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Into the Night

darkness-door

Wednesday of Holy Week

Isaiah 50:4-9a

Psalm 70

John 13:21-32

 

Our gospel reading brings us right to the edge of the drama of the Triduum.

It is the night of the arrest of Jesus.

He is at table with his disciples and he predicts that one of them will soon betray him.

Jesus hands the bread to Judas, the one he knows will betray him.

The gospel reads:

“So, after receiving the piece of bread, he immediately went out. And it was night. When he had gone out, Jesus said, ‘Now the Son of Man has been glorified, and God has been glorified in him.” (John 13:30-31).

“It was night.”

Judas slips out into the darkness of the world on his mission to betray Jesus.

And at that very moment, Jesus declares, “Now the Son of Man has been glorified, and God has been glorified in him.”

This declaration is one of the most powerful and sublime elements of John’s Gospel.

At one of the very darkest moments of human history, somehow God is glorified.

 

I am captured by the image of first Judas and then Jesus plunging into the night.

For Judas, like for us, it is a headlong fall into our destruction.

We all have had moments when we find ourselves going out into the night.

For some of us, the night stands for the tragedies that mark our lives.

The deaths, the transgressions, the abuses, the betrayals.

I also am thinking of the dark moments of our common life.

The terrorist attacks in Brussels.

The racism and xenophobia erupting in our politics.

The crushing burdens of poverty and injustice.

It can feel like we are all plunging into the night.

It can feel like we are at the darkest hour.

 

And yet Jesus declares that at this darkest hour is when he will be glorified and the Father with him.

We stand on the cusp, waiting for this to be revealed.

The revelation of who Jesus truly is depends on his plunging into the night we find ourselves in.

When Jesus goes out from his last meal and into the night on his walk to Gethsemane, we can grasp the full meaning of John 3:19:

“And this is the judgment, that the light has come into the world, and people loved darkness rather than light because their deeds were evil.”

The events of Holy Week puts into relief the darkness this world reveals.

 

Like the disciples, we can become scattered when the evil of this world strikes, when night falls.

But we can also turn to the example of the beloved disciple.

Imagine resting up against the chest of Jesus.

Imagine the security and the love you would feel nestled there.

Imagine choosing to be like the Beloved Disciple who stays close to the heart of Jesus.

And in that choice he too is plunged into the darkness of this world.

He is brought to the foot of the cross and to the grave.

He is there when darkness swallows everything up.

 

If you choose to be like the Beloved Disciple will stand at the foot of the cross and weep.

But you will realize that when it seems that death has swallowed everything up in its night, the light of Christ breaks forth.

So abide in the gathering darkness, close to the heart of Jesus, and do not fear stepping into the night.

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Reconciliation

Ash Wednesday

February 10, 2016

Christ Chapel

Seminary of the Southwest

 

Joel 2:1-2; 12-17

Psalm 103

2 Corinthians 5:20b-6:10

Matthew 6:1-6, 16-22

 

“We entreat you on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God.” (2 Cor 5:20b)

As we enter into this season of Lent, I have been thinking a great deal about reconciliation.

I have felt deep in myself all the places in which divisions and hurts have created deep chasms and gulfs among people.

We see this in our politics where the Democratic and Republican fields reveal stark contrasts about the nature of this country and where it ought to head.

And these are divisions not only between the parties but strong generational and ideological divides within these electorates.

We feel it deeply in the life of the Anglican Communion where both progressives and traditionalists alike can appeal to Scripture, reason, and tradition to offer completely different views on human sexuality.

These seemingly irreconcilable views have lead to deep wounds in our life together as Anglicans.

And of course we feel it daily in our lives — the hurts we have experienced and done; the isolation and anonymity of our lives, the marginalization of the poor, the homeless, the different.

We live in our bubbles, surrounding ourselves with like-minded people, resisting encounters with those whose very presence might upset our vision of reality.

 

And so we must hear again earnestly these words of Paul — “We entreat you on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God.” (2 Cor 5:20b)

Why first must we be reconciled to God before we can be reconciled to each other?

The witness of Scripture, from Genesis to Revelation, is that since humanity is, as the pinnacle of creation in the image and likeness of God, the stability of the created order and our own lives depends on humans first living in right relationship with God.

If we see God as the source of all good things and we remove ourselves as the center of reality, we, our relationships, society, and creation itself, is able to live in harmony.

But if we remove God as the source of all and put ourselves, our politics, our economics, or anything else in the center, chaos eventually creeps in.

Too often this is exactly what happens.

And so we need reconciliation.

And if we see the signs of the need for reconciliation in our lives and in the world around us, it is also a sign of our collective need for reconciliation with God.

 

This reconciliation is constantly offered to us by God.

We experience it as something done for us definitively in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

But it is also something we are called to over and over again in our lives, as we hear in the words of the prophet Joel.

“Return to the Lord, your God, for he is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and relents from punishing.”

We are called to return to God over and over in the Scriptures.

And why do we return?

Because God has revealed to us his true nature.

God is not a fierce, angry judge waiting to destroy us.

Rather, God is, as we first heard in Exodus when Moses was on Sinai, and now again in Joel, God is gracious and merciful, abounding in steadfast love.

The punishments that fall upon us are the results of the chaos and discord that raises up when we draw away from God as the scope and focus of all things.

But when we draw near to God, we encounter grace, mercy, love.

We experience reconciliation.

We experience reconciliation, first with God and then with one another.

 

It is fitting that we place ashes on our heads today.

They serve as a sign of our true repentance and our deep desire for reconciliation.

And as dust they remind us of the dust to which we will return.

But that dust also represents the earth, the created order.

We stand remembering it is God who made all that is and that we are here to live in right relationship with God and all creation.

And we stand on the cusp of the long journey towards the cross and the grave, to that moment, when Jesus, returned to the earth, rose up from it, triumphed over death and set all things right.

Jesus Christ is the author of our salvation and the maker of our reconciliation with God and all creation.

So let us receive our ashes and return again to the work of reconciliation.

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Broken Bread and Impossible Hope

Tuesday of Easter 3

May 6, 2014

Acts 7:51-8:1

Ps 31:1-5

John 6:30-35

All Saints Chapel

Church Divinity School of the Pacific

 

Christianity is a story — a deep sacred story that changes lives in its telling.

As a story it depends on conflict to drive it forward and to draw people in.

But sometimes the conflict we find in Scripture cannot be easily resolved.

We are left grappling with troubling moral questions in our sacred stories.

 

We encounter this in our Easter lectionary, especially with Acts and John.

These books have profoundly shaped the Christian faith but have also contributed to a long narrative of Christian hostility towards Judaism.

We hear conflict in Acts 7 when Stephen blames the Jewish leaders for killing Jesus, just like other leaders had killed the prophets in the past.

And then these same leaders go and stone Stephen, as if proving his point.

The Jewish priesthood is painted as oppressive and only capable of murdering the righteous.

In John 6 we hear a snippet of a longer argument between Jesus and “Jews.”

In this passage it sounds as if Jesus is dismissing the formative experiences of Israel in the wilderness.

Moses and the God-given miracle of manna seem to matter little.

The old is dismissed – Israel’s sacred story is forced into the past it seems.

 

These words of conflict have had a terrible effect.

These words have been used to justify a complete rejection of God’s promises to the people of Israel.

They have been used to say that Jews no longer have a covenant with God.

This has not only been incredibly destructive for Jews, but has also served as the blueprint for later Christian abuses in eras of empire and colonialism.

The denial of God’s covenant with the Jews provided the foundation for the denial of the rights of the Lakota and Navajo and Maori and Zulu when European Christians came to their lands.

 

And yet we also are gathered here because we know that Jesus Christ entered this world and transformed it in the process.

We are here because we have encountered something life giving and completely transformative in him.

We gather because we believe that Jesus is the Bread of Life.

But, how can we gather in the breaking of the bread when claiming that Jesus is the Bread of Life has been used against Jewish people to say their story of life giving bread is best remembered as a story to fade away?

How can we break bread in a way that creates peace and not division?

 

This search for unity amidst division is at the heart of the mystery of God’s work in the world.

The gospels themselves force those who encounter Jesus Christ to make a choice about who they believe he is.

This process of making a choice about Jesus, whether he is the Anointed One sent by God, itself leads to conflict and division.

While these processes have life changing outcomes, they also have bled over, literally, into the lives of innocent people.

How do we live in the broken spaces that these readings open up?

What do we do with the stories of Jewish resistance to the Gospel of Jesus?

 

First, we should note that these stories are not history, at least not in our way of thinking.

They are not facts in the way we take facts.

We are dealing with narrative in a strongly rhetorical form that the people of Israel knew well.

We hear this in both stories – with the allusion to the giving of manna in the wilderness in John and when Stephen speaks of the tradition of leaders persecuting the prophets.

The subtext of the manna episode is that Israel was not satisfied with the giving of manna but demanded even more from God.

And the Hebrew Scriptures attest that the appointed leaders of Israel too often (but not always!) rejected God’s message from the prophets.

Part of Israel’s own story they told each other was that the people of God are not perfect.

Sometimes they fail totally in keeping their side of the covenant with God.

Sometimes the people of God grumble over what they lack when they should give thanks for what God is doing among them.

Sometimes those in power persecute the prophets when instead the proper response to the word of God is repentance.

And yet, the people of Israel always remain the people of God because God is not a breaker of promises.

Again and again, God promises to Israel through the prophets that he will always abide with them.

Israel always remains God’s chosen people for the sake of the nations — that truth is at the core of the very mission of the disciples of Jesus.

 

But the language of division in our readings remains.

We are not the first to have to grapple with these divisions.

These divisions were a core preoccupation of the Apostle Paul.

 

In Romans 11, we hear these words from Paul:

“So that you may not claim to be wiser than you are, brothers and sisters, I want you to understand this mystery: a hardening has come upon part of Israel, until the full number of the Gentiles has come in.

And so all Israel will be saved . . .

As regards the gospel they are enemies of God for your sake; but as regards election they are beloved, for the sake of their ancestors; for the gifts and the calling of God are irrevocable.

Just as you were once disobedient to God but have now received mercy because of their disobedience, so they have now been disobedient in order that, by the mercy shown to you, they too may now receive mercy. . .

O the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God!

How unsearchable are his judgments and how inscrutable his ways! “ (Romans 11:25-33)

 

We are compelled to sit with the reality of disunity among the people of God, Israel and the Church.

But even among these divisions, God has promised in a deep and mysterious way, to keep his covenant with his people, both Israel and now the Church.

This is the case even when Israel appears to be an enemy of the Gospel.

They still remain beloved of God.

Given this, we are required to not deepen division.

 

In the very next chapter of Romans, Paul urges us to a life of reconciliation:

“Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse them.

Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep.

Live in harmony with one another; …; do not claim to be wiser than you are.

Do not repay anyone evil for evil . ..

If it is possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all.” (Romans 12:14-18)

These words of Paul take us back to the bread in John 6.

 

If we believe that God is a keeper of promises, we can affirm that the bread Israel received in the wilderness was good.

We can also say that when we receive our bread, we encounter the Bread of Life who sustains us by the promises that God still offers.

Paul attests that the two realities of the entire people of God, both Israel and the Church, are one in God but for now live in tension.

And we have no choice but to live in the midst of that tension.

We should use that tension to witness to the hope of reconciliation.

And the reality of that tension should inform how we live in other places of conflict – within our church, within our culture, within our own lives.

It may lead us to affirm God’s covenant making with other people like the Navajo or the Maori who have been drawn into the mystery of Christ.

 

We are a people of hope living in the tension of the impossible because we confess a Risen Christ who impossibly was dead and is now alive.

And we know our hopes are impossibly true because we have met the risen Christ, the Bread of Life, in the broken bread.

We hope because we know that by the power of God the Father the broken body of the Bread of Life was raised up whole and transformed.

And we hope for reconciliation between Israel and the Church because God does not break promises.

We take the broken bread with the audacious hope that the power of God will one day restore us all as one body.

God gave bread to sustain Israel in the wilderness; God gives us the Bread of Life to share in now.

 

Come, let us eat.

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Absalom Jones and Reconciliation

Commemoration of Absalom Jones

February 13, 2014

Isaiah 11:1-5

Psalm 137:1-6

Galatians 5:1-5

John 15:12-15

All Saints Chapel

Church Divinity School of the Pacific

In commemorating Absalom Jones, the first black priest in the Episcopal Church, I want to offer three snapshots from his life.

The first snapshot:

It is the year 1787 in Philadelphia, a few short years after the United States of America has been founded on the principles of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

On a Sunday morning at St. George’s Methodist Episcopal Church, a mixed congregation of whites and free blacks gather for worship.

Tensions have been on the rise at St. George’s.

Two freed blacks serving as lay ministers, Absalom Jones and Richard Allen, have been actively drawing other free blacks to the church.

With some many blacks joining services and freely mixing with whites, the all white vestry unilaterally rules that all blacks were to be seated only in the balcony.

The free mixing of blacks and whites was a disruption to the perceived order of things.

Absalom Jones and others refused to abide by this act of segregation.

Instead, they knelt in prayer in their usual places, only to be picked up and physically thrown out of St. George’s.

The white leadership of St. George’s was not willing to accept the new life that the blacks of the church represented.

The second snapshot:

In 1793, an epidemic of yellow fever struck Philadelphia, killing almost 4000 people.

As tens of thousands of people fled the city, Allen and Jones led the free black community in ministering to the many sick people left behind.

The black community, laboring out of the conviction that they had a Christian duty to aid the suffering, set to nursing the sick, attending the dead, and ensuring a proper burial.

240 members of the free black community died in this service.

When the yellow fever epidemic ended and many of the white Philadelphia community returned, the black community that had worked on behalf of the sick under Jones’s leadership were wrongfully accused of exploiting the sick and robbing their houses.

Against these false attacks, Jones tried to defend his community, but it was clear that many of the leading whites in Philadelphia regarded them with enmity.

The third snapshot:

In 1794, free blacks established St. Thomas’s African Church with permission to have control over its own affairs and with Jones as its leader.

In 1795 Jones was ordained a deacon by Bishop William White, but he was not made the first African American priest in the Episcopal Church until nine years later in 1804.

Even though St. Thomas was part of the Diocese of Pennsylvania, Bishop White only permitted this if the parish did not send representatives to diocesan conventions.

Blacks could be part of the church, but they were not permitted full life within it.

These stories of Absalom Jones and the black community of Philadelphia are emblematic of the difficult circumstances of African Americans throughout American history.

Several things strike me about these stories.

First, is the persistent fact of racism,not just in United States history generally, but as part of woof and warp of American Christianity.

Second, Absalom Jones never abandons a vision of a life lived in harmony between the freed blacks and the white citizens of Philadelphia.

And finally, what was most evident in these events was the lack of reconciliation between these groups, a burden that must be born by the white Philadelphians.

Reconciliation is one of the greatest human needs.

To be reconciled is to live in harmony, peace, and justice with others.

It is the opposite of discrimination, oppression, rivalry, and enmity.

Reconciliation is at the core of the message of Jesus — it is what logically follows from a life lived as an expression of God’s love made known in Christ.

We hear this in the Gospel reading:

“This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you.”  [John 15:12]

Given that in overwhelming numbers those living in the early American republic were Christian, it would be safe to assume that the majority of white Philadelphians were also Christian.

All followers of Jesus Christ are commanded to love one another as Christ loves them.

This love is to be total and self-giving — “No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.” [John 15:13]

That total self-giving love is evident in the work of the free blacks led by Absalom Jones, who died serving others during the yellow fever epidemic.

They showed that they were the friends of Jesus by doing what he commanded them — to love other Christians completely. [John 15:14]

Jesus desires all his followers to be joined together as friends.

We are not servants of Christ, but his friends, because by his words God has been revealed to us. [John 15:14-15]

And so if we are all friends of Christ, we are certainly not to make one another servants to exploit and abuse.

The white Christian of Philadelphia missed out on a moment of great possibility when they chose to treat Absalom Jones, Richard Allen and the other free blacks as less than friends.

Certainly there were signs of God’s grace at work — Absalom Jones was ordained the first black priest in the Episcopal Church, St. Thomas church still flourishes today as a vital parish, and a precedent was set for the eventual full inclusion of all people in the ministry of the church.

But what could have happened if whites had treated blacks as friends?

In pondering this, I would offer that Jesus’ vision of friendship speaks to his larger desire that all of his followers be made one as he and the Father are one [John 17:21].

In order for friendship and unity to be real among groups that are divided there is a need for reconciliation.

In Absalom Jones’s time, what would reconciliation leading to Christian friendship and unity have looked like?

I imagine it would have started with a fully integrated church at St. George’s.

No one would have been thrown out in the streets for sitting in the wrong place.

There would have been no need for a separate St. Thomas church.

Going deeper, white Philadelphians would have recognized their racism and prejudice for what it was.

Bishop White would have given black Episcopalians full privileges in the diocese.

Others would not have accused blacks falsely during the yellow fever epidemic.

Perhaps, there would have been common cause made to deal with the terrible American sin of slavery and racism then and not let the problem fester for decades and centuries.

So, if we can take the words of Jesus about friendship and apply it to Philadelphia during the time of Absalom Jones, what would it mean for us to apply these same words in this time and place?

How could this church today better serve Christ’s vision of love and unity today?

Where are the divisions in it which must cease?

One of the bedrock teachings about the sacrament of the Eucharist is that before Christians take part in Christ’s body and blood, they should be reconciled to one another.

This is what Paul means when he warns the Corinthians about the divisions that exist among themselves (I Cor. 11:18ff).

And Paul cares about arguments regarding the observance of the Law in the passage we heard from Galatians not because he rejects the Law but he rejects the human use of the Law to divide people against each other.

So, as people of Christ, as a church, as those gathered to receive communion, be reconciled.

Look within yourself — what people or groups do you refuse to be reconciled with?

Who is it that you cannot stand that Christ calls you to love?

Who is it that you cannot even stand to call a Christian that you must love and be reconciled to?

Work to overcome the divisions that separate you from other Christians because until you do that, God’s will for us cannot be fulfilled.

Be reconciled.

Find ways for the love of Christ to transform your relationship with others.

May the one who calls us friends bind us all together in friendship as Absalom Jones sought to be a friend to all in Christ.

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Good Seed in Rocky Soil

Commemoration of Alexander Crummell

September 10, 2013Alexander Crummell

Church Divinity School of the Pacific

Sirach 39:6-11

Ps. 19:7-11

James 1:2-5

Mark 4:1-10, 13-20

“Listen! A sower went out to sow. And as he sowed, some seed fell . . .” (Mark 4.3-4)

Today we commemorate the life and ministry of Alexander Crummell.

Crummell is remembered in as a pioneering African American priest who steadfastly pursued his priestly calling in trying circumstances, who served as a missionary in Liberia, and who was an early voice for African American self-reliance and an influence on later thinkers like Marcus Garvey and W. E. B. DuBois.

In preparing this homily, I initially thought that Crummell was an example of the seed falling in good soil, yielding a great abundance of fruit.

In a way I think that is still true.

The seed of the gospel found good soil in Alexander Crummell and the harvest he brought in was great.

But the seed of the gospel that Crummell himself sowed fell in the hard, rocky soil of pre-Civil War America and the reality of slavery.

And he sowed in the thorn-choked patches of post-Civil War America where the promise of freedom for African Americans gave way to Jim Crow laws and deep-seated institutional racism.

These were the fields Crummell labored in.

His life is worthy of commemoration because he tended the seeds of the gospel in places

where the evil one threatened his harvest and yet he brought in much fruit.

Listen to his story and you will see what I mean.

Crummell sought ordination and was initially admitted to General Theological Seminary in New York, but with the school fearing the loss of financial support, he was told he could only attend if he did not live at the school, did not eat in the refectory or sit in the classrooms.

That is, he could be a student only if he didn’t act like a student.

Crummell turned them down.

He read for holy orders and was ordained in 1844 as a priest in Boston.

Crummell however could not find a permanent position ministering to African American congregations inthe Northeast and rarely received diocesan support that would enable him to fully live out his vocation.

Eventually Crummell went to the African country of Liberia as a missionary of the Episcopal Church, serving there for 20 years.

He imagined Christianity as a great civilizing force that would transform Africa and lead it to higher levels of morality and spirituality.

He envisioned a church headed by Africans for Africans that merged Euro-American technology and learning with African culture.

As well, Crummell hoped that African Americans would emigrate to Liberia to both

escape the racist structures of America and contribute to the transformation of their new home.

Eventually Crummell was forced to abandon his work in Liberia.

He could not secure enough funding from the Episcopal Church and the waves of African American immigrants never materialized.

Returning to the United States, he served as rector of St. Luke’s in Washington D.C.

where he found his new mission in fighting for the rights of African Americans in the Episcopal Church.

Southern bishops, in a resolution known as the Sewanee Canon,sought to segregate African Americans from their local dioceses and place theminto separate missionary dioceses meant for African Americans alone.

Crummell helped establish the Conference of Church Workers among Colored People

in 1883, the forerunner for today’s Union of Black Episcopalians.

Through his leadership this group successfully beat back the racist Sewanee Canon at General Convention and saved the Episcopal Church from further shame.

Given these highlights from the life of Alexander Crummell, the parable of the sower is an appropriate text to use to think about his life.

Crummell sowed the seed of the gospel to inspire Africans and African Americans to lives of greater discipleship, leadership, and creativity.

All the while he sowed his seed in the rocky ground and harsh environment of racism and neglect not just in American society but in the very power structures of the Episcopal Church.

All Crummell ever wanted was to be a priest and for his congregations to have a full share in the life of the wider church.

To do this he had to persevere against what W. E. B. Du Bois, in his essay on Crummell in The Souls of Black Folk, describes as the temptations of hatred, despair, doubt, and fear of failure.

Crummell’s life forces us to both thank God for the grace of perseverance given to the saints but also to ask what we will do when obstacles arise as we sow our seeds of the gospel.

Crummell, writing in the language of his time, tells us that steadfastness and a firm sense of vocation are necessary when confronting hardships.

He says in a sermon titled “Keep Your Hand on the Plough,” that “A man’s thought and interest are demanded there where his work lies; and nowhere else. It is the duty of every man to find his proper sphere. His only appropriate position is therein; and there to keep himself; there to make his activities; there to put forth his energies. It is this finding ones place and keeping it which is integrity, character, honesty, and humility.”

Integrity, character, honesty, humility.

Crummell possessed these qualities in abundance.

They are qualities we too must cultivate in our vocations.

What will we do when our seed falls on rocky places?

Crummell’s life makes us look at this parable with fresh eyes, and realize that even the rocky places need cultivation and care.

Of course, those rocky places are all around us.

The rocky places of a self-absorbed culture.

The rocky places where violence and profit margins are easier than peace and justice.

The rocky places where the Gospel is ignored, the Spirit resisted.

The rocky places where a person, or a church, would rather die than change.

The rocky places where racism abounds, even in nations that claim equality under the law.

You have been in rocky places.

You might be in one now.

You certainly will find yourself in one in the future.

In order to do work in the rocky places, it is good to attend to the teachings of the Letter of James.

To do work in these places takes faith, which in its testing produces endurance.

This testing brings one’s faith to a place of maturity and fullness.

I imagine this was the faith of Alexander Crummell.

He worked in those hard and rocky places, and nonetheless worked at nurturing the faith of others in those places.

This takes me back to the image of that seed falling in the rocky soil.

I want to offer a midrash on this parable.

A midrash is a Jewish way of interpreting Scripture that offers another reading to get at the truth of a story.

Here’s the midrash.

There was seed sown in rocky soil and the seeds grew.

A worker came to the field every day and watered the plants but the sun caused them to wither.

One night while the worker slept, the master of the field came and replaced the rocky soil with good soil.

And the plants grew and bore fruit tenfold, twentyfold, and a hundredfold.

And the worker came to the field and rejoiced.

When you find yourself in those rocky places, remember Alexander Crummell.

Keep your hand to the plough.

Tend to the seeds of the gospel.

Trust in God.

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Living Together

A sermon preached at the end of Church Divinity School of the Pacific’s Student Orientation

————–

1 Thessalonians 3:6-13

Ps. 90:13-17

Matthew 24:42-51

 

“How can we thank God enough for you in return for all the joy that we feel before our God because of you?”[1 Thess 3:9]

 

This time has been in the making for so long and in so many ways.

You all have been individually called out by God to lay claim to your particular gifts and to lay claim to your vocations.

The continual discernment of the mystery of your lives has led you now to this place here in Berkeley at Church Divinity School of the Pacific.

All of us have individually followed paths that have led us to this particular community of faith lived out in this community of learning.

We have all arrived here as strangers and we have learned how to grow together as a community.

And now this week, you who have come through orientation have been gathered together as people who were once strangers but now have become friends in this community of followers of the way of Jesus.

 

The passage we heard from I Thessalonians offers us a window into the creation of one of the earliest Christian communities we know of.

As you will learn later, First Thessalonians is the earliest letter we have from the Apostle Paul and so also the earliest written Christian document.

In this passage, we hear the joy experienced by the earliest Christians as they came together to worship the God of Israel in gratitude for the reconciling work of the risen Christ.

We hear of the mutual longing of Paul and the community in Thessalonica to see one another.

We hear of the joy that each gains in their fellowship and a desire to grow in faith that is uniquely gained by living in community.

Paul’s words teach us that a key component of living together in Christ is a mutuality and reciprocity that leads not only to love for one another but also to growth in faith.

This communal growth not only exists for the sake of the present but it is also directed to the future.

Our passage ends with this exhortation from Paul:

“And may he so strengthen your hearts in holiness that you may be blameless before our God and Father at the coming of our Lord Jesus with all his saints.” [I Thess 3:13]

Here Paul’s words remind us that what we do together matters.

God cares deeply about how we shape our common life together.

We hear Paul with our modern ears that God will judge us individually for what we have done.

And we recoil.

But remember this – Paul did not think like a modern person.

He thought as a Jew of the ancient Mediterranean world.

And so he thought not of individual entities but of communal realities.

How we live as community is what God will judge in the age to come.

And life in community is hard.

 

We hear about the difficulty of community life in the passage read from Matthew 24.

The context of this passage is Jesus preparing his disciples for the coming of God’s reign that will be signaled by the return of the Son of Man.

It is important to know that the Son of Man refers to a heavenly figure in Daniel 3 who in Second Temple Judaism was identified as the messianic agent of God’s restoration of Israel.

In Matthew, Jesus is identified as the heavenly, messianic Son of Man.

And we hear a parable by Jesus about faithful and unfaithful household slaves.

This teaching is similar to others Jesus offered in which he used the economic and social realities of his time to exhort his disciples to work carefully with what has been entrusted to them.

I don’t think this parable means that the good slaves are Christians and the bad ones are non-Christians.

I think he is asking his disciples to imagine themselves as a household devoted to serving God by following the teachings of their master Jesus.

 

This parable is not about us and them.

It is about us.

And it asks a hard question — Are we ready for the Son of Man coming among us at an unexpected hour?

When he comes, how will he find us?

Will he find us treating one another well and nourishing one another or will he find us beating up on each other? [Mt 24:45, 49]

It is not an abstract question about when Christ comes again.

It is about how we choose to live together now, in this community, at CDSP.

We here are part of the household of God, following the way of Jesus.

We’re an intentional community – we have chosen to live together.

And we will be held accountable for how we live together and with one another now.

 

This truth reminds me of something that Mark Richardson has spoken of as a desire he has for life together here at CDSP – that we learn to cultivate the habits of ethical living and the ability to engage in moral conversation that leads to deeper life in Christ.

Moments and opportunities will come for us to follow Jesus and to show we are ready for the coming of the Son of Man.

These moments will emerge as we live together in this place in community.

Our time in this community will be determined in part by how we choose to be open to living side by side as members of the household of God, brought together as followers of the reconciling Christ.

This kind of living together is what Paul writes about in First Thessalonians.

It is a community in which the workers within the household attend to and care for one another.

It is a community that gives thanks for one another.

It is one in which the love of God serves as a common bond among us, even when we disagree or disappoint one another.

 

So we are here together facing this new semester, gathering together again as a community.

Let us care for one another.

Let us give thanks for one another.

Let us love one another.

Living this way, together, we will be ready when the Son of Man comes among us, now and in the day to come.

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Believing After Boston

Thursday in the Third Week of Easter

March 18, 2013

Church Divinity School of the Pacific

Berkeley, CA

 

1 Samuel 15:16-23

Ps 65:1-5

Acts 8:9-25

John 6:44-51

 

I had a different sermon planned for tonight.

One about community and living in relationship.

I had meant to focus on the failed leadership of Saul, the corrupt spiritual ways of Simon Magus, and the dependence on Jesus as the bread of life.

But I scrapped that sermon after Monday afternoon.

 

Maybe it is because I still think of Boston as my home.

Maybe it is because I have been to many Boston Marathons.

Maybe it is because my wife Jennifer lived and worked on those blocks.

Maybe it is because we were married in a church a block away.

Maybe it is because I have stood exactly where those bombs went off.

 

What I know is that I am worn down.

Some of you know these places and can identify with my experiences.

Many of you can’t but perhaps have other places that loom large for you, places that you would never want desecrated by violence and bloodshed.

Or you yourself have stood at similar places.

But I think we can all agree that we are weary.

We are tired.

We are worn down by the constant drumbeat of violence in our culture.

 

I suspect we have all found our breaking point.

For some it was Newtown.

Or 9/11.

Or the London Tube.

Or Norway.

Or shootings on our streets in Chicago or LA or Philadelphia or Oakland.

Or it was JFK.

Or MLK.

 

I find myself grappling with the fact that for my generation, terrorism and violence has been a constant drumbeat.

I was born in 1973.

The decade began with the hostages at the Munich Olympics.

It ended with the assassination of Anwar Sadat after he signed a peace accord between Egypt and Israel.

The 1980s included the assassination of Oscar Romero, the Hezbollah bombings of Marine barracks in Lebanon, the Achilles Lauro hostages, Lockerbie.

That decade brought in the crack wars that devastated the city of Hartford where I grew up and many other cities and towns across this country.

The 1990s was Oklahoma City and the first World Trade Center bombing and attacks on abortion clinics.

And then 9/11, Afghanistan, Iraq, IEDs.

My best friend was a Marine who was killed in Iraq.

His name was Greg.

Among all these acts of violence we also remember the mass shootings in Stockton, Columbine, Aurora, and Newtown and hundreds of other events.

I can measure the progress of my life according to the violence around me.

I speak only for my context but I think there is something that resonates in my litany with many of you.

America has been afflicted with the sickness and sin of violence.

 

At the same time, there is something deeply Christian about American culture.

This is the country that John Winthrop declared to be a city on the hill and a light to the nations.

This is the country that appealed to Scripture to end slavery.

This is the country that claimed the deepest truths of Christ to end racial oppression and segregation.

And it is the country that believes in the myth of redemptive violence.

Americans throughout history have believed that violence when justly applied reflects God’s will for America as a divinely elect nation.

We even envision the violent suffering of American heroes as a sign of their righteousness.

As a people, Americans have the tendency to believe that violence redeems whatever cause we hold dear whether as victims or aggressors.

America was formed as a Christian nation and our belief in redemptive violence comes from a particular way of reading the Christian Scriptures.

 

This belief goes deep into the Scriptures.

We see it in the command of God to the Hebrews to practice a war of annihilation in the land of Canaan.

This is why God is angry with Saul at Gilgal in the reading we heard tonight.

God had commanded conquering Israelites to completely destroy all the spoils of war on the battlefield.

Saul instead chose to keep some of the spoil to sacrifice to God at Gilgal.

The message of this passage seems to be that God prefers the complete obedience of total annihilation over the offering of sacrifices, sacrifices that might convey Saul’s might as a leader as much as God’s glory.

The psalms speak of God and his anointed kings as victorious warriors and proclaims that the enemies of Israel deserve defeat.

The Book of Revelation envisions Christ as a triumphant king sent to overthrow the rulers of the world.

The message seems to be that violence when wielded by God and his agents redeems the people of God.

 

What do we do with this after Boston?

After Newtown?

After Oklahoma City?

After Memphis?

After Dallas?

The truth is, there can be a hollow feeling of powerlessness.

 

Yet, we are Christians.

If that name for us means anything, it means fundamentally that we turn to Christ to make sense of this world.

And yet, what Christ do we turn to?

After Boston and after Newtown, and I speak for myself, I shrink away from turning to the crucified Christ.

I shrink away because I refuse to see the violence inflicted on him as redemptive.

Tonight I am with the fearful disciples on Good Friday who thought that there was no meaning to be made of being tortured to death.

The violence inflicted on Jesus was not redemptive.

 

Yet, I turn to Christ.

I turn to the resurrected Christ.

His suffering death alone was not redemptive.

But his resurrection was.

His death was only meaningful in light of his resurrection.

 

The author of John makes meaning of Christ’s death in these words of Jesus we heard read:

“I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live for ever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh.” (John 6:51)

But doesn’t this seem like too easy of an answer?

Is the promise of Jesus as the bread of life enough to bind up our wounds?

How can turning to Christ as the bread of life end the culture of violence that Americans seem completely sealed in?

I admit I do not know.

I am lost.

 

And yet I trust that if I eat the bread of Jesus Christ I will live forever.

I eat the bread of Christ as the Israelites ate the manna in the desert — completely vulnerable.

I have nothing that can stop the violence that can befall me at any time.

There is nothing that I can do that will protect my family; that can protect my children.

We are all completely vulnerable to the violence in our land.

My only hope is to completely rely on God for my sustenance.

Weapons will not save me.

Violence will not protect me.

There is no meaning in the loss of life.

But as a believer in the Creator God, the one who raised Jesus Christ from the dead, I must believe in the inexorable power of life.

Life, health, thriving, community — these things are grounded in God alone.

 

The world and its wisdom is outside.

Violence and terror are its ways.

It will never save you.

Relying on God who is Life will.

We gain life by eating — eating the wheat, the rice, the fruit that God has placed here for the life of the world.

In the midst of death, come and take hold of life.

Come and eat this bread — take it, eat it, rely on it.

This bread is the power of Jesus Christ’s resurrection.

It is the power of the resurrection, rejecting all that destroys life.

Take this holy food and discover that death has been swallowed up by life.

In the midst of violence, in the midst of striving for power, in the midst of our confusion, God exists as the Life-giver.

Take the true bread that has come down from heaven.

It is the promise of life.

 

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