Pentecost - Lynn Campbell

Acts 2:1-21, John 15:26-27; 16:4b-15

May God’s Word be spoken and God’s Word be Heard. Amen.
This morning we gather together to celebrate Pentecost, one of the major feasts days of the church. Although it doesn’t come with the secular trimmings of Easter and Christmas, it is no less important. Pentecost comes 50 days after Easter and 10 days after we celebrate the Ascension of Jesus, the Risen Christ ascending to his Father in Heaven. But as we heard in this morning’s Gospel reading, as Jesus prepares his disciples for his departure from this world, he promises that he will send them the Advocate, the Spirit of truth, to walk with them and to guide them. His followers will not be left alone. This is a promise that God fulfills at Pentecost, giving birth to the church.

“When the day of Pentecost had come, the disciples were all together in one place. And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them. All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability.” The same Spirit that breathed life into all of creation, the same Spirit that descended upon Jesus at his baptism, was now being shared with ALL people. And, that same Spirit IS blowing in our church today. I know this because I witness the Spirit’s movement so often in our life together.

At Pentecost, the Spirit gave the disciples the ability to speak of the powerful deeds of God in a way that allowed for the crowds, many of who were from a different land and spoke a different language, to understand. Stories of the power of God were spoken AND heard. The Good News of God in Christ was shared with all people regardless of language, native land, age, sex or social status.

Those of us who have been baptized into the one Body of Christ have been given the gift of the Spirit. This gift isn’t just for us to enjoy. The spirit propels us forward, compels us to be bearers of the Good News, to share the story of Jesus Christ that has been handed down to us AND to share the ways in which the Spirit continues to breathe new life in us and in the world.

One of the great joys of being a priest in this community is the privilege of hearing the stories of how the Spirit IS working in your lives. And regularly I witness the Spirit sweeping in and through this congregation. It’s an amazing thing. Unfortunately we don’t have many opportunities to share these stories with one another and we don’t always have the confidence to share them with friends, classmates, neighbors or co-workers. But I know from experience that these stories are too important not to share.

Its one thing to invite someone to Christ Church, but it is completely different when you share with someone how you see the Spirit working at Christ Church and invite that person to be a part of it. You can encourage someone to go with you to Shelter Cooking, but how much more powerful is it to share how you have witnessed the Spirit in your conversation with a homeless woman.

The Spirit is pulsing through this community if we have eyes to see it. Let me share with you one example from just last Sunday. At the 10am service we called forward 23 youth and adults to recognize their Confirmation and Reception into the Episcopal Church. 23 of our members made the conscious decision to say yes to living out the baptismal covenant in their lives. And then we called forward the more than 15 church school teachers who have dedicated so much of their free time to sharing the love of God and the story of our faith with our children. The Spirit went with us from the church to the back porch when we gathered for a parish cookout. Young and old, newcomers and faithful members, woman and men all came together. I saw people who grew up in this church chatting with families who have only been here for a few weeks. I saw kids running around playing whiles others sat watching them with big smiles on their faces.

This is a community in which the Spirit IS moving. And just as it was for the first followers of Jesus, it is important for us to hear these stories from one another and to have the opportunity to voice them ourselves. So we are going to try something different this morning. In a moment I’m going to invite you to find a partner and share with that person a way in which you see the Spirit alive in this Community. It might be something you saw or heard, a time you volunteered with the church, or a piece of music you heard. Each person will share his or her experience for 2 minutes. After two minutes we’ll take a deep breath and it will be time for the second person to share. I know this is not the norm for a sermon but I encourage you to give it a try! So, find your partner and get started.

(share stories with one another)

I hope you feel as blessed by the stories you heard and shared as I am every time I hear them from you. I invite you during this season of Pentecost to practice being curious about how the spirit is moving in your life and in the life of this community. Ask people how they experience the Spirit and be willing to share your stories with your neighbors and friends. The same Spirit that has been present since the beginning of creation is still being poured out onto us. And that is good news worth sharing. Amen.

Easter VII - Skip Windsor

The Ministry of the Just

Early in my ordained ministry, I served churches as an interim priest in Weston, Milton and Newton. As many of you may know an interim priest serves a congregation during rector vacancies for a period of one to two years. An interim does not have the authority of a rector but he or she does lead worship, make pastoral calls and teaches adults and Sunday school.

I remember a visitor coming up to me in Weston after a service and asking me if I was the rector; and I replied, “No. I am just the interim priest.” Later that afternoon I reflected upon my answer to the visitor’s question about being just an interim. What was I really saying and what was I really saying about my vocation being just an interim? It was as if I thought being an interim had less value than a rector; or that somehow I was not as important as a rector.

How often have you heard someone say: “I am just a volunteer here;” Or,  “I am just working in the office as a temp;” Or I am just an enlisted man in the Army. In church circles, the same question could be asked: “Are you clergy?” “No, I am not a priest. I am just a lay person.” I wonder what Justus would say to people in our epistle reading today from Acts after he lost the election to Matthias to take Judas’ place among the apostles: “Hey Justus aren’t you one of the twelve apostles?” What would Justus say? “No I am just a disciple?”

This morning I would like to speak to you about the ministry of the just. I would like to reflect with you about how there is no need to qualify who we are and what we do. For in the eyes of God all of us are held with equal value and seen as worthy of respect and dignity. If we look at today’s text from Acts, we can wonder what Justus might have felt like after losing the election to Matthias. And maybe we can learn something from Justus about being more than just “just.”

After the death self-imposed death of Judas and before the coming of the promised Holy Spirit, Peter, as the appointed leader of the 120 disciples believed it was necessary to complete the circle of apostles back to twelve. This was to re-instate Jesus’ will that the number of apostles matched the same of number of the tribes of Israel. The qualifications to be an apostle was that candidates must have known personally Jesus and been with him during his public ministry from the time of his baptism to his death in Jerusalem.

The two chosen candidates were Justus and Matthias. Lots were cast in the ancient tradition of the Jewish Temple when making personnel decisions; and Matthias won and was added to the twelve. No further in scripture is ever heard about Justus; but no further word is heard about Matthias either. Scripture is silent about them. Yet, I would like to believe that losing an election did not stop Justus from continuing to serve God.

Like Justus there continues to be faithful Christians who serve with faith and devotion to God and to their church. Two women who were a lot like Justus were Rosie Burke and Pearl Blackman two African-American women who started the Cathedral Monday lunch program over 40 years ago. Were Rosie and Pearl just volunteers? Were they just lay people? Following in the spirit of Justus, the early faithful disciple of Jesus, they were continuing and sustaining the ministry of the just.

Just people are helping others everyday. You and I do not have to look far to see people helping people whether it is driving a person to a doctor’s appointment, tutoring a student in history, walking with an Alzheimer’s patient, raising a foster child, bringing communion to a shut-in, or taking a prayer shawl and a meal to someone recently released from the hospital.

As I look out at you, I know the quiet ministries you do without fanfare or notice. Not all can do such direct ministries every day and all the time but all of us can support each other through prayer and fellowship. All of us are connected through the life giving power of the Holy Spirit.

This is the time for graduations. It is also the season of inaugurations. Confirmation is more than a graduation; it is also an inauguration into the mature life of faith. Through instruction and the laying on of hands all 23 of our youth and adults begin a new stage in the ministries. You are more than just volunteers and more than just numbers in a parochial report. You are given gifts and talents through the Holy Spirit.

 Just as Jesus called James and John from their fishing boats, just as the Almighty called the Israelites out of Egypt, just as God called Amos from the orchards, so God calls you, and each of us, to do the work of ministry given to us by God through Christ.

When the circle of twelve apostles was diminished by death to one, the remaining apostle, John, wrote letters to his beloved friends reminding them that God gives us a Son; and more than this, through the Son, God gives us a life-a just life to live fully and well. John sums it up well in his First Letter that we just heard this morning: “God gave us eternal life; and this life is his Son. Who ever has the Son has life.”

I will conclude my sermon with the story of a wealthy father and his son who loved to collect rare works of art. Often they would sit together admiring the beauty of their collection.

When the war in Viet Nam broke out the son went to war and was killed saving another Marine. A month later, a young Marine carrying a large package under his arm came to see the bereaved father. The Marine told the father how his son saved him and several other men the day he died. He shared with the father how the son talked about their love for another and their mutual love of art.

The Marine held out the package and said this was for the father. Opening the package, he saw a portrait of his son painted by the young Marine. He stared in admiration at how well he had captured the likeness of his deceased son. The father thanked the Marine and offered to pay him for it. The Marine refused saying that what his son did for him could never be repaid and that the portrait was a gift.

The father hung the portrait of his son over his mantle. Every time visitors came to his home, the father always showed the son’s portrait before showing them any of the other great works of art he had collected. When the Father died, there was a great auction for his paintings. Bidders came far and wide hoping to have the opportunity to purchase one of the great paintings for their own collection. On the platform among the paintings by Picasso and Raphael sat the painting of the son.

The auctioneer started the auction with the painting of the son. No one made a bid on the painting of the son. The bidders said it was just a painting by some unknown artist. The auctioneer asked for $100, then $50, and then $15. The bidders protested to move on to the “better” paintings. The auctioneer continued asking,  “Who will take the son?”  Finally, a humble gardener offered $10 since that was all he had.

“Going once. Going twice. Sold to the man for $10.” Then the auctioneer suddenly announced the auction was over. He said there was a stipulation in the father’s will that whoever takes the son gets everything.

Whoever takes the Son gets everything.  God gives us eternal life and this life is his Son. Whoever has the Son has life.

Easter IV - Robert T. Brooks

Jesus said, “I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.”  John 10:11

As I prepared for today, I asked my sister Elizabeth to send me the propers, or lessons for today. On the back flap of the envelope, she wrote, “This is easy.” I laughed. So let’s see if Elizabeth was right.

Today is called “Good Shepherd Sunday.” On this, the fourth Sunday of Easter, we hear excerpts from the 10^th chapter of the Gospel according to John, in which images of the shepherd, the sheep, the sheepfold and its door, the hired hand, and of course the predator, the wolf, all make for a provocative and profound picture of what it means for us Easter people to say that we follow the risen Christ.

In today’s reading, Jesus identifies himself as the shepherd, but not just any old shepherd, mind you. Jesus identifies himself as the good shepherd. And to illustrate what he intends for us to imagine, he contrasts himself, the good shepherd, with the hired hand. The hired hand is just that – not a shepherd, really, and not the owner of the sheep. His level of commitment to his job falls far short of the real shepherd, the good shepherd. And the difference between the two, Jesus says, becomes crystal clear when danger turns into potential disaster, when the wolf approaches the flock and attempts to steal and kill the sheep. The hired hand, fearing for his own life, takes off. “I am the good shepherd,” says Jesus. I’m never going to run away from my flock. I’m willing to lay my life down for those sheep.

Now for those of us who are not shepherds, for those of us whose work doesn’t require us to lay our lives on the line in the course of our jobs, it’s a bit hard, isn’t it, to imagine the kind of dedication Jesus is talking about here. So one question I have for us today is this: do we really know what Jesus means when he says, “I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep. … I lay down my life for the sheep.”

I’ve only known one real shepherd in my life, a man who lived in New Hampshire and kept a flock of sheep for twenty or more years. What always struck me about my friend the shepherd was that wherever it was we were, whatever the occasion, he always went home at night to take care of those sheep. He would drive hundreds of miles in order to be there, so that those sheep wouldn’t be alone overnight.

So when Jesus identifies himself as the good shepherd, the first thing he is saying to us is that we are his, and that he cares for us so much that he is willing to risk his life on our behalf, no matter what. In the face of the perils and dangers we know to be out there, Jesus is here to protect and defend us.

Another thing Jesus tells us is this: “I know my own and my own know me, just as the Father knows me and I know the Father.” The relationship Jesus has with each of us is one-on-one, a relationship in which he has an intimate knowledge and understanding of who you are and what you need as one very individual member of this flock. The risen Christ here in our midst knows each of us as if we were members of his family, like a child knows a parent, or a parent knows a child, “just as the Father knows me and I know the Father.”

Have you ever heard yourself say something like this when describing your prayer life: “I m not sure whether it’s okay to pray for this or that. After all, it’s pretty insignificant, maybe too trivial to bring to God’s attention.” What Jesus is saying in this passage is that his relationship with you is one in which he knows you as if you were living in the same household, as if he were your brother, your best friend (all of which, of course, is true), so you can bring anything into your prayers, however trivial it may seem at the moment.

A final important point Jesus makes in this passage is this: “I have other sheep that do not belong to this fold. I must bring them also, and they will listen to my voice. So there will be one flock, one shepherd.” These verses speak to the question of what about non-believers, the un-churched, people of other denomination, other faith traditions. What does God have in mind for people such as these? And lest we minimize or trivialize this question, think about your friends or members of your family who may fit into one of these categories. Or, on a different level, think about our country, a place in which religious pluralism abounds, or our world, in which Christianity is a distinct minority religion.

What does God have in mind for all those people out there who are not like us? Well, this passage from the Gospel of John strongly suggests that God’s abiding love is inclusive of all of humanity, not just those we can identify as being a member of this flock, and probably more inclusive than any of us can even imagine. After all, God made us all, God loves us all. And Jesus, the good shepherd, is good enough for any sheep that might be out there wandering around.

Why is Jesus the good shepherd? Because we are his: Jesus is no contract worker. He’s not a temp in here for the next few weeks. Why is Jesus the good shepherd? Because he knows the risks out there, and he’s willing to do everything it takes to protect us, even risking his life for us. Why is Jesus the good shepherd? Because he cares about all the sheep, not just the ones here in our little corner of the pasture. He loves all the sheep, wherever it is they are, whether they know him to be the good shepherd or not.

The Greek word here that we translate as “good” has a set of meanings that far exceed our most common definition of good, as in good versus bad, or good versus evil. In fact, for those of you who are dictionary aficionados, you should know that “good” in the sense of “the opposite of bad” is listed as a distant third possibility in the Greek. So if you’ll bear with me for a moment, let’s explore the other definitions, to see if they shed some light on what it means to know Jesus as the good shepherd.

The dominant meaning of this Greek word (kalos) is powerful, strong, excellent, healthy, or serviceable. To say that Jesus is the good shepherd is to say that he is the kind of shepherd who is strong and durable, just right for this job, of the highest quality, a shepherd without any better. I have some friends who rather pretentiously claim sometimes that the possessions they own or the people with whom they associate are the very best, without compare. Without bragging the way my friends do, we can say with certainty that Jesus is the best, the most excellent shepherd there is.

A second set of meanings for the word we translate as “good” includes beautiful, lovely, and attractive. William Temple, Archbishop of Canterbury in the early 20^th century, translated the opening verse of today’s gospel lesson like this: “I am the shepherd, the beautiful one. The shepherd, the beautiful one, lays down his life for the sheep.” What does it mean for us to know Jesus as the beautiful shepherd? What is it about the shepherd that we find so lovely? Is his attractiveness something physical, or is it something about his person, the essence of who he is? That’s a provocative and useful set of questions, I think, for us to consider this Easter season.

Back to my sister Elizabeth. Was this easy? I’m not sure. But for me, these lessons were certainly illuminating, They were provocative, they were helpful.

Let us pray:

Jesus said, “I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.” O God, whose Son Jesus is the good shepherd of your people: Grant that when we hear his voice we may know him who calls us each by name, and follow where he leads; who, with you and the Holy Spirit, lives and reigns, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

Easter Day - Skip Windsor

Christ Is Alive

One of my first contemplative moments at Christ Church was praying with a parishioner in our Sanctuary Garden. I remember standing next to him in prayer looking out at the beautifully landscaped grounds thinking of it as a vision of new life. I imagined life, deep in the soil, among the bricks and ivy, uncoiling and spiraling upwards, upward towards God. In the garden, among the great souls buried there, there pervades the strong belief that life is changed not ended at death.

I do not think it was by accident that the first resurrection appearance was in a garden. The Bible begins in a garden; and it is in the garden of the empty tomb all salvation history bends forward from Adam and Eve’s prideful disobedience to the humble obedience of Jesus and comes to fruition and conclusion. All four gospels agree there was an empty tomb. The biblical texts only vary on who was present in the garden on that first Easter morning.

John writes in his Gospel that there were just three eyewitnesses: Peter, John, and Mary. The two men were Jesus’ closest disciples. Mary was a close disciple of Jesus, too. There is nothing in the Gospels to say she was a woman of infamy. Jesus saved her from a nervous disorder and he gave her a new life. Naturally, she would be grief stricken. But, it was not Mary but Peter and John who were the first to look into the tomb and find it empty. Peter saw and left for home. But, John saw and believed.

Faith first, miracles second. This is the key to John’s entire gospel – it is about faith in Jesus. According to John, Jesus spoke often about the Son of Man being raised from the dead. Seeing the empty tomb in the garden, John knew in faith that Jesus had risen from the dead. Writing his Gospel many years later, John gives seven accounts of Jesus giving signs or miracles that pointed to the truth that he was the Son of God.

I am reminded of the story of faith called “The Tightrope Walker” told by Bishop Michael Curry:

There was a tightrope walker who did amazing things. All over Paris he would do tightrope acts at dazzling heights. Then he had succeeding acts when he would do it blindfolded and then he would walk the tightrope blindfolded again pushing a wheelbarrow. An American promoter read about this man’s feats and invited him to do his act over the Niagara Falls.

After much negotiating and much fanfare, scores of people came to Niagara Falls to see the tightrope walker do his act. The first time he crossed easily.

The second time he crossed the fall blindfolded without a hitch to wild and ecstatic applause. The crowd goes wild and the tightrope walker comes to the promoter and asks him if he believes he can walk the tightrope blindfolded and push a wheelbarrow.

The promoter gushes that of course he can do it. The walker asks the promoter again does he really believe he can do it? Yes, the promoter replies confidently that he can do it. “Good,” says the tightrope walker, “then get in the wheelbarrow!”

Faith first, miracles second; and yet, how often do we say we have faith in God and believe in Jesus Christ but refuse to get into the wheelbarrow? Faith is not absolute certainty, but a readiness to explore the mystery. It is not a method of finding all the answers, but living with the questions. Like hope, faith is an attitude of the mind, and orientation of the spirit.

Daily you and I may grapple with uncertainty and anxiety. We can become skeptical when bad things happen to good people. Our hearts can break when we see injustice in the world. Stresses in life can make us mad and they can make us weep. Faith is tested as such times; and it is in such moments, such unexpected moments, when we seem so isolated, so disconsolate, and so vulnerable, that Jesus, unbidden and unrecognizable, comes to us. Those shuttered personal moments recall the broken heart of Mary at the Empty tomb.

Mary could not leave the garden with Peter and John. She was weighed down with grief. Sadness was her only companion. At first she did not recognize Jesus. She only noticed a gardener standing nearby. It takes his voice and it takes a name, her name, “Mary.” No greater recognition scene in all of history is there than the one between Jesus and Mary in the Garden. And all she wants to do is hold him.

All through Jesus’ ministry people wanted to hold him, touch him or feel him. The woman with the hemorrhage needed only to touch his garment. The unnamed woman with the jar of perfume wanted to anoint his feet. Peter and John wanted to be the ones to sit closest to Jesus. The blind man at the well asks Jesus to heal him with his saliva and a bit of earth.

I remember years ago being in Washington, D.C., and there was a parade for Bobby Kennedy. The crowd was about six people deep and so I couldn’t see Kennedy but I could hear people cheering. Several people ahead of me shouted out, “I see him!” And a little later, further up in the crowd, I heard a young woman shout to no one in particular, “I touched his hand!”

When Jesus tells Mary not to hold him and that he is ascending, he says to Mary and anyone who would be his disciples that we cannot hold on to him in the old ways. We cannot keep things as they once were.

Mary’s faith in him and acceptance of this fact moves her to a new understanding of her relationship with Jesus. The teacher she once knew, the teacher she loved is still the same and more. The world could not hold him. Death could not hold him. Through his resurrection, Jesus brings Mary and all of creation into a new relationship with God.

Mary’s friend, her dearest friend, Jesus, would never leave her again and now be as near to her as breathing. A personal relationship with Jesus becomes more personal. It is no wonder that many people love the old chestnut hymn, In the Garden, and its refrain:

And he walks with me and talks to me
And tells me I am his own,
And the joy we share as we tarry there,
None other has ever known.

Easter awakes us; and an awakened person in Christ, alert to the stirrings of the soil, the beauty of the earth, and the enduring mystery of our lives and of Life comes a deep delight, a growing gladness, a ripe readiness and an active affirmation. The joy of life brings the promise and possibility of a renewed hope that all creation is infused with grace and glory.

Our Sanctuary Garden points to our Easter faith. It is as if we planted a sign that said, “Christ is alive!” And, if we have faith, we will see other signs all around us that proclaim the resurrection. “Resurrection is not written in just books alone but in every bud of springtime,” writes Martin Luther. April is resurrection month. And the whole direction of Christian faith is upwards.

“We believe verily to see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living,” it reads in the 1928 prayer book. Today and during the season of Easter, we are invited “upwards” to do just that… have faith and see God’s goodness in the risen Christ.

Let us pray:

Lift us, O God, to those higher regions where our spirits can grow to their full stature. Give us new life in Christ and help us to share it with others so that they too may know and believe the joy that comes through your great love. This we ask in Jesus’ name. Amen.

Lent V - Lynn Campbell

“Very truly, I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.”
In the name of the one God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

It makes perfect sense, from a biological point of view. Think of a seed with its hard outer shell. We know that the potential for life lies dormant within it. We know that for life to burst forth from the seed, we must plant the seed in the ground and allow it to be nurtured. The scientists, gardeners and those of you who took biology more recently than I, could, I’m sure, explain how a seed becomes a plant. But from what I remember, as the seed gets the nutrients it needs, the plant within the seed begins to grow, and soon it breaks through the shell. The seed that was planted no longer exists as it once did. It had to die in order to become something new. After the beautiful weather we had last week we are able to see reminders of this death and new life all around us in the flowers that are blooming in our yards. The colorful flowers and plants are not possible unless a seed as been transformed into something new. “Very truly, I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.”

It makes perfect sense. Of course the seed must die before new life can emerge. But what happens when we take this metaphor given to us by Jesus and apply it to his life and then to our life as well? That’s when I start to get a little uncomfortable. Perhaps you have a similar reaction. But, I think this is the challenge our readings present to us this morning. Deep into the season of Lent, with Holy Week only a week away, we are invited to consider how dying can lead to new life. We are invited to walk with Jesus as he prepares to suffer and die on the cross– and then in the Easter mystery, rise to new life. And as Lent begins its crescendo towards Holy Week, we are invited to consider what needs to die within us so that new life can emerge.

Let’s look at this morning’s reading from Jeremiah. I think it can help us understand and respond to the challenge before us. The prophet Jeremiah is writing during a time of great turmoil and destruction. The people of Judah have seen their temple in Jerusalem destroyed by the Babylonians and their leaders dragged off in chains. They have lost their power, security, prestige, and freedom. Jeremiah tried to warn them this was coming if they did not change their ways. He called them to turn away from their corruption and their worship of idols but they did not listen. Despite the fact that they did not listen, despite the fact that they turned away from God, despite their break in the covenant relationship established between God and the people on Mt. Sinai; neither Jeremiah nor God leaves them to suffer alone.

Instead, Jeremiah speaks a word of comfort and hope from God. The Lord promises to make a new covenant with the house of Israel and the house of Judah. The Lord says, “I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts; and I will be their God, and I they shall be my people.” Here is some good news that was unexpected. God brings hope to what seems to be a hopeless situation. God promises to bring life out of death. God will make a way forward where there seems to be no way.

God’s law moves from being something external, written on tablets, to one that is written on the heart of each and every person. For us, as we approach the altar with contrite hearts, we remember that the law is held collectively: our One God makes us One people with One law: to love the LORD our God, with all of our heart, with all of our soul, and with all of our strength, and to love our neighbor as ourselves. Yet, we sometimes prefer our own laws, which separates us from God and from one another.

If the law of God is written deep within each of us, what keeps us from living as God calls us to live? What keeps us from living into the truth God speaks to the people through Jeremiah and speaks to us today: “I will be their God, and they shall be my people.” ? I think, in part, it is hard shell that can grow around our hearts. Perhaps this shell comes from ways we have been hurt or the ways we have hurt another. Maybe it is from the sin that we know all too well to be a part of our lives. And by sin I don’t necessarily mean particular actions. Rather, I mean, anything that causes a break in our relationship with God- actions or patters of behavior or thought that keep us from living as a unified people who belong to God. Maybe it is those things we cling to, when what we need to do is release them.

Lent provides the invitation to look into our hearts and to clear away whatever is keeping us from living transformed lives, living in a way that witnesses to God’s love. We are asked to die to an old way of life, ways that bring death rather than true life. We are challenged to die to those things that are not of God: Die to the temptation to put our own needs before the needs of others. Die to unhealthy attachments to power, prestige or pride. Die to the fears that consume us and keep us from becoming the person our heart, our God, is calling us to be. These parts of us must die before new life can be born, before our lives can be transformed, before we can know the power Jesus’ Resurrection. “…Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.”

The seed must break the hard shell that has protected it before the flower can bloom. How do we break through the hard shell that keeps us from new and transformed lives? I think one way is to let your hearts be broken by the pain in the world. The Jesuit Volunteer Corps- the one year service program I was a part of after college- had the motto “Let your heart be broken.” I have to admit that we mocked the cheesiness of the motto. Looking back on it, I think we made fun of it because its truth scared us. Having your heart broken is scary business.

As you know, I was in Haiti for the first week of Lent. My heart was broken open by the poverty I saw and the painful stories I heard. How could I not cry with the woman who lost everything in the earthquake, who husband recently died, and whose 4 kids are not in school because she can’t afford it? Her hopelessness and despair broke my heart. All I could offer was a hand to hold, a prayer, and holy oil placed in the form of a cross on her forehead. But in that holy moment, I knew God. In the vulnerability and in the brokenness, God’s light shined through. I felt connected to this woman whose language I could not speak and whose life I really could never understand.

Sometimes it takes these experiences to crack open our hearts, so that relationships can be built and God’s love and compassion can break forth into our lives and into the world. How they grow and how they are built is known only by God, because it is God who tills and waters and weeds and prunes. But God will only do that if we allow it. And the first gift that God asks of us is to allow that hard shell around our hearts to be cracked open. Only then is a new and transformed life possible.

“…Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.”

Lent IV - Skip Windsor

John 3:14-21
Broken Light

“In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness and the darkness did not overcome it.”


The beginning of John’s Gospel proclaims that Jesus is the light of the world and the darkness did not overcome him. His shimmering and shining presence to John is manifested throughout his gospel narrative from the moment of Jesus’ transfiguration on the holy mountain to his secret encounter at night with the powerful Jewish leader, Nicodemus. Oscillating between light and darkness, John recounts how the light of Christ pierced the darkness of despair, disbelief, and death.

Today’s Gospel lesson is part of a broader conversation between Jesus and Nicodemus. This “Nick at Night” encounter exemplifies a person’s faith journey from darkness into light. At first Nicodemus is afraid to be seen with the so-called enemy, Jesus; but driven by the message of Jesus, he rises to the occasion, comes into the light as a disciple of Jesus, and claims his body for burial. Nicodemus’ faith triumphs. The light of Jesus broke through to him.

Looking back so long ago, when the elderly John wrote his Gospel from Ephesus, we know how his story ends with the risen Christ speaking to Thomas, to Peter and to the other disciples. Whatever darkness they saw, whatever fear they felt, was dissipated by the presence and the assuring words given to them by the Master. Yet, that light, that true light, appears now to be like broken light when we consider the events of the modern world today.

We do not have to go far to see how broken the light is when we read about the murders in Boston, the plight of the homeless and hungry in our Commonwealth, the illiteracy of boys and girls, and the rising crime in urban and suburban locations. We read in the papers and see on television the destruction of towns and lives in far off places like Syria and Africa.

I sat with a parishioner last week that shared with me her concerns for the world. She is sad to the point of anger seeing the malice and violence so prevalent in so many places. She sees the injustice in the world and asks how can God allow such terrible things to happen. If God is all-powerful why does God seem so powerless to do something about it? Her question is not hers alone. Like my parishioner, we hope and pray for a better world, a peaceful world, for all people in our time and in the future.

Several weeks ago, I saw that ray of hope, a light shining in the darkness when I viewed a documentary film called “My So Called Enemy” by the Emmy award winning director, Lisa Gossels. The film chronicles and traces the journey of six girls of Israeli and Palestinian heritage who meet in 2002 for ten days at a women’s leadership program called Building Bridges for Peace. Getting to know their “enemies” as human beings complicates their lives for the next seven years as they return to the Middle East and confront the realities of their lives at home.

The central message of “My So Called Enemy” is the transformative power of knowing “the other” or “the enemy” as a human being. This is movingly told through the abiding friendship between Gal, an Israeli, and Rezan, a Palestinian. “If peace is going to happen in the Middle East,” says the founder of Building Bridges for Peace, Melodye Feldman, women have to be part of the process. Women have a different way of communicating. How do we empower these girls to change the world?”

At the conclusion of the film after many months apart we see Gal and Rezan reunited on the Palestinian side of the Security Wall in the town of Al Zaiem where Rezan lives. Gal is an Israeli soldier in the army but wears civilian clothes as not to draw attention that she is with a Palestinian friend. The security wall is meant to divide such relationships.

As they stand by the 10-foot tall concrete wall, Gal and Rezan dare each other to write some graffiti on the wall since the wall has become a writing wall for the Palestinians. It is arrayed with brightly covered words sprayed on the concrete. With a stone the young women write the words of the great peacemaker, Gandhi, “Be the change you wish to see the world.”

We live in a world of broken light. We live in the fractured light between war and peace, love and hate, despair and hope. Yet, the light shines through young women like Gal and Rezan and the film’s director Lisa. It still shines, however, dimly, whenever a man or woman tries to comfort, console, and heal those in need. A beam of light is illuminated when someone takes a stand, risks themselves to do what is right, and does not back down in the face of adversity.

Be the change you wish to see the world.

Reflecting upon our Gospel lesson, we are able to see how this light shines in the world through Jesus Christ when we remember the words, “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son.” God so loved the world. Those words remind me of the poem by the Welsh poet, R. S. Thomas, called “The Coming,”

And God held in his hand
A small globe. Look, he said.
The son looked. Far off.
As through water. He saw
A scorched land of fierce
Colour. The light burned
There; crusted buildings
Cast their shadows; a bright
Serpent, a river
Uncoiled itself, radiant
With slime.

                  On a bare
Hill a bare tree saddened
The sky. Many people
Held out their thin arms
To it, as though waiting
For a vanished April
To return to its crossed
Boughs. The son watched
Them. Let me go there, he said.

Is it possible to read the Bible, from the creation in the Garden to the end of history in a City, as God’s love story to the world? Was it not love that stirred God’s heart to promise to Abraham and Sarah descendants more numerous than the stars? Was it not love that led the Israelites out of bondage in Egypt to liberation in the Promised Land?

Was it not divine love, not calculating the cost, when the people rebelled, captured by the Babylonians, but saved and returned to Jerusalem to rebuild their Temple and their lives? Was it not God’s love that sent Jesus, his only Son, to love into being not only family and friends but also the alien and the stranger? Was it not love that brought table fellowship to both Jew and Gentile alike? Is there enough love to make a difference today?

It is quite common to speak of the world in terms of scarcity and abundance. We look at the world’s fragile and dwindling resources such as fresh air to breathe and good water to drink. We read about the destruction of the rain forests in South America, the disappearing wetlands of Africa, and the pan skillet heat in deserts where crops once grew. Scarcity breeds not only starvation and disease, it enhances fear, worry and violence. In the face of scarcity, is it possible to think in terms of abundance?

There was a time when God provided just enough manna each day. No hoarding. Just take what you need. The people came to believe that God’s love was abundant. And in that sure knowledge, they kept on, remembered, and found the Promise Land.

What we have in abundance in an age of scarcity is God’s love. Just as the Israelites were given manna from heaven every day, the Spirit will give us the spiritual food to envision and seek to create a more perfect world.

Can we be bold enough to dream the good dreams of God in an age of anxiety? Imagine a world in which God’s love is tearing down the walls of division and discord. Imagine a world where Gal and Rezan can walk freely as friends in Israel. Imagine a world where there is no hungry mouth to feed. Imagine a world where the weight of glory is hung on every shoulder – every shoulder – whether Iranian, Israeli, Afghani, American. Imagine a world where love is so abundant that no one can ever forget what the shape of love looks like.

God so loves the world… God so loves the world… Biblical history bends toward love. Let us bend our heart and minds towards justice and mercy and pour out God’s love with whomever and wherever we may be; and be the change you wish to see the world.

Let us pray:

Loving God, in your dream of Creation, you made us in your image. Through your Son, Jesus, you showed us the enduring mystery and majesty of your desire to be one with us. Guide us we pray to be worthy of your trust and to see your face in all people and in all things. Grant us your peace and restore within us the wisdom knowing that all things begin, continue, and end you. All this we ask in the Name of Jesus, your Son, our Lord. Amen.

Lent III - Skip Windsor

Ex. 20:1-17; John 2:13-22

Be of Good Courage

I once heard the definition of courage as fear that has said its prayers. This morning I would like to speak to you about courage. Now the courage I am going to reflect with you about is not necessarily the kind of courage that soldiers display in battle; although that image is the kind of courage we might think of first. Rather, the kind of courage I am referring to is the courage to stand up for an unpopular cause.

I would like to reflect with you on the kind of courage that allows a person to seek help when confronted with addiction, to get out bed when dealing with deep depression, or to speak the truth in love, as St. Paul writes, when there could be the cost of a job, the cost of a friendship, or maybe the cost of one's life. Our Hebrew text from Exodus and our reading from John speak about the cost of discipleship and how it takes courage to be a follower of Jesus Christ.

I am reminded of another definition of courage from William Shakespeare's play, Julius Caesar, when Caesar says to Cassius, "cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once." Only the valiant know the cost of discipleship and in Rome it would not be their soldiers who were courageous but those men and women who resisted Roman power to find their way to freedom and to a new life in Christ.

When Julius Caesar died, it was the advent of Rome's growing power over the world. By the time of Jesus' birth over 70% of the known world was enslaved by the Romans. The sun rose and set on men and women who would never taste the air of freedom. To most, it was only a dream. Through military might, economic sanctions, and paid vassals, Rome was able to enslave foreigners and captives and to stamp out all rebellion with punishing results. It was into this world that Jesus was born.

As a boy, Jesus went with his parents to Jerusalem as all pious Jews were encouraged to do especially at the time of the Feast of the Passover which recalled the Israelites eventual liberation from the Egyptians by Moses. The Temple in Jerusalem was the heart and the soul of Jesus' people. The holy building was created and assembled under the orders of King Herod, a well known vassal of the Emperor Tiberius. Inside the Temple the people would offer sacrifices in thanksgiving to God by paying for a bird, such as a dove, to give to the priests as an offering. People would have to pay with Roman coins and then given their tokens of sacrifice to be offered.

As Jesus grew up, we can imagine how hard the people of Nazareth worked. Scraping together enough money to leave work, make the journey to Jerusalem, and then give their hard earned wages to the priest. When Jesus grew into his public ministry one of his first acts, according to the Gospel of John, was to go to Jerusalem for the Feast of the Passover with his disciples. Seeing his people year after year give their wages to the Temple priests using Roman money to buy the sacrificial offerings was a defilement of the Temple and all it stood for as a visible tribute and sign of God.

Some people might say that Jesus lost his temper. He was not himself. He lost it. He made a bullwhip, poured the coins out onto the floor of the Temple, overturned the money changers tables,and rebuked them sternly. Then Jesus added the cryptic remark, "Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up." I don't know about you, but I find this incident early in Jesus' public ministry disturbing. Many of us tend to think of Jesus meek and mild. His demeanor is more one of gentleness and tenderness. Not here. He is like a lion here. No wonder C.S. Lewis used the image of Aslan, the Lion, to portray symbolically Jesus.

From this moment on Jesus is targeted for arrest and tattooed for death. But, up to this moment, Jesus was not marked. Yes, he was well known as healer; and true, he was a rabbi of renown. Yet, now he steps into the darkness of evil; and it will be this interplay between light and darkness that will be a hallmark of John's Gospel. Yet, into this wilderness of darkness, Jesus' courage, would lead his people, and all people for all time, into the everlasting life and light of the living God. Instead of a Temple made of marble, ivory and stone, it would be made through the body and blood of Jesus Christ.

Jesus shows us the face of courage. He shows us his humanity in full view with his righteous anger for the injustice and oppression laid upon his people by greedy and powerful people. You and I do not have to look far to see that greed and power are still with us when we look to Darfur, Syria, and to our country where people are out of work, still without adequate healthcare, where violence in our cities goes unabated. The picture that is ingrained in my mind of courage is the picture of the unknown man standing in front of four tanks during the Tiannimen Square uprising. If you notice the man he is carrying a bag in his left hand as if he had made a choice of rather going to his office like a good worker, he went the other way and walked out on the Tarmac and stood in front of the tanks as a silent witness to freedom. An ordinary man in extraordinary circumstances. He follows in a successive line of courageous people like Rosa Parks, Gandhi, Joan of Arc, St. Stephen, and Moses.

Through the courage of Moses and Aaron in the face of the Pharaoh's power that the people were lead from slavery into freedom. And, it was in the wilderness that the people were given a guidepost for living a faithful life in God through the Ten Commandments. I know people riff on the Commandments as the ten suggestions as if they could be taken or left. Yet, for those Israelites they were a gift from God. By keeping the Commandments, God would always be their God through thick and thin, through wind and fire, through war and peace.

The Commandments were given by God to Moses on two tablets. One was God centered; and the other one was neighbor centered. They offered a direct edict from God about how to live with faith, compassion, and courage. Keep the Commandments and I will keep you. Through the centuries, the Ten Commandments have served as the guideposts for Jews and Christians alike. I am sure many of you have seen or remembered the Commandments posted in churches, homes, and even in public places. Over time, these reminders have been either replaced, removed or forgotten. Yet, I would offer to us that they are as much a gift to you and me as they were to those first men and women who saw them.

Of all the Commandments which hold equal value, the one that reminds us to be courageous people, like Jesus was in the Temple, is the one in the middle of the Commandments about keeping the Sabbath daily holy. It reminds us of creation and how God rested. It reminds us of liberation and freedom that the Israelites enjoyed as they left their yokes behind to find a promised land of milk and honey. It reminds us of the Resurrection of the Lord's Day that every Sunday is Easter as we celebrate our Lord's life, death and resurrection and are connected to God and one another through the Holy Eucharist. To practice Sabbath is to take a leap of faith.

During the Lent, this Commandment of keeping the Sabbath Day holy is a reminder of how far we can stray from God's hope for us. It takes courage to take a time-out, a real time-out. Consider how you make time for God. Consider how you make time for joy. Consider when was the last time you intentionally took time for joy. When we are faced with tough decisions or seem to be falling into the abyss of anxiety God has given us, even commanded us, to take time away from work and from the pressures of life. Read the Commandment carefully because it includes all people - family, friends, aliens and strangers -- even animals -- even all creation. Through God's gift of this commandment all creatures become the same. No rich or poor. No male of female. No black or white. No slave or free. All of creation become as one in this Commandment.

The Sabbath allows us to be free not enslaved to time nor wedded to others' authority nor to the personal, economic, and political forces that eat away at us. Taking Sabbath time allows for all people to long for a better world, to dream the good dreams of God, and to consider alternatives from a world that can fetter us down into slavish, routine lives. Sabbath time is a subversive act. It is countercultural. It is not the way of the world. Sabbath time is the way of God.

Jesus embodies for us the courageous life. He took time with God, considered his options and then acted. And he beckons us to follow his good example to keep our convictions, to live honestly, to stand up for the absent person, to refuse to do something that is wrong. He may push us to the edge of our fears but promises us we will not fall. I am reminded of the poem by Apollinaire, which says,

"Come to the edge. We can't. We are afraid"
"Come to the edge. We can't. We will fall."
"Come to the edge." And they came.
And he pushed them and they flew.

And to God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, be all honor and glory. Amen.