Christmas Eve - Skip Windsor

Luke 2:1-20

The Roman Soldier

My sermon this year is dedicated to our troops in thanksgiving for those service men and women returning home from Iraq this holiday season and to remember those still serving in Afghanistan and in far away lands. This Christmas sermon is called “The Roman Soldier.”

“My name used to be Marcus Regulus a centurion in Rome’s 10th Legion. Some of us are preparing to leave this foreign land after nine years of service. The men are tired and battle wearied. The insurrections in Jerusalem have taken their toll. They all want to go home – except me.

There is uneasiness in my heart ever since we crucified the man they call Jesus a fortnight ago. There was something strange and terrifying that day. Rarely do the condemned speak from the cross; but Jesus did. When he said, “Father, forgive them for they do not know what they do,” it was like an arrow pierced me. It was as if he was speaking to me. I was frightened. He seemed to know me better than I knew myself.

Never before have I weakened against an enemy with axe or sword. I gave commands and I took commands. But here in the shadow of the cross, I knelt down and began to tremble in front of this naked vulnerable man. Then I just blurted it out. It came from some place deep in me when I said, “This is the Son of God!”

Some wall within me crumbled. All that I knew of the world – power, riches, fame and fortune – turned to ashes. The man on the cross who I now believed was the Messiah altered whatever illusions I had about my life, whatever myths I believed about life. This understanding did not come at once. It was when I heard him speak earlier to an older woman and young man at the foot of the cross, “Woman, behold your son.” I recognized the woman from somewhere in my past.

She was older now. Her hair was streaked with gray and she was fuller and rounder; and her face was a cascade of tears. “I know this woman!” I thought to myself. As I beheld how she looked at Jesus as only a mother can, I remembered. I remembered a night a long time ago when in my youth I was witness to a great star over my childhood home of Bethlehem.

Few know that I am from Bethlehem. The Romans believe I am from Britannia but I was born in Bethlehem. My parents died after I was born and so I was raised with my mother’s family who were shepherds. My given name then was Mark and I was filled with an eleven year old’s sense of wonder and curiosity.

One clear cold night while watching my uncle’s sheep with my cousin Jacob, we noticed a strange movement in the sky. The stars quickened and began to twist and turn like a wheel on a cart. I know you may not believe this but a large group of stars began to fuse together to form one great bright shining star.

There came with the spinning star a humming sound like bees in summer. There were voices singing and the word BEHOLD filled my head and other words, I BRING YOU GOOD NEWS resounded and echoed in me and around me. Suddenly there was a line of light – more like a bridge of light – coming from the great star down into Bethlehem.

Curiosity got the best of us. Jacob and I forgot our flock of sheep and followed the light into the town. There was an inn that seemed to be at the light’s end so I knocked on the door to see if anyone knew what was happening. A frightened voice growled back, “It’s late. There are no rooms left!” Jacob tugged at my tunic and pointed to the back of the inn where the light ended at a stable. We heard animal noises – cattle, sheep, and horses, even a donkey.

Coming closer to the stable we could hear the humming again. It was as if people, scores of people were singing. And there in the center of everything was the baby cradled in the arms of his mother. It was her face. It was this woman who I would see thirty years later at the foot of the cross.

Then she was younger, thinner, paler, but held the same dignity, the same, if I may say it, majesty. All I could do at that moment was kneel. Jacob did too. And we beheld the child as the humming voices continued to singing, “GLORY TO GOD IN THE HIGHEST AND PEACE TO HIS PEOPLE ON EARTH.”

How long we remained in the stable I cannot say. At first light we left as the father of the baby beckoned the mother that they must soon be on their way. It was not long after that King Herod issued a terrible order to find the first born of each family.

I did not know what it all meant; but when Herod’s storm troopers took my uncle away for questioning and beat up my cousin Jacob, I fled. I ran as far away from Bethlehem as I could. I was a coward and it would take the rest of my life to prove that I wasn’t.

I joined a caravan that brought me to the port town of Caesarea. There, I stowed away on a merchant ship bound for Britannica. While on board I was caught stealing food from the table of a tin merchant named Joseph who was from the Judean town of Arithmathea. He was a kindly man, who took pity on me and forgave me. Giving me to food to eat, Joseph allowed me to work as his servant for the rest of the voyage

In Britannica, Joseph introduced me to his trading partner, Arrius Regulus, who eventually took me in and raised me among his own children. My name was changed from Mark to the more Roman name of Marcus Regulus. In the Regulus household I learned about the glory of Rome and how it ruled the world. As I matured I forgot my past and looked forward to a life as a Roman citizen of this powerful Empire.

Still hungry for adventure and wanting to prove that I was not a coward I bid farewell to the Regulus family and when of age joined Rome’s famous 9th Legion. Over the next thirty years I proved a trusted and fearless warrior and rose easily through the ranks until I was promoted to centurion in charge of 100 Roman soldiers. There came a call for experienced centurions in Judea. Quick advancement was promised and I was more than glad to prove myself. Without hesitation, I joined the 10th Legion of Rome garrisoned in Jerusalem. There, I was promoted to primus, the first among equals.

Over the months I’ve been stationed in Jerusalem I heard stories of a promised messiah who came in the guise of a teacher from Nazareth who was doing deeds of power and teaching about another kingdom, a kingdom not of Rome but a Kingdom of God. The teacher spoke of the coming reign of God where all would be citizens of another kingdom whether they be slave or free, Jew or Gentile, male or female.

This kingdom, he preached about, would be one where the lion and the lamb would lie down together, where spears would be turned into pruning hooks. News of the carpenter’s son spread far and wide so that people from all over Judea followed him. That is when the authorities became frightened and thought he would start another insurrection; and so they arrested the teacher and sentenced him to death.

I do not like executions and leave that to more junior soldiers. But, I was asked by my superiors to have my men cover the perimeter of the hill called Golgotha. I thought it would be another routine punishment. But, listening to Jesus’ words of forgiveness and seeing his mother again, I realized that I was a witness at both his birth and his death. I kneeled for the second time in my life again near the mother and the son. By giving his life, he gave me my life. Now I know, it is not his death that lives within me now. It is his birth in Bethlehem.

At Jesus’ birth my name was Mark, a shepherd boy, filled with wonder and adventure. Here now in this place of unspeakable sorrow, I remembered the star, the humming and the singing, and I realized that I am more Mark now than I am Marcus. I remembered who I am and whose I was. Jesus’ birth changed everything. What was inside the stable was bigger than our whole world.

It is all so clear to me now. I believe a sure as I stand here that the Bethlehem we seek is around us and within us. The gift at Bethlehem is that the manger lies in every human heart.

Jesus is born again and again every time we give ourselves in compassion and mercy to others just as God gives us a life to live through his Son.

My troops are pulling out of Jerusalem now and heading west to Caesarea. I go north to Galilee. There are reports that Jesus did not die but rose from the dead and that he is alive appearing to his disciples in Galilee.

I must go and find him for he is my peace. And when I find him I will praise him for his goodness and mercy.

Go tell it on the mountain, over the fields and through the plain that one of God’s lost sheep returns to his fold all because of the child who became a king.”

Bless His Holy Name,

MARK of Bethlehem

Advent III - Skip Windsor

Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11

A Place to Stand

Time magazine recently asked several famous and well-known people to submit nominations for 2011’s Person of the Year. One of those asked was Jennifer Egan author of the Pulitzer Prize winning novel, A Visit from the Goon Squad. She replied,

“I’ve been torn two ways and unable to choose between Occupy Wall Street and the democracy movements of the Middle East. So maybe the answer is even a broader idea: the year of the protest, fueled by individuals willing to risk personal safety to reject a status quo that is patently, brutally unfair. The final outcomes are in no way clear, but the fact that they’re happening in places as disparate as Wall Street and Libya is a defining moment in our history.”

As we close another year it is appropriate to look back on 2011 and remember those past global events that gave rise to the Arab Spring starting with a slap in the face of a pushcart vendor by a city official in Tunisia, the uprisings in Cairo’s Tahir Square, the fall of Libya’s long time dictator Gaddafi, to the Occupy Wall Street movement that stretched from Oakland to London. What they all have in common was the recognition by a large number of people, particularly by young people, who sought to have their voices heard and to have their dreams expressed. Perhaps, as Egan says what has occurred this past year may be a defining moment in our history.

I know for me that walking among the men and women at Occupy London this past October was a revelation. At one level, it seemed like something out of the 60’s when I went to protests partially out of curiosity and part out of being part of something bigger than myself. At another level, it was about sensing some societal tectonic plates shifting under my feet. Not sure what it all meant but I was positive that something powerful was moving beneath my feet or that the answer was blowing in the wind as the singing trio, Peter, Paul and Mary, would say.

From what I have heard from others about the Occupy Boston encampment there is a sense of the same kind of message about jobs and economic justice, for accountability and transparency, and for democracy and equal opportunity. The criticisms of the occupation both here and everywhere these past two months are justified and well stated about security, health, property rights, and infringement on others. Mayor Menino of Boston orchestrated Friday night’s police evacuation of Occupy Boston with reasonableness, thoughtfulness, and patience. Unlike other cities, the police of Boston and the occupiers of Boston both handled a situation that could have had disastrous consequences.

The Mayor is to have said, “I’ve met a lot of these guys, and they are sincere. But in this sabbatical they’re about to have, I hope they come up with a strong leader and a strong agenda.” As I have reflected upon Friday night’s closing down of Occupy Boston I become more intrigued with the Mayor’s use of the word sabbatical. It is essentially a religious word meaning Sabbath or day of rest and is one of the Ten Commandments for keeping a Sabbath day holy. I wonder if the Mayor and the police had that in mind as they observed the remaining crowd disperse into the darkness early Saturday morning.

The occupiers are now on sabbatical according to the Mayor. Dewey Square is clear and cordoned off for a month. Like any of us who take sabbaticals they will take time off, reflect upon their experience, recharge their batteries, and look forward to returning to their work and witness. In a sense, it is appropriate that the OWS has time to reflect, plan and anticipate what happens next. For Advent is the precise time to reflect and prepare for what is coming next.

In our Hebrew lesson this morning the prophet Isaiah speaks about a sabbatical being the time of the Lord’s favor referencing Israel’s understanding of Jubilee when slaves were freed, debts cancelled and land redistributed. The year of Jubilee was the seventh – sabbatical - year to free those in bondage, those who were brokenhearted, and those who were oppressed. This coming of a sabbatical was rooted in their sacred texts:

“Remember you were a slave in Egypt and the Lord your God redeemed you: for this reason I lay my hand upon you” (Deut. 15:12-18). The coming of a sabbatical and the year of Jubilee commenced a time of God’s favor when human misfortune was reversed and a new beginning was proclaimed and realized.

The season of Advent for Christians is to prepare us for that time of Jubilee when God in Christ appears to redress injustice and inequity and to bring forth God’s reign of peace and dignity for all people. The discipline of Advent is to remember that God’s ways are not our ways and that God’s future will be very different from the present time.

I believe you and I are given an opportunity this Advent to reflect upon this year of protests and what it might mean for the world and for the Christian Church. At issue is not only addressing the major economic and political concerns of our generation, it is also about mending broken relationships and the breakdown of community into categories of them and us. The polarities between nations, the polarities between political parties, the polarity between the churches is the gathering darkness that must be faced and fought.

It seems to me that in the bleakness of such discord God comes among us to do something new and unexpected. I believe that the protesters of the Arab Spring and the OWS movement are telling us something that you and I need to pay attention to especially when it has to do with democracy, freedom, and justice.

And although I do not know or spent time with the Occupy Boston people others I know have; and it seems to me that when groups of people leave behind everything for a dream there is more at stake than ideology.

One person who was skeptical at first of OWS is the Episcopal priest and writer, Donna Schaper, whose church is in lower Manhattan near Zucotti Park, which is where the occupiers were encamped.

She writes in her blog that as a group of Episcopal clergy met with about a dozen occupiers she noticed “as they edged towards the theological they articulated a need for communal, inspirational, face-to-face contact in which they could ‘appear’ to one another.”

She concludes her blog by writing, “In the end, the occupiers’ argument for physical space is that they bother people by being together. ‘We are driving the mayors crazy they said.” Then Schaper writes, “Ah. What a good thing for a movement to do.”

When I walked among the women and men, boys and girls of Occupy London, the last week in October, I saw both the old and the young, rich and poor, homeless and propertied, British and foreign. All were welcomed. We were offered food to eat. Next to the tents the doors of St. Paul’s Cathedral were closed to the public. One door opened and one door closed. I thought to myself, “Right now, for the moment, I belong here among people I have never met before and will never see again more than over in that historic church.”

And as I stood there with my wife among a motley mix of people I realized how important it is that we are able to appear to one another in our common humanity. We not only need one another but we need a place to stand with one another. I think this is what this year of protest is all about. It is for people to have a place to stand.

Turning away from St. Paul’s I saw a group of men squatting on makeshift stools talking outside of one of tents. They could have been anywhere and everywhere from Tahir Square to Dewey Square. And as I looked at them and then beyond them to the vast and various multicolored tents and heard a cacophony of voices, all I could think about was the famous quote by John Donne, the famous Dean of St. Paul’s Cathedral, London, centuries ago:

“No one is an island entire to itself; everyone is a piece of the continent a part of the main… anyone’s death diminishes me, because I am involved with all; therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.”

Advent II - Myra Anderson

Come, Lord Jesus, quickly come.

Good Morning. This Second Sunday in Advent, in the 2011th year of our Lord, I have a confession to make:

I am not a good housekeeper.

My house isn’t dirty, it’s just messy. I admit it.

It is exactly one year’s worth of accumulated detritus.

Why one year? Because this is the time of year that I go on a mad frenzy to discard copious amounts of stuff and put everything back in order. My rule is, I must de-clutter before I can decorate for Christmas. Few things give me greater joy than preparing my home for the Christmas season. The reward for my efforts is great indeed.

In today’s Gospel, I’m fairly certain John the Baptist in his locust-infested hair shirt didn’t have 21st century housekeeping in mind.

The Gospel of Mark begins with a promising statement:

“The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.”

Good news! Who couldn’t use some Good News these days?

But wait, there’s a pre-amble. Mark takes us back to the prophet Isaiah:

“See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you, who will prepare your way; the voice of one crying out in the wilderness:

‘Prepare the way of the Lord, MAKE HIS PATHS STRAIGHT.’”

In other words: we have the promise of the Good News, but we have some work to do first.

We often think of the Season of Advent as one of patient anticipation. We encourage each other to find quiet moments in the chaos, to reflect on the wonder of the season, blah, blah…

Today’s Gospel and Epistle are anything but quiet. There is a sense of urgency. Mark, via John the Baptist, calls us to action, and Peter in his epistle tells us the day of the Lord will come like a thief. God is patient with us, but he’s still coming.

John the Baptist, as God’s advance man, is calling on God’s people to repent of their sins, and baptizing them in water to wash those sins away.

Repentance: THAT is our task for Advent. Clean your house. And not just once a year, unfortunately for some of us. Peter tells the early Christians they are to strive to lead lives of “holiness and godliness, waiting for and hastening the coming of the day of God.” We have a role in bringing that day about, God expects us to get busy.

We revisit this story every year at Advent. So this is an on-going ritual, this practice of repentance. Our baptisms years ago didn’t cleanse us once and for all. Life intervenes, and often. Every day stresses or extraordinary events tend to pull us away from God.

And repentance is not about guilt, or at least, it’s more than that. The original Greek word is “metanoias” – meaning a change of mind or direction. It’s not just ritual confession and absolution every week. Mark and Peter are telling us that we have to change our behavior, change our way of thinking, change the world around us, if we are to make the Lord’s path straight and usher in His Kingdom.

As Christians we often look at our lives as a journey, one we take together to help each other find the way. We can look at this call to repentance as a sort of mid-course correction. And we will have many along the way.

It brings to mind the GPS system in my car. Let’s call her Siri. When you put in your destination, Siri finds the best way for you to reach your goal (in theory – let’s just go with it for now). But let’s be honest: if it’s a long trip, things are likely to go awry. You’re going to run into road blocks, traffic jams, and if you’re a man, you’re going to be sure you know a short cut.

So you deviate. And what does Siri do, in that slightly seductive voice that’s meant to be comforting, but is actually annoying?

“Recalculating…”

And have you ever noticed, she doesn’t always set a new route. She often leads you back to the original path. “Turn right, turn right, turn right…” and lo and behold, you’re on the highway again. Or she finds another route to get you to your destination, if you’ve strayed too far.

But ultimately, it’s about reaching your destination.

And our journey is ultimately about ushering in the Kingdom of God. That’s our destination as Christians.

John the Baptist tells us about Jesus, “I have baptized you with water; but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.” We celebrate the baby on the 25th of this month, we commemorate the beginning, but it’s really about the end. It’s the baptism by the fire of the Holy Spirit that prepares us for what Peter calls the “new heavens and a new earth, where righteousness is at home.”

We know from Mark’s opening proclamation something really good is happening. Peter’s epistle tells us to wait with penitence and hope. It’s not too late he says. God’s grace is there for all who seek it and accept it.

Good news already, I’d say.

May we all take this season to examine fully the course of our lives, and to seek those mid-course corrections that allow us to receive the fire of the Holy Spirit, reach out to the world around us, and make straight the path of our Lord.

Come, Lord Jesus, quickly come.

Last Sunday after Pentecost (Christ the King) - Skip Windsor

Matthew 25:40

The Face of Jesus 

Today, the Last Sunday in Pentecost, concludes the Christian church year. For the past year, we have followed the story of Jesus’ birth, life, death and resurrection according to the Gospel of Matthew. Through Matthew, we heard stories of how Jesus was born in a stable, baptized in the Jordan, tempted in the desert, preached the Sermon on the Mount, called the disciples, healed the sick, raised the dead, taught with parables, spoke truth to power, broke bread with his friends, prayed, suffered, died, rose from the dead, appeared to his followers, and ascended into heaven. Given all this information from the evangelist, do we really know any better now who Jesus is?

The desire to know Jesus continues to be a perennial quest. From the moment he died, succeeding generations have wanted to see the face of Jesus. Great artists like da Vinci have sought to paint his face at The Last Supper. The Shroud of Turin draws people to see the image of a face scored into the cloth that was supposedly wrapped around him at the resurrection. Modern scholars known as the Jesus Seminar continue on the search for the historical Jesus discerning with the newest biblical tools to understand who this man Jesus was.

Searching through the four Gospels and reading through the letters of Paul, one will not find a physical description of what Jesus looked like. The evangelists were more concerned about what Jesus did than what he looked like. St. Paul was more concerned with what his death and resurrection meant for him than did Jesus’ earthly life. The famous doctor, Albert Schweitzer wrote a book called The Quest for the Historical Jesus that details the history of the quest for the historical Jesus. At the end of the book, Schweitzer essentially gives up and writes in his epilogue that to see the face of Christ is to essentially look into a well and see reflected off the water the Jesus you want to see.

Some biblical scholars see this conclusion as the funeral oration of the quest for Jesus. According, to our Gospel lesson for today, I believe, it is the beginning not the ending of the quest for Jesus.

We conclude our readings from the Gospel of Matthew today. We move to Mark’s gospel next week as we begin a new lectionary reading cycle. It is noteworthy that Matthew 25 ends this Christian Church year because it not only sums up Jesus’ ministry and mission, it also tells us about who Jesus is and where to find him. “I was hungry and you gave me food… I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink… I was a stranger and you welcomed me… I was naked and you clothed me… I was sick and you took care of me… I was in prison and you visited me…” To look at verse 40, Jesus tells us what he looks like: “Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.”

An ideal picture of Jesus that epitomizes Matthew 25 is by Fritz Eichenberg of Jesus standing in a breadline with other hungry and cold men and women. We have a copy of the picture called “Christ of the Breadline” hanging on the wall in our upper parish hall. It was presented to our Shelter Cooking ministry by the Cathedral’s Monday Lunch program for our ongoing partnership in serving the homeless of Boston. Looking at the picture, we see Jesus identifying with the hungry that are standing in line waiting for something to eat. In Jesus’ time the least, and most blessed, were those who were poor, who were meek, and who hungered for righteousness. The hungry, the homeless, the poor, the thirsty, the imprisoned are among us today in places like the Cathedral on Mondays, at St. Francis House, in shelters, in nursing homes, in the tents of Occupy Boston, and in MCI Framingham.

The gospel reading is a moral mandate for us all. It is a theology of care that we are called to live and to proclaim. Theology is a fancy word that essentially means a faith that seeks understanding. To care includes loving one’s neighbor and God; and one’s neighbor extends to all people. It is a theology of radical inclusion. Jesus is crystal clear about this requirement for Christian living: There are to be no outcasts.

If we cannot act on our faith, if we cannot put our words into action, if we cannot make our lives matter for others, then we truly are the “goats on the left hand of God.” God is not going to judge us on the wealth we have amassed, the knowledge we have attained, or the fame we have acquired. God is going to judge us on what we have done for others.

To be a theologian (and you all are theologians!) of care requires, I believe, three things from you and me: To have a helping hand, to have a generous mind, and to have an open heart.

To have a helping hand is to help simply. Caring for others starts with you. Making sure that you are healthy in body, mind and spirit. If you are OK then you can help others be OK; and caring for others starts and ends with prayer; and in between prayer it can be as simple as cooking a meal, driving someone to a doctor’s appointment, bringing canned goods on the third Sunday of the month and placing them into our new shopping carts. Being a helping hand can move and grow in breadth and scope like pitching in at Circle of Hope, volunteering for prison ministry, anointing the sick in a hospital, or partnering with an inner city ministry like Ecclesia ministry. To live and minister simply, allows others to simply live. It is to be the helping hand of Jesus.

To have a generous mind is to do the right thing at the right time. A generous mind neither helps others without calculation nor anticipates merit. It is not about buying God’s favor to rack up points on a heavenly scoreboard. As St. Paul writes we are justified by faith and not by acts. Yet, if God so loves the world that God gave us a Son, and therefore a Life to live in Him, then our thankful response is to go and do likewise by loving our neighbors as ourselves. A generous mind does not draw attention to the messenger but points to the message that is embodied in Jesus Christ. As theologians of care, we are invited to a ministry of meekness that neither boasts nor draws attention to one’s self-but to the work of Jesus. It is to have the generous mind of Jesus.

To have an open heart is to know that God’s reign is characterized not by mighty deeds or works of power but acts of love, mercy and compassion especially to those in need.

Attentiveness of one’s own gifts and compassion for the needs and cries of others is to have an open heart. Frederick Buechner, the Christian writer, writes, “Compassion is sometimes that fatal capacity for feeling what it is like to live in somebody else’s skin. It is the knowledge that there can never really be any peace and joy for me until there is peace and joy for you, too.” This is to have the open heart of Jesus.

The words in the prayer book at baptism underscore the importance of becoming theologians of care when the priest or bishop says, “Give them an inquiring and discerning heart, the courage to will and persevere, a spirit to know and to love you, and the gift of joy and wonder in all your works.” Heart. Will. Spirit. Gifts. All are from God to equip us for the works of ministry. And people will know that we are Christians by our love.

Today is Pledge Sunday. It is our harvest day as we anticipate and celebrate later this week the holiday of Thanksgiving. We will gather together to ask the Lord’s blessing. We also ask the Lord’s blessing upon Christ Church. For it is the occasion to commit and pledge us to the work of Jesus’ ministry and mission in the world. When we pool our financial resources we can do so much more than we can do alone. The beauty of community is that together we can be the hand of Jesus, the mind of Jesus and the heart of Jesus. And by doing the work of Jesus together, we will find him anytime, any place, and in anyone.

I am reminded of the story about Dorothy Day a leader of the Catholic Worker organization. One day she was walking down the street in New York City with a companion and she approached a homeless person and began talking warmly with him as if he was an old acquaintance. Her companion asked her how she knew the person. Dorothy looked surprised and replied, “Didn’t you recognize him?”

“He was Jesus.”

Pentecost XVII - Skip Windsor

Invitation to Hope

Have you ever attended a dinner party wearing the wrong attire for the occasion? You may come wearing a black cocktail dress and other women are wearing slacks or blue jeans. Or you may come wearing a dinner jacket and tie and the men are wearing sports coats and no tie.

When you stick out from the crowd like that, there is a sense of stupidity, embarrassment, or even anger. “How could I have missed getting the word about the dress code?” would be something that I would say. Then the response might be either to leave or to take off the tie or to act naturally. But, at the end of the day, honestly, it does not make any difference what you wear to a dinner party. The only damage done is to one’s ego.

But what you are to wear to the heavenly banquet matters to God according to today’s Gospel from Matthew. In the Parable of the Feast, Jesus concludes his story of the king giving a feast for his son by throwing out a guest who was not properly dressed for the occasion.

Imagine the guest sitting there in the banquet hall with his cup of coffee and cinnamon bun balanced in his lap. He is not sure what to do except just to watch others help themselves to the food. Then suddenly the king walks in and mingles with the other guests. The man was unaware that the king is throwing a party for his son. The king comes over and makes small talk with the man sharing a father’s delight in his son. The man is silent and expresses no interest in the king or his son. So the king sends him away. He loses his chance to remain at the banquet because of his silence.

Although the parable of the king inviting guests to the dinner is a familiar one included in both the gospels of Matthew and Luke, the part about the misinformed guest who comes without a proper robe is unique only to Matthew.

To our modern sensibilities this action of seeing out the door the invitee seems hard hearted, inhospitable, and even cruel. After all, the guest was invited after so many others said no to the king’s invitation in the first place. It is hard to fathom that in God’s graciousness as manifested in Jesus Christ that our Lord would include such a scene in this parable. If tolerance and inclusiveness are hallmarks of our Christian faith then this parable flies in the face of all we profess and all we believe.

Perhaps, we have to view the story as just that: a story, a parable. The definition of a parable is that “it is a metaphor or simile, drawn from nature or the common life, arresting the hearer by its vividness or strangeness, and leaving the mind in sufficient doubt about its precise application to tease it into active thought.”

If you have been sufficiently teased into active thought by the strangeness of this parable then Jesus has done his job as a masterful teacher. As many of Jesus’ parables, he begins with the simile, “The kingdom of heaven is like…” And he begins today’s parable the same way.

God’s kingdom is different from the kingdom of the world Jesus says. Whatever is troubling you, you will be relieved. Whatever sorrow you face, you will be comforted. Whoever reviles you, you will be glad. For it will be according to Jesus the meek who will inherit the earth. And to those first hearers of Matthew’s Gospel this was music to their ears.

Those early Christians were a small band of women and men who found in Jesus someone who forgave them, loved them and promised them hope that all their tomorrow’s will be better than their today’s. And their “today” was filled with persecution and fear, isolation and banishment. Matthew’s hearers were Jewish-Christians who had left behind their old faith to follow a man who they believed was the promised Messiah foretold by Isaiah and the prophets. Like the early Israelites, Jesus was the new Moses bringing people out of slavery into the promised land of freedom and peace.

Like anyone who comes into a new religion or new denomination, they were not sure how to act. They had lived with the Law. They knew the Torah. They prayed like their ancestors. But they were unsure of how to be together in community. Assailed from all sides, jeered by pagans, and threatened by the Roman principalities and powers, these fledgling Christians needed all the hope and love they could get.

When Matthew the evangelist was writing his gospel in 75 AD, he is remembering what Jesus said and did about forty years before. A generation has passed and some have forgotten the Master’s words. Matthew helps them remember. “Remember the words of Jesus.” “Remember his parables.” “Remember the one about the feast and the guy who forgot to wear a robe to the banquet.” “Remember.” “Re-member.” “Reassemble for yourselves Jesus’ message of hope and new life in Him.”

Some rejected God’s call through Jesus Christ. Some still do. Many will be too busy. Many will be called but few will be chosen. That is the crux of the first part of today’s parable. But, the second part about the guest, and unique to Matthew, is that it is not enough just to show up, one must also be dressed for the occasion. The person without a garment is the one who answers the call but makes no effort to show by their behavior that they have truly responded.

The apostle, Paul, writes of the proper attire to wear to the feast in God’s kingdom: “As many of you as were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves in Christ” (Gal. 3.27); “As God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience” (Col. 3.12); “Put on the Lord Jesus Christ” (Rom. 13.4).

To come to the feast we are to wear the robes of righteousness. It is not enough to follow the Law, or to state you are a Christian. God invites us to put on Christ. We are to emulate his compassion in an unloving world. We are to imitate his forgiveness in an unforgiving world. We are to carry his light in the dark places. We are to live in his hope in a world of despair.

To put on Christ with the clothes of righteousness is to live everyday as Christ would want us to do and to do the things he would want us to do: to be grateful, to be forgiving, to teach and heal others, to speak the truth to power, to remember and care for the least, the last, the lost and the lonely. As John of Patmos writes in his letter of Revelation to the seven churches of Asia Minor, “Fine linen is the righteous deeds of the saints” (Rev. 19.8).

It is said that half of life is showing up. To some extent that is true especially about your coming regularly to church on Sundays. Thank you! Keep it up!

But, the Gospel today says that that is not good enough for Jesus. Presence is good. Participation is even better. He does not want just a part of us. He wants all of us just as he gave himself totally to us. It is not enough to be just present; rather, you and I are on the guest list to participate with Christ, in Christ, and through Christ in his continuing and enduring ministry of reconciliation and transformation in the world.

With so many characters in the Bible, we never hear more about the misanthropic guest at the feast. I would like to imagine that he finally saw the light and came out of the darkness with a clearer understanding of the king’s delight for his son. I would like to think he was more afraid that whatever ounce of hope he had had to enjoy the party or to have a chance for a better life would be lost if he spoke to the king. If he had now a second chance he would speak up to the king and enjoy his gracious hospitality.

The guest at the king’s feast reminds me of Middle Eastern story about a man named Harry who rode the train everyday to work. One day, as usual, the conductor asked Harry for his ticket. He fumbled around in pants pockets, his coat pockets, and in his briefcase.

Finally, the conductor said, “Harry, I am sure you have the ticket. Why don’t you look for it in your breast pocket? That is where most men keep it?”

“Oh no,” said Harry, “I can’t look there. Why if it wasn’t there, I would lose hope.”

Why if it wasn’t there, I would lose hope.

The invitation to hope was extended to the guest by the king at the feast. It was as near as his heart. Clothed in Christ, we are invited in faith to the feast of God. This invitation to hope is always present. It is always as near as our heart.

And now may all thanks and praise be given to God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

Pentecost XVI - Chris King

A Journey in Faith

I want to begin by extending my sincere gratitude to the community of Christ Church and Rev. Windsor for inviting me to share fellowship with you today. It is my hope that these few words will provide an insight into what one young and searching Christian has found through direct confrontation with suffering and need and in the call of Christ to serve the poor.

The spiritual understanding of pilgrimage necessarily entails a desire to seek Christ in a more intimate and profound way. Long, arduous journeys were made by Jesus’ disciples to spread the Good News of joy and salvation to all of humanity. These paths were wrought with struggle, rejection, and persecution. Yet, these humble servants forged on in hopes of reaching the hearts of God’s children and thereby change lives. Many years later, the sacrifice and devotion of the apostles to their mission serves as a foundation in the Christian tradition upon which we too can be vessels for God’s enduring and transformational love.

Another component of pilgrimage, often, is the going away, leaving behind the security and comfort of one’s own home and embracing the unexpected and sometimes terrifying world that one may wish to avoid. What must Simon Peter and Andrew have felt when they were called to leave everything and follow Jesus? What gave them the courage and strength to answer this call and “immediately” drop their nets to follow a man who was seemingly a stranger to them?

For many years, I have wrestled with this question and the notion of responding to Christ’s call to serve his people. As Christians, we yearn to know God’s perfect love and rejoice in the beauty of the world he has given to us. We want to walk with Christ and feel his nurturing embrace when we succeed, but especially when we fail. We may pray for his presence to be manifest in our lives, but this desire requires a great leap of faith and surrender to his will. And many times, God’s will calls us to places that are unfamiliar and challenging.

It was such a calling that led me to the children at Amistad Mission in Bolivia, where I have lived two of the past four years. As a young adult, I wanted to see and embrace the face of Christ in the disenfranchised and suffering and feel our unity through him. What I found while I was in Bolivia proved to be much deeper than I could have imagined. To put this journey into perspective, Bolivia is the poorest country in South America, where much of the population survives on less than $2 a day. Nearly half of the population is under the age of 18, and it is these impoverished conditions that lead many families to abandon their children to overcrowded state-run orphanages, where three or four babies share a single crib.

Amistad Mission provides an alternative to these orphanages through a loving Christian home, called La Villa, to over 70 abused, abandoned, and orphaned children, divided among eight houses with a mamá and tía as primary caretakers. La Villa provides support for the medical, spiritual, educational, and emotional needs of these children to confront and overcome their traumatic past. From the time that I arrived in 2006, I was overwhelmed by the joyful smiles and radiant personalities of the children who greeted each staff member, visitor, and caretaker every morning. Their beautiful brown eyes met you with the deepest sincerity, holding onto the present moment and giving you their undivided attention. I worked with the children to teach reading and English classes and helped to develop a microenterprise with the existing bakery. Walking into La Villa each morning, my heart would race with excitement to see the children and greet them with a “Buen Día” and big hug. How majestic was God’s grace in the lives of these precious ones!

My time with the children of La Villa continued in delight and shared merriment for several months. However, on Dec. 21, 2006, a most unexpected turn occurred while I was sitting alone at night in the office building, following our annual Christmas celebration. It was a night that would change my life forever.

Two women from the child placement agency came to the office door and desperately explained they needed shelter for six brothers who had been living on the streets for the past two weeks while their mother was dying of cancer in a local hospital. The women had visited many orphanages throughout the day, but not one could accommodate all six brothers. I called three of the mamas to come speak with these women. Upon hearing the boys’ story, one of the mamas said resolutely, “We will make room for the children in our homes.” Shortly thereafter, the boys entered, young children who had endured great suffering and been left with two options: La Villa or the streets. Their tattered clothing, dirty bodies, and empty stares revealed a brokenness that pained the heart. The youngest boy, Ariel, barely two, was barefoot with a bandage trailing behind his torn foot. He limped to the center of the room, apart from his brothers, and slowly looked up at each of us in turn. His body trembled and urine began streaming down his leg, as he wept in silence. Looking into Ariel’s dusty and forlorn eyes was the closest I have ever felt to knowing the presence of the suffering Christ in my life. One of the mamas, Teodora of Casa Copacabana, bent down and wiped the tears from Ariel’s face, saying, “You are with me now. Do not be afraid. You are safe.”

Five years later, that fateful night burns bright in my mind. Ariel, now 6, is one of the happiest children in La Villa, and he tells you each day, “Que te vaya bien en todas partes.” “May things go well for you in all of your life.” Here is a child who was once on the verge of death beaming with well wishes for all who greet him. When I think of “the least of these,” Ariel serves as a reminder of God’s redemptive grace and ability to heal any illness or hardship in our lives. As a community of faith, we are called to join together to support one another’s walk with Christ and proclaim his presence in our neighbors, entering into God’s arms “like a child.”

So I ask, where do you see the face of Christ in your life? Who are the people and what are the moments that fill you with his love and make you stop to give thanks? For some it takes a pilgrimage to a distant land to understand how universal Christ’s presence is to those who are open to receiving him. Others encounter this truth in daily interactions with a close neighbor, family member, or friend. In both instances, we are blessed to see the face of Christ in another, who might be 4,000 miles away or sitting next to you today.

Perhaps the notion of pilgrimage has more to do with the journey of the heart than it does with the physical journey to a far away place. Perhaps if we can release ourselves to join in the glorious dance of Christ’s love, we will find comfort in his arms. But in order to do so, it seems we must open ourselves to being vulnerable, not knowing when or whom God will call us to serve. May we hope to have the strength of Christ’s first apostles to answer this call. AMEN.

Pentecost XV - Lynn Campbell

“It is God who is at work in you, enabling you both to will and to work for his good pleasure.” In the name of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

You’ve got big shoes to fill!

That was the line I heard over and over again as I began my job at St. Francis House, a homeless day shelter in Boston. I was beginning as the Manager of Volunteer and Pastoral Services, a position that had been held by Br. Dan for nearly 20 years. If you’d met Br. Dan you would understand why I regularly heard that I had big shoes to fill. Br. Dan, a Benedictine monk, is truly a man of God. His gentle and loving way had earned him the trust of every staff member, volunteer and guest of St. Francis House. The Rule of St. Benedict, the rule of life followed by Benedictines, states that the brothers should welcome each guest as they would welcome Christ. Br. Dan practiced this welcome with everyone he met. God was at work in Br. Dan, enabling him to will and to work for God’s good pleasure.

I’m sure I’m not the only one in the church this morning who has heard those words: “You’ve got big shoes to fill.” Maybe those shoes were worn by an older sibling, a parent, a colleague, or boss. I wonder if you experienced those words to be as paralyzing as I did. Br. Dan had been called back to his monastery, and I had been entrusted with this new ministry, but I felt trapped. I was trying to fit into shoes that were not mine. Finally after weeks of hearing about these shoes I had to fill, and of trying to impersonate Br. Dan, I had a realization. Those are not my shoes to fill. I am not Br. Dan. I had my own shoes and I had to figure out how to walk the path ahead in whatever way God was calling me to walk. I had to trust that God was at work in me, enabling me both to will and to work for God’s good pleasure.

We certainly have much to learn from the spiritual giants around us. I hope I learned to embody some of the compassion that Br. Dan showed to everyone, rich or raggedy, homeless or housed, loved or lost. But, in order to be genuine, I needed to stop trying to impersonate Br. Dan. It is easy to fall into the trap of trying to impersonate someone else, of trying to convince the people around us that we are someone that we are not.

By virtue of our baptism, we have life in Christ Jesus. We are members of the one body of Christ and are capable of participating in the work of God in the world. We do not need to impersonate anyone, because the person of Christ is within each of us, just as we are in him. As we celebrate the Eucharist each week, we become even more deeply aware of this truth. We are already mystically united with Christ, and this strengthens and grows in our participation in Eucharist. I remember being struck the first time I worshipped with the Brothers of St. John the Evangelist at their monastery in Cambridge. The priest held up the consecrated bread and wine, the body and blood of Christ, and announced to the congregation: “Behold what you are.” And we responded: “May we become what we receive.” We are the Body of Christ.

This morning in St. Paul’s letter to the Philippians we heard the words, “Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus.” These words call us to imitate Jesus. To strive to be like him. A alternative translation, one that is more in keeping with the theology of Paul, would read: “Let the same mind be in you that you have in Christ Jesus.” -That you have in Christ Jesus. This translations acknowledges that we already participate in Christ. If this is the case, then the call to each of us is to be who we already are rather than trying to be someone we are not.

Paul gives us some insight into what it means to have life in Christ. He tells the people of Philippi, “Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility regard others as better than yourselves. Let each of you look not to your own interests, but to the interests of others.” Ultimately in these words we can hear Jesus’ commandment to “love your neighbor as yourself” (Matthew 22:39). This is possible because we share in the life of Christ. It is not a call to try to walk in shoes that are not our own. That would be like a child who tries to walk in her mother’s shoes. We will trip and fall. Rather, it is a call to be true to who you already are.

This is not an easy mission. We follow in the way of the one who gave all that he had, even his very life. God emptied Godself in order to take on human form in the person of Jesus. And as a human being, Jesus humbled himself and was obedient to the will and work of God. Emptying oneself. Humility. obedience. These are not easy words to hear, must less to live into. Yet we know the end of the story. By following the will of God, by living into the person he was, Jesus was exalted. Resurrection came from Crucifixion, life from death. In giving of ourselves we will experience new and abundant life in Christ

One of the amazing thing about being a Christian, is we don’t do this work alone. We don’t try to follow this path as a lone ranger. We practice the self-giving love of God in community and as sharers in the one Body of Christ. I don’t normally point to the Greek translation of a word, but this morning I think it will be helpful. I started this sermon with the final sentence of today’s passage from Philippians: “It is God at work in you, enabling you both to will and to work for his good pleasure.” The “you” is not singular. In the Greek it is plural. God is at work in all of you, in us, in this community, in the Body of Christ throughout the world.

This morning after the 10am Liturgy we will host a ministry fair. It is an opportunity to learn more about the diverse ministries of Christ Church and to sign up to become involved. When I look at the number of ministries stemming from this congregation, I know God is at work here. We are striving to make apparent the life of Christ that is within us. The hunger for all to be fed, at Shelter Cooking in Boston, and at this altar, the desire to teach our children and youth about the Christian faith, the impulse to serve this community as a leader, all of this stems from our life in Christ.

We each serve in different ways, using the unique gifts that God has given us. It might be through this congregation, or it might be at work, at school, or with an organization you believe strongly in. If you haven’t yet found a ministry in which to get involved, I urge you to prayerfully walk around the ministry fair, talk with the leaders, and find way to get involved. If you have been on the peripheries of a ministry, maybe it is time to step up as a leader. How ever you serve now, or decide to serve in the future, connect with the life of Christ in you. Connect with the hunger, the desire, the impulse with in you to will and to work for God’s good pleasure. Put on your shoes. Be who you already are. Amen.

Pentecost XIV - Robert T. Brooks

“Are you envious because I am generous?” Matthew 20:15

“Envy,” a friend of mine says, “is the sin of the church.” The sin of the church, not one of the sins,
but the most prevalent and insidious one. Envy is one of the 7 deadly sins, and is defined as “sadness, sorrow, or grief about another’s possessions insofar as they surpass, or are thought to surpass, your own.”
Envy happens when I think the other guy got a better deal than I did, and it makes me crazy to think about it. When I was a kid, it was about my friend’s new bike (the one I wanted but didn’t have). When I was a little older, it was his new car (much better, I thought, than the old 1936 Ford I was driving). Later still, it might have been his fancy new house. In all these instances, I’m upset because he has more than I do, or at least it looks that way to me.

“Are you envious because I am generous?” Consider the story Jesus told his friends about the laborers in the vineyard. The workers who were hired early in the morning, those who had shown up at dawn,
those who lived by the old maxim that “the early bird gets the worm,” those who had spent a full twelve hours in the scorching sun- these hard-working laborers picked grapes all day long, only to return to the paymaster to find out that others, ones who had worked just nine hours, or six hours, or three hours,
even those who worked just one hour, were to be paid exactly the same wage as were those who put in a full day’s backbreaking work. It was these workers, the diligent, long suffering ones, whom the master names as envious.

But don’t these long suffering, hard working farm hands have a valid point? After all, why should someone
who worked a fraction of the time they did be paid the same wage? Its’ just not fair, they said. It’s not equitable. After all, it was HOT out there, and we worked hard all day. Why should they be rewarded just the same way we were?

Why? Because the owner of the vineyard is generous. Because those who worked the twelve hour day
had been treated fairly from the beginning, and were paid exactly what was promised to them.

The hard working farm workers were bothered, not because they had been disadvantaged, but because others had been given a gift which they did not appear to earn.

These workers made a misguided comparison between earning a living and being given a gift. They made the mistake of confusing that which was earned and that which was given. And, being the ones who worked the hardest, they complain about those who have received a “freebie.” As is the case with all the parables Jesus used, this story illuminates, or draws a picture of, the way it is in God’s kingdom. But it also illustrates what the kingdom ISN’T. And what the kingdom isn’t is a place where we earn our way in.

The dangerous thing about the workers who toiled in the fields all day long is their attitude. They think they deserve better treatment from the boss because they’ve worked so hard and long. Their theological problem is what we call “works righteousness,” an attitude that says “The more I do, the harder I work, the more God will love and reward me.”

But that’s not the way God works, and that’s not the way the kingdom works. Salvation is the gift we’ve received from God, salvation is not something we earn. Yet we are so often tempted to try to earn our way into God’s favor, to work our way into the Kingdom. This is what “works righteousness” is all about. So when someone else receives the gift of God’s favor and goodness, when someone who doesn’t appear to deserve it receives this gift from God, then envy is the inevitable and all too common response. Envy, the sadness, sorrow, or grief about God’s demonstrated love for another, about God’s gift of grace to someone else, insofar as it surpasses, or appears to surpass, our own.

Let me give you an example of envy, the sin of the church. A comment I’ve heard frequently over the years is this: “You see Mr. and Mrs. Jones over there? Why, they haven’t been here for months! I’m surprised they even dared show up at all!” What’s usually not said, but what’s often meant by such a comment is this: “Those people aren’t REAL Christians. They’re certainly not as worthy as those of us who come here every week.”

These statements, and the attitude and opinions that underlie them, are paraphrases of the comments
of those who worked a full day in the vineyard; “These last worked only one hour, and you have made them equal to us who have borne the burden of the day and the scorching heat.” Envy in the church could be about attendance, or about involvement (like I work on three committees, and you don’t so I’m more deserving of God’s favor than you are), or about the size of my pledge compared to yours. Envy shows up when the old timers thumb their noses at newcomers, or when the able-bodied disregard the needs of the disabled, or when adults resent the presence of children in church. The ease with which we can think of examples of envy in the church is why my friend was so accurate when he said “envy is the sin of the church.” It was envy, you see, that motivated the faithful ones in Jerusalem to hand Jesus over to trial.
(Matt.27:18 “Pilate realized that it was out of envy that they had handed Jesus over to be crucified.”) Envy was the sin of the faithful 2,000 years ago, and it continues to be the sin of the church today.

“Are you envious because I am generous?” Consider Jonah, the reluctant prophet, called by God to preach repentance to the Assyrians at Ninevah. Jonah thought them so despicable that he ran away and booked passage on a ship bound for Tarshish, only to be thrown overboard, swallowed by a fish, and then miraculously regurgitated onto the beach. Only then did Jonah agree, reluctantly, to do as God had commanded.

And a miraculous thing happened there at Ninevah. Jonah entered the city, a city so large that it took three days to walk through it, and he warned the people of God’s anger with them. The miraculous thing is that Jonah only had to say this once, just inside the city walls, before the people of Ninevah listened, paid attention, and repented. They proclaimed a fast, and everyone in the city dressed in sackcloth.

Given his spectacular success, you might expect Jonah to have been jubilant, or at least satisfied. But what was his reaction to this turn of events? He was angry, like a petulant child who sulks in a corner. Jonah went off and sat outside the city, feeling sorry for himself.

Why? Because he was envious of the Ninevites. Jonah was unable to accept the fact that God could be gracious and merciful to the Assyrians, the ones who had treated God’s people, Jonah’s people, so brutally. What Jonah really wanted was for God to punish the Ninevites. His fear was that he would succeed in his vocation as a prophet, that the people of Ninevah would repent, and that God would forgive them. And when they did repent, and God did forgive them, Jonah was envious.

Perhaps the saddest part of Jonah’s story is its ending. The story ends with Jonah, sulking in his booth outside Ninevah, still angry, despite the fact that Jonah himself understood that it was God’s steadfast love
that motivated God to send Jonah there in the first place. Jonah understood how infinitely forgiving God can be, yet he resisted to the end. Listen to what Jonah had to say: “That is why I fled to Tarshish at the beginning; for I knew that you are a gracious God and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and ready to relent from punishing. And now, O Lord, please take my life from me, for it is better for me to die than to live.”

How tragic. Jonah would rather die than live, he would rather die than forgive. This, my friends, is the fruit of envy. Envy begets despair and hopelessness. Envy begets spiritual death.

“Are you envious because I am generous?” Envy is an example of trying to prevent God from being God. Envy is my attempt to prevent God from being generous, to be gracious, to be merciful with others, while at the same time demanding that God be fair with me. But God is generous, no matter how hard we try to get in the way. God is gracious and merciful, no matter how much we try to deny it.

The Right Reverend Lyman Ogilby, a towering man who was Bishop of Pennsylvania, was talking about stewardship with our vestry some years ago. “Never restrain a generous impulse,” he said. “Never restrain a generous impulse.”

Bishop Ogilby’s statement was in the form of a challenge, a challenge to let God be God, and to allow God’s grace and generosity to become part of our lives in that parish as we expressed our own generosity.

And his was a statement about our humanity. The reality that we see in Jonah’s sullen response to God’s grace, the envy and jealousy of the vineyard workers in Jesus’ parable, these are reflections of our inability
to live peaceably in God’s creation, these are indications of our own brokenness.

At the same time, Bishop Ogilby’s challenge, to “never restrain a generous impulse,” was an acknowledgment that we human beings, made in God’s image, do have the capacity to be generous, as God is. We do have the ability to be gracious and merciful, as God is. We who have been offered salvation in Christ Jesus can show our thanks, in and through our own generosity.

So as you consider your ongoing outreach efforts at Christ Church, as you approach the beginning of your stewardship campaign this fall, I ask you to remember the parable of the workers in the vineyard. As you consider your support of God’s work, here and elsewhere, I ask you to remember the story of God’s graciousness in Ninevah. As you make your commitment to this work, I ask you to remember the bishop’s challenge to “never restrain a generous impulse.” In the days ahead, I ask you to consider this: are you envious because God is generous, or are you generous because God has been generous with you?

Amen.

Pentecost XIII - Skip Windsor

The Shadow of the Cross

Let us pray: Be with us, O God, and give us the Spirit of Christ. Amen.

Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Oh, sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?

After American Flight 11 hit the North Tower in New York city, after United Flight 175 hit the South Tower, after the twin towers fell, after almost 2800 people died in the carnage, and after people began to clear through the debris and detritus of lower Manhattan, a reporter asked the then vicar of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church– and the current Bishop of Florida - Sam Howard about what happened on 9/11.

Howard replied, “For years we lived in the shadow of the Twin Towers, now we live in the shadow of the Cross.”

Remembering 9/11 is similar to remembering the assassination of President Kennedy or the bombing of Pearl Harbor. We may not recall a birthday or a summer vacation very well but there is something galvanizing about a frightening and unexpected global event. As we observe the tragic and horrific events of 9/11, many of us can recall where we were that clear day in September a decade ago.

Ten years ago and two days, the Rev. Debbie Little, founder of Ecclesia Ministries in Boston, asked me to take the September 9th Sunday service for her on the Boston Common. She said she would be away that weekend to do a broadcast on Tuesday about Ecclesia for the Episcopal Church’s media division in New York City.

On Tuesday morning, on September 11th, at around 8:35 in the morning, Debbie called me from her taxicab, to ask how the service went on the Common the day before. We talked for a few minutes and then she said she had to hang up and would talk later because she had arrived at her destination in lower Manhattan at Trinity Church, Wall Street. When she left the cab and walked into the Trinity Church, it was then that the world exploded into thousands of pieces.

My son, Ben, called me minutes later and said, “Dad, turn on your TV. Something terrible has happened in New York. A plane has hit one of the twin towers!” Turning on TV, I became one of millions of people to witness the terrible events of that day. As it began to sink in, and I thought about friends I knew in New York, I thought of Debbie there at Trinity Church less than two blocks away from what we now call “Ground Zero.” I tried calling Debbie back. No reply. I tried again. No answer.

All morning, I kept trying to reach Debbie; and it was not until early afternoon that she called me back saying she was safe with others down at the Battery at the southern tip of Manhattan. She told me her odyssey of leaving the smoke filled basement of the church helping a young mother get to safety. With her were other clergy who were scheduled to speak for the recording including Rowan Williams, the Archbishop of Canterbury, who would later write a book, Writing in the Dust: After 9/11, about his own experiences of that day.

Later on, Debbie called again and said she was walking north from the Battery along the East River with others to escape the massive cloud that had shrouded them all. She recalled that when she walked out of the cloud into the bright sunshine of mid-town New York it was as if she had walked into another world. In the clear air, she saw people drinking coffee, watching the TV monitors, and going places just like another day that was so different from what she had just experienced. I asked Debbie if she was OK and had a place to stay. She said she was OK and that she called a friend in the City and was going to stay there for the night.

I trembled with Debbie. I trembled with everyone else. I trembled that day for a world turned upside down. Today, I still tremble, as I believe so many others do. But, what gives me hope this day is what Howard said in the aftermath of 9/11 about standing in the shadow of the Cross. It is through the cross, God turned an upside down world right side up. Through the cross, God became one of us so that we could become one with God. Through the cross, we believe that God weeps with us, comforts us, and leads us from darkness into light.

Abraham Lincoln once said that when he did not know what to do in difficult times, he fell on his knees. There are times in everyone’s life we have to let go and let God. When the ground rumbles, when the foundations shake, when the world comes crushing down, and when there is no where else to turn, we can look to the Cross; and in front of that symbol of life and death and resurrection, we, like Lincoln, have no where else to go but on our knees.

The Christian writer, Phyllis Trible, reflected upon the events of 9/11 and said once at a conference held at Trinity Wall Street several years later that there were two 9/11’s. One was the 9/11 event of terrorist attacks by radical Muslims and that the country had been victimized and violated requiring a violent response that led to the War on Terror and the invasion of Iraq.

The second 9/11 took a different route for those who were there at “Ground Zero.” There were documented acts of unparalleled bravery by firemen, police, and first responders. There were strangers helping strangers. There were men and women of different faiths praying together. There were public street workers and corporate lawyers working as one carrying people to safety.

Bound together by their common humanity, and brought together under the most egregious circumstances people came together to help one another. For Trible, she said that those on the ground that day responded entirely differently because, to use her words, “they were burned through with compassion.”

The 20th century Indian political and spiritual leader, Mahatma Gandhi, said that, “An eye for eye makes the whole world blind.”

As a country we have sought retribution for 9/11 in a certain way; and whether it is the right or wrong way, we know more lives have been lost. Will there come a day when there will be peace among all people regardless of religion, race or creed? Is it possible, as we remember the dead and reflect upon the consequences of that dreadful day, that something good can come from the ashes of despair? Can we forgive but not forget?

The Gospel Lesson for today speaks about forgiveness and reconciliation. Peter asks Jesus how many times must one forgive their neighbor? Jesus uses hyperbole to say seventy times to clarify “always” and reinforces his point with a story. Jesus cleverly uses the parable of the unforgiving servant whose debts are forgiven by his king but he in turn does not forgive others indebted to him to make the point that if God forgives us we are obligated to forgive others. Forgiveness does not imply forgetting but does ask that we let go of the spiritual and emotional toxins of hate. As Jesus leads his followers further into discipleship, Jesus teaches them how to pray offering words that you and I say every Sunday: “Forgive us our trespasses we forgive those who trespass against us.

As we gather as a nation to observe the 10th anniversary of the tragic events of 9/11 and its aftermath, we are invited to consider whether there is work left undone and whether the compassion that was burned through us years ago still needs to be burned deeper into our hearts and minds.

As we live through this day of remembrance, we live with the hope to see tomorrow, another day, a new day, on Monday, January 12th. The work of repentance and forgiveness, reconciliation and peace, will continue. And it will continue from generation to generation. May this day not be merely a number and a month on a calendar but ignite us into acts of reconciliation and peace and burn within us as an eternal fire in the heart that trembles, trembles with hope for a better, more peaceful, world.

Pentecost X - Edwin C. Pease, Jr.

The Press

There’s a lot of pressure upon us and upon our children – call it worldly pressure, for lack of a better term.

We see it in the political arena. People relentlessly attacking other people, accusing them of things both true and false. Where I would like to see people in politics sit down and say, “There are things in this country that need fixing; even though you and I disagree, let’s sit down and see if we can work out a reasonable solution.” Instead, there is all-out attack on the character of the opponents.

We see the pressure in business. We know our suppliers, our fellow workers, and our customers. It would be wonderful to see if we could work out mutually beneficial arrangements both for the business and for the people involved in it. But what so often happens is brutal, with people focused completely on winning, completely on making the most money without regard to human dignity. People will say, “It’s business, nothing personal.”

We see the pressure in advertising—the really cool people dress a certain way, eat certain foods, drink certain liquors, invest for retirement with certain firms, take a lot of pills.

We see the pressure in the children’s lives at school. As an example, a counselor working in a school reported that one day a little girl came running into his office crying. He asked her, “What’s the matter?” She said between sobs, “On the playground, Billy called me ‘stupid’”. The counselor said to her, just because somebody calls you stupid doesn’t mean that you are stupid.” “By the way,” the counselor said, “I think you are a giraffe.” She said, “No, silly, I’m not a giraffe”. The counselor handed her a book that was on a table beside him and she took it in her hands. He said to her, “Do you always take everything that somebody hands you?”

St. Paul says, “Do not be conformed to this world…”

The Press and the Sign

I call this pressure, “The Press”. How can we get out from under The Press? It seems as if we can’t get out by ourselves. But God who loves us has worked tirelessly for millennia to rescue us. Stories of God’s tactics for getting us out of The Press are recorded in Scripture: the flood, the tower of Babel, the Ten Commandments, the prophets. God finally decided to intervene, not by sending a messenger, but by coming here in person. God broke into our world beginning with the birth of the only Son of God, Jesus Christ, a silent wondrous gift placed reverently into the hands of humanity. God has rescued us from everything that holds us locked into place: not just by the birth of Jesus, but by Jesus’ ministry, death, resurrection, and ascension. In church language we say that Jesus in all aspects of his life among us is the Sign that God has broken into our world, and saved us from The deadly Press. 

 
We say of this intervention is that it is final. Beginning with Jesus’ birth and going on from there it is clear that there is a destination, and events are on the move toward it, and that what is most important is to attach ourselves to God and get on that journey.

Why did God do this? God did this because God knows and loves each one of us personally. God can see each one of us growing to maturity, discovering and using for the good of others the gifts and talents that God has given us. God can see us all working together in a ministry of reconciliation with all people and with God.

When through participation in the faith community such as this congregation, and through the study of scripture, we understand how God sees us and what God has done for us, a kind of renewal takes place within ourselves.

St. Paul says, Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, so that you may discern what is the will of God—what is good and acceptable, and perfect.

The Buddy and the Sign

Jesus is a sign well known to us, but not well known outside the church. For those people who know nothing about Jesus Christ, what sign is there that God has broken into this world to rescue the people?

The sign for all people is the Church: not a building, but the living community of people that has been gathered together by God. The Church is living; it is visible; and it is always under construction. Those who participate in the life of the Church, those who commit themselves to it are constantly forming the church, and are constantly being formed by their relationship to God.

 
This morning’s passage from Paul’s letter to the Romans is a great example. It was probably written in the late 50s – not the 1950s, but the 50s, period. It’s a very early document of the church, and yet it has important information in it for us today.

It is the kind of letter that is meant to be read aloud to the assembled congregation. When we listen to the words of scripture, we should be listening primarily as a congregation, rather than as individuals.

Let’s listen together to a few words from this morning’s reading:

“I appeal to you therefore, brothers and sisters, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship.” (Romans 12:1).

What does it mean “to present your bodies”?

The word "present" in this context means to make ourselves visible—not hiding from God and from our fellow human beings.

"Bodies" is used in the sense of words like “somebody”. When we say words like “somebody” or “anybody”, we usually pronounce the b,o,d,y part of the word so that it sounds like “buddy”.

Our “buddies” taken together are a living sign meant to be seen by other people. The “buddy” spelled b,o,d,y, is the whole person, the physical body, the mental part, and the spiritual part all combined into one.

Paul says, “I appeal to you…brothers and sisters…to present your bodies as a living sacrifice.”

Our “buddys”, as in the word somebody, are what we are to present together as a congregation so that people can see the sign.

The Living Sign and the Living Sacrifice

When you hear the word sacrifice in the religious context you might think of people who believe that they can influence God by killing animals. Or you might think of sacrifice as giving something up, something that is already scarce to you. Months after the Second World War ended some things were still in short supply. I remember seeing a photograph in a magazine of a British housewife holding a small bar of soap. The caption said that this housewife was sacrificing what was left of her personal bath soap so that the family laundry could be done.

But what sacrifice in the biblical context, in the context of the Church means is “to make something holy”. Our sacrifice is to present our bodies as a congregation to all people and to God. This is not a minus, this is a plus. It enriches our lives far beyond the day to day concerns about The Press. It is exciting, because we get to do the most worthwhile work there is—to bring people together with each other and with God. Being made holy is becoming whom god made us to be. 

We become transformed into the living sign of God’s saving work in the world. We bear witness to the journey we are on. The destination is reconciliation with all people and with God and a life lived by all in a close relationship with God.

Living Stones and the Stone Building, a footnote

Just a footnote about actual church buildings. Often these are made of stone. The congregation is the sign of God’s work in the world. The building is a marker pointing to the sign. When people look at this building, see its lights, see people going in and coming out, they might say, “There is the possibility of transformation for all people from deadly conformity.”

 
The first letter of Peter says (Chapter 2) Come to [Jesus], a living stone, though rejected by mortals yet chosen and precious in God’s sight, and like living stones, let yourselves be built into a spiritual house, to be a holy priesthood, to offer spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ.

Pentecost IX - Edwin C. Pease, Jr.

How many of us have been in a situation in which you have to ask someone for help. As a child having to ask your teacher permission to leave the class to go to the bathroom. Wanting to return something you bought in a store. Asking one of your parents for something you want, or asking your boss for a favor or a raise. Going through customs at the border.

There’s a lot of tension in these moments. You may get brushed off. You may get told “no” before you even get through asking.

People have learned some coping methods for dealing with possible rejection, some more successful than others: the gruff approach, r the persistent whining approach, or when asking your question you imply in the wording that the person would look really bad if they refused you, preparing to stage a tantrum if you are refused.

So many of us come from a place in which we feel that we are further down on the food chain to the person whom we are asking for help. I think this applies not only to our requests to people for help, but also in the ways in which we ask God for help.

For all of those who have difficulty in asking for help, we have this great treasure in the story of the Canaanite woman asking Jesus for help.

A preacher named Todd Weir has listed some of the obstacles faced by the Canaanite woman in asking Jesus for help.^[1]

1. She is used to being overlooked. Even in the gospel lesson she does not get a name.
2. She has broken several social taboos. She is a Gentile approaching a Jew, and the boundaries between Jew and Gentile in Jesus’s day were enormous.
3. She was a woman approaching a group of men. Think about the current rigid male and female boundaries that exist in some Middle Eastern states today—women in birkas, constricted to the home, she risked much to talk to Jesus in public.
4. Jews were wary of the residents of the Phoenician cities of Tyre and Sidon from which the woman came. In that day the poor rural Jewish peasants of Galilee grew food for the rich Gentile cities like Tyre and Sidon. We do not know the social class of this Canaanite woman, but she would have been seen as coming from the culture of people who oppress the Jews.

Everything was working against her as she came to Jesus, shouting, as the text says, with her request for help for her daughter. Weir says, “It must have been quite the spectacle to have her throw herself at the feet of Jesus. Disciples and spectators alike must have been embarrassed to have her there… Maybe now we can better understand [Jesus’] original negative response, when he says, ‘Let the children be fed first (referring to Jews) for it is not fair to give the children’s food to the dogs.’”^[2]

Here she is, turned away by God. We can sympathize with her. “How could Jesus compare anyone to a dog or say a thing like that? This story hits us in a place of fear that maybe God finds us to be really annoying. We don’t belong, we don’t deserve the bread, others are more important.”^[3]

Her response is immediate: “Yes but even the dogs under the table deserve the crumbs.” And then Jesus gives her the help she needs.

It’s wonderful to read a story like this in which God changes his mind. People are used to thinking of God as one who never changes, but in this case, God does. There are other places in the scriptures in which God changes his mind. There is the story of the person who came in the middle of the night to knock on the door of the person who owned the bakery to get bread for his family. The story ends by saying that God may answer your requests, not because God wanted to but because you were persistent in asking. You showed God that your request was important to you.

The most important thing about this encounter is that the woman believed in God. She had faith. She did not let any feeling of inferiority in herself get in her way. She did not let any concern that others might not approve of her keep her from asking for what she wanted. She may have had these feelings and concerns but if so she was able to override them and make her request plainly known. She was singleminded!

She approaches Jesus not as someone who devalues herself, and of course, not as someone who feels superior. She approaches on a level of equality. This may seem odd. How can a person be on equal footing with God? 

First, it is because of faith. Her faith, to use the words of the scholar Alfred North Whitehead, was the vision of something that stands beyond, behind, and within the passing flux of immediate things; something which is real, yet waiting to be realized; something which is a remote possibility, and yet the greatest of present facts.” It is a vision of life in its completeness in the presence of God.^[4]

Second, it is God’s acceptance of us flaws and all. God is most forgiving and accepting. God has made us worthy to stand before him. By God’s grace we have a relationship with God, and can make our requests to God, just as the Canaanite woman did. God’s grace makes it possible for us to view life in its completeness in the presence of God.

In her case her daughter was healed. In some cases, requests for healing are not answered in ways that we would like. No doubt many have prayed for healing for Jim Windhorst. But because we have this relationship with God we are better able to receive “no” as an answer to prayers, than we would be if we thought ourselves to be outsiders or inferior. We know that it is impossible to understand everything about God. We know that God was present at the death of Jim, and was the first to shed a tear at his passing. And we know that even when our prayers receive “no” as an answer it is far better to have our living and dynamic relationship with God than it is to live without God.

The Holy Communion which we will receive this morning is a sign of God’s care for us, and especially of the permanent bond between us and God. One that cannot be broken by anything. We know that God listens to our prayers and answers them. May we rest in God’s love and acceptance. And when people come to us with their requests may we listen to them as God listens to us, and give to them as God gives to us, because we embody God’s love and acceptance.

__________

^[1] The Rev. Todd Weir: Matthew 15: 21-28 "Overlooked and Under-Considered" for Sunday, August 14, 2005
^[2] Ibid.
^[3] Ibid.
^[4] C. Hoffacker, A Matter of Life and Death, p.77

Pentecost VIII - Lynn Campbell

Matthew 14: 22-33

Risky Business

How many of us are risk takers? Often taking risks is seen in a negative light. It is sometimes seen as irresponsible, as a sign of immaturity, or simply impractical. We don’t want to take risks for fear of what we might lose. We fear losing money, losing face, losing friends. But in this mornings Gospel reading we are reminded that to be a Christian, to be a follower of Christ, is to be a risk taker. And I want to be clear- I don’t mean pointless risks like jumping off the roof or out of a boat if you don’t know how to swim. The type of risks I’m talking about here are risks that will bring you closer to God, risks that allow you to participate in the in breaking of God’s kingdom.

Today’s gospel reading of Jesus and Peter walking on water can lead to all kinds of bad theology. I’ve heard it argued that if you simply have enough faith, God won’t let harm come to you. Or, if you believe strongly enough in Jesus, you will never know fear. This simply isn’t true. These false understandings of fear and faith are not of God. No life of faith is completely free of fear or doubt. Even the saints felt them. But, with just a little faith, we can do amazing things with and for God even if it is with some fear. Jesus tells us we can move mountains with faith the size of a mustard seed.

The disciples know fear. They are terrified of the figure they see walking on the water towards them. Can you blame them? Last weekend I was sitting with a friend on the Vineyard staring out at the waves in the ocean. We tried to imagine sitting in a boat in those waves and seeing a man approach. We agreed we would have joined the disciples as they cried out in fear! But Jesus sees their fear and calms them saying, “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.” It is I.

These are same words God speaks to Moses as he reveals his identity in the burning bush. These words signify the presence of God. These words, spoken in the middle of the Sea of Galilee, identify Jesus with the God of the Hebrew Scriptures. Here the disciples catch a glimpse of the one they are following.

So, with renewed courage, Peter challenges Jesus to command him to walk on the water. Jesus simply replies, “Come.” With these words, Peter steps out of the boat, eyes focused on Jesus, and begins to walk. We know that it isn’t long before Peter loses his focus and beings to sink.
But, as always, Jesus is ready to reach out and to save him.

Why did Peter take this risk? Why did he attempt to walk on water? I don’t know if he was trying to prove his faith in Jesus or to test him. Whatever the reason, he took a great risk in stepping out of the boat. And this risk might, at first glace, seem to have been a failure. But is it? Yes, Peter did take his eyes off Jesus and begin to sink. But this led to Jesus reaching out to save him. Because of Peter’s risk, the disciples and all of us see the saving power of Jesus. We have an illustration of Jesus reaching out to humanity to save us. Once Jesus and Peter were safely in the boat the disciples worship Jesus and pronounce that he truly is “the Son of God.” Peter’s risk leads to a confession of faith by all of the disciples. The disciples were different people after this encounter with Jesus, the Son of God. It is not that they never falter, fail, or fear again, but they know Jesus’ power and presence in their lives.

I am not a very brave person. It is easy for me to let fear get in the way of doing God’s work. The fact that I’ve been able to take any risks in my life is, for me, proof of the presence and power of God. When I was a sophomore in college I decided to travel to Mexico as part of an immersion trip sponsored by the campus ministry office. It was an opportunity to meet people in Mexico, to learn of their joys and their struggles and to gain a better understanding of the poverty and oppression experienced by so many in Latin America. I was scared. I didn’t know any Spanish and I had never really seen poverty. I had no idea what God had in store for me and my companions on this journey. What I experienced changed me.

I won’t forget the women and men I met in Mexico. They are the real risk takers of this story. I met women whose husbands have left them and their children. They had no money for food. No future to provide for them. So dozens of women came together to create a cooperative. They make beautiful handcrafts and sell them to tourists and to partners in the United States. Their risk brought them new life and new opportunities. And they told me that they knew God’s presence in their labors.

And I won’t forget Fernando, the man I met who traveled hours each day from his tiny hilltop village to sell the baskets he and his family weaved. Each morning before he left he prayed to God for protection and guidance. With the money earned he could buy food for his wife and kids. Witnessing God’s presence in the poor and seeing the effects of unjust systems ignited something in me. Stepping on the plane (even with all of my fear and doubt) changed the direction of my life. I experienced God in the love, courage and generosity of the people I encountered in Mexico. Their faithfulness, even as they walk in the troubled waters of this world, encouraged me to call out to Jesus and to seek to follow him more closely.

Sometimes it is only by looking back over our lives that we can see the value of taking a risk. Maybe it was the first time you volunteer at a homeless shelter or traveled to an unknown place. Perhaps it was when you first walked into this church or stepped up as a leader. It doesn’t have to involve leaving the country, but it does involve leaving your comfort zone. One step can lead to another and then another and before you know it God is using you in ways you couldn’t have even imagined. I’m sure many of you have stories to illustrate this. I’d encourage you to share these stories with one another. They are stories of God at work in the world. As you reflect on the risks you have taken, I also invite you to consider what risk God is calling you to make. What step will lead you and others into deeper knowledge of Jesus as the Son of God? What risk will further God’s work in the world?

Being a disciple is risky business. Stepping out of our comfort zones is not easy. Venturing into the troubled waters of the world is sometimes scary. But how else do we proclaim the love and mercy of God and participate in the building of God’s world of justice and peace? To be closer to Jesus, to see and share is his love, we sometimes have to venture out of the safety of the boat whether that boat be our homes, our circle of friends, or the pew you are sitting in right now. There will be times when we feel like we are sinking, but do not fear. Call out to Jesus. Let others help. Hear Jesus’ words to us this morning: “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.”

Amen.

Pentecost VI - Lynn Campbell

Matthew 13:31-33, 44-52

In the name of the one God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

When I was in college I played on our school’s volleyball team. Being on the team felt like a full time job. I was in the gym at least once a day, ate dinner each night with my teammates, and traveled the east coast for games. We were in training and it took complete focus. If I or another team member didn’t do our part, the entire team suffered. Being in training affected every decision I made during that time in my life.

All of us are in training for something much more important than any sports team. We are in training for the Kingdom of God. Jesus tells his disciples, “every scribe who has been trained for the kingdom of heaven is like the master of a household who brings out of this treasures what is new and what is old.” Trained for the kingdom of heaven. What exactly does that mean? And what is this Kingdom we are in training for? We are told what it is like. It is like a tiny mustard seed that when hidden in the ground and properly cared for will grow into a large shrub providing shade for the people and a home for the birds. It is like a fine pearl, that because of its great value, the merchant willingly sells all that he has in order to posses it. It is like yeast that is carefully mixed with flour and allowed to leaven. As is often the case in scripture, we don’t have an easy answer. Rather, Jesus engages our imaginations. We are invited to reflect on what this kingdom of God is like, while knowing that it is certainly far better than anything we could imagine.

We know that Jesus has inaugurated the Kingdom of God. We know it is of great value and is slowly breaking through the ground, slowly rising. The kingdom is here. Yet we also know that the kingdom is not fully present. If we have any doubt of this, all we have to do is look at the news and see the terror experienced by those in Norway on Friday. Hatred and violence are still alive. The kingdom of God is already present, yet not full realized. So, we continue to pray, “they kingdom come” and we continue to be a people in training for the kingdom. In his book “God Has a Dream: A Vision of Hope for Our Times” Archbishop Desmond Tutu articulates what it is we are in training for, what God has initiated. He writes of his hope for a church and a society in which:

“people matter more than things, more than possessions; where human life is not just respected but positively revered; where people will be secure and not suffer from the fear of hunger, from ignorance, from disease; where there will be more gentleness, more caring, more sharing, more compassion, more laughter; where there is peace and not war.”^[i]

What a beautiful illustrations of the Kingdom of God. THIS is what we are in training for. THIS is what we are called to make real.

As Christians we do not have the luxury of sitting back and waiting passively for the bread to rise or the seed to grow. We are invited to plant and nurture the seeds, to mix the yeast into the flour, to be the hands and feet of God in this world. We are called to do our part to bring about God’s kingdom of justice and peace. It is in Christian community that we train for this work of kingdom building. How are we, as individuals and as members of Christ Church, being called to contribute to the Kingdom of God that is already present, yet not fully realized?

The Rev. Stephanie Spellers, a priest in our Diocese, recently wrote an article that sheds light on this question.^[ii] She argues that the church is called to be a community that embodies, proclaims, and serves the Kingdom of God. Through our participation in Christian community we are saying yes to embodying, proclaiming, and serving the Kingdom. We are saying yes to the desire to be part of bringing about a church and a society like the one Archbishop Tutu describes.  At Christ Church we embody the Kingdom in our worship each time we welcome a stranger, recognizing the face of Christ in that person. When we treat one another with respect, when we cross boundaries and enter into relationship with someone we perceive as different, when we practice the reconciling love of God, we are embodying the Kingdom. When Skip invites everyone to share in the Eucharistic feast, we are embodying the Kingdom. We don’t do this perfectly, but we are in training to embody the Kingdom with greater authenticity.

As people who embody the kingdom, we are also challenged to proclaim it. This isn’t just the responsibly of those of us in the pulpit. It is a responsibility we all share. The life-giving message of Jesus, the dream of God’s world of justice and peace, is good news. It is good news that we are compelled to share with people outside the walls of the church.

And as a community we are called to serve the kingdom. We are challenged to put the work of justice and peace building at the center of all we do. As we hear in Micah: “What does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God.” We do this in our work in Haiti and in Boston. We do this through our ministry with shelter cooking and each time we bring a meal to a fellow parishioner who is sick.

This really just scratches the surface of what it means to embody, proclaim and serve the kingdom. It is my prayer that as a community of faith we will engage more deeply in this mission and discern together how God is calling us to live more fully into dream of God.

I want to close with an illustration of just one of the ways in which members of our congregations are embodying, proclaiming, and serving the kingdom. Many of you know of Susan Retik, a resident of Needham, who lost her husband in the attacks of 9/11. In her grief, she did not turn in on herself, but instead turned to the women of Afghanistan. Susan co-founded Beyond the 11th, an organization that empowers widows in Afghanistan who have been afflicted by war, terrorism, and oppression and who have no means to feed, clothe, or shelter their children. To raise money for this organization Susan began “Beyond the Bike,” a bike ride that honors all the victims and rescuers who lost their lives on 9/11 but also celebrates the countless acts of courage and humanity that have marked the decade since.

Two of our parishioners, Janine McGuire and Katie Chiappinelli, are in training for this event. Janine will bike the 270 miles from Ground Zero to Boston and Kate will join the bikers for the last 25 miles. These two women are examples of what it looks like to be in training for the Kingdom. They, along with the many other bikers, are embodying the kingdom with each petal of their bikes, they are proclaiming the possibility of a more just world and they are serving the kingdom through the money and awareness they raise. They are crossing the cultural, political and religious boundaries that exist between us and the Afgani people and they are carrying God’s reconciling love into the world. They are doing the work of the Kingdom.

The kingdom is something we are all in training for- it doesn’t matter our age or our physical abilities. I know I can’t bike 270 miles, but there are so many other ways God is calling me and God is calling each of you to embody, proclaim and serve the kingdom. I pray that we will each find new ways of being in the world. I pray that together we discern new ways of bringing the message of Christ’s reconciling love into the world, so that God’s kingdom will come.

[i] Desmond Tutu, God Has a Dream: A Vision of Hope for Our Time (New York: Doubleday, 2004), 63.
[ii] Spellers, Stephanie, The Church Awake: Becoming the Missional People of God.