When You Love Someone (Epiphany 4C)

 

When You Love Someone
Homily delivered for the Fourth Sunday after Epiphany (Year C)

The Rev. Fr. Tony Hutchinson, SCP, Ph.D.
31 January 2016

8:00 a.m. Said, 10:00 a.m. Sung Eucharist
Parish Church of Trinity, Ashland (Oregon)

Jeremiah 1:4-10; Psalm 71:1-6; 1 Corinthians 13:1-13; Luke 4:21-30

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

After I had been here about 2 years, Father Jim Boston in Grants Pass gave me this summary of local cultural dynamics:  The people in Ashland like to look down their noses on the people in Medford.  The people in Medford look down on the people in Grants Pass.  The people in Grants Pass look down on the people in Williams and like rural communities in the Illinois and Applegate valleys.  The people in Williams look down on all the people in Ashland, Medford, and Grants Pass.

Boundaries are necessary to keep things in our life manageable and sustainable.  In the words of the mean neighbor in Frost’s poem, “Good fences make good neighbors.”   Without a clear sense of boundaries, things can quickly get out of control and go strange.  Boundaries help us identify who is with us and who is against us; they help us distinguish between friend and foe.  Because of this, local loyalty and pride seem to stem unavoidably from maintenance of good fences.  But so also, a contempt for the familiar unfortunately seems to be part of the deal. 

Today’s Gospel reading describes a scene where the people of Jesus’s hometown, initially pleased and pleasantly surprised at the well phrased preaching of this local boy who has made good, turn against him.   They are surprised because they think they know this Jesus—one of Joseph the builder’s sons.  Jesus calls them on this:  a prophet is honored everywhere but his hometown, and here you are wanting me to work the signs of power here that you have heard I have done up the road a bit in Capernaum!  He then cites scriptures where God worked wonders with strangers and foreigners, not locals and good Jews.  He is saying “I am here to announce the year of the Lord’s favor.  That means tearing down fences.”   This enrages them.   

The contempt bred of familiarity blinds us, as it blinded the people of Nazareth, to the presence of prophets in our midst. The fact is, familiarity and intimacy should engender sympathy, not contempt, affection, not judgment.  But our need for fences tends to trump all this, this is pretty good evidence to me of our brokenness, an indication that our loves—whether social affection, friendship, romantic desire, familial or community attachment—are limited and broken.

The reading from Corinthians that we just heard is often misunderstood. Because it is regularly read at weddings, people think that Paul is talking about romantic love only.  But Paul is talking about love itself of any kind.  He says that love is not just an emotion that is felt and experienced, but a condition of the will.  He knows that love as emotion, like any passion, can be fleeting or unpredictable.   The love he describes is what love should be, not how it often is played out in our brokenness.

He uses a classical literary device to discuss love.  He personifies an abstract concept, in this case, “Love,” in order to show graphically what that concept entails: “Love is longsuffering, doesn’t ask questions, is not rude,” etc.  Unfortunately, personification is a literary trope not commonly used in our age, and we often miss Paul’s meaning, which is about this very issue—what it is to love, and why familiarity cannot be allowed to breed contempt.   

In order to make what Paul is saying clearer, I have done my own translation of the passage, using a literary device more familiar to us moderns.  Rather than using personification, for instance, I give concrete examples and cases.  Here is what I believe Paul is saying:  

“Imagine that I can speak in many human and angelic languages, but that I am a person who does not love anyone.  What I am I then?  Simply a noisy and annoying gong or cymbal, nothing more.  And what if I were a prophet who knew every bit of God’s plan, and every item of knowledge there was to know, and even had such complete faith that I could move mountains at will.  If I weren’t a loving person—what would I be?  Nothing, that’s what.  If I gave away everything I own—and if I gave over even my body—a praiseworthy thing, to be sure—and yet if I did not have love, it wouldn’t do me any good.    What is love?  When you love someone, you are patient and kind with that person.  You are not jealous of those you love, and you don’t try to show them up.  You don’t talk down to them, or act rudely toward them.  You don’t try to have your own way at their expense, nor do you get annoyed or resentful at them.  You don’t get pleasure at any injustice done to them or by them, but rather you rejoice when truth prevails for them.  When you love someone, you put up with whatever they do, you trust whatever they say, you hold every hope for them, and you are willing to endure anything for them.  When you love, you never stop loving.  Not so with prophecies, languages, or knowledge—these will all cease one day.  For our knowledge and our prophecy are partial only.  And when wholeness arrives, partial things will come to an end.  When I was a child, I used to talk, think, and reason as a child does.  When I became an adult, I put aside a child’s way of doing things.  At present, we see things indistinctly, as if through a clouded mirror.  But then it will be face to face.  At present, I know things only in part, but then, I shall have a knowledge of others just as I also am fully known.   But as matters stand now, only these three things really last—faith, hope, and love.  And of these, the greatest is love. (1 Cor 13:1-13)

Love here is not just a feeling we experience or suffer.  It is an active way we behave, the way we treat the beloved.  Love in this sense is a type of sacrifice, a limitation on our freedom and our will.    At the heart of love is giving the beloved the benefit of the doubt, withholding judgment, and sharing hope.   It is saying “I’m on your side.” 

For Paul, love by definition places constraints on our freedom.  That’s why he says at one point, “In love, be like slaves to one another”(Gal. 5:13). 

Not all the people of Nazareth rejected Jesus.  Most did, but this story as told in Mark 6 suggests that at least some accepted him:  there he is able to heal a few.   These few give him the benefit of the doubt, and rather than letting their familiarity breed contempt, they cultivate it and let it blossom into a deeper relationship.  And they see the signs of power of the Kingdom Jesus proclaims. 

May we treat our loved ones, may we treat each other, more kindly, not less kindly, than strangers.  May we learn the joy of sacrificial love, of giving each other the benefit of the doubt, and of working out our differences in love and respect, with no imputed bad motives.  May we see and hear the prophets who walk among us.  May our love overcome our desire for fences.  For love so lived never ends, and is the most important of all the gifts of God.   

In the name of God, Amen. 

Sin and sins (midweek message)

Paul Tillich

Fr. Tony’s Midweek Message

Sin and sins

January 27, 2016

Last Sunday was Septuagesima Sunday, the third Sunday before the start of Lent, traditionally the time when Christians begin thinking about what practices they are planning and what readings they will pursue this year in order to observe a holy Lent. 

The word and idea “sin” is a stumbling block for some, since it can at times be a label for over-scrupulous worries and guilt over minor flaws or the script that a drama-queen might wrongly recite to confess oneself as the worst of all possible people.  In this regard, it is useful to remember that the Greek word in the New Testament usually translated by “sin” is hamartia, originally a term in archery describing a missing of the mark or bull’s eye. 

The great 20^th century Protestant theologian Paul Tillich once preached a sermon called You Are Accepted, where he said the following about “sin”: 

 “Do we realize that sin does not mean an immoral act, that “sin” should never be used in the plural, and that not our sins, but rather our sin is the great, all-pervading problem of our life? Do we still know that it is arrogant and erroneous to divide men by calling some “sinners” and others “righteous”? For by way of such a division, we can usually discover that we ourselves do not quite belong to the “sinner,” since we have avoided heavy sins, have made some progress in the control of this or that sin, and have been even even humble enough not to call ourselves righteous…  This kind of thinking and feeling about sin is far removed from what the great religious tradition, both within and outside the Bible, has meant when it speaks of sin…  Sin is separation. To be in a state of sin is to be in the state of separation. And separation is threefold: there is separation among individual lives, separation of a man from himself, and separation of all men from the Ground of Being.”  

Søren Kierkegaard similarly taught that “sin” essentially was alienation—from self, from others, and from God.

In thinking about what Lenten practices you want to observe this year, you may want to first ask “What are the sources or drivers of alienation or separation—from myself, from others, and from God—in my life?”   Then you might choose a practice or a book that helps you better understand and address your alienation, and shows ways to find reconciliation.

Grace and Peace,

Fr. Tony+

Together, One (Epiphany 3C)

Together, One
Homily delivered for the Third Sunday after Epiphany (Year C)

The Rev. Fr. Tony Hutchinson, SCP, Ph.D.
22 January 206

8:00 a.m. Said and 10:00 a.m. Sung Eucharist
Trinity Episcopal Church

Ashland, Oregon

Nehemiah 8:1-3, 5-6, 8-10; Ps 19; 1 Corinthians 12:12-31a; Luke 4:14-21

God, give us grace to feel and love,

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

In recent weeks, I have heard several sad stories about people in churches near and far away, Episcopal and otherwise, getting their feelings hurt over this or that and deciding to walk away from that church and community.  Whether they fled to another church or decided to stop out of church altogether for a while or forever, they left with a desire to no longer engage with the people they felt had hurt them.  There are always different sides to every story, and I don’t want to belittle or make light of the hurt suffered by anyone.  Some, to hear the bare facts of their story, had good reason to be upset.   But in every case I have heard, the people who caused the hurt did so unintentionally, and wanted to repair the damage.  But those leaving just could not bring themselves to even talk further with those who had offended them.  Maybe it is the dark winter days or the weather; maybe it was suffering just one too many slights, so perceived.  I am always sad to hear such stories, or, worse, to witness them unfolding.  It is like watching a marriage break up, or friends of long standing arguing and saying they never want to see each other again.    

Don’t misunderstand me.  I am not saying there are never situations that we need to walk away from.  Sometimes love requires us to go separate ways, still in love.  I am saying that such walking is always a sad thing. The judgment implicit in walking, even if necessary, is by its nature emotionally at odds with the gratitude we rightly feel at the grace of God in our lives.  Gratitude makes us more ready to accept things in our life, even hard ones.  Gratitude predisposes us to continue to engage with those with whom we are relation, especially when they hurt us, and not give up on them. 

Today’s scriptures all in one way or another talk about how we react to God in our lives. They contrast fear of condemnation and joy and gratitude at God’s love.  They show that such gratitude and joy brings us into relationship, lasting relationship without condition or judgment, with others who share the experience of God’s love.  

In the Hebrew scripture reading, the scribe Ezra reads the book of the Law before the people who react by bursting into weeping, totally dismayed at its severity. The leaders react with a pretty heavy-handed effort at liturgy control.  Here, it is not a question of telling people when to kneel and when to stand, and how to respond verbally with such phrases as “thanks be to God.”  Rather, here you have to smile, be happy (or at least act happy). No weeping or mourning allowed, only feasting and sharing that feasting with the poor, because “LAW IS GOOD” no matter what! 

The Psalm says that we can learn much about God in looking at the beautiful and wondrous stars and planets in the skies above us, as well as by reading the Law, a “perfect” and “sure” teacher that “revives” and “makes wise” the heart by stirring it up to awe (that’s what the word “fear” means in this context) and prayers that our words and thoughts be acceptable to the God thus revealed. 

The Gospel reading is Luke’s portrayal of Jesus’ first public sermon. He reads from the prophet Isaiah, like Ezra reading from the book of the Law.   But importantly, he picks and chooses what he reads.  He quotes from Isaiah 61, beginning

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because

he has anointed me

to bring good news to the poor.

He has sent me

to proclaim release to the captives

and recovery of sight to the blind,” 

So far, so good, at least in the translation of Isaiah that Luke is using in writing up the scene.  But then, instead of the next line, “to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor and the day of vengeance of our God,” Jesus ends the reading by throwing in a line from another part of Isaiah (58:6) and saying: 

“to send out into freedom those once downtrodden,

to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor.”

He deliberately deletes Second Isaiah’s reference to “the Day of Vengeance of our God” and replaces it with a line from Second Isaiah’s great song about what true worship is:

“Is not this the fast that I choose:
    to loose the bonds of injustice,
    to undo the thongs of the yoke,
to send out into freedom those once downtrodden,
    and to break every yoke?
Is it not to share your bread with the hungry,
    and bring the homeless poor into your house;
when you see the naked, to cover them,
    and not to hide yourself from your own kin?”

 (Isaiah 56:5-7)

Jesus applies this doctored passage to himself, to the present day of him and his listeners, and thus announces his mission.    By deleting the reference to the Day of Vengeance, Jesus marks a distinction between his message of Good News, hope and forgiveness, with John the Baptist’s more fear-inducing focus on the need to repent before the coming Day of Doom.    Jesus is to break the bonds, and then send out those who were once downtrodden into freedom, as sent ones, or apostles, with his message of liberation to others. 

We will read of the congregation’s reaction to Jesus’ sermon next week.  But the bit of the story we read today tells us that Jesus’ mission is to bring joy not fear, hope not despair, continued relationship, not judging others and giving up on them. Jesus’ ministry and message was and is one of joyous gratitude, one of Good News. 

In today’s epistle reading, Paul likens the church to a body with all sorts of different body parts.   The very diversity of the body’s different parts is a good thing, and makes the body strong.   Paul calls on us to get along, and to value and respect—even honor—diversity.   “Let not one part of the body say to another, ‘I have no need of you!’” 

The news from the Anglican Primates’ Meeting two weeks ago caused hurt here in the Episcopal Church and among others in the Communion who share our understanding of the Gospel’s call to radical inclusion and hospitality.  The story was, quite frankly, misreported by the media, and the news was not as bad as it appeared.  We were not sanctioned or expelled—the primates deliberately eschewed such language.  The consequences flowing from broken trust due to our changing our marriage canons without consultation or apparent consideration of the moral teachings of other provinces in the communion were no worse than anything we had previously suffered in this whole story.    

If we are not willing to suffer for our standing with the marginalized and oppressed, we are not really standing with them at all. 

Presiding Bishop Michael Curry’s response was basically a call for us to live the Gospel and follow Jesus in this hard situation.  We will continue to follow the Spirit and the clear implication of scripture about Gospel justice and inclusion for our Gay and Lesbian brothers and sisters, even as we continue to engage and walk with our more traditional-minded sisters and brothers in the other provinces. 

You see, there is no such thing as “The Anglican Church” worldwide.  It is a Communion—a coming together of one out of many: together, one.  The very idea involves a tension:  “together” implies many, “one” implies a sharing.  We are autocephalous, or self-governing, churches, united in bonds of affection and shared origins.  And the primates decided to continue to walk together, despite differences, because none of us should say “I have no need of you!” 

As St. Paul in this passage notes, the key here in healthy community life in the Church is grounding ourselves in Christ.  It demands not just toleration—holding our noses and putting up with others’ habits and ideas that are not so attractive to us—but also truly honoring each other.  It also means continuing to engage with those with whom we are in relation even when it hurts. 

Let us not give up on each other!  Let us not say, “I have no need of you!”  Let us focus on being heralds of Jesus’ Good News—of liberation, healing, reconciliation, and love.   Let us work to set the captives free and break every chain that ties us down and holds us back.  Let us honor and respect all our fellow human beings, especially those closest to us—be it spouse, family, parish, church, or communion—and  embrace the glorious diversity that God created us for. 

In the Name of God, Amen.

Dim Shadows in a Mirror (Midweek)

Fr. Tony’s Midweek Message

January 20, 2016

Dim Shadows in a Mirror

 

^“For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but one day we will see face to face. Now I know only in part; then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known.  But as things are, now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; and the greatest of these is love.” (1 Cor 13:12-13)

On Monday morning, I came for Morning Prayer at 8 a.m., and, truth be told, I was a little depressed.  Last week, when on vacation, I got the news that a dear friend had suffered a massive heart attack and died while walking his dog in Beijing.  He was the pastor with whom I served as assisting minister and music director at our small congregation when we last lived in Beijing.  One of the best storytellers I have ever known, and truly skilled at children’s sermons (he channeled Fred Rogers well), he was a decade younger than I.  The grief and sorrow of his sudden and unexpected death were just beginning to settle in my heart. 

Morning Prayer was particularly lovely:  all the chanted prayers, psalms, and canticles were well known and easily sung by our small group.  Everyone opened up during the intercessions and prayed their hearts.  Since it was the Feast of the Confession of St. Peter, we had a short Eucharist to conclude the Service.  One of us, a regular at Trinity’s choir, sang counterpoint on a metrical canticle and the Sanctus and Memorial Acclamation.  I have been to and sung in many lovely cathedral Choral Matins services over the years, and I must say that this Morning Prayer was the loveliest and most heartfelt I have ever participated in. 

The Hebrew Scriptures lesson was the story of the covenant of God with all creation after the Great Flood (Gen. 9:1-17), the scriptural basis of the “Great Chain of Being” spirituality so beloved in the Middle Ages and more and more part of modern progressive Christianity’s spirituality.   As we were leaving the Church, there in the sunny sky just outside the Church was one of the brightest and most completely arced rainbows I have ever seen: the very sign of the covenant described in the text.  It was a remarkable experience. 

During the day, beset with dark and windy rain, I received a personable and hopeful letter updating me on one former parishioner’s life in another town, a dear soul whose companion is facing terrible health challenges.  The letter warmed my heart. 

In the evening, a bit of sun returned, and with it, another rainbow.  But this one was not a completely visible arc:  too many dark clouds still hung in the middle of the sky over Grizzly Peak.  But there on the left was a brilliant spot of sunlight, and in it, the left hand base of a broad rainbow.  And there, on the other horizon 90 degrees to the right, next to Pompadour and toward Pilot Rock, was the base of the other side of the rainbow.

 

What struck me was this:  the rainbow was there, though I could only see its two feet and the dark clouds between.  The beautiful arc in the morning told me what a full rainbow looked like, and so, despite the dark clouds, I could in my imagination perceive the missing middle arc in the evening.

Our hope and faith are like that.  We get little glimpses (and occasionally, great big vistas) of glory now and again.  Sometimes they are seen or felt in “thin places” where the veil between our world and the hidden spirit one is almost translucent.  Sometimes we see them in liturgy when it works like at our Morning Prayer Service Monday.  Sometimes we see it in our relationships and the love and service we give each other. 

And such glimpses help us see the beauty and love behind all things, even when things are dark and gloomy.  They help us know that water and drink are there, even though we might be in a particularly dry or thirsty spot. 

This, I think, is what St. Paul was trying to express when he said we now see through a mirror, darkly.   He says that faith, hope, and love are the things that get us through the darkness.  And especially the love. 

Grace and peace, 

Fr. Tony+ 

Night Vision (Epiphany ABC)

Battista Dossi Ferrara c. 1475 1548 The Adoration of the Magi 

 

Night Vision

6 January 2016

Feast of the Epiphany

7 p.m. Sung Eucharist

Parish Church of Trinity Ashland, Oregon

Isaiah 60:1-6; Ephesians 3:1-12; Matthew 2:1-12; Psalm 72:1-7,10-14

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

Today’s Gospel tells the story of strange figures from the East arriving in Jerusalem seeking the child born “King of the Jews.”  The visitors are called Magoi (Latin: Magi).  The Greek word often describes Persian astrologers or diviners, or even Zoroastrian priests.  The word is related to our word “magician” and always is tinged with Mystery and the Occult.  Probably the best translation for it is Wizards.

 

In this story, the wizards are inspired to go on pilgrimage to the West by interpreting astronomical events in light of their esoteric lore.   They do not know the details, but rather have only a general idea that somehow this star is associated with a royal birth for the strange monotheistic people called Jews.   They don’t have a clue where the birth has taken place, of who it might be.  They make the long arduous journey and arrive in Jerusalem, going to the obvious place to ask about such a birth: the royal court.   Thus they are caught up in the intrigues of a petty tyrant, Herod, who styles himself as King of the Jews but has only doubtful claim to either title.

The magi are symbols of the gentile nations coming to Christ.  They are archetypes for all pilgrims.  They pursue their course based on dark hints and shadows in their lore, and find a new understanding of everything.  They pursue the dim light of a night star to the bright star of the morning, Jesus. 

In a way, their journey reflects the journey of faith that each of us makes.   Little glimpses of glory lead us to make a deeper commitment to pursue further light and truth.  We end up in strange places, unexpected situations.  And we turn aside to new paths as we learn more and more on the way. 

T.S. Eliot puts these words onto the lips of one of the Magi: 

‘A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.’
And the camels galled, sore-footed, refractory,
Lying down in the melting snow.
There were times we regretted
The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces,
And the silken girls bringing sherbet.

Then the camel men cursing and grumbling
And running away, and wanting their liquor and women,
And the night-fires going out, and the lack of shelters,
And the cities hostile and the towns unfriendly
And the villages dirty and charging high prices:

At the end we preferred to travel all night,
Sleeping in snatches,
With the voices singing in our ears, saying
That this was all folly...

These strange visitors had very little to go on.  Yet they set off on a long trip based on their dusty tomes of forgotten lore.  They see the star, but it is not all that noticeable or visible to those about them.  Clearly imagination is a key part of what drives them.  I suspect that Eliot is right:  these guys must have wondered at the folly of their enterprise. 

Those of you who have done any star-gazing know that often a star is invisible when you look straight at where it is supposed to be.  But if you avert your eyes slightly, there, in your peripheral vision, the star shines out clearly.  Apparently Galileo Galilei was a master at using his peripheral vision to see all sorts of things up there that others had missed, things like the four largest moons of Jupiter and Saturn’s rings.  He helped this out, to be sure, by grinding glass lenses and putting them into a “far-sight” or telescope to help gather more light than his own natural eye could, even in periphery. This is why the Indigo Girls, in their great hymn to seeing the subtleties in life like hints of reincarnation sing, “I call on the resting soul of Galileo, king of night vision, king of insight.” 

   

That is, I think, how faith is for all of us.  We get a little glimpse of glory and then, encouraged by others or driven by God speaking to our heart, we dedicate time, wealth, and effort to it.  More often than not, we do not come to faith by looking directly at such a thing as “Religion,” or “God.”  Rather, we get little glimpses in our peripheral vision.  Things that once were puzzles start making sense. 

People who say that they somehow do not believe in God usually mean they do not believe in a guy (always a male, usually with a white beard) “out there” somewhere who interferes on occasion with matters and demands our love and worship.  (“He is, after all, a ‘jealous’ one, he!”)  This is, however, a petty caricature of the living, creating Ground of Being and Love Itself.  God is not “out there” somewhere.  God is beneath and behind all.  Luke describes St. Paul speaking to the Athenians and saying of God “In him we live and move and have our being” (Acts 17:28). 

If we try to look at God head-on, and think of God as “out there somewhere,” we diminish the idea of God.  We reduce the object of our worship to a kind of supernatural wacky great uncle or an imaginary friend with super powers.  Such a god is not really God, but a sort of demiurge or daemon.  When we feel hurt or anguish, it is easy to feel betrayed by such a Deity.  God thus diminished is far removed from the good we see all about us, all of which comes from God directly.   

But again, using peripheral vision, our night vision, we get little glimpses of the Love beneath all things.  If we let ourselves follow, we find brighter and brighter clarity in our vision.  But, like the magi, we might be tempted to say, “No.  This is folly.” 

The key thing is following the glimpse, pursuing the glory, keeping with the sweet scent on the air, however faint. 

Thomas Merton taught about the art of using our night vision in faith in these words: 

“Life is this simple: We are living in a world that is absolutely transparent and God is shining through it all the time. This is not just a fable or a nice story. It is true. If we abandon ourselves to God and forget ourselves, we see it sometimes, and we see it maybe frequently. God shows [God’s] self everywhere, in everything - in people and in things and in nature and in events. It becomes very obvious that He is everywhere and in everything and we cannot be without [God].  It's impossible. It's simply impossible. The only thing is that we don't [recognize this].” 

Faith is trust in this Ground of Being, who is not less than personal.  Indeed, the doctrine of the Holy Trinity teaches us that God is more than personal, and includes the social as well.   

I think that gratitude is the emotion that best connects us with God.  Trust is a close second.  Both of these are in fact expressions of love.  And God is, in fact, Love Itself. Love, trust, and gratitude give us eyes to see God, first in peripheral short glimpses, later in deeper and deeper glory.   

In prayer and meditation, try to reflect on the Beauty of God’s Holiness while feeling this love.  It helps.   

In the name of Christ, Amen.

Intuition and Imagination (Mid-week)

Thomas Aquinas

Father Tony’s Midweek Message

Intuition and Imagination

January 6, 2016

“Oh, that’s just your imagination!” is a way we often hear people telling us to face facts and not worry about our interior projections about things.    “Just the facts, Ma’am,” is the way Sgt. Joe Friday of the LAPD of the 1960s television program “Dragnet” used to cut through the irrelevancies of witnesses’ testimony.  We sometimes tell ourselves these things as a way of applying the discipline of fact-based reason to our thinking and ways of feeling. 

But this was not the view of Aristotle, or of his Christian theologian followers like Thomas Aquinas or Ignatius Loyola.  For Aristotle, the imagination is an active sense through which we can perceive reality and truth otherwise not seen.  Like all the senses, it might on occasion be skewed and unreliable.  But abuse does not take away legitimate use.  Using the imagination is a key element of scientific inquiry and philosophical reflection for Aristotle.  And imagination’s proper and trained use is a key element in Christian spiritual life and growth.  Aquinas says it is through imagination that we perceive such things as the real presence of Christ in the Eucharist.  And Ignatian spirituality is grounded in trained use of the imagination in the Spiritual Exercises (imagining yourself vividly in a series of scriptural scenes and stories) and the Examen (reflection on one’s day and conscience). 

This new year, I invite all to make more frequent and vivid use of your imaginations—not to project fears and transferred affect, but rather to see more clearly God’s hand at work in the world about us, including our community and relationships.  Grace and Peace,

Fr. Tony+  

Loss, Redemption and LIfe at Trinity (Trinitarian Letter)

Father Tony’s Letter to the Trinitarians

January 2016

Loss, Redemption, and Life at Trinity

A couple of months ago, we got an email from an Episcopal priest in Mississippi:   “Are you missing a silver paten?  I found one offered for sale on e-Bay that has the inscription ‘Trinity Church Ashland Oregon 1952’ on its back.”  A paten is the small plate on which the Eucharistic bread is consecrated and often served.  We were not missing one, but given the detailed inscription, we started asking. 

It turns out back in the 1970s, when Father Bob Ellis was rector at Trinity, Trinity opened the church twenty-four hours a day seven days a week, and the nave served as a place where the homeless could get in out of the weather and sleep.  Fr. Ellis had a shower and toilet installed in the back of the sacristy to help support those seeking shelter in the Church.   Reaching out and supporting at-risk populations, however, does on occasion have its costs.  In this case, someone took advantage of the quiet un-monitored wee small hours to break into the sacristy cabinets, drink the wine stored there waiting to be consecrated, and made off with the silver, including the paten and the chalice.    The parish was canvassed and asked to provide silverware and jewelry to provide raw materials to recast new sacred vessels.   The chalice we now use at Trinity was the fruit of this effort.  A separate new paten was purchased with the money raised in the canvas.  As to the stolen paten, it apparently was fenced and made its way into an estate sale in Portland in the mid-1990s where the e-bay seller had purchased it. 

We shared the results of our research with our angel in Mississippi, who purchased the paten to make sure it didn’t disappear again.   He then sent it to us and we reimbursed him for his costs.  Thus, after 50 years in the wilderness, the silver paten stolen in the 1970s returned to its home at Trinity and just before Advent we began using it again in our Eucharists.

The story of the stolen paten returning home made three deep impressions on me.  1) No matter how hopeless or lost things might look, we regularly see them turned upside down and hope returned.  This is the story of the Resurrection.  It is the story of the Exodus.  2) Reaching out and serving others has its costs and risks, which you can minimize through planning and smart implementation.  But helping people means dealing with people in need, and sometimes that can be messy and costly.  But we are called to reach out to them all the same.  This is the story of the Good Samaritan.   3) Trinity Church has an identity that has been stable through the decades:  warm, supporting close relationships within the parish, and bold and at times risky reaching out to support those in need outside the parish.  This is the story of our parish.

When we use these vessels in Holy Communion—the paten stolen by a person we helped and then recovered after a half century through the kindness of a stranger, and the chalice made with the melted down silverware and jewelry of the parishioners—I am reminded of the stories of risk, service, loss, and hope that are the stories of our parish and our faith. 

Grace and Peace, 

Fr. Tony+    

Great Blessing of the Waters (2016)

the Great Blessing of the Waters

Celebrated by the Ashland Youth Collective

& Trinity Episcopal Church

Ashland, Oregon

Epiphany 2016

--The Rev. Fr. Anthony Hutchinson, SCP, Ph.D.

The Great Blessing of the Waters is celebrated in the Eastern tradition after the vespers divine liturgy on the eve of the feast of the Epiphany [Theophany], and after the Eucharistic liturgy on the feast day itself.   It begins with the chanting of special hymns with the incensing of the water, and concludes with bible readings, petitions and prayers.

Celebrant:

Today we bless God for the waters,

The good gift that brings life and joy,

And which God has used in diverse ways

To bless us, give us life, and make us and God’s whole creation holy. 

Celebrant: 

A Reading from the Gospel of St. Mark

At that time Jesus came from Nazareth in Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. Just as Jesus was coming up out of the water, he saw heaven being torn open and the Spirit descending on him like a dove.  And a voice came from heaven: “You are my Son, whom I love; with you I am well pleased.” (1:9-11)

Hear what the Spirit  is saying to God’s People.

All:  Thanks be to God. 

Celebrant:  Let us walk together with Jesus to the Waters.  

ALL (sung to Bunesson "Morning has Broken"; as the group processes to the water’s side):

Jordan bursts forth and turns back her water

When she beholds our Jesus draw near,

He asks John for washing, sign for a new- heart, 

Though he has no fault or sin to fear.

 
“Prepare now God’s highway,” was John’s- loud witness,
And you came, Jesus, and answered his call,

Humbled before him, though you were spot-less,

Doing this for us, as you did all. 

 
The wa-ters saw it and fell back in wonder.
The heav’ns split and God’s- breath- rushed down

John- fell silent, hearing it thun-der,

“This is my one child, the loved one, my own.”

Sanctify, Jesus, both us and the waters,

Fount- of all Life, Source of all Light.

Bring all refreshment, restore us to goodness,

Return all to Eden’s blissful delight.  (AAH)

(At the waters’ side:)

Reader:

A reading from the Gospel of John: 

“God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, that everyone who trusts in him might not perish, but have everlasting life.  God did not send his Son into the world to condemn it, but that it might be saved through Him” (John 3:16-17)  Hear what the Spirit is saying to God’s People.

All:  Thanks be to God.

Celebrant:

God sent his child Jesus not to condemn, but to save.  Jesus came not only to save our souls, but to save our bodies, and not only to save human beings, but to save all of creation. 

Blessed are You, O God. 

Your works are full of wonder.

No words can sing truly Your grace. 

Of Your own will You brought all things into being,

By Your love You uphold all of creation,

By Your care You set the universe in order.

And it is good, very good.

All:

In You we live, and move, and have our being. 

Celebrant:   

The sun sings to You,

the moon glorifies You,

the stars dance together before Your face,

the light obeys You,

the rainbows fall at your feet,

the deep shudders before You,

the waters spring up to serve You. 

All:

In You we live, and move, and have our being. 

Celebrant:

We confess Your grace,

We proclaim Your mercy,

We give thanks for Your acts of loving kindness and power.

In becoming flesh, You have set free our mortal nature.

By Your birth You made holy the Blessed Virgin Mary, your Mother, 

And made possible for all creation a way of returning to your bliss. 

All creation praises You,

Who have so manifested Yourself in our world among us. 

All:

You took on flesh and dwelt as one of us.

Celebrant: 

(Censing the water)

For You, our God, appeared upon earth and lived as one of us.

(Placing a cross in the water and withdrawing it)

You sanctified the Jordan by being baptized in it.

(Making the sign of the cross three times over the water)

Therefore, O Master,

+ be present here now by the descent of the Holy Spirit,

         and sanctify this water.

+Give it the blessing of Jordan.

Make it a fountain of health and life,

Bringing verdure to the desert

And holiness to our broken world.

+May these waters be for us a symbol and source

         of cleansing, of healing,

         And casting away our fears, demons, and failings. 

All:

Bless this water, Savior, and bless us.  

(The Celebrant sprinkles the people with the water; the people cross themselves.)

All: (sung, to Dundee "The People that in Darkness Dwelt")

When God began to make the earth,

It had no shape or form,

But God’s breath blew and gave it birth,

And calmed the waters’ storm. 

A dry and barren place arose;

No water then was seen.

But God made rise the mists and dews

Where only dust had been.

Rivers spring up in Eden then:

Four streams of water swell,

And trees and grass, and flowers and fruit

Watered from God’s own well. 

Jesus the Well-Spring of all Life,

now calls us, beckoning:

“Whoever thirsts, come to my side;

Drink from my living spring.”  (AAH)

Celebrant: Let us return to our starting point, chanting Psalm 104 together. 

Psalm 104   Benedic, anima mea

1       Bless the Lord, O my /soul; *

     O Lord my God, how excellent is your greatness!

     you are clothed with ma\jes/ty \and \splendor.

2       You wrap yourself with light as with a /cloak *

     and spread out the hea\vens /like \a \curtain.

3       You lay the beams of your chambers in the waters ab/ove; *

     you make the clouds your chariot;

     you ride on \the /wings \of the \wind.

4       You make the winds your /mes\sengers *

     and flames \of /fire \your \servants.

5       You have set the earth upon its foun/da\tions, *

     so that it never shall move \at /a\ny \time.

6       You covered it with the Deep as with a /man\tle; *

     the waters stood high\er /than \the \mountains.

7       At your rebuke they /fled; *

     at the voice of your thunder \they /hastened \a\way.

8       They went up into the hills and down to the valleys be/neath, *

     to the places you had \ap/pointed \for \them.

9       You set the limits that they should not /pass; *

     they shall not again /co\/ver \the \earth.

10      You send the springs into the /val\leys; *

     they flow \bet/ween \the \mountains.

11      All the beasts of the field drink their /fill \from them, *

     and the wild as\ses /quench \their \thirst.

12      Beside them the birds of the air make their /nests *

     and sing \a/mong \the \branches.

13      You water the mountains from your dwelling on /high; *

     the earth is fully satisfied by the fru\it /of \your works.

14      You make grass grow for flocks and /herds *

     and plants \to /serve \human\kind;

15      That they may bring forth food from the /earth, *

     and wine to glad\/den \our \hearts,

16      Oil to make a cheerful /coun\tenance, *

     and bread \to /strengthen \the \heart.

17      The trees of the Lord are full of /sap, *

     the cedars of Leban\on /which \he \planted,

18      In which the birds build their /nests, *

     and in whose tops the sto\rk /makes \his \dwelling. 

…

26      Yonder is the great and wide sea

with its living things too many to /num\ber, *

     creatures \both /small \and \great.

27      There move the ships,

and there is that Le/vi\athan, *

     which you \have /made \for the \sport of it.

28      All of them look to /you *

     to give them \their /food in \due \season.

29      You give it to them; they /ga\ther it; *

     you open your hand, and they \are /filled \with \good things.

…

31      You send forth your Spirit, and they are cre/at\ed; *

     and so you renew the fa\ce /of \the \earth.

…

37      Bless the Lord, O my /soul. *

     Hal\le/lu\u\jah!

Celebrant :  Let us go forth renewed and strengthened, remembering that this water is a blessing from God.

All:  Thanks be to God.