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.