense of gloom and fear.  The numerous deaths and funerals we have had in the parish, and the ongoing health and mobility challenges that many of us face also contribute to a sense of fear, depression, and helplessness. 

Those of us who follow the spiritual practice of saying or singing Daily Morning and Evening Prayer regularly have the experience of finding that the appointed readings in the two year cycle seem to leap out at us and speak to what we are worrying about in our daily lives.  As I was wondering about the Paris attacks, we recently read part of Isaiah 24:  

Terror, and the pit, and the snare
are upon you, O inhabitant of the earth!
Whoever flees at the sound of the terror
shall fall into the pit;
and whoever climbs out of the pit
shall be caught in the snare…
 [But the wicked] will be gathered together
like prisoners in a pit;
they will be shut up in a prison,
and after many days they will be punished.
Then the moon will be abashed,
and the sun ashamed;
for the LORD of hosts will reign
on Mount Zion and in Jerusalem,
and before his ancient ones he will manifest his glory. (Isa 24:17-23)

Similarly, just yesterday we read, 

“The end of all things is near; therefore be serious and discipline yourselves so that you may say your prayers.  Above all, maintain constant love for one another, for love covers a multitude of sins. Be hospitable to one another without complaining.  Like good stewards of the manifold grace of God, serve one another with whatever gift each of you has received. Whoever speaks must do so as one speaking the very words of God; whoever serves must do so with the strength that God supplies, so that God may be glorified in all things through Jesus Christ. … Beloved, do not be surprised at the fiery ordeal that is taking place among you to test you, as though something strange were happening to you.   But rejoice insofar as you are sharing Christ's sufferings, so that you may also be glad and shout for joy when his glory is revealed” (1 Peter 4:7-9). 

These passages speak to us here today. 

“Whoever runs in terror shall fall into a pit.” (How’s that for a comment about what not to do in reaction to terror attacks?) 

“God will manifest his glory to his ancient ones.” (How’s that for a parish with an average age in the 70s?) 

“Serve each other with the strength that God gives you.  Speak words of God’s love to each other.  Don’t be surprised by bad stuff as if it’s something new!  It’s always been this way.  But know that if you share in Jesus’ sufferings, you will share with him in his glory and joy!”  (How’s that for putting aside drama queens and politicians milking our fear and sense of grievance?)

When Paul says we should put on Christ as an armor of light, he means that thinking about Jesus, following Jesus, trying to show the love of Jesus, praying to Jesus and in Jesus’ name—all this puts us in a place where God can give us what we need, can protect us like armor, can light for us the darkness all about.  He does not mean that Jesus is some kind of talisman or amulet that magically turns aside tribulation or sorrow.  Rather, opening our hearts and our minds to Jesus makes sense of what appears to be our meaningless suffering.  Jesus suffered injustice, abuse, and terrible, painful death.  But God raised him from the dead in glory.  If we share in human suffering with Jesus on our lips and in our hearts, we share in Jesus’ pains, and, as Peter says, this means we will share in his joyful glory.  

Lisa Marie and James successfully handled the crisis of no power an hour before a major dining event at their camp.  They did it, in what in Foreign Service Officer Evaluation Reports is often called “with grace and aplomb.”  They were able to do so by properly planning, preparing, and following through, regardless of the unfolding drama or falling ice and power grids.   Prayer, reading scripture, thinking on Jesus, and loving service are what we can do to prepare for the trials and pain of life.  It is putting on the armor of light that the Advent Collect talks about. 

In the name of Christ, Amen.

Thankful (Midweek)

 

Thankful

Fr. Tony’s Midweek Message

November 25, 2015

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving Day.  Thankfulness and gratitude are powerful emotions.  They drive away fear, resentment, and anger.   They can be directed specifically to the giver of the gifts for which one is thankful.  Or, if you do not know where the good came from, or if you doubt, for instance, the existence of the giver, these emotions can be general and undirected.  But they are powerful nevertheless. 

Ephesians says we should give thanks to God at all times and in all places (5:20).  Sometimes, if things have not been going well, we might feel that we cannot work up gratitude to a God who did not give us what we prayed for.  But such a sentiment misunderstands how the Creator intervenes with creation.  If we think of God as merely out there, ready to help those who please him and pray, we miss one of the great occasions for continuing and never-ending thanks.    God is not some kind of wacky great uncle out there who simply needs to be convinced to give us our deepest desires.   God is the ground and source of all, and is ever present.   God’s will is always to work for the good; but creation by definition is not God, is not the ever-present tending toward good that God is.  Creation has gaps in its goodness.  And so suffering and ill is part of creation as we experience it. 

But here’s the thing: God is always there, behind things and beneath things, urging them and driving them toward God’s ultimate good will.  Sometimes the gap between things as they are and how they ought to be disappears; we call such moments miracles.  They are mysterious to us, because we do not understand exactly why they happen here but not there.  But in all situations, God is always there.  We need to get out of the way sometimes to let God’s will be done on earth as it is in heaven. 

One of the things to be grateful for at all times is this:  God can help us in all situations.  There is no situation, no matter how bad, that God cannot help turn to better, where God cannot comfort us and help us.  

The surest sign of the presence of God is joy.  A close second is thankfulness, and thankfulness is possible even when joy is not. 

I am so grateful for all the good things in my life.  I am grateful for the people I am close to, and for the wonderful opportunities and experiences I have had and am still enjoying. I am also grateful for God’s support and nurturing in the hard moments and experiences as well. 

Peace and Grace,  Fr. Tony+ 

Many Crowns (Christ the King B)

 

Many Crowns

Last Sunday before Advent, the Solemnity of Christ the King (Year B)
22 November 2015--8:00 a.m. Said, 10:00 a.m. Sung Mass

Parish Church of Trinity, Ashland (Oregon)

Daniel 7:9-10, 13-14; Psalm 93; Revelation 1:4b-8; John 18:33-37

Gracious Jesus, our leader and guide, king eternal from whom all kings should take their pattern:  open our eyes to see your hands at work in the world about us.  Open our hearts and hands that we may hasten the coming of your kingdom.   For your mercy’s sake we pray, Amen.

Today is Christ the King Sunday, a festival intended to celebrate Christ’s dominion in the world today, the living, breathing world of nations, peoples, politics, armies, and government.  Pope Leo XI introduced the feast somewhat nostalgically in 1925, after the First World War had destroyed the last vestiges in Europe of what had been called “Christendom,” the joining of political power and Christian faith.   It is now celebrated by most mainstream churches, because it places a fitting emphasis on Jesus’ rule over us on this, the last Sunday of the year in the Christian Calendar. 

What Leo was asserting, of course, was that the proper political order was one of theocracy, where God and his vicars reigned, or dictated basic policy to those who did.    If God and Jesus are all knowing, all good, and all just, what better rulers could we have?   

Logical as far as it goes….  But……..   

We have plenty of reasons for fearing theocracy, and indeed, any mixing of political power and religious hierarchy.   Religious leaders are just as prone to abuse as others.  Look at what we call “religious wars.”   Theocracy just makes things worse, it would seem.  But it is not as simple as saying that religion is the problem:  Karen Armstrong’s book Fields of Blood I think shows very well that most wars usually called religious are actually caused by political and economic struggles that simply use religious memes and ideas as meta-narratives to motivate your people.

Our own republic rejected the idea of theocracy along with kings at its founding: we have a separation of Church and State, and a Bill of Rights prohibition of state-sponsored religion.  Our federal constitution proclaims, “no religious test shall ever be required as a qualification to any office, or public trust under the United States” (Art. IV).

I think most of us are actually repelled by the idea of theocracy, all the more so today.  Da’esh, the self-styled Caliphate of Islam in Syria and Iraq behind the terrorist murders in Paris and Beirut this last week, claims that all it does—the random murders, the rapes, the enslavement, the kidnapping, the beheading, the burning alive—all this is good and right, acts by officers of the Caliphate in accord with God’s intention and orders.    Many of us have reacted to such barbarity with fear, anxiety, and outrage.  But some mimic such enemies by striving for a theocracy all their own:  a religious test for immigration or refugee status, shutting down borders to those fleeing for their lives, and a call for “keeping the Law of God” in our public life and laws.   

So what does “Christ the King” say to us, members of a commonwealth suspicious of kings and politically-minded priests? 

Our Bishop Michael Hanley wrote the following about our reaction to the terror attacks: 

“St. Theresa of Avila says be not disturbed or distressed, ‘For, when you are it is a great gain for the devil; he is delighted to see a soul distressed and uneasy, because he knows that this will hinder it from employing itself in loving and praising God.”

Joan Chittister, (in her book A Spirituality for the 21st Century, The Rule of Benedict), tells us that St. Benedict directed the reading of the psalms in Morning Prayer as he did to remind us, ‘that life is not perfect, that struggle is to be expected, that the human being lives of the brink of danger and defeat at all times’, And that, ‘having lived through everything life has to give that week, the community bursts into unending praise for having survived.’

“In the first psalm we cry for help and in the second we praise God for having saved us.

“In the past several days I have read many wonderfully written calls by bishops, by priests and by laity in the church, to resist the temptation to exclude Syrian refuges from the United States or to insist that our Muslim brothers and sisters wear a badge stating their religious preference. These are all important points to be made and clearly of Gospel value. I give thanks for the good work that has been done by those who have spoken out.

“I am convinced in addition to this: that the central challenge of daily living is to make good choices about how we exist in the world. We can live disturbed or distressed and the devil will enjoy our discomfort, or we can live through the challenges of life - which are inevitable - and continue to love this good earth God has given us, love the good people around us, and praise God for saving us daily.

“Those who take life and particularly innocent life, be they religious fanatics, troubled young men, or angry individuals seem to me to be those who have lost their capacity to know God, to love life and to give praise to the creator of the universe. It is in the belief that we are the masters of our fate and totally in control of our lives that we become servants of evil and people who tear down and destroy rather than build up and create. 

“And so, begin each day with a cry for help and continue to praise God for saving graces.”

That really touched me.  I too have been thinking a lot lately about the Benedictine spirituality of the Daily Office, and in particular, the importance of reciting the Psalms in prayer.  There is no way about it:  though many of the Psalms are exquisite, some of them are horrible.  We have: “Cast your burden upon the Lord and he shall sustain you.  He will never suffer the righteous to fall.  He is at your right hand.”  But we also have:  “Defend me from my enemies, God! Kill them. Make their children orphans and their wives widows. Put them in prison never to be set free.  May they be buried alive!”  The emotions here—sometimes raging and out of control—are ultimately a side show.  The point is that no matter how hard life is, regardless of our feelings, we still are in relationship with God, beneath it all, sustaining the good and the right and pushing us on to glory.  It’s okay to feel emotions.  What matters is what we do with them.

We have had so many deaths here at Trinity of late!  And so much illness and suffering!  It is easy to lose heart, get depressed, or to get impatient with God.   We sometimes just shut our emotions down.  Rejecting the idea of a God, the idea of any sense in the universe, sometimes seems easier than to fathom the mystery of a loving and all-powerful Deity tolerating such things.   Daily prayer, along with gentle and loving service, is to my mind the best remedy for such despair and distraction.   Connecting with God, glimpsing the glory, participating in God’s love—this all helps us get through the darkness. 

Some people have reacted to the terrorism and trouble we see by trotting out the apocalyptic and last-days scriptures we read about this time each year.  They argue that the evil of the world is a sign that Jesus is coming soon, upset, and ready to cast it all down. But this misses the point and leads us away from the loving Abba Jesus taught us about. 

When I was young, I sometimes heard in Church sermons of what they called the “signs of the times,” or the signs of the end.  Most of these were disastrous indications of the world going to hell and destruction.   I only later learned that this was a gross misunderstanding of the New Testament idea of  “signs of the times.”  In Matthew 16:1-3, the Pharisees and Sadducees come to Jesus and ask him to show them a sign from heaven.   They have heard of his marvelous healings and acts, which he says is a sign that the reign of God has come near.  They want a proof before they’ll believe his claims.   He replies, “You know how to read the weather, but not read the signs of the times.^”  For Jesus, his marvelous acts that showed God’s grace and love and healing were the true signs of what time we live in, the time of the in-breaking of God’s kingdom into our lives here and now.    

“You want a sign?” asks Jesus, “I’ll give you a sign—the sign of Jonah!”  He is talking about coming forth out of the belly of the fish, out of death itself, alive and strong and well after the proverbial three-day wait for God’s true purposes to unfold.   As we read last week, Jesus thinks that all the gory stuff that people get worked up about are just stage props, what he calls “false labor pains.”  Tribulation is part and parcel of human life from the beginning.  “Don’t worry about it,” he says.  The only true sign of the coming of God’s kingdom are moments of joy, not despair. 

When we look for signs of the times, we should be looking for glimpses of glory, not for things gory.    We are often too beaten down and distracted to see the signs of God’s loving kindness right before our eyes.  They are there, new every morning.  We simply have to have eyes to see. 

That actually is what today’s Gospel is about:  the people who wanted Jesus to be “King of the Jews” wanted an theocratic leader who would march ahead of armies and conquer the Romans.  Pilate asks him if he is guilty of such insurrection against Rome.  Jesus replies “King of the Jews—are those words yours or someone else’s?”   Pilate replies, “Hey, it’s not my religion, after all! You tell me.”  And Jesus answers, “I’m not leading any armies am I?  If that’s what you think I’m up to, it’s not so.  The kingdom I talk about and am building is not about control, armies, and political power.”  “So you are a king,” says Pilate, ever the police interrogator.  “Your word, not mine,” says Jesus, “I would prefer saying I am standing up for truth and good.  In fact, that is the point of my life.” 

Again, seek for glimpses of glory, not of things gory.  I think that it is the heart of any true affirmation of Christ as King.  His dominion can and will change the world, the real world of nations and societies about us.  But not in any way we’re used to from other kings and leaders.    His kingdom is not of this world. 

Thanks be to God. Amen. 

Mother Hild (Midweek Message)

 

The image of St. Hild on Caedmon's Cross, holding a bishop's crosier and a model of Whitby Abbey and surrounded by the bishops of the Synod of Whitby.  At her feet are ammonites,  fossils common in Whitby, thought in pious legend to be evidence of her miraculous saving of the Abbey by turning deadly snakes into stone. 

Mother Hild

Father Tony’s Midweek Message

November 18, 2015

Today is the feast day of St. Hild of Whitby (known more frequently in English by her Latinized name, Hilda), who died on 17 November 680.  Most of what we know about her is recorded in St. Bede’s Ecclesiastical History of the English People. She was born in 614 C.E. into the royal family of Northumbria and was brought up at court.   She was baptized a Christian at the age of thirteen with the whole court of King Edwin by Paulinus, an Italian missionary sent by Pope Gregory the Great.  Formed in the local Celtic Christianity of northern England and Scotland, and encouraged by Aidan of Lindisfarne, she took religious vows at the age of 33.   She established and lived most of her life at the abbey monastery at Whitby, at the time one of the great centers of learning and spirituality in the British Isles, and home to separate cloistered communities of monks and nuns.   Loved and respected as abbess and granted the honors of a bishop, she nurtured many, including several who later became bishops, as well as Caedmon, the poet and singer of tales who wrote what is seen as the first poem in English, the Dream of the Rood (the Cross). 

In 664 Whitby was chosen to host a great synod of the church to resolve the differences between the practices of the newly arrived Roman mission and somewhat locally limited Celtic Christian practices that went back to the first century.  These included such things and the dating of Easter, the style of monastic garb and haircuts, and rites and ceremonies in Divine Liturgy.   As host of the Synod, Hild was instrumental in getting the two sides to listen to each other.  When eventually the Roman mission succeeded in having its practices endorsed and the monks of Lindisfarne walked out (eventually to end up in Ireland), Hild was key in reconciling Britons of all types to the newly established single Church of England lead by two primates, one archbishop in Canterbury in Southern England and one in nearby York, together with its largely Roman calendar and practices.  She did this despite her own formation in the Celtic Church because of her dedication to the idea of the unity of Christians.   

St. Bede says of Hild, “She established a Rule of Life…  and taught the observance of righteousness, mercy, purity, and other virtues, but especially of peace and charity.  After the example of the primitive Church, no one there was rich, no one was needy, for everything was held in common, and nothing was considered to be anyone’s personal property. … All who knew Abbess Hilda, the handmaid of Christ, called her mother because of her wonderful devotion and grace.” 

Eternal God, who made the abbess Hild to shine like a jewel and through her holiness and leadership blessed your Church with new life and unity: help us, like her, to yearn for the gospel of Christ and to reconcile those who are divided; through him who is alive and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever.  Amen

Laughing Buddha (mid-week)

 

Fr. Tony’s Midweek Message

November 12, 2015

Laughing Buddha

When I first moved to China, I was surprised by the popularity of the fat, happy “Laughing Buddha.”  Maoism was just ending, and the fact that these images showed up so often in family homes and places of business was a sign of the new devotion to supreme leader Deng Xiaoping’s creed, “to become wealthy is glorious!”   Only later, when I had visited many temples, monasteries, and retreats was I told the real reason of the popularity.  “This Buddha is so fat because he is able to eat whatever is given to him, no matter how bitter or sour!”  The laughing Buddha, it turns out, is an abstracted symbol for acceptance of the difficult things in life:  no matter what life dishes out, he keeps laughing, eating, and growing fat.   The values behind such an iconography are readily apparent in many Buddhist nuns and monks:  a smile almost always present on a face that regularly breaks into gentle laughter.

Jesus told jokes regularly; many of his more challenging parables draw their strength from the clever wit of some joke in the telling or the logic of the stories.  He teaches that his followers, though rightly expecting hardship and persecution, should remain joyous in their life and witness: “rejoice, and be glad, … so also did they persecute your ancestors” (Matt 5:12). 

Acceptance, the ability to “eat bitterness” as the Chinese say, is a key element in remaining in joy even when (or >>especially<< when) difficult things happen.  Jesus calls us to follow him.  He regularly sought out quiet times, and thin places, to recharge and commune with his heavenly parent.  Though at times cranky and touchy given all the stresses he faced, he generally remained happy and calm.  He was able to do this, I think, precisely because he accepted all his emotions as well as the hard events.  

I hope that we all can show joy in our daily lives, and accept.  May we all be Fat Buddhas following the way Jesus led. 

Grace and Peace,   Fr. Tony+

Note:  The Diocese of Oregon is holding its annual convention this Friday and Saturday at the Ashland Hills Hotel.  Please remember to pray for us: church councils can be trying and stressful.  I am hoping to be a smiling Jesus and a laughing Buddha throughout it all.    

Offerings

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“Offerings”

8 November 2015

Proper 27B

Homily preached at Trinity Episcopal Church

Ashland, Oregon

8:00 a.m. Said Mass; 10:00 a.m. Sung Children's Mass

1 Kings 17:8-16; Psalm 146; Hebrews 9:24-28; Mark 12:38-44

God, take away our hearts of stone, and give us hearts of flesh.  Amen

The Old Testament and Gospel readings today both have stories of women who give their all: the widow of Zarephath who feeds the prophet Elijah, and the widow in the Temple who gives her last remaining coins.  The first tells of God’s love and care for those who sacrifice for the good: the jar of oil and the bowl of meal do not run out. The second is a blast by Jesus against the rich and powerful in religion who “devour the houses of widows” and place heavy burdens on those least able to pay.  Though “the widow’s mite” has been used as a positive example over the centuries, there is nothing in the story to suggest any promise of support or aid to the poor widow, no hint of praise. 

What do these two stories have in common with the New Testament reading?  The passage from Hebrews talks about how Jesus Christ as a metaphorical high priest is better than any other real or historical one, and his sacrificial offering the real thing, where all others are but shadows and types pointing to it. 

So the lectionary’s theme for today is offering, sacrifice, giving. 

Sacrifice or offering was at the heart of the religious faith practiced in Israel’s Temple.  The basic idea of an offering is expressed in the word terumah: a lifting up, or a gift given with a heave

It served several uses in the Temple:  making up for past misbehavior, cleansing or purgation of ritual contamination or impurity, reconciliation, expression of gratitude and thanks.  It sought to repair and strengthen our relationship to God in a wide range of concerns, through that most simple of human acts, sharing food.  Some offerings were sacrifices with blood where the animal was burned and the tasty bits shared by the ministers.  Some were offerings of incense.  Some were of grain and oil.  The sharing was with the deity or with the deity’s ministers. 

There are prophetic voices against sacrifice:  it is just too easy to confuse the act of offering as some kind of cheap bribery of the almighty.  It is too easy to mistakenly conceive of God as an unforgiving alien being who demands blood and death to be placated.  So the prophets say, in different places:  “If I were hungry, do you think I would ask you?  All the flocks of the fields are mine.  Do you think I drink the blood of goats or cattle?”  “I demand obedience, not sacrifice.”  “The sacrifice I demand is a humble heart and a contrite spirit, a sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving.” 

Jesus criticizes the Temple ritual and its rulers.  The system is too corrupt.  It is a means by which the rich can devour the houses of the poor.  That’s why he suggests that most of what one seeks to do through Temple offerings and sacrifice can be done through following him. 

The key here is this:  offering and sacrifice are still ways through which we become closer to God, even though we may not kill animals to do so. Offering is all about giving, the act of giving itself.  It’s not really about motivations or hoped for outcomes:  it doesn’t matter if you give with a hope-against-hope idea that God will care for you.  It doesn’t matter if you are being exploited by manipulative religious men in long robes seated in the best pews.  What matters is the giving, the letting go. 

I think the basic idea of offering or sacrifice is best summed up in American Sign Language’s sign for “sacrifice:”  taking both hands as if they hold something, then turning them both up, open wide, as if to say “I let go of this.  It’s all yours.”  The essence of offering is letting go of control, and giving up something of yourself with no expectations.

That’s why the author of Hebrews can say Jesus offered himself as a sacrifice, even though Jesus was never a member of the priestly family that did the rituals in the Temple and though human sacrifice was forbidden.   Hebrews is using a metaphor:  what Jesus did for us in dying is to give himself for us.  He reconciles us to God, drives away our sins, and makes us whole.  By giving himself.  By offering. 

We often say that the Holy Eucharist is a “sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving.”  In it, we offer bread and wine, product of the created world and of human hands, as tokens of what Jesus accomplished.  In the assembly of the faithful and the very act of offering, of sharing, it becomes a communion, or sharing, with God in which God shares with us.  That is why we remember Jesus’ words at the last supper, “this is my body, this is my blood.”  The bread and wine become for us spiritual food and drink.   And though Jesus died for us only once, as said in today’s lesson from Hebrews, the bread and wine, thus offered, thus sacrificed, are our communion, or sharing. 

Offering, giving, sharing—all these are ways we build closeness with one another.  It is how we build closeness to God: not because God needs to be bribed or placated, but because we need to put our things in second place after our love.  It is all about hospitality and generosity, about sharing and welcoming.  It is a basic spiritual rule and guideline.  It is one of the ways we follow Jesus and serve as his body in the world. 

In the name of Christ, Amen.  

"Preventing" Grace (mid-week)

Fr. Tony’s Midweek Message

“Preventing” Grace

Nov. 4, 2105

“Open my lips, O Lord,

and my mouth shall proclaim your praise.”

Psalm 51:15

One of the core ideas in Christian faith is that all good comes from God.  And so we pray that God will stir our hearts and inspire our minds that we can better worship, praise, pray, and behave.   This is not seen as a choice or preference on our part, something to be chalked up to our wisdom or basic goodness, but rather the effect of God already at work in us:  prevenient grace, the grace from God that stems from God’s desire that all be saved (God’s “universal salvific will”) and goes before the grace of God experienced as salvation.  

One of the traditional collects in the Prayer Book reads:

 

“Prevent us, O Lord, in all our doings, with thy most gracious favor, and further us with thy continual help; that in all our works begun, continued, and ended in thee, we may glorify thy holy Name, and finally by thy mercy obtain everlasting life; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.” 

“Prevent” here carries the original meaning of the Latin “prevenire” “to go before” and does not have any hint of impediment or hindrance. 

“Prevenient” or “preventing” grace is one of the hallmarks of the Anglican theological heritage.   We share the idea with Roman Catholics, Orthodox, Methodists, and most Baptists; Calvinists have traditionally rejected the idea and labeled it at “Arminian” (from Jacob Arminius, a Dutch reformed theologian who rejected Calvin’s idea of a double predestination, one to heaven and one to hell.) 

The idea of prevenient grace is expressed in the hymn “Amazing Grace” this way: “’twas grace that taught my heart to fear, and grace my fear relieved.”

This was a new idea for me when I became an Episcopalian.  I was raised in a tradition that emphasized human free will and choice, and understood “grace” as a result of one’s works.  The idea that God was working in us even in our first stirrings toward faith was strange to me. Now I see it all about us in our prayers and liturgy, again and again.   

The idea is not that we are unworthy or so depraved that we cannot do or conceive of any good.  Rather, it is a reflection on God’s overwhelming goodness and beauty, and the fact that God lies behind and beneath all that is.  

The basic structure of the collect prayer form reveals the doctrine of prevenient grace: One of God’s names is named, followed by an attribute or act of God, and only then comes the petition. 

J. Philip Newell wrote the following prayer in the Celtic style, expressing the idea in somewhat more accessible terms: 

As I utter these prayers from my mouth O God

In my soul may I feel your presence.

The knee that is stiff O healer make pliant.

The heart that is hard make warm beneath your wing.

The wound that is giving me pain,

O best of healers, make whole

And may my hopes and my fears

Find a listening place with you. 

Grace and peace,

Fr. Tony+

Sacred Space (Trinitarian article)

Sacred Space

Fr. Tony’s Letter to the Trinitarians

November 2015

Thus says the high and lofty One who inhabits eternity,

whose name is Holy, “I dwell in the high and holy place and

also with the one who has a contrite and humble spirit.”  Isaiah 57:15

A few months after I was ordained, I was serving as an assistant at the Congregation of the Good Shepherd in Beijing.  The pastor called me one day and asked that I take a pastoral care responsibility for him.  A retired Episcopal Priest had come to Beijing seeking traditional Chinese medical care but had taken a turn for the worse and could not travel back to the U.S.  “Could you help him through the process of dying, and conduct his funeral?” said my pastor, a Presbyterian.  I visited the elderly man several times, gave him communion, and got to know his wife.  When he died, early on a Sunday morning, I went to give last rites.  His wife asked me to give him a proper funeral “with all the ceremony” in a Prayer Book rite.   I agreed, but regretted this when I arrived at the funeral space she was able to book:  the morgue of a Chinese military hospital hidden alongside Beijing’s third ring road. 

It was January, and the room was unheated.  You could see your breath.  Poorly lit, the carelessly cleaned area smelled vaguely of formaldehyde and blood.  My friend had not yet been cremated, and was in a closed white cardboard coffin arrayed on an examination table in the center of the room.  “This is so grim,” I thought to myself, blowing on my hands to warm them up, “maybe it’s a wrong idea to do the full high church ceremony I promised.”  But I had made the promise, and was accompanied by my pastor to serve as altar assistant, so we proceeded as planned.   I vested in white and gold, for a Eucharist of the Resurrection.  On a small table beside the coffin, I set up a small communion set for Holy Eucharist.  I lit the candles and got the incense going.  A surprisingly large group gathered: several representatives of the U.S. Embassy Consular office and its entire Marine Security Guard (the deceased had been a war hero of sorts, surviving both Midway and Iwo Jima, and the young men had visited him during his last illness).  

The newly lit candles created a circle of warm light around the holy table and the coffin.  The incense drove away all the odors of the morgue, and made it smell like church.   I began chanting the opening anthems.  The morgue fell away, and we were in a special place for the next hour.    Everyone sang the simple hymns and few monotone chanted responses.  Everyone took communion.   

My Presbyterian pastor was silent on the way home.  Two weeks later in a sermon, he talked about recently finding himself, unexpectedly, in a space of pure, true worship.  “What made it that way,” he said, “was that it was done just for the beauty and love of God, and for no other reason.”    

What I took away from the experience is this: the ancient and at times strange practices of worship in the Church—the candles, the incense, the vestments, the bells, the chants, psalms, and hymns, the bread and the wine—have survived the centuries for a reason.   Without a proper church, altar, organ, or even a decent space, we had been able to enter into the beauty of holiness.   These ancient practices created the sacred space and time we needed to sing our brother off into the eternities and welcome Jesus. 

That does not mean that any of the specific practices is absolutely necessary and to be used in all situations.  Simple, almost Zen, starkness can also create sacred space.  Despite my misgivings about the morgue and who might show up for the funeral of a foreigner far from home, the sacred space was created as much by everyone’s openness and acceptance of the other and the strange as by the ancient practices we used.   Openness is the heart of true worship. 

I think that is why God in Isaiah says he dwells not only in a high and holy place, but also in the heart of contrite and the spirit of the humble. 

Grace and Peace,

Fr. Tony+