An Independence Day Sermon

by The Rev. Benjamin J. Newland

We mark today the 234^th anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence, and in doing so celebrate all that is good and lovely and true about our country. I would like to take this opportunity to preach a Fourth of July sermon. I do so in full knowledge that such a sermon is in deadly peril of becoming nationalistic, overly sentimental, and even jingoistic. In an effort to avoid such perils, I will try to follow closely the scriptures appointed. Not the scriptures read from the Bible this morning, but some of my favorite American Scriptures:

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all Men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness—That to secure these Rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just Powers from the Consent of the Governed, that whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these Ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it…

In the month of September, in the year 1776, General George Washington’s armies were in retreat and the war that would come to be called the American Revolution was not going according to plan. Little more than two months earlier, fifty-six men, representing the thirteen American Colonies, had signed a document penned by Thomas Jefferson that began with the words above and ended with these:

We therefore, the representatives of the UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, in General Congress, Assembled, appealing to the Supreme Judge of the World for the Rectitude of our Intentions, do, in the Name, and by the Authority of the good People of these Colonies, solemnly Publish and Declare, That these United Colonies are, and of Right ought to be, Free and Independent States…

The power and poetry of these words are utterly overwhelming to me. It is a painful truth that we  seldom live up to the righteous demand for justice called for in our Declaration of Independence, but I cannot imagine how anyone, upon reading these words, could not be moved. How was is that King George III, upon receiving this document, did not immediately depose himself before the onslaught of liberty’s fury? And yet, the words were not enough. Blood would have to be spilt, and British and American soldiers would have to be killed, before the American Colonies would be free.

In that month of September in 1776 it could not have looked to General Washington like the Revolution he was fighting would ever be successful. He was out-manned, out-gunned, out-trained, out-historied, and indeed out-classed in every category important to a military general. And in that dark September, Thomas Paine, an English writer turned American soldier, wrote these words:

These are the times that try men’s souls. The summer soldier and sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of their country; but he that stands it now, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman.

And so when the original American Dream seemed ready to die before it could be born, Paine defined the true American Patriot as the person who would persevere not only during the easy times of summer and sunshine, but during the dark of winter and the partly-cloudy conditions of real struggle. Free and Independent States were not to be just a beautiful idea on paper, but an ideal worth the toil and blood of their citizens.

Eighty-seven years later Abraham Lincoln would take Thomas Paine’s words to heart and force the United States to face the ideals written in the Declaration of Independence. Thomas Jefferson wrote, “that all Men are created equal.” The gender specific language sounds harsh in our ears today, and who knows if the founding fathers meant to include women or slaves in their declaration. Whether they meant it or not, that is how Lincoln read it, and he set out to make the country look more like the declaration that had started it. In January of 1863 he issued the Emancipation Proclamation, part of which sounds like this:

…on the first day of January, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and sixty-three, all persons held as slaves within any state…shall be then, thenceforward, and forever free; and the Executive Government of the United States, including the military and naval authority thereof, will recognize and maintain the freedom of such persons, and will do no act or acts to repress such persons, or any of them, in any efforts they may make for their actual freedom.

It didn’t go that smoothly of course. Lincoln’s words might have freed the slaves legally, but it took a civil war to actually free them. It would take another hundred years for those slaves’ children to be allowed to vote or to go to school with white children. It was a test, for Lincoln, a test of a nation conceived in liberty. Could any such nation really exist? Reality always lags behind ideals, but was it fated to lag so far behind that the nation would fail?

The question must have been in Lincoln’s heart, but there was no doubt in his words. Eleven months later he stood on a battlefield in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania where earlier that year 51,000 men had died arguing about the freedom of people whose skin happened to be darker than theirs. His words are nothing less than iconic:

Fourscore and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.

Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battlefield of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field as a final resting-place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live…

Lincoln goes on to say that he cannot consecrate the ground they’re all standing on any further than the dead have already done. He says it is instead the task of those gathered to dedicate themselves,

…that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion; that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain; that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom; and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.

I’ve read that Lincoln was an atheist in his youth—that he had no use for God. By the time the Civil War had gotten a hold of him this clearly wasn’t the case anymore. Whether a devoted Christian or a Public Theist, after being elected to his second term, Lincoln tackled one of the persistent problems of religious philosophy during his second inaugural address. While seeking to describe the two sides of the Civil War still raging, he said, “Both read the same Bible, and pray to the same God; and each invokes His aid against the other.”

Lincoln can’t let his even-handed statement of the situation stand, and follows up with a sentence that cuts directly to the heart of theology in far fewer words than any theologian I’ve ever read. “It may seem strange that any men should dare to ask a just God’s assistance in wringing their bread from the sweat of other men’s faces; but let us judge not, that we be not judged.” The place of human being in judgment aside, that statement is a judgment: a particularly American judgment that God and justice are real, and that we can and must live by their precepts if we want to live out this patriot dream of America.

The thing that stands out to me about all of Lincoln’s words is his utter dedication to the United States of America, not as a place, or as an economy, or even as a group of people. For Abraham Lincoln America is an achingly beautiful idea that we as Americans have a duty to live up to. “Eighty-seven years ago a bunch of regular guys had a really good idea,” he says. “Now, we’ve flubbed it up pretty badly so far, so let’s get to changing things.”

If you want proof of his faith, I offer the signature line of that Emancipation Proclamation:

Done at the city of Washington, this first day of January, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and sixty-three, and of the independence of the United States of America the eighty-seventh.

Did you grasp that? Lincoln dates this fundamental legal document of freedom by giving the date in years since Christ was born, and then again in years since the United States were founded. As if to say that the founding of the United States of America on the principles of liberty, and justice, and equality, and freedom, was just as significant an event in world history as the virgin birth of Christ, and the date of the document that set slaves free ought to reflect that.

When I started work on this sermon, it’s title was ‘Cognitive Dissonance’. Cognitive Dissonance is the psychological term for what happens when your brain disagrees with itself. Like when you know what is right but are forced to choose the wrong. Or when you believe in the ideal but are witness to the reality. I named this Independence Day sermon Cognitive Dissonance because that is exactly what I experience whenever I really think about the country I live in.

I believe that the Declaration of Independence was meant to claim life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness for ALL people. I understand the reality that it did so initially only for white men who owned land. I believe that Abraham Lincoln intended to set the slaves free. I understand the reality that more than one hundred years later there are ways in which their children are still not free. I believe in the original Dream of America: that all who are willing to embrace our ideals and contribute to our nation will be welcome here. I understand the reality that we need a line of border guards between us and Mexico, and that Homeland Security looks at citizens from Arabic countries much more closely than citizens from Northern European ones.

The Patriot dream of America is a complicated thing, full of contradiction between ideal and reality. It is, however, a dream very much worth dreaming. The power and rightness of the values that set this country on its course deserve our constant nurture, and to be ever present thorns in the sides of our leaders.

And finally, in testament to that far-reaching dream, one final piece of American Scripture. Everybody knows the hymn,  America the Beautiful, but generally you only hear the first verse sung out in public. Here are the first two lines of the third verse:

O beautiful for patriot dream that sees beyond the years

thine alabaster cities gleam, undimmed by human tears.

Given my age, the formative act of war in my life will always be the destruction of the Twin Towers of New York City. I’ll never forget when Dan Rather came on the first Dave Letterman show to air after the eleventh of September, 2001. He quoted that verse and said that he didn’t think he could ever sing it again, because our alabaster city had nearly drowned in human tears. I think he may have missed the point. Our cities, our nation, and our people are not without tears, only undimmed by them. In fact, our cities, our nation, and our people have been anointed with tears, again and again, sometimes at the hands of our enemies, and sometimes at our own hands. It’s just that, somehow, this patriot dream, fueled by a people driven to live free and at peace, can see beyond the years of pain and strife, and stand undimmed by the tragedies done in its name from time to time.

Again, given my age, I was born too cynical to end a sermon by saying, “God bless America,” as American Presidents and political candidates are always doing at the end of their speeches. Instead, let me leave you with that last verse again:

O beautiful for patriot dream that sees beyond the years

thine alabaster cities gleam, undimmed by human tears.

America! America! God shed his grace on thee,

and crown thy good with brotherhood from sea to shining sea.

My sheep hear my voice.  I know them, and they follow me. -John 10:27

Acts 9:36-43
Psalm 23
Revelation 7:9-17
John 10:22-30

          People who like black and white answers and who prefer plain meaning to subtlety and allusion may find reading the Gospel of John frustrating.   For others, however, the ambiguity and nuance of John’s stories resonate with their struggle to understand exactly who Jesus is and what he means for their lives.  There are elements of frustration, ambiguity and nuance in the Episcopal Church today.  Those parallels are what we’ll explore this morning.

          In this section of chapter 10 in John’s gospel we are given yet another shepherd image.  Jesus uses this figure of speech or image several times in the 42 verses of the tenth chapter to describe his own role and the role of his opponents, the religious hierarchy.   Scholars report that oftentimes a community’s staple food, whether seafood or sheep, banana or buffalo, figures as an essential part of that peoples stories of self-identity.  At the most ancient level of biblical storytelling, sheep are highly respected, for without their life, communal survival would not be possible.  Contemporary interpretation of the Bible’s sheep stories needs to balance its characteristic talk about how stupid sheep are with the economic reality that sheep were the primary life source for the people. 

          Over time the image of the shepherd has gained the patina of nostalgia and for some become over sentimentalized.  By sentimentality I mean the practice of showing a one sided image, a flat depiction.  That said, one fact we know is that shepherding stresses the communal nature of sheep.  By using this image the church and Jesus proclaim the good news that I am not alone.  We are the flock, and we share a common life. 

          Psalm 23, a frequent choice for funerals, suggests to some Christians the individual as the one sheep Jesus is holding.  Yet during the early centuries of the church, the church fathers used Psalm 23 as an allegory for baptismal catechesis.  The green pastures were the weeks of catechetical instruction; the still waters was baptism; the soul’s restoration was the revival by the Spirit; the path of righteousness was the new life of faithfulness; the oil was the chrism of baptism; the table and the overflowing cup referred to the Eucharist.  In this classic interpretation of Psalm 23, the emphasis is on the communal life of the sheepfold, enlivened by the spirit of God through baptism.

          In today’s lesson the Jewish leaders put the question directly to Jesus saying, How long will you keep us in suspense?  If you are the Messiah, tell us plainly.  Jesus becomes emphatic stating that he has already told them plainly what they need to know. Earlier in this chapter he has used the image of the gate.  Very truly, I tell you, anyone who does not enter the sheepfold by the gate but climbs in by another way is a thief and a bandit.  The one who enters by the gate is the shepherd of the sheep.  By way of summary in this chapter Jesus uses two positive images: shepherd and gate, and three negative images: thief, robber and stranger.  Jesus offers these common images as a means to challenge the Pharisees, to help answer their questions of him and  to invite them to leave their world behind and join the emerging Johannine community.

          Moving into today’s world we might ask:  How do we know God’s voice?

How do we know the pathway Jesus offers in our lives today?  Can we recognize his fold and who is called to be a shepherd?   This past week has offered several ways for me to view these questions.  Last Saturday the vestry was on retreat under the able leadership of Sr. Warden Vickey Clayton.   Good attendance helped as it is always best to have the entire group, hearing ideas, sharing and generally building a foundation for the year of ministry ahead.  Many voices were heard, bits of personal story and heartfelt ideas and suggestions for ministry at Christ Church were raised.  For me the real meat of the discussion was the vulnerable honest sharing around lifestyle, time, passions and hopes for learning and ministry and the ongoing life of Christ Church Puyallup spoken personally.   For until we each can find our own voice we can not step forth to enable the pathway for others.  Until we can say how and where we will participate we best not suggest what others should do for their spiritual enrichment.  

          Monday I was able to be at Alderbrook Inn on Hood Canal for one day of the Diocese of Olympia Clergy conference.  Bp. Rickel had several things he wanted to share on the theme The State of Emergence, based on Phyllis Tickel’s book The Great Emergence.  We responded to questions:  What is most exciting for you in ministry and life? What is emerging in our diocese and what did we want to bring up for the good of the order.  We were able to give voice to many issues, concerns, experiences in our lives.  Bishop Rickel stated some difficult things.  That our church has a 1950’s structure that doesn’t fit any more.  The church must change and some things will be left behind.  He suggested there would be places of fear as we let go of what doesn’t work in 2010.  “If you begin with a structure you have to make up the passion and that is hard to do.  It is better to begin with passion and then design the structure.”  I’d say the vestry was searching for where the passion is so that the church can be in touch with what is relevant in people’s lives today.  We were invited to hear from young people who are pursuing a different formation process toward ordination and to listen to some wisdom from University of Washington professor, James Wellman, Chair, of the Comparative Religion Studies Dept via power point.  He has done much research and writing on trends.  He titled these 16 trends: Religious Renewal for Disenchanted Liberals, Sobered Evangelicals, and Depressed Atheists.  As I stated these were offered as tough trends they include: 

·        be modest but bold,                          bodly ask for what you need,

·        share your spiritual life                     convert your kids

·        start small groups (around affinity areas)

·        be kid centric (pay your youth pastor more than your senior pastor)

·        be family centric without being a bigot

·        create beauty

·        sin is in – don’t ignore it, young people know the world is pretty messed up

·        seek bold leaders (don’t baby lay people)

·        the bible is real

·        be ambitious

·        use technology

·        be prophetic

·        be demanding

·        and finally: don’t be afraid

                   My learning between life April 2010 and the Gospel of John chapter 10 is that we are still out on the portico asking Jesus where he is and who he is.  And the answer is still. The father and I are one.  John 10:30.  Jesus is found in each of us and in the strangers we don’t know and haven’t met yet.  It is important to recognize our own voice, passion and fears and share that with others in our community of faith.  Hopefully we will find compassionate listeners who will engage in this dialogue.   We have much to offer in the Episcopal church, we need to design new and open ways to introduce Jesus and our sacramental, liturgical way of living out his gospel message.  We also need to listen to the faith stories we all have.

          It was in response to the voice of the true shepherd that Jesus was called—even as each of us is called—through the literal valley of the shadow of death, and delivered safely to full reunion with God.  As these weeks of Easter season reveal the post resurrection Jesus in all the varied appearances he makes, let us stretch ourselves here at Christ Church Puyallup and in the larger church to find new gates and images where we can testify in our daily lives to resurrection appearances and find ways to welcome those who come in our doors by recognizing Christ in each of them and in one another.  Dear God, thank you for all that is good, for our creation and our humanity, for the stewardship you have given us of this planet earth, for the gifts of life and one another, for your love which is unbounded and eternal. O thou, most holy and beloved, my Companion, my Guide upon the way, my bright morning star.  Amen

A sermon by The Rev. Benjamin J. Newland on the last Sunday after the Epiphany

Exodus 34:29-35

Psalm 99

2 Corinthians 3:12-4:2

Luke 9:28-43

It seems to me that one of the pieces of vital information that the modern city-dweller must have is the location and phone number of the nearest Chinese restaurant, preferably one that delivers. I’m not talking about a good Chinese restaurant, necessarily. I’m talking about a place where you can order General Tso’s Chicken, and Sweet & Sour Pork, and all those other traditional dishes that no self-respecting Chinese person would ever even think of eating when in China. Chinese-American food, I guess we call it.

There was just such a restaurant about eight blocks from my house in Kansas City. I don’t remember the name. It was just one of those places where you called in your order and picked it up on the way home. Not the kind of place you could make part of a healthy eating plan, but a necessary place nonetheless.

One of my favorite things about that little restaurant was their secret annual tradition. Once a year, on a particular day which changed each year, if you said “Happy New Year” to the staff, you’d get a free order of Egg Rolls. The day in question was not January first, of course, but the more elusive Chinese Lunar New Year, which moves around irregularly between late January and mid February. I discovered this tradition on accident one year, when Google coincidentally reminded me that it was Chinese New Year while I was looking for something else. On all subsequent year I carefully marked the date, for this annual special was not advertised at the little Chinese Restaurant; you had to be an insider.

I mention this for two reasons. One, because today is the first day of the year of the Tiger. I’m particularly excited this year because Tiger is my year. Most of us born in 1975—like my wife—are  Rabbits, but the lucky few born before the new moon in February are Tigers. I get a great deal of pleasure out of the fact that Tigers and Rabbits are supposed to make poor couples, a fact that it hardly seems you’d need an astrologer to tell you.

The second reason I mention that little Chinese place in Kansas City is because I got to be an insider there. I got to know something about a culture completely alien to me, and to recognize that, and to be recognized in return. Just think of me as Peter at the foot of the mountain where Jesus is being Transfigured before his eyes.

OK, that’s a long stretch, I’ll admit it, but bear with me for a moment. For Peter, Jesus is the nearly incomprehensible mediator of a completely alien divinity. Peter follows Jesus, and he can touch Jesus, and in some small sense he knows who Jesus is. Yet the divine Kingdom of God that Jesus enables around him is not something Peter has any experience of. He can’t name it, most days, let alone understand it. For me, that little Chinese Restaurant was the nearly incomprehensible mediator of a culture completely alien to me. I had no real experience of Eastern thought, let alone food. True, comparing salvation to General Tso’s Chicken is probably second degree blasphemy, though if you’re hungry enough the distinctions can start to blur.

All right, I’m done trying make Chinese New Year and The Transfiguration work together. Hopefully next year the Lunar cycle will line up with some better readings.

All three of the lectionary readings for this Sunday feature glowing faces. Moses speaks to God and returns with tablets inscribed with the law and a shining face. Paul writes to the Corinthians and compares Moses’ glowing face with Jesus’ Transfigured one. In the Gospel, Luke tells the story of Jesus climbing the mountain to pray and being transformed before the eyes of a couple sleepy Disciples.

Here are the two prominent lines in my mind as I hear these texts:

 “As he came down from the mountain with the two tablets of the covenant in his hand, Moses did not know that the skin of his face shone because he had been talking with God. When Aaron and all the Israelites saw Moses, the skin of his face was shining, and they were afraid to come near him.”

 “…while he was praying, the appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became dazzling white… a cloud came and overshadowed them; and they were terrified as they entered the cloud.”

These two stories, one from Exodus and one from the Gospel, are really very similar. Moses and Jesus both ascend. They both come face to face with God and are changed, or perhaps not changed but merely revealed. Upon returning to the world, those who see them can perceive this change—this unveiling—and respond with fear.

I have long been fascinated with the Biblical concept of fear. The King James version generally has it, “the fear of the Lord,” or “those who fear the Lord.” More modern translations usually seek out a word that more closely resembles what the ancients meant by ‘fear’. It is more than just ‘afraid’, though that’s in there. It’s also respect, and awe, and overwhelming reverence.

In the transfiguration stories, it’s Aaron and the Hebrews who experience this. They are afraid to come near Moses in his divinely charged state. They aren’t afraid of Moses, exactly, but they are wary of approaching too closely to such a display of God’s power. In the Gospels Peter is not afraid but terrified—a word with less useful subtexts. This is typical for Peter though, to overdo things until he’s completely missed the point.

The reason I’m so taken with the Biblical concept of fearing God is because I want to be afraid of God. I want that ancient fear in my understanding of God—that realization that I am not in control of this relationship, and that God might do anything, at anytime, with or without my permission. That is terrifying, if you think about it, but fear of God is deeper than merely being afraid.

Since it is the Chinese New Year, think about the Chinese symbol for crisis. I’m sure you’ve heard before than in the language of Chinese symbols, the greater symbol translated as ‘crisis’ is made up of two lesser symbols: one for ‘danger’ and one for ‘opportunity’. In Chinese, a crisis is not wholly negative as it tends to be in English. Then again, it’s not exactly safe, either.

And since this year is the year of the Tiger, I share with you part of a poem. In this poem, a tiger represents Jesus, and in the particular verse I’m going to read you, we are at that wedding in Caana of Galilee.

Now, therefore, Tiger.

The time of celebration is at hand.

Prepare the wedding feast.

The bridegroom crouches

motionless

outside the door

and licks his fangs.

I’m not much of a poetry critic myself, but I’ve always liked the idea of Jesus as a Tiger: beautiful and powerful and deceptively lazy in his movements, but always capable of being dangerous. A predator who hunts not other animals but our own failings and weaknesses. A spiritual predator of sin, if you will.

It is appropriate, I suppose, that Transfiguration Sunday comes just before the season of Lent. It is as if we’re being shown a bit of the stick for which Easter’s redemption is the carrot, and now we have six weeks to come to terms with than. I maintain that while there is much opportunity in the crisis, and much awe and reverence in the fear, that there is still danger—there is still fear. To come face to face with God is no small thing, and not something that can be survived if you wish to stay as you have always been. That’s what Aaron and the Israelites were really afraid of, I think. That’s what had Peter so terrified: to witness transfiguration is to be transfigured yourself. To come face to face with God is to die to what you had been and then to be reborn into something else. In the season of Lent which is about to start, my prayer is that we all might come to find the opportunity within the danger—that we all might come to fear God anew. AMEN.

A sermon by the Rev. Benjamin J. Newland on the 5th Sunday after the Epiphany

Isaiah 6:1-13

Psalm 138

1 Corinthians 15:1-11

Luke 5:1-11

“Woe is me! I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips; yet my eyes have seen the King, the LORD of hosts!”

-Isaiah 6:5

“Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man.”

-Luke 5:8

In the Gospels of Mark and Matthew, there are short descriptions of the calling of the first Disciples. Jesus walks along the shores of Lake Galilee and finds Andrew and Peter, James and John, fishing. He says, “come, follow me.” And they do.

In the Gospel of John, after Jesus had been crucified, Peter and the Disciples are again at the shores of Lake Galilee. “I’m going fishing,” says Peter. So they went out, but they caught nothing. Just at dawn, a strange man appears and tells them to cast their nets again, on the other side of the boat. Despite misgivings, they do so, and a huge abundance of fish are caught.

In another place, Jesus comes upon a great crowd. Taking pity on them, he climbs a hill, or goes out on a boat, or sits down, and he teaches them.

In another place, Jesus takes just a few fish, and makes them into many.

The first eleven verses of the fifth chapter of the Gospel of Luke contains all of these stories, all mashed up together. What is going on in this morning’s Gospel reading? Is this a story of the calling of Disciples? Is this a miracle of abundance? Is it a foreshadowing of resurrection? Is it a tale of Jesus as the great teacher of the people? In short, yes. It is. All of those things.

I have decided that I like this story. I wasn’t sure at the beginning of the week, but now I have decided. The story is kind of a pain, honestly. It’s hard to figure out what to say about a passage that has so many different things going on. What does one preach on? The miracle? Peter’s confession? Discipleship or Resurrection? But in the end I decided I liked this story for just that reason: it’s complicated. The story is an amalgamation (which is a fun word), a mash-up of Jesus themes all muddled about together, which is a pretty accurate description of my faith life when you get right down to it.

Does Jesus call us to discipleship? Yes, Jesus does. Usually while he’s also teaching and halfway through a miracle. Does Jesus do miracles? Yes, Jesus does. Usually only so someone nearby will realize that God is present and have an Epiphany of their own.

There are many things to say about this passage. I’m going to limit myself to three for right now.

First, is there even a miracle going on here? I mean, it’s not like Jesus turned the lake water into wine, or even multiplied any fish. The Disciples are fishing and they don’t catch much. Then Jesus says to try again. Then they catch a bunch of fish. A miracle? Maybe, but as any fisherman can tell you there’s more than a bit of luck involved in how many fish you catch at any given time. Besides which, saying Jesus knew when and where to catch a lot of fish makes him seem less divine and more like fish-finding radar.

The thing that really makes this a miracle story is how Peter responds to the fish. Whatever just happened, Peter sees in Jesus for the first time (in the Gospel of Luke anyways) the presence of something beyond the merely human. Peter responds in his own typically grandiose and bumbling way, by yelling at Jesus to get away, for he, Peter, is not worthy. This miracle story ranks high on the list of miracle stories for me precisely because of Peter’s reaction. For once Jesus doesn’t follow up a miracle by saying, “Don’t you understand?” Peter does understand. Peter gets the miracle right away. This miracle isn’t a reward for existing faith, it’s a sign meant to terrify the casually faithful into repentance and Discipleship.

Second, and this is minor, but I feel there’s something here. Jesus doesn’t ask for well rested Disciples. We aren’t given the exact time of day like we are in John’s version of this fish tale, but we are told that the soon-to-be Disciples are done fishing. They’ve been at it all night, and now they’re done. Then Jesus comes along and commandeers their boats for his lecture. Then, after all that, he suggests they go back to fishing. At that point Peter complains, and rightly so. Again, this is minor, but I think significant. Jesus waits until the Disciples are done, and spent, and tired, and then he asks them for more. They give it, and are presented with an abundance they didn’t expect to find. I think that if we asked people who could tell us their own clear and vivid stories of being called to discipleship, they would tell us that it often works that way: Jesus waits until we’ve given all that we think we can, and then asks for more. And somehow, we find that we have more to give; there is abundance in faith that we cannot normally see.

Third, and finally, a word about that whole “fishers of men” thing. They’ve cleaned up the gender specific language in the modern version, so that now Jesus says, “from now on you will be catching people”. If you were an expert at ancient Greek and had studied the scriptures in their original language, or if you’re not but you own a book by someone who is, then you would realize that the verb in that sentence is tricking us. Jesus says that the Disciples will “catch” people, and to us it seems the same kind of thing that they had been doing to the fish just a minute ago. But the Greek verb translated as “catch” means something closer to “to rescue from the peril of death” than it does “capture”. To apply this verb to fish that are dying is ridiculous. To apply it to living people called into God’s Kingdom is something else altogether.

In the year that King Uzziah died, Isaiah had a vision. He was called. His first response, upon realize what he was dealing with, was despair. “Woe is me!” he said, “for I am a man of unclean lips.” Peter had the same reaction. As the fish were pulled into the now overloaded boat, he realized what he was dealing with. And he said “Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man.” The Isaiah story is cleaner. Three verses later Isaiah has arrived at, “Here am I; send me!” Peter would need all of the rest of Luke’s Gospel and some of the Book of Acts to get to the same place.

These are the great stories of being called. First of all you recognize, somehow, the presence of the divine—the intersection of the holy with your life. Then you feel unworthy. Then God, or Jesus, or a six winged Seraph bearing a burning coal held in metal tongs says that your unworthiness is not real. Then you follow. Here am I; send me. Jesus said come, follow me. And he was sent. And they followed. AMEN.

A sermon by Josh Prescott on the 4th Sunday of  Epiphany.

Jeremiah 1:4-10
Psalm 71:1-6
1 Corinthians 13:1-13
Luke 4:21-30

            Then Jesus said “Today this scripture is fulfilled in your hearing”.  This statement rings out in the gospel according to Luke, concluding all that comes before and summing up all that comes after.  Luke has just recounted Jesus’ baptism at which the heavens open, the Holy Spirit descends, a voice from heaven saying, ‘This is my Son.’  After which Jesus fasts and is tempted.  He returns, then, to Nazareth and reads from Isaiah “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor.  He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour.” After this he claims to have already fulfilled this prophesy! 

For us, reading this account in Luke this claim does not seem so odd, we already have been told by Jesus’ baptism and John’s preaching that Jesus is the messiah.  Of course, we are already accustomed to Jesus as Messiah (or its Greek equivalent Christ) and as the Son of God.  But for his audience in the synagogue that day such a statement would be more problematic.  First of all has he literally done these things mentioned in Isaiah that day?  Later, we know, as Jesus’ ministry continued he would literally bring healing to the sick and even the blind for instance, but he did not do so on that Sabbath in Nazareth.   This does not seem to be the source of the people’s reaction however.  In various translations they are amazed or marvel at his words, they were not simply confused.

Likely, this is because Isaiah already had a history of interpretation in the first century.  It seems to have been understood in Judaism at that time in two ways.  First it was understood as a reference to the mission of the prophet Isaiah and by extension to all prophets, including those in the first century.  Secondly, it was understood to describe the coming of the messiah, who would completely fulfil its promise of healing and salvation.  In both of these interpretations the promises are often seen as metaphorical.  So what the people in the synagogue were likely struggling with is first, whether he is claiming more than prophetic office, and second they seem to struggle even with the idea that he could be a prophet.  After all they know him “Is not this Joseph’s son?” they asked.

So the people, it seems, want a sign.  Interestingly Jesus has not yet performed any miracles or signs in the gospel of Luke.  Based on other Gospel accounts Luke’s placement is probably non chronological.  This placement seems to do two things.  First it serves to introduce Jesus ministry and provide a conclusion to the preparatory sections of Luke that take place before Jesus ministry.  More importantly it highlights that it is something about who Jesus is that fulfils the prophesies, not simply something he does.

Finally, Jesus explains something about his ministry.  He does this by referring to two prophets, Elijah and Elisha.  He does this just after saying that prophets are without honour in their home town, or as translated else where their ‘native place’.  The first reference is to Elijah’s stay with a widow, a gentile in Sidon.  The Prophet had gone there after telling King Ahab of the Northern Kingdom of Israel that God would send a drought because of Ahab’s adoption of his foreign wife’s religion.  Ahab tries to have Elijah killed for this.  While in hiding Elijah stays with a gentile women, and God sustains her household during the famine and restores her son to life.

This story combined with the proverb can make the mercy of God brought to a gentile household by Elijah’s visit seem like the direct consequence of Ahab’s rejection of both Elijah’s prophetic mission and of God.  It could be seen to say that if Israel will reject the Messiah, than he will go to the Gentiles instead.  The problem is that Jesus never abandons his mission to the Jews in Luke’s gospel and that mission is continued in Acts, Luke’s sequel if you will.

Secondly, there is the story of Elisha, Elijah’s disciple and successor.  In this narrative Naaman, the Commander of the army of Aram a rival kingdom, goes to Israel to find healing for his leprosy.  Elisha tells him to bathe in the Jordan to be healed, and after some hesitation he does and is healed.  Naaman returns to Elisha and declares “Now I know that there is no God in all the earth except in Israel.”  Here we see no turning away from Israel by God to turn to the Gentiles, instead God heals the gentile and affirms Israel’s special relationship with him at the same time.

Finally, after Jesus tells the people in the Nazareth Synagogue all of this they become very angry and decide to kill him.  But, miraculously, Jesus escapes.

  Today this scripture is fulfilled.  What has been fulfilled?  The coming of another prophet?  Could that make the people so angry?  I don’t think so.  Prophets were not unexpected in the first century near east, although there could often be disagreement over whether a particular person was a prophet.  It seems instead that his audience may have understood that he was telling them he was the Messiah.  This was a much more inflammatory statement, but even this is not necessarily enough to so anger them as to kill him.  Wouldn’t it be easier simply to ignore his claims and move on shaking their heads saying, “Poor Joseph, his son’s gone mad.”  I think what really infuriated them was how he defined his mission.

Jesus tells them two things, both troubling.  That his message is troubling is nothing new for a prophet.  Jeremiah’s message, for instance, was also troubling.  Today we heard the story of his calling, which ends with his commission.  This commission includes to ‘pluck up, to pull down to destroy and to overthrow’.   These four phrases of destruction are off set by only two phrases of positive things, ‘to build and to plant.’  Clearly Jeremiah was not set out with only pleasant news that everyone would like.  Jesus also has a message his hearers don’t quite like. 

First, the obvious point and the one that probably most angered the people was that the Messiah would be interested in the Gentiles.  Not only to destroy their power or drive them out of Israel, but to heal them and bring them to the knowledge of the one true God, and even to save them from death (as the widows son was saved).  Israel was a defeated and occupied nation.  Oppressed by Roman arms and tax collectors, ruled by foreign installed princes, and besieged culturally by the Hellenistic world; many Jews both in Judea and Galilee were hoping for a powerful leader to take back their lands, restore their culture, and expel or kill the puppet rulers and collaborators.  This is not who came.

So who did come?  This brings us to the second point.  As we have already discussed Luke has not had Jesus perform any miracles yet, and he does not perform any in Nazareth before he says “Today the scripture is fulfilled.”  I think this highlights that it is who Jesus is that is bringing the salvation, freedom, and enlightenment promised in Isaiah.  Mathew says much less about this incident, but he places it just after a series of sayings about the kingdom of God, (for example it is like a sown field, yeast or a mustard seed), these are helpful to keep in mind.  If the Messiah does not come miraculously changing things in the here and now, if he does not come with unquestionable signs, if he comes to both Jews and their enemies, how will he re-establish the Kingdom of David?  How will he bring in a new age?  Jesus often said the Kingdom of God is at hand, but the listeners in the synagogue might ask where is it?  If it is here why do we not see it?  If the prophesy is fulfilled why are the Roman’s still here?   What do the gentiles have to do with it?

Perhaps the answer is, the Kingdom of God is not quite what they expected.  It is like a mustard seed.  It is, in Jesus, right there in front of them, but it doesn’t look as great as they expected.  In fact it just looks like a man, and what’s worse a man they know.  And, at the same time the Kingdom of God is greater than they expected.  It will include Gentiles, it will not just be about them or their country.  In fact, it won’t be about any country at all, for the Kingdom of God is far greater than that.  Jesus shows them that this Messiah that came also to gentiles should not be unexpected.  God healed Naaman, not only a gentile but a general who waged war on Israel.  Why should the messiah save only the Jews when God had been saving others as well for so long?     

Today this scripture is fulfilled.  Are we angry about this statement as well?  Maybe we should be.  After all, do the blind see?  Are the oppressed set free?  Where is the good news to the poor, whether they are poor in spirit in assets or both?  Where is the kingdom of God that the messiah who fulfils these writings by Isaiah is supposed to create?  Can we see it?  There is no man, the son of one of our neighbours, sitting here before us today making this claim, but if Jesus was all that he said then, why do we still seem to be waiting for the Kingdom of God?

Of course, we too might not be ready to see how this fulfilment is true.  Perhaps we can not see beyond our own Romans or tax collectors, or our own fears of cultural annihilation.  Perhaps we can only see the physical blindness around us, but never stop to think whether the physical blindness is a true handicap at all.  Does one need to literally see to have God ever before one’s eyes?  In Jesus’ incarnation God came among us mortals.  The Kingdom of God truly was among them in Nazareth, salvation and life were there, but they chose not to see it, they did not want to.  Whether because of their anger at their oppression, or fear of losing something in their way of life, or hatred of strangers, or even contempt for someone they had known all his life they could not see the greater reality of God right in front of them. 

Today the Kingdom of God is still right in front of us, and beside us, and behind us.  Christ is still fulfilling all that the prophets promised.  He did so in his death and resurrection, and he continues that work of salvation and healing in us and through us.  Not by our own power, not because we are especially worthy or able, but because he is the vine and we are the branches.  Because the Holy Spirit dwells in the body of Christ and we are that body.  We are also still fallible and finite humans in this age and so we do not always appear very much like the Kingdom of God, none-the-less we are called to be nothing less.  In a few minutes Christ’s presence will be made known to us who have faith in him in yet another way as we share his body and blood.  Hopefully in that sacrament we will be so strengthened that we can see God ever before us, that we can see Christ in one another and perhaps, by the grace of God, just a little bit in ourselves.  So that we can see how it is still true that “Today this scripture is fulfilled.”

A sermon by The Rev. Benjamin J. Newland on the third Sunday after the Epiphany

Nehemiah 8:1-3, 5-6, 8-10

Psalm 19

1 Corinthians 12:12-31a

Luke 4:14-21

If one member suffers, all suffer together with it;

if one member is honored, all rejoice together with it.

-1 Corinthians 12:26

In the course of his writings, the Apostle Paul suggests several images of Christ and the Church, or of the Christian community in general. We are, at various places in his letters: a building, a temple, and a field—and these images are only the ones on offer in the first letter to the Corinthians. The fourth metaphor is the one that sticks in our minds; it is the one born of this morning’s epistle reading: “Now you are the body of Christ, and individually members of it.”

It is important to know that Paul uses the image of one body and many members precisely when he addresses issue of division within a community. Paul did not invent this image, by the way. To refer to a group of people—whether it be a religious group, a society, or even an entire empire—as a body made up of various parts was an established image of the first century world Paul addressed. The difference was that the metaphor was normal employed to do just the opposite of what Paul wanted to do.

Previously, the comparison between the human community and the physical body

“had reinforced hierarchy, suggesting that the lowly workers, the drones, should obey and support their military, mercantile, and political leaders. Those at the bottom of the social ladder should stay put and be grateful for the guidance and protection of their natural superiors. After all, the brain that makes crucial decisions is more critical than the lowly organs that sustain routine daily functioning. Even today, the analogy retains a seductive plausibility. Our culture assumes that a talented CEO is worth more than a janitor and should be remunerated accordingly. Similarly, congregations often shower the homiletically gifted [Preacher] with accolades and allow the [Sunday School teachers] to languish unacknowledged in the shadows.

Paul inverts the force of this metaphor… Rather than arguing for hierarchy or subordination, Paul uses the figure of the body to advance a rationale for diversity and interdependence with a strongly egalitarian thrust. According to Paul’s analogy, the assertion of superiority is ridiculous, for it implicitly reduces the church to one body part and its function. In reality, however, ‘privileged’ congregants are so intimately bound to their lower-status brothers and sisters in one body that the entire notion of status is subverted.[1]

Christians too would be tempted to return to an earlier implication of this community as body metaphor. In later letters written in Paul’s name (but most likely not by Paul himself) images of us as the body while Christ is the head introduced an element of hierarchy back into the concept that Paul did not originally intend. That we are all members of one body implies that we are all an important part of a living thing: while certain parts may seem more interesting or important, the complete cannot be whole without all the members.

The image of one body and many parts is a powerful one in our religious tradition. It is in fact more powerful than we often realize. There are two sides to this idea, though we often only see the first. Paul starts by saying that Christian communities must treasure each of their members; for though the eye might be more pleasing to look at than the ear, a body without hearing is crippled. And though the hand is more attractive than the foot, a body that has no feet could not get it’s hands to the places they wanted to go.

The message is deeper than merely insisting to  those within the inner circle that they need those outside the circle. For Paul, not only does the inner circle need those on the outside, the inner circle cannot exist without those outside. The inner circle is in fact dead, unless it is a big enough circle to enclose all the members.

This is an important concept, so I’m going say it again: not only are we all welcome parts of the body despite our differences, we are different by the very will of God, and God would not have us any other way. God made us differently able, and differently skilled. And beyond making us different, God made us so that we could not prosper without each other. It is not so much that Christianity can accept very different people, it is rather that Christianity demands very different people. Not only does Christian unity not require uniformity, it cannot tolerate uniformity.

We have not always heard this message of Paul’s throughout history. We have, more often than not, decided that the most important thing about the body was its skin, and that what God wanted most was for it to look the same. That this lesson falls the week after Martin Luther King Jr.’s holiday forces me to hear Paul’s message more clearly. That this lesson falls into the aftermath of the devastating earthquake in Haiti gives it all the more poignancy. That earthquake has pointed all of our eyes directly at something that has been true since long before the earth shook: there are people in various parts of this world who have black skin and very little resources and who suffer unreasonably. They too are a part of the body of Christ, and we need them.

It is too easy to turn Paul’s metaphor into a lesson for children, about eyes and ears, hands and feet. Paul is not talking about different sensory organs on your head. Paul is talking about the difference between people who are free, and people who are not. Paul is not talking about the difference between a hand that is for grasping and a foot that is for walking. Paul is talking about the difference  between a child born with black skin and a child born with white skin; between a child born into poverty, and a child born into plenty; between a healthy child whose parents expect it to live to be seventy, and a child whose parents know malaria, or AIDS, or any one of dozens of diseases will shorten its life to less than half of that.

In God, says Paul, there are no differences, and so there should be none among us. Sure, you can create a church where all the members are the same, but what you will have created is not of God, it is not a Christian community. It’s not so much that a body can have different members, its more like a body must have different members. And so must we, if we are to live. AMEN.

[1] “Bartlett, David and Barbara Brown Taylor, ed. “Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary”, year C, vol. 1, pg. 278-9.

A sermon by The Rev. Benjamin J. Newland on the first Sunday after the Epiphany

Isaiah 43:1-7

Psalm 29

Acts 8:14-17

Luke 3:15-17, 21-22

The Sunday that follows after January sixth is always loaded up with themes. It is January sixth itself that is the feast of the Epiphany, yet most of us aren’t free to come to special church services in the middle of the week, so we end up dealing with the Wise Guys and their sudden realization on the next Sunday after. The first Sunday after the Epiphany is also the traditional day to observe the Baptism of Jesus, which can be a little disconcerting as it was just four days ago that Jesus was a baby lying in a manger and now he’s thirty-something and wading in the Jordan River.

Fortunately the story that we are given to grapple with this Sunday is a story of Epiphany even if it isn’t about the Wise Men. The story of Jesus’ baptism at the River Jordan is a moment of Epiphany for Jesus. It is a sudden realization, an instant of clarity, a deep moment of understanding. So deep and clear was this moment that Jesus remembered it as a moment when God spoke to him plainly and out loud.

This story is written in each of the first three Gospels. Mark, Matthew, and Luke all tell the story of Jesus being baptized by John at Jordan River. This year we are presented with Luke’s version of that story, so let’s consider the aspects of it that are most particularly Luke’s.

The first thing to notice is how Luke sets the passage up. The people gathered are “filled with expectation,” and are “questioning in their hearts”. Neither of the other two Gospels give us this insight into the minds of those who have gathered to hear John preach. This is not a crowd of innocent bystanders nor a group of rubberneckers come to see the spectacle. This is a people, assembled, who are expectant and concerned. They know there is a God and they have come here seeking a way to be closer to God. Who will show them that way? Will it be John, or will it be this One who is to come?

The second thing to notice about Luke’s version of this story is that when the voice of God speaks, when the dove comes down from heaven, Jesus is praying. Luke is very specific about this, while the other Gospels are not. Indeed, this is a theme we will continue to see all year long in Luke’s account of Jesus’ life. Jesus prays at his baptism, at the transfiguration, at various points throughout his ministry of healing and teaching, in the garden at night, and on the cross. That Luke mentions it while others do not is not to say that Jesus only prays in Luke’s Gospel, but it is a significant statement that Luke makes to us: Here is Jesus at prayer, in communion with God, at all of these deep places. This is what Jesus has to teach the church: a life lived in prayer.

The third thing I’ll say about the story this morning is not something that Luke did. It’s something the people who choose our Sunday readings did. We skipped two verses from the middle of the story. We skipped from John telling of Jesus to come straight to what happened after the baptism. The act of baptism itself is not mentioned, but that isn’t what got cut out of our reading. Here are the missing verses:

But Herod the ruler,^* who had been rebuked by him because of Herodias, his brother’s wife, and because of all the evil things that Herod had done, ²⁰added to them all by shutting up John in prison.

It’s an odd place to mention John’s arrest, I’ll admit. First we see John telling of Jesus, then we see John getting arrested, then we cut back to the scene immediately following John baptizing Jesus. It isn’t a logical progression of events, chronologically speaking. Instead of telling us the story in a step by step way, Luke is telling us the more important story: John the Baptist’s message is given and his time is over. This is the beginning of Jesus’ ministry. This is the line between everything that came before and what Jesus had to say.

There are two more things I want to say about this story. First, I love that in Luke’s version of the story God speaks to Jesus. Mark has it that way too, but in Matthew the words are “This is my Son, the beloved…” I really like “You are my Son, the beloved…” better. This is Jesus’ Epiphany, and I feel like God really owed it to him at this point. He’s about to head into the wilderness to be tested and then he’ll have a year of whirlwind teaching, and preaching, and healing, and breaking bread. At the end of the year either the world will be completely changed or he’ll be dead. Given how much the world likes being completely changed, it wouldn’t have been hard to guess how it was going to turn out. So I love this moment that is both public and private. Maybe people overheard it, but the words were for Jesus, not the crowd. You are my Son, the beloved.

The second thing that always gets me about this story is the dove. I know that the dove is a widely recognized symbol for peace, and in Christian terms is a symbol of the Holy Spirit, so this is a story of Jesus being granted the gift of the Holy Spirit. But really, if you unload the bird of its symbolic weight (some of which had to have been added later anyways) you’re left with a pigeon. I looked it up in an encyclopedia: doves and pigeons are the same birds. In common speech we tend to call the smaller ones doves and the bigger ones pigeons, but they’re all the same family of birds. If you can look at a German Shepherd and a Yorkshire Terrier and call them both dogs then you’re gonna have to read this story of Jesus’ baptism and call the Holy Spirit a statue pooping pigeon. I feel like I felt in 5^th grade when the teacher told me that instead of the Bald Eagle we almost had a Turkey for our national bird. “What?” I thought. “How was that even a contest?”

Of course we’re speaking a different language here. When we call the Holy Spirit a Dove we’re using the deep language of symbols, which doesn’t always translate well into English. Still. I sometimes wonder if instead of descending as a dove the Holy Spirit isn’t more likely to dive as a hawk, and maybe Luke just cleaned things up because he thought people would be afraid of the talons.

AMEN.

A sermon by The Rev. Benjamin J. Newland on Christmas Eve

Isaiah 62:6-12

Psalm 97

Titus 3:4-7

Luke 2:1-20

In that region there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night.

Tonight is a shepherd’s night.

We who are church gather in the morning. We come together in the light of day to worship, and praise, and seek. We celebrate by day—God for us is called the Light in the Darkness. We yearn to be people of joy and salvation—people of the Light—and we sing our yearning in the morning.

There are two important exceptions to this rule. One is the Easter Vigil and the other is Christmas Eve.  At the Easter Vigil we gather at dusk and look to the past. We remember who God is, and who God has been for us. We recall our roots, our ancestors, our history of faith. Easter is the Feast of the Resurrection, and in the dark of the night before the reality of resurrection is made known we remember that we have been slaves, that we have been liberated, but that we will always have the desert with us. The Easter Vigil is a night for refugees.

But Christmas Eve is a night for shepherds.

Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified.

The other exception to our general rule about worshiping in the morning is this night. On Christmas Eve we look to the future. We remember who God is, and who God became for us. We recall the mystery at the core of our faith. Christmas is the Feast of the Incarnation, and in the dark of the night before the reality of incarnation is made known we recall that we were once alone, but that we are alone no longer; we remember that it was once possible to imagine that God did not love us, but that now we know that God is love. Christmas Eve is a night for shepherds.

…the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid; for see– I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people…

It is no wonder the shepherds were afraid. It was night, and it was dark. Shepherding isn’t really a great job to start with, and to have drawn the night shift put these shepherds at the bottom of a pretty short corporate ladder. More of a corporate step-stool, really. On top of the bad reputation and the low pay, shepherding is both boring and frightening, by turns. Generally it’s just a lot of standing around, until a dangerous animal comes to make a snack out of your charges, or an even more dangerous human comes along to steal some of them.

Also, it was night. The night is dark, and scary. Today we have electricity, and streetlights, and flashlights, and halogen headlights, and LED keychain lights, and brighter-than-daylight stadium lights, and even with all of our lights we still find it possible to be afraid of the dark. The night is not afraid of our lights; it just waits patiently at the edge of our high-beams, until it can come back in again behind us.

So here they are, the shepherds who have the overnight shift, maybe a candle or two between them, and all of a sudden an angel of the lord appears. You can perhaps understand why they were terrified.

“…unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.” And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying, “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favors!” When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place…

It’s easy for me to imagine that the shepherds were afraid. What’s harder to understand is that, once they’d got over their initial fear, they believed. The one angel tells them that the Messiah is being born as they speak in the town of Bethlehem, and that they can go find him themselves. Then the rest of the angel chorus line also appears, and they sing a song, then they vanish.

And what do the shepherds do? Do they panic and run away? No. Do they pretend it never happened and go back to keeping watch over their flocks by night? No. Do they check themselves into a mental institution due to shared hallucinations? Also, no. They don’t even turn to each other and say, “Huh. That’s somethin’ ya don’t see every day!”.  Instead, they simply say to one another, “OK, let’s go check it out.”

Some of you will have heard me say this before, and most of you will hear me say it again: one of my favorite things about history is how the people in it are both just like us, and completely different from us. Even two thousand years ago, people were people. There is more the same between us and those shepherds than there is different. Yet the differences are important, and one of the differences is here: belief.

We worry a lot about belief. What do you believe? Do you believe? Can you believe that? This I believe. Unless you believe on the Lord Jesus Christ you shall not have eternal life. We are very concerned with beliefs, and having them, and having them be the exact right beliefs. When someone who knows nothing about our denomination discovers that I’m a priest, their first question is not, “how do you worship,” but “what does your church believe?”

In this way, twenty-first century people are very different from first century people. Believe is not the same word now that it was then. Easier for them, you might say, when what they had to believe in manifested itself right in front of their eyes. But was it easier? Let’s leave aside for now the fact that we are perfectly capable of not believing things right in front of our eyes even today. If those shepherds believed, they too believed in something they couldn’t verify, at least not for thirty-some years. They found a baby, sure, lying in a manger and wrapped in bands of cloth, but to believe that baby something special was still an act of faith that took years to mature.

So they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the child lying in the manger. When they saw this, they made known what had been told them about this child; and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds told them.

Tonight is a shepherd’s night. We remember tonight… A mother and father… a newborn child… a humble place and a humble birth for our God. We remember too that before long there will be wise men of the East, and a angry king, and a flight to Egypt. Then there will be a child presented in the temple, a baptism in the river Jordan, teaching, and healing, and a trial, and suffering, and death. All of these things are to come, but tonight there are just these humble shepherds, who were called and chose to come simply to see.

Tonight is a shepherd’s night, and tonight we are all shepherds, come to see a baby, and to  hope he can change the world. AMEN.

A sermon by The Rev. Benjamin J. Newland on the fourth Sunday of Advent

Micah 5:2-4

Psalm 80:1-7

Hebrews 10:5-10

Luke 1:39-56

My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior; because he has looked upon the humiliation of his servant. Yes, from now onwards all generations will call me blessed, for the almighty has done great things for me. Holy is his name, and his faithful love extends age after age to those who fear him. He has used the power of his arm, he has routed the arrogant of heart. He has pulled down princes from their thrones and raised high the lowly. He has filled the starving with good things, sent the rich away empty. He has come to the help of Israel his servant, mindful of his faithful love.

-The Magnificat, Luke 1:46-54, New Jerusalem Bible

I for one cannot read these words without hearing music. The Magnificat is not so much a text to be read as it is a poem to be sung. Most people do not go about nowadays interspersing their conversations with the recitation of poems or lyric speeches. Believe it or not, people in Mary’s time did. In a culture that was mostly illiterate, memorized pieces of oral literature were in common use. It is feasible that Mary, upon meeting her much older and also pregnant cousin Elizabeth, actually did wax poetical with a spontaneous hymn of praise and prophecy that she built out of pieces of Hebrew scripture she knew by heart.

However it came to be, Mary’s Magnificat is the church’s original Christmas carol. It is easy, in the midst of the beautiful poetry and surrounded by the wonderful musical tradition we’ve built around these words, to loose sight of what Mary is actually saying. We call this hymn the Magnificat, because when you write it in Latin that is the first word of the poem: Magnificat anima mea Dominum, My soul magnifies the Lord. But Mary is not signing of magnificence, Mary is singing a manifesto.

She begins with praise of God and her joy that God has found her, who is without honor, worthy of bringing God’s son into the world. Then her song blossoms into a subversive prophecy of God’s acting in the world. God routes the arrogant of heart; and make no mistake, this is a violent metaphor of war between God and those who’s center of intention and feeling is selfish and disdainful. God lifts up the lowly, but only after he has torn the lofty from their thrones and cast them down. God feeds the starving (and here I like the NJB translation better than the NRSV’s less serious ‘hungry’) and sends those who have plenty off to starve in turn. Mary sings of God, and of the advent of God’s incarnation in the world, but her song is not an ode to beauty and peace. Her song is a political manifesto.

I am not making this up. Throughout the centuries theologians, biblical scholars, and revolutionaries have found solace in Mary’s words to Elizabeth. Mary announces God’s preferential option for the powerless throughout history, and then tells of God’s continuing preference as shown through her, and her role as the one who will bear God’s incarnated presence into the world. When God acts, the world is turned upside down. The Kingdom of God, we are reminded, looks both exactly like, and nothing like, the world we know.

Before I can finish, I need to use another word in an unfamiliar language. Having already read to you in Latin, I beg your indulgence, but I feel like this word is important enough to merit the effort. In the various Eastern Orthodox traditions of Christianity, Mary is known by a unique Greek word: Theotokos. The word is built from the Greek words for God and for Childbearing. Roughly translated, the Theotokos is the God-bearer, although the meanings of this word are subtle enough that it is usually left untranslated for the purpose of liturgy and in painting icons.

The reason I want to share this word with you is that I think it cuts through the centuries of worship, art, theology, and controversy that have arisen around the Biblical figure of the Blessed Virgin Mary, and gets back to that poor, unwed peasant girl who was chosen to bear God to a world that had abandoned her. Mary Theotokos is possibly the best example of the powerful role that women have always played and must always play in the life of our faith.

Consider the circumstances surrounding Mary as she journeys to her cousin’s home. These are tough times. The leaders of Judea and Israel seek to consolidate their power, which is always tenuous, under the new Emperor Caesar Tiberius. This requires tributes, and building projects, and armies, which are expensive. Taxes are high, and people are desperate, and the roads are not safe for a young woman traveling alone.

In the face of God’s impending incarnation, all the men have abandoned her. Zechariah, who is a priest and the husband of Elizabeth, has been struck dumb because he doubted the importance of his own child to come (John the Baptist) and Mary’s child. Joseph, to whom she was engaged, wants to break off that engagement. The shepherds, upon hearing the news, are afraid. Herod, hearing of the coming King, is enraged.

I know, I know, Joseph would come around, and Zachariah would get his voice back, and the shepherds would come to Bethlehem, and Herod would be circumvented by wise men. But at this point in history—at this turning point in time—now, when the whole world waits, however unknowing, for the birth of God in the world, it is the women who keep faith.  It is Elizabeth, despised and honorless because of her long barrenness; and Mary, young and unwed and honorless, who bear the faith of all people on their shoulders. It is Mary who is Theotokos, not the religious leaders, not the men of power, not even the prophets themselves, but Mary, pregnant on behalf of all creation, who keeps and bears God for us.

The early Christians would forget this after a few generations. Soon, Mary would be remembered in the West not so much because she was faithful, but because she was a virgin. Soon, we forgot that Jesus had as many women disciples as men. Soon, we would not think twice about sainting men who taught that women were lesser beings than men. Even today, in our modern world and in our recent history, we have forgotten Mary, or been witness to places where Mary and the power of women that she represents to us has been forgotten, and women have been neglected, tortured, or killed.

We must not forget Mary. We cannot, in Christian faith, ignore Mary Theotokos, who bears God to us. It is popular among politically correct writers these days to say that, without the women, Jesus’s ministry would never have succeeded. Which overlooks the fact, I think, that without Mary—or a woman exactly like her—God could not even have entered the world as Jesus in the first place.

Remember then—as we make our final preparations for the birth of Jesus, as we prepare to approach the Nativity of God Incarnate—remember Mary, and what she did, and what she said, and what that has to mean for us as we seek to build the Kingdom of God.

A sermon by The Rev. Benjamin J. Newland on the 3rd Sunday of Advent

Zephaniah 3:14-20

Canticle 9

Philippians 4:4-7

Luke 3:7-18

I have a love/hate relationship with movie previews. One the one hand, it is exciting to see a glimpse of upcoming movies, and the trailers usually manage to raise my expectations for movies I haven’t heard of or raise my anticipation for movies I know are coming. Sometimes the previews are better than the movie. I don’t even remember what movie I had paid for when I saw the trailer for the first Lord of the Rings movie, the preview so out shown the feature attraction. On the other hand, movie previews often give away the best parts of an upcoming film, robbing the actual experience of any excitement or tension.

On my office shelf sits a book entitled, Genesis: the Movie. The author suggests that if we were to view the first six chapters of the book of Genesis as a movie rather than as exact historical chronology we might have less difficulty with the particulars while noticing more of the significant spiritual themes.

And so into my head full of movie thoughts comes today’s gospel lesson from Luke, in which we have the most complete summary of the preaching of John the Baptist in the scriptures. And it occurs to me that this summary, and the life of John the Baptist more generally, serve as a great theatrical trailer for the life and teaching of Jesus himself. John the Baptist is like the original screenplay for the Jesus story, kind of a pre-production Jesus, released to limited audiences who were then asked for their input in small focus groups.

Well, enough of that metaphor for now. What is it that John is saying? Essentially, there are three parts to what John teaches in the Gospel reading today. First, he warns of the coming judgment of God. Second, he calls for real ethical reforms. And third, he announces the coming of the messiah. These three points serve as a succinct preview of the life and teaching of Jesus, and provide a fairly handy guide for churches on how to be a balanced Christian community.

First off, the warning of coming judgment. John accomplishes this with typical prophetic flair. “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come?” he screams at the crowds presenting themselves to him for baptism, conjuring up an image of snakes writhing over each other in an attempt to flee from a fire. This is the same Gospel that just a couple chapters ago was full of images of Baby Jesus, tender and mild. Now it’s hellfire and brimstone as John excoriates those who come to him hoping just to cover all their bases. He ridicules their self-justification as children of Abraham, mocking them, saying that God could make children of Abraham from rocks and would still not stand for their injustice and selfish ways.

Before I go on to John’s second and third points, I’d like to take a brief side trip into the reading from Zephaniah, because something very important has happened in the prophetic tone of Advent. You may have noticed that Advent is something of a schizophrenic time in the Church Calendar. On the one hand, we are quietly preparing and waiting for the arrival of  God’s incarnate Son, come into the world as a baby, meek and humble. On the other hand, we read again and again from the prophetic literature which cries out for repentance and judgment and the end of days. I personally think we reflect this two-minded confusion of the church pretty well in secular society. On the one hand, we make plans to gather with family and friends in the quiet comfort of home and hearth. On the other, we willingly plunge into the apocalyptic shopping world of WalMart and the Mall.

In today’s reading from Zephaniah however, we have turned a corner. The portion read is the ninth of Zephaniah’s nine oracles and the end of his book, and at the last, the prophet changes his tone from “beware” to “be glad”. He will not give up the fire of his earlier words, but while God is still coming to judge, such judgment is to be cause for rejoicing among the people of God. Zephaniah marks a shift in prophetic tone from lament to joyous confidence.

John the Baptist is a prophet too, however, and he will not let the crowds off lightly. After warning them in no uncertain terms that God would be displeased when God arrived, the crowds ask him what they can do. John again foreshadows Jesus by recommending a very practical, and very personal, set of ethical reforms. Anyone with two coats is to share one with one who has none. Toll collectors are to collect no more than is fair, and soldiers no more than their wages. In the first century economy of the Roman Empire, toll collectors paid the empire for rights to collect tolls, then charged whatever they could get away with for their own profit. Soldiers were paid a very humble wage and expected to supplement their earnings by threat of violence or plunder. It was a system set-up for abuse, and to refrain from such abuse would have been radical indeed, and put the one who refrained in a precarious social and financial situation.

John’s ethical prescriptions were a very personal and practical way to go about the repentance he required. Unlike many of his contemporaries, John advocated not withdrawal from the world like the Essene community at Qumran, nor a military solution like the Zealots calling for revolution. John’s ethics were intensely personal, just as Jesus’ would be.

In the third pillar of his speech, John announces the coming of Jesus. As his teaching unfolds, the people gathered begin to wonder if John is the Messiah they have been expecting. He responds by announcing the coming of the true Messiah, one whose greatness is so much more than John’s own that John would not be worthy even to perform the duties of a slave for this Messiah.

And thus you have the complete theatrical trailer for Jesus: the Movie. In John the Baptist’s teaching you have warning of the coming of God’s kingdom and judgment, you have call for personal ethical reform, and you have announcement of Jesus as God’s messiah. Any of these three points, taken alone, is insufficient to be Gospel proclamation, but taken together they form an accurate preview of the core of Jesus’ message in the Gospels.

Advent is a weird kind of season. If we take the metaphor of John the Baptist as preview for Jesus Christ, we’d have to conclude that the trailer really over-hyped the movie. Here John goes and gets all these people in the crowds excited about the coming Messiah/Movie, but when it finally arrives it’s nothing like what they expected. John promised pyrotechnics and an action movie hero. Jesus delivers only mystical philosophy and gets executed like a criminal. It’s as if you went to the theatre and saw a preview for a great new blockbuster movie with millions of dollars of special effects in which the good guy would win, get the girl, retire rich, and save the planet. Then when you went to the movie it was some bizarre art-house film about a moody Jew who got killed because he wouldn’t do what the authorities wanted him to. Also, the movie went straight to video.

This backwardness of Advent hype is reflected again in our modern practice of secular Christmas. All the excitement is in the building up of the Big Day, the anticipation, the lighting effects, the musical score. Then when Christmas comes it’s almost a let down. Except in the church of course. We know that this movie may start slow, but we also know that all the special effects come at the end of the film, at Easter, when the good guys do win, although not in a way anyone could have imagined.

And so I’m back to my love/hate relationship with previews. I actually like all the Christmas hype, the music, the Santa Claus decorations, even the goofy, animated Christmas light elves and reindeer. But I don’t like that all of this noise distracts from the events to come rather than really getting me ready for them. I guess I’ll just have to see the movie to spite the preview. I hope you will too. AMEN.