Take Joy
Homily
delivered the Third Sunday of Advent (Advent 3B RCL)
The Rev. Fr. Tony Hutchinson, SCP, Ph.D.
The Rev. Fr. Tony Hutchinson, SCP, Ph.D.
14
December 2014; 8:00 a.m. Said and 10:00 a.m. Sung Eucharist
Parish
Church of Trinity, Ashland (Oregon)
Readings:
Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11; Psalm 126 ; 1 Thessalonians 5:16-24; John 1:6-8, 19-28
Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11; Psalm 126 ; 1 Thessalonians 5:16-24; John 1:6-8, 19-28
God,
give us hearts to feel and love,
take away our hearts of stone and give us hearts of flesh. Amen.
It is good to be back in Ashland. Our adventure in Australia, Indonesia, and China--as exciting and resting as it was--wore both me and Elena out and it is good to be home, with you, with those we love.
It's been a challenging week: news in the parish of fresh falls of those we love, terrible diagnoses of illness, our annual liturgy for the bereaved before the holidays with its bittersweet mixed emotions.
And on the broader scale, we saw continuing turmoil in our nation on race and violence by and against police, and the long awaited release of the horrific details of systematic and intentional torture and abuse committed by officials of our government.
I have been shocked that this release has not provoked a wide public discussion on how we might make amends, and bring to justice those few policy makers who so profoundly violated our nation's values, its laws, and those of the entire international community. Instead, there has been partisan bickering on whether the report should have been released, whether amnesty should be granted to those involved, or, believe it or not, on whether torture is ever justified. Let there be no mistake: torture and abuse are deep evils, and are wrong. They violate the norms of all civilized society, and offend the divine principle that we should treat others as we would ourselves be treated. Anyone who would argue for cases where they might be excused, or make legal cases for them, or outline policy arguments for them as instruments of state security have lost their way in a profound sense. Such people need our prayer.
I was saddened to hear from one friend the bitter observation, "Of course, how can you not expect lies and moral confusion in a nation with a myth of divinely ordained exceptional destiny but which found its space through the genocide of the First Nations living here before and built its economy for 2 centuries on the blood and sweat of chattel slaves?" I love our country, and believe our values and hopes should indeed make us a sign of hope for the world. So when we fail so miserably, it hurts.
Overcoming oppression, comforting grief, righting wrongs, setting captives free, forgiving debts--these are all what today's readings from Isaiah and the Psalms is about: Hope amid the things that make us want to lose hope.
Some think it is a question of having a positive mental attitude. When I was in the foreign service, I saw many people who would have been happy as clams no matter where they were stationed--they took their happiness with them, and remained so whether they were posted in Paris, or Ouagadougou. And there were those who took their unhappiness with them, no matter where they landed.
But it isn't that simple. There are truly horrible things that deserve our sorrow, our grief, and our anger. And there are some things that happen that are so magical and unexpected that they just demand joy. The point of the scriptures today is that joy comes from God.
Today is the third Sunday of Advent, Gaudete or "Rejoice" Sunday. That's why the chasuble I'm wearing and the candle of the Advent Wreath today are pink.
Why talk of joy in the middle of a season about coming judgment?
It is easy to confuse the issue and turn it into a question of us and them, of party, or race or class: judgment is coming and it'll be bad for the wicked but great for us!
But that isn't right. How should we understand "judgment" in the first place? Hasn't it ever struck you that the book of "Judges" in the Hebrew Scriptures isn't about courts of law, but rather about popular heroes and heroines who set things right for the oppressed? That's the essential idea of judgment in the Bible: judgment day is a day of setting things right. It is only if you have a vindictive streak, a fixation on the idea that things can only be set right through punishment, through vengeance, through retaliation, that the Day of Judgment becomes synonymous with the Day of Doom or the Day of Wrath.
Note the images used here to describe the day of Joy: good news to the oppressed, binding up broken hearts, liberty to captives, release to prisoners, the year of Jubilee, when all debt is forgiven, and if a day of vengeance, only so that all those who mourn can be comforted. God will recompense wrongdoing, but it will be like the natural world: the earth brings forth its shoot, a garden sprouts its sown seeds--that's how God will do it! Those who have sown in tears will reap with joy. The psalmist says, "Restore our fortunes, Lord." Make them like the dry gulley beds throughout the desert south of Judah, the Negev. A wadi is bone dry and lifeless most of the year, and then for a few short weeks in the spring, is alive with way too much water after the rains.
Again, it's way too easy to reduce this to partisanship, to us and them: we are the victims, the oppressed, so the Day of Judgment will free us and punish our enemies! But in other peoples' minds, we are the oppressors. I wonder if there is anyone on earth who hasn't done things that merit a grudge of some sort or another from someone else. Things are just too complicated, and justifications and rationalizations too convenient!
It might be as simple as whether we show compassion and service to others: that is the point of the parable of the sheep and the goats we read just a few weeks ago.
Perhaps also it is whether our hearts are in the right place, where our hopes lie, where we find our joy.
Oscar Wilde once wrote, "We are all in the gutter, but some of us have our eyes fixed on the stars."
If our eyes are fixed on the stars, we cannot lose our bearing in the shadows about us. Having a clear hope and vision of joy, grounds us and keeps us oriented. In her wonderful novel Animal Dreams, Barbara Kingsolver writes, "The very least you can do in your life is figure out what you hope for. And the most you can do is live inside that hope. Not admire it from a distance but live right in it, under its roof."
It is not a question of understanding how everything fits in, or where things are going. It is simply a question of having that hope and vision give us the wherewithal to be present in our lives, our real lives, with all their ambiguities and fears. Thomas Merton, the great contemplative who died 42 years ago this week, writes, "You do not need to know precisely what is happening, or exactly where it is all going. What you need is to recognize the possibilities and challenges offered by the present moment, and to embrace them with courage, faith and hope."
This is the openness of heart and clarity of vision discussed by the 2 Thessalonians passage: giving thanks always and remaining open to the critical vision of prophets in our midst who tell us uncomfortable truth.
Hope comes, like the Muse, unbidden. Joy comes in the morning. God acts. We recognize it and feel it when we are thus thankful and open. For this we must be present, alive, and honest.
On Christmas Eve in 1513, at the height of the Italian Renaissance and just before the contradictions of that society produced the turmoil of the Protestant Reformation, an Italian Humanist (possibly the Franciscan friar, architect, and classical scholar Fra Giovanni Giocondo) wrote the following letter to a colleague:
"I salute you. I am your friend and my love for you goes deep. There is nothing I can give you which you have not got. But there is much, very much, that while I cannot give it, you can take. No heaven can come to us unless our hearts find rest in today. Take heaven! No peace lies in the future which is not hidden in this present little instance. Take peace! The gloom of the world is but a shadow. Behind it, yet within our reach, is joy. Take joy! Life is so full of meaning and purpose, so full of beauty . . . that you will find earth but cloaks your heaven. Courage then to claim it, that is all! . . . And so I greet you, with profound esteem and with the prayer that for you, now and forever, the day breaks and the shadows flee away."
Advent is a time of awakening. It should be for us like a hot cup of coffee in the sleepy morning, a brisk shower as we try to shake of the stupor of the night. Part of that awakening must be an honest discomfort with what just isn't right in the world, in us. Part of it is feeling the grief, sorrow, regret, and fear that comes with being a spirit living in the material world. But the awakening cannot come without a recognition that all things will be well with the world, and all manner of thing well. Because God is love, and judgment is setting things right, not evening scores.
The day breaks, and the shadows flee away.
Thanks be to God.
take away our hearts of stone and give us hearts of flesh. Amen.
It is good to be back in Ashland. Our adventure in Australia, Indonesia, and China--as exciting and resting as it was--wore both me and Elena out and it is good to be home, with you, with those we love.
It's been a challenging week: news in the parish of fresh falls of those we love, terrible diagnoses of illness, our annual liturgy for the bereaved before the holidays with its bittersweet mixed emotions.
And on the broader scale, we saw continuing turmoil in our nation on race and violence by and against police, and the long awaited release of the horrific details of systematic and intentional torture and abuse committed by officials of our government.
I have been shocked that this release has not provoked a wide public discussion on how we might make amends, and bring to justice those few policy makers who so profoundly violated our nation's values, its laws, and those of the entire international community. Instead, there has been partisan bickering on whether the report should have been released, whether amnesty should be granted to those involved, or, believe it or not, on whether torture is ever justified. Let there be no mistake: torture and abuse are deep evils, and are wrong. They violate the norms of all civilized society, and offend the divine principle that we should treat others as we would ourselves be treated. Anyone who would argue for cases where they might be excused, or make legal cases for them, or outline policy arguments for them as instruments of state security have lost their way in a profound sense. Such people need our prayer.
I was saddened to hear from one friend the bitter observation, "Of course, how can you not expect lies and moral confusion in a nation with a myth of divinely ordained exceptional destiny but which found its space through the genocide of the First Nations living here before and built its economy for 2 centuries on the blood and sweat of chattel slaves?" I love our country, and believe our values and hopes should indeed make us a sign of hope for the world. So when we fail so miserably, it hurts.
Overcoming oppression, comforting grief, righting wrongs, setting captives free, forgiving debts--these are all what today's readings from Isaiah and the Psalms is about: Hope amid the things that make us want to lose hope.
Some think it is a question of having a positive mental attitude. When I was in the foreign service, I saw many people who would have been happy as clams no matter where they were stationed--they took their happiness with them, and remained so whether they were posted in Paris, or Ouagadougou. And there were those who took their unhappiness with them, no matter where they landed.
But it isn't that simple. There are truly horrible things that deserve our sorrow, our grief, and our anger. And there are some things that happen that are so magical and unexpected that they just demand joy. The point of the scriptures today is that joy comes from God.
Today is the third Sunday of Advent, Gaudete or "Rejoice" Sunday. That's why the chasuble I'm wearing and the candle of the Advent Wreath today are pink.
Why talk of joy in the middle of a season about coming judgment?
It is easy to confuse the issue and turn it into a question of us and them, of party, or race or class: judgment is coming and it'll be bad for the wicked but great for us!
But that isn't right. How should we understand "judgment" in the first place? Hasn't it ever struck you that the book of "Judges" in the Hebrew Scriptures isn't about courts of law, but rather about popular heroes and heroines who set things right for the oppressed? That's the essential idea of judgment in the Bible: judgment day is a day of setting things right. It is only if you have a vindictive streak, a fixation on the idea that things can only be set right through punishment, through vengeance, through retaliation, that the Day of Judgment becomes synonymous with the Day of Doom or the Day of Wrath.
Note the images used here to describe the day of Joy: good news to the oppressed, binding up broken hearts, liberty to captives, release to prisoners, the year of Jubilee, when all debt is forgiven, and if a day of vengeance, only so that all those who mourn can be comforted. God will recompense wrongdoing, but it will be like the natural world: the earth brings forth its shoot, a garden sprouts its sown seeds--that's how God will do it! Those who have sown in tears will reap with joy. The psalmist says, "Restore our fortunes, Lord." Make them like the dry gulley beds throughout the desert south of Judah, the Negev. A wadi is bone dry and lifeless most of the year, and then for a few short weeks in the spring, is alive with way too much water after the rains.
Again, it's way too easy to reduce this to partisanship, to us and them: we are the victims, the oppressed, so the Day of Judgment will free us and punish our enemies! But in other peoples' minds, we are the oppressors. I wonder if there is anyone on earth who hasn't done things that merit a grudge of some sort or another from someone else. Things are just too complicated, and justifications and rationalizations too convenient!
It might be as simple as whether we show compassion and service to others: that is the point of the parable of the sheep and the goats we read just a few weeks ago.
Perhaps also it is whether our hearts are in the right place, where our hopes lie, where we find our joy.
Oscar Wilde once wrote, "We are all in the gutter, but some of us have our eyes fixed on the stars."
If our eyes are fixed on the stars, we cannot lose our bearing in the shadows about us. Having a clear hope and vision of joy, grounds us and keeps us oriented. In her wonderful novel Animal Dreams, Barbara Kingsolver writes, "The very least you can do in your life is figure out what you hope for. And the most you can do is live inside that hope. Not admire it from a distance but live right in it, under its roof."
It is not a question of understanding how everything fits in, or where things are going. It is simply a question of having that hope and vision give us the wherewithal to be present in our lives, our real lives, with all their ambiguities and fears. Thomas Merton, the great contemplative who died 42 years ago this week, writes, "You do not need to know precisely what is happening, or exactly where it is all going. What you need is to recognize the possibilities and challenges offered by the present moment, and to embrace them with courage, faith and hope."
This is the openness of heart and clarity of vision discussed by the 2 Thessalonians passage: giving thanks always and remaining open to the critical vision of prophets in our midst who tell us uncomfortable truth.
Hope comes, like the Muse, unbidden. Joy comes in the morning. God acts. We recognize it and feel it when we are thus thankful and open. For this we must be present, alive, and honest.
On Christmas Eve in 1513, at the height of the Italian Renaissance and just before the contradictions of that society produced the turmoil of the Protestant Reformation, an Italian Humanist (possibly the Franciscan friar, architect, and classical scholar Fra Giovanni Giocondo) wrote the following letter to a colleague:
"I salute you. I am your friend and my love for you goes deep. There is nothing I can give you which you have not got. But there is much, very much, that while I cannot give it, you can take. No heaven can come to us unless our hearts find rest in today. Take heaven! No peace lies in the future which is not hidden in this present little instance. Take peace! The gloom of the world is but a shadow. Behind it, yet within our reach, is joy. Take joy! Life is so full of meaning and purpose, so full of beauty . . . that you will find earth but cloaks your heaven. Courage then to claim it, that is all! . . . And so I greet you, with profound esteem and with the prayer that for you, now and forever, the day breaks and the shadows flee away."
Advent is a time of awakening. It should be for us like a hot cup of coffee in the sleepy morning, a brisk shower as we try to shake of the stupor of the night. Part of that awakening must be an honest discomfort with what just isn't right in the world, in us. Part of it is feeling the grief, sorrow, regret, and fear that comes with being a spirit living in the material world. But the awakening cannot come without a recognition that all things will be well with the world, and all manner of thing well. Because God is love, and judgment is setting things right, not evening scores.
The day breaks, and the shadows flee away.
Thanks be to God.
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