Signed, Sealed, Delivered (China Pilgrimage)

Me in front of the Daqin Pagoda, probable site of a 7th century 

Church of the East Monastery; 50 miles west of Xi'an.  

Signed, Sealed, Delivered
14 October 2010

Shanghai, China  

Homily for a Group of Pilgrims from St. John’s Cathedral, Hong Kong

God, take away our hearts of stone

 and give us hearts of flesh. Amen.

This part of China, the lower reaches of the Yangtze River, is known as the “Land of fish and rice” and is full of lakes that are the home of a great freshwater fish, crab, clam, and pearl raising industry.  My wife and I visited Suzhou—about an hour and a half drive west of here—just a month ago to help celebrate the opening of the fall “hairy crab” season. 

Yangcheng Lake in Suzhou is famous for its freshwater dazhaxie, crabs with hairy claws.  They are particularly buttery and succulent because they grew and developed in the clean waters of the lake, and are considered by most Chinese people to be the only hairy crabs really worth eating.  Because of this, a great trade in counterfeit hairy crabs has developed over the years, where crabs from commercial ponds or other less pristine waters are labeled and sold as authentic Yangcheng Lake crabs, at the higher prices of the better crabs.  As a result, the Suzhou government has instituted a system of authenticating and labeling crabs from Yangcheng Lake, placing a small plastic band with a unique identification number on each and every crab that truly comes from the lake. 

Our hosts in Suzhou sent us a box of hairy crabs to have at our home in Beijing about two weeks ago.  I was concerned when opened the package.  Though it had been packed with ice and speed-posted, the National Day holiday had delayed delivery a bit and all the package was at room temperature; all the ice had melted.  I was afraid the crabs had died during shipment and we would be unable to eat them.  They were all tied up to keep them still, each with its little I.D. tag.   I placed them in cool water and started to untie them, to see if any were salvageable.  They all started bubbling, and quickly were all very lively.  They had only looked dead.  The meal was delicious.

When I mentioned to one of my Chinese staff members that we had been able to enjoy some Suzhou hairy crabs, she looked skeptical.  “Oh, but they all had the official seal and I.D. tags” I said.  She replied, smiling, “It’s good they started marking the real ones with those tags.  But I heard that those Suzhou farmers are really clever.  There’s a rumor that they have started shipping in crabs from other waters.  They then baptize them (she actually used the Chinese word for the Christian ritual)   in the waters of Yangcheng Lake and then government gives them the I.D. tags.” 

Now I don’t know if such rumors are true, but my friends in Suzhou assure me they are not.  To have the seal, the crabs are supposed to have been raised in Yangcheng Lake.   A mere “baptism” is not enough. 

Why am I telling this story about hairy crabs?  It makes clear two points about our faith that I think we do well to remember. 

One—the idea of what a seal is.  In an environment of conflicting claims about truth, value and worth, the Suzhou government established a system of guaranteeing quality—a system of seals to identify the genuine article.  There is a great passage in  Second Corinthians where Paul talks about conflicting truth claims—he says these are questions of “yes” and “no”—and affirms that our Christian faith resolves such uncertainty:

 “For in [Christ] every one of God's promises is a "Yes." For this reason it is through him that we say the "Amen," to the glory of God.  But it is God who establishes us with you in Christ and has anointed us, by putting his seal on us and giving us his Spirit in our hearts as a first installment” (2 Cor 1: 20-22). 

My experience with the hairy crabs reminded me of what the basic image Paul is using—a seal—is about.   A seal is a mark that authenticates and affirms the truth of something in a setting where truth is questionable.  If a seal is on a document, it affirms the true text or the original agreement.  If it is on an article, it affirms the genuine article.    Like those I.D. numbers and tags on the crabs, it says which ones are truly from the pure lake waters.  

Paul says that God’s Spirit in us is a seal of the genuineness of our faith and the reliability of God’s promises.  He uses other images to describe the Spirit here too:  it is an anointing and a first installment.  “Anointing” in its most basic sense simply means being smeared with oil.  A person was made a king or a priest in ancient Israel by a ritual of putting olive oil on the head or body.  The act set the person aside for a special role and work.  “First installment” is an image from finances and loans—it is the first payment of a much greater sum to come later. 

Elsewhere in 2 Corinthians, Paul says that the presence of the Spirit in our lives is a guarantee of greater things to come.  Again reflecting on the uncertainty and confusion of claims that we meet in daily life, he writes, 

“For in this tent [our body] we groan, longing to be clothed with our heavenly dwelling--if indeed, when we have taken it off we will not be found naked.   For while we are still in this tent, we groan under our burden, because we wish not to be unclothed but to be further clothed, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life. He who has prepared us for this very thing is God, who has given us the Spirit as a guarantee.  So we are always confident; even though we know that while we are at home in the body we are away from the Lord--for we walk by faith, not by sight. (2 Cor 5:4-7)."

It is easy enough to see whether a tag is on the leg of a crab claimed to be from Yangcheng Lake.  But if God’s spirit is a seal, a sign of genuineness, then how do we know God’s Spirit is with us?   This brings us to the second point I think we can learn from hairy crabs.  

In Galatians, we read this: 

“Live by the Spirit, I say, and do not gratify the desires of the you that resists God (lit., “flesh”).   For what your God-resisting self desires is opposed to the Spirit, and what the Spirit desires is opposed to your God-resisting self.  These are opposed to each other, to prevent you from doing what you want. But if you are led by the Spirit, you are not subject to the law. Now the works of a self that resists God are obvious: fornication, impurity, licentiousness, idolatry, sorcery, enmities, strife, jealousy, anger, quarrels, dissensions, factions, envy, drunkenness, carousing, and things like these. I am warning you, as I warned you before: those who do such things will not inherit the kingdom of God.  By contrast, the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. There is no law against such things.”  (Gal 5: 16-23) 

So “love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control” are fruits of the Spirit, and the spirit is a seal of the sureness of God’s promises.  Being baptized isn't enough, though it is a start.  Life in the spirit is the road.   

 Clergy from Saint John's Cathedral in front of the grave of Matteo Ricci, S.J, 

on the grounds of the Beijing Party School.

We have seen in many places during our pilgrimage how unexpected things have happened, and the course of the Church here has turned.  The Church of the East is as active and widespread as Buddhism during parts of the Tang dynasty, and then disappears.  The Jesuits adapt to local cultural with great success, only to have other religious orders and Rome react, to the ultimate detriment of the Church in China.  Protestant and Roman Missionaries flourish in the 1800s only to provoke the nationalist-driven persecution and suspicion.  From the apparent death of the Church during the Cultural Revolution, we see the huge rebirth and resurgence of the Church in China today. 

 Views of interior of Shanghai's restored Holy Trinity Cathedral. 

God’s promises are sure, but often God moves mysteriously in ways we do not perceive at the time.  But the abiding presence of the spirit, with its calming, peace-building, generous and gentle influence, is a sure sign.  Despite  the uncertainties around us, despite the claims of some that Christian baptism is about as significant as dipping a second-rate crab to get Yancheng Lake tag,  the spirit reassures us of the genuineness of God’s promises.  

In the name of Christ,  Amen.  

 Amity Press in Nanjing produces its 80 millionth Bible this month. 

 Sheshan Basilica of Our Lady of China, now restored, 
in Songjiang in Shanghai's western suburbs. 

 Me and Fr. Ignatius, our host at Sheshan, in front of the High Altar of the Basilica. 
Each May, Sheshan is the destination of hundreds of thousands of Chinese Catholic Pilgrims. 
People walk and pray its Via Dolorosa stations of the cross daily .  
 

Journey to the West (2nd Christmas; the magi)

A Journey to the West
Homily delivered Second Sunday of Christmas (Year C RCL TEC)
3 January 2010 8:00am Rite I and 10:00 am Rite II Sung Eucharist
Parish Church of Saint Hilda and Saint Patrick, Edmonds Washington
Readings: Jeremiah 31:7-14; Psalm 84; Ephesians 1:3-6, 15-19a
Matthew 2:1-12
God, let us not accept the judgment that this is all we are. . . . Take away our hearts of stone and give us hearts of flesh. Amen.

Several years ago a teacher and I we were discussing the great Chinese epic, The Journey to the West. He remarked: “A big difference between Asian and Western cultures is that in your Western religions, you have to go abroad and spread the Gospel. In our Eastern religions, our greatest duty to go and seek the truth we do not yet have. Your Bible has the missionary, Saint Paul. We have the story of the Chinese monk Xuanzang going on his great Journey to the West to seek and bring back the Buddhist sutras. We are more humble than you.”

I tried to defend the West and Christianity. I cited humility as a virtue for Christians, and mission as rooted in love for others and a desire to share. I mentioned the Christian idea of Pilgrimage, and the Quest for the Holy Grail. But my teacher seemed unconvinced.

“Are those things central? The Journey to the West is a parable about each of us. The pilgrims there represent every type of person. The monk is overly spiritual, naïve, and unable to defend himself against dangers. But he is calm. Zhu Bajie, the pig man, represents those of us too concerned with our bodily pleasures and comforts: totally controlled by his appetites, but able to enjoy unabashedly whatever good may come. Sandy, the handyman bodyguard, represents peasant practical wisdom and working class street smarts: too focused on the task at hand, unaware of the greater goal, but essential in continuing the journey. Sun Wukong, the Monkey King, represents those of us too clever for our own good, whose will and audacity are both our strength and weakness. Too proud and willful, but able to tell a joke in a tight spot and nervy enough to face any new demon on the path.”

He continued, “I am on my Journey to the West. But are you? Do you want to go to strange places far from home, risking all, to gain the treasure of enlightenment?”


Today’s Gospel is Matthew’s story of the strange Persian astrologers arriving in Jerusalem on their own Journey to the West. They seek to honor the child born “King of the Jews,” whose star they have seen rise while they were far off in the East. Matthew, that most Jewish of the four Gospels, uses them to represent the universal importance of God’s Messiah. He sees the inclusion of the gentiles as mysterious, fraught with danger. The Greek word Magoi (Latin: Magi) almost always carries a baggage of Mystery and the Occult; it is where our word “magic” comes from, and probably is best translated as "wizards." The magi’s appearance in Jerusalem tips off Herod of possible political competition, and the Massacre of the Innocents is the result.

Read in the context of the other readings in today’s lectionary, the story focuses on the Magi as religious pilgrims, strangers in a strange land not just bearing gifts, but seeking the greatest treasure of God. These texts tell what pilgrimage is about.

We recited today Psalm 84—a psalm of ascent—a liturgical chant to be sung by pilgrims as they struggle up the grueling hills in the steep Judean countryside to Mount Zion in Jerusalem, where they can worship in the Temple. It tells the right motive for going on pilgrimage: “How dear to me is the place where you dwell, of Yahweh of armies. My very being desires and yearns for Yahweh’s courts. My heart and my flesh rejoice in the God who lives!”

A pilgrimage is not tourism with a religious slant. It is a quest to find God, to find forgiveness, confidence, and oneness. We must leave where we are to set aside our normal lives, including habits of spiritual torpor and sloth. The place we seek is where the veil between us and the spirit world is thinner, a place that demands that we remove our shoes, a place where a bush will burn and yet not be consumed.

The trip is arduous, but worth it. Again, Psalm 84: “Happy are those … whose hearts are set on the pilgrims' way. Though they go through the desert valley they will find it full of springs.” A real pilgrimage is never easy. It will have desert valleys and rough spots. Having a heart set on the pilgrim’s way—remembering the yearning that moved you to set forth, and recalling the holy place you hope to go—means that the trip will be not only endurable, but at times sweet.

There are other ways to express this idea. A popular struggle song during the civil rights movement was “keep your eyes on the prize, hold on, hold on.” In today’s Epistle, Saint Paul prays for a “spirit of wisdom and revelation” allowing us to know God, and keep the “eyes of [our] heart enlightened, that [we] may know the hope to which God” calls us.
The pilgrim journey to God is like the return from annihilation and exile described in today’s Old Testament lesson: “ With weeping they shall come, But with consolations I will lead them back, I will let them walk by brooks of water, in a straight path in which they shall not fall down.”

The fact is, though, that our journey in faith is often not a straight, direct path. Pilgrimage often appears to be a labyrinth, with turnings and twistings. That’s what the pillar of fire and cloud in the exodus story suggests. Wandering in the wilderness, we must not lose sight of the destination, must not become discouraged. Here, we should remember that there are two different kinds of nearness: what C.S. Lewis calls nearness of proximity and nearness of approach.

A hiker in the mountains comes out onto a ledge and sees, there beneath her, the small town where she wants to spend the night. It is only about 500 meters away—straight down. To get there, she must continue on the path, with its switchbacks and gradual descent. At moments, she must actually go farther and farther away from her goal—800 meters, 1400 meters as the crow flies—before the switchback turns. But all the time, she is actually getting closer to her evening resting spot.

The travel with its challenges and its twists and turns will itself change the pilgrims as they follow the path. As they near the goal, their perception of it will change because they have been changed. If this doesn’t happen, it means that something is wrong.

The Magi in today’s Gospel arrive at their intended destination—Jerusalem—only to find out that things are not as they imagined. The king whose star they follow is not on the throne or even a baby at court. They ask for directions from the local tyrant who is on the throne, citing the passages that brought them—probably Isaiah 60’s description of the great light to shine in Jerusalem, and Numbers 22’s description of the great star that would rise from Judah.

Herod asks his scholars where exactly these passages predict the birth will occur. They reply that the passages are silent on this. He demands, "Well, do you have a better text?" They answer with hesitation by citing Micah 5:2-4: “But you, O Bethlehem of Ephrathah . . . from you shall come forth for me one who is to rule in Israel, whose origin is from of old . . . he shall shepherd Israel.” The Magi thus discover that they are nine miles off track. It is Bethlehem, village of shepherds and the poor, rather than Jerusalem, city of the rich and powerful, where they are actually headed. But despite the change in understanding and reorientation, not only in destination but of the nature of the king they are seeking, their hearts remain set on the pilgrim’s way. They keep their eyes on the prize, and continue on.


Joan Puls describes the encounter with the strange this way: “We live limited lives until we 'cross over' into the concrete world of another country, another culture, another tradition ... I have left forever a small world to live with the tensions and the tender mercies of God's larger family.”

My teacher’s question still echoes, “I am on my Journey to the West. But are you? Do you want to go on a journey into strange places far from home, risking all, to gain the treasure of truth?”

As we prepare for the new calendar year, I pray that all of us will take time to think of what we need to do to re-energize our spiritual life: new or renewed disciplines of prayer, meditation—perhaps walking the labyrinth or even going on a real pilgrimage; perhaps more study, service, or more vigorous efforts at performing the corporeal acts of mercy—visiting the sick, feeding and clothing the poor, defending the oppressed. This is not so that we can earn something from God, but rather that we better learn how to accept his grace. May our hearts be set on the pilgrim’s way.

In the Name of God, Amen