A sermon by by Benjamin J. Newland on the fourth Sunday after Pentecost (Proper
2 Samuel 1:1, 17-27
Psalm 130
2 Corinthians 8:7-15
Mark 5:21-43
Jesus stands there, alone in the middle of a crowd. Just another dusty street in another little fishing town on the shores of the Sea of Galilee. People crowd around, trying to hear what he has to say. Some of these folks have been following him for some time now. Others are just curious locals. Despite the crowd, you never lose sight of Jesus in the press of bodies around him. It is as if you are watching a film and only Jesus is in clear, sharp focus, nearly glowing against the washed out humanity around him. Then someone important looking approaches him. The man is dressed officially, but he’s not acting officious. He pleads, almost begs, for Jesus to come and lay hands on his daughter, who is near death. The desperation of a parent with a very sick child has made Jarius humble, and made his faith in Jesus real. So Jesus goes with him.
While the two men walk to Jarius’ house, let us see what Paul has to say to us today. I’ve been ignoring Paul the past couple of weeks, so now it’s time to remedy that. Today we hear from Paul  the Socialist. Paul is taking up a collection, or trying to, from the Corinthians, for the Christian community in Jerusalem. This collection is mentioned in other letters of Paul, and was apparently a big project. In the process of cajoling the Corinthians, Paul says,
I do not mean that there should be relief for others and pressure on you, but it is a question of a fair balance between your present abundance and their need, so that their abundance may be for your need…
Sounds terribly Marxian, don’t you think? From each according to his ability, to each according to his need. The Gentile Churches were far wealthier than the Jerusalem church, which was Jewish. The church in Jerusalem tended to resent Gentile Christians, whom they generally expected to become Jewish before they counted as Christian, and they certainly resented Paul, who was the self-described Apostle to the Gentiles. Nevertheless, Paul speaks on behalf of the Jerusalem church and in favor of Christian unity, asking both the wealthy Corinthians and, in other letters, the less well off Macedonian churches, to give what they can for the support of their brothers and sisters in Christ who are in Jerusalem.
Paul uses every trick in the fundraising book, including some we have tossed out by now. He flatters, he shames, he begs, he guilts. If only the lectionary placed this passage during the Stewardship Campaign, I could say, “I am testing the genuineness of your love against the earnestness of others,” so pay up! Also, “it is appropriate for you who began last year [to give] … now finish doing it, so that your eagerness may be matched by completing it.” Keep that pledge current, people! We try to avoid asking people to give by browbeating them with guilt these day, probably rightly so, but hey, I’d just be quoting the Bible! What’re ya gonna do?
For Paul, the issue is not who has more money, but who is responding to God’s gifts? In Paul’s eyes, the Corinthians are in debt to the Christians in Jerusalem because they preceded them in the faith. Jewish Christians are the olive tree onto which the Gentile Christians are spliced. Given such a gift of faith, what is a little money here or there? It may seem like Paul is talking about money, and he is, but with Paul it is always about Jesus. And in the face of God’s gift of Jesus, believers can only give in return. Not that such a gift is payment, or will ever be enough. Such giving in response to God’s gifts to us is only natural, just the way we react in faith.
Meanwhile, Jesus and Jarius have been walking. While we were talking with Paul about money, Jarius’ daughter died. Some servants of Jarius’ came to him on the road and said that he ought to stop bothering Jesus as his daughter was dead and could not be cured any longer. They laugh at Jesus when he says that maybe the girl is just sleeping. When they get to the house he goes to the young girl. Just her parents, Jesus, and a couple disciples are there; the crowds have been shut outside.
Jesus tells the little girl to “be raised!” This is the same verb that Mark will use to tell us that Jesus was raised from the tomb. Always with the miracle stories I am left with nagging questions. Did it really happen like that, or is this just how Mark remembered it? Assuming God knew what was going to happen, did Jesus? When he told the little girl to rise, did he mean for her to come back to this life, or was he just sending her on to the next life in heaven? And why did he ask them to keep quiet about it? No one who had witnessed the event could have kept silent, and no one who hadn’t been a witness would’ve believed it anyways.
It is difficult to see what this story from Mark’s Gospel has to do with Paul’s lesson on Christian Economics at first.  The connection came to me when I remembered one of the preaching truisms I learned in Seminary: “Miracle stories in the Bible are almost never about what we think they’re about.” In my experience, this is right more often than not. In the case of Jarius, we are distracted by his daughter’s sickness, and death, and miraculous resurrection. We speculate on how it might have happened, and whether it foreshadows Jesus’ resurrection. Jesus himself throws doubt on the issue by suggesting the girl might have merely been asleep. Thing is, the story’s not really about the daughter. The story is about Jarius, and the story was over when Jesus started walking with him.
The point of this Gospel story is that Jarius chose to have complete faith in Jesus. Rather than turn to his authority or to the structures of organized religion that he represented, Jarius chose simply to believe that in Jesus, he would be ok. And really, that’s what Paul was about too. He used money where Mark used a sick little girl, but both of them were talking about trust and faith in God, and why we should all have it. This is good news, but it is also hard news for many of us. It is not the “American Way” to trust in another for your well-being, even if that other is God.
I have to confess that it is only occasionally, rarely if I am honest, that I am able to completely trust in God without adding my own measure of worry or problem-solving. Yet that is what the scriptures call us to today. Trust in God. It is not easy to do at all, and it may be close to impossible to do always. But try it. Find a way to trust God. Maybe in something small at first. Maybe we need to practice before we’ll get good at it. That’s ok. But the message is clear. Paul says it to the first Christians in Corinth, and Mark says it through Jarius and his sick little girl. Both of them are saying it to us. May we all find a way to trust God. AMEN.

View archived copy here.

The Friday Letters
26 June 2009

My Brothers and Sisters in Christ,

During the ‘Season after Pentecost’, which lasts from the Sunday after Pentecost until the first Sunday of Advent, our lectionary gives us some choices. Usually there are two choices: choice one is a lesson from the Hebrew Scriptures that is paired with our Gospel and Epistle lessons, and choice two is an Old Testament passage that follows a roughly chronological storyline. Combined with the three year lectionary cycle, this chronological storyline covers three years, and some of the major events of the Jewish history.

I have chosen both this year and last to follow this chronological sequence and made choice number two. Last ‘Season after Pentecost’ we followed the stories of the Patriarchs, starting with Abram and following the chronology through his sons Isaac, Jacob, and Joshua, until arriving in the promised land following the death of Moses. This year we’ve picked up the thread with David. As this is the first time through the three year cycle with a newly revised lectionary, I don’t know where we’ll end up by next November nor where we’ll pick it up next year. Fun, huh?

Of course, the side effect of this is that by making choice two I’m not making choice one, and much lovely scripture is passing us by each week. We will come around again; in three years perhaps I’ll make the non-chronological choice. Rather than waiting three years though, I’d like to share this week’s Scripture passage from the Wisdom of Solomon, which we won’t be reading, but is worth reading. (You might note that, if you follow the scripture links posted in each week’s edition of The eClarion, you will be taken to a page that features all of the possible readings for that Sunday. In case you’re worried about missing out I mean.)

Wisdom of Solomon 1:13-15; 2:23-24

God did not make death,
And he does not delight in the death of the living.
For he created all things so that they might exist;
the generative forces of the world are wholesome,
and there is no destructive poison in them,
and the dominion of Hades is not on earth.
For righteousness is immortal.

God created us for incorruption,
and made us in the image of his own eternity,
but through the devil’s envy death entered the world,
and those who belong to his company experience it.
We’ve not met Solomon yet in our Chronological progress through the Old Testament. Of the three great Kings of Israel Saul is first, though he’ll die in this weekend’s lesson. David comes next, and we’ve begun to be acquainted with him. Solomon is third, and I suspect that we’ll meet him later on in the summer. The book of wisdom from which this passage is taken bears Solomon’s name, and it is a treasure amongst the Hebrew Scriptures, containing passages both beautiful and wondering.

In this passage we find the author seeking to explain death, and how it came to be in a world that God created. This is a subset of the endless discussion about the presence of evil within the creation of a good God. When it comes to that discussion in general, Job is really the place to be as far as Wisdom Literature. Yet this text is valuable in that it is particularly focused on one aspect of affliction.

I love the first section of this passage, where the author asserts that God did not make death. This is actually somewhat problematic, since it is generally thought that God made everything. What the author really wants to say though comes in the next lines, where God does not desire death, but created things that they might live. My absolute favorite line is “the generative forces of the world are wholesome,” which fits right in with my own understanding that while evil and suffering are clearly realities with which we live, and God allows that if not creates that, yet still God is a kind of rising tide of life that will eventually and inevitably float all of us in a sea of new life.

The fault of most Wisdom Literature, save the aforementioned Job, is that it generally dismisses bad things in a trite, evildoer/devil kind of way. The last two lines of this passage seem like a cop-out to me. Having made a poetic statement about the goodness of God in creation, the author seems to have felt the need to tack on an explanation for why it doesn’t always work out so well. If this was the sermon text for Sunday I’d be compelled to look at the Hebrew word behind that English “devil” and see where it was coming from.

As it is, this isn’t the sermon text, but I thought you might appreciate it anyways. Happy Friday!

Peace,

Ben.

A sermon by Benjamin J. Newland on the third Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 7).
1 Samuel 17:32-49
Psalm 9:9-20
2 Corinthians 6:1-13
Mark 4:35-41
When I was a little kid, I was sometimes afraid of the darkened room where I was supposed to be going to sleep. I know this is not a unique experience. Many of you probably remember some form of fear, some need for comfort, some bogey man in the dark. The monster might have been under the bed or in the closet but surely the monster was there. Indeed, it seems as if this fear is something all of us have to face when growing up.
For me the fear was of a bad guy who would come in through the door to hurt me. To my very young mind I had only two choices: I could keep my head under the blankets or out of them. If I kept my head under the blankets the bad guy couldn’t see me, which was good, but he’d also be able to get really close to me without my being able to see him, which was really scary. On the other hand, if I kept my head outside the covers I could see the bad guy coming, which I preferred, though of course he’d know I was there too. I have very clear memories of thinking up ways to convince the bad guy that while my head was out of the covers, it was not attached to a body, so there was no reason for him to hurt me. Doesn’t make a lot of sense looking back on it, but it was the best I could do at the time.
On really bad nights, when things were even scarier than usual, I’d yell for my parents. Occasionally they would come, but usually they wouldn’t. I was confused by how my mom could hear me doing something naughty during the day even if I was on the other side of the house making no noise, but when I screamed my head off at night she couldn’t hear a thing. Eventually I figured out that she was just ignoring me, which was a whole separate childhood crisis.
Yet sometimes she would come, and here again this is a memory you almost certainly share with me. “It’s OK,” she would say, “there’s nothing to be afraid of.”
In this morning’s reading from the Gospel of Mark, the Disciples are going through nearly the same thing. It is night, and dark, and things are getting scary. Of course, there really was a windstorm to be afraid of for them, and not just metaphorical monsters in closets. These are adults too, and not children, yet their need is the same: they want Jesus to reassure them. Some of these men made their living off this sea. Surely they had seen windstorms before—knew the mercurial nature of the water. Yet this time there is someone nearby who might be able to help them. In this fourth chapter of the Gospel of Mark, the relationships between Jesus and the Disciples are still new.
And so the Disciples do what children scared of the dark probably did even in those days. They called out to someone stronger than them for comfort. They even threw some guilt into the request like many of us certainly did as kids: “do you not care that we are perishing?” they say. “But Mommy, if you don’t turn the lights on the monster will get me!”
The difference between what Jesus says next and what our moms usually said is subtle but profound. The timeless refrain of the mother comforting her children goes like this: “there is nothing to be afraid of.” This is true if you are talking about monsters in closets. It is not true if you are talking about life in general. Jesus does not say “there is nothing to be afraid of.” Instead, he says, “Why are you afraid? Have you still no faith?” It seems like ‘there is nothing to be afraid of’ and ‘why are you afraid’ are pretty similar statements, and a good mom might use either of them to tell their children that there is no reason to fear. Yet Jesus says nothing lightly and means everything he says in ways that are deeper than our initial understanding. From the lips of Jesus, ‘why are you afraid’ implies that there is indeed something to be afraid of, but we are not to fear it anyways.
David is not so much more than a child when he comes to Saul’s wartime camp to help with the problem of the Philistine’s champion. The story of David and Goliath is one of those Bible stories that are so well known they have become common currency in the realm of metaphor. How many companies, politicians, and/or sports teams have been compared (or, less humbly, have compared themselves) to David in his fight against Goliath? Yet there is more to this story than the archetypal vision of the underdog.
The most ignored character in this tale is Saul, yet he is just as much David’s opponent as Goliath is. When David comes to help, Saul immediately rejects him as being of any use whatsoever. You are just a boy, says Saul, and a shepherd boy at that. Goliath has been training as a warrior since his long ago youth.
David’s reply, which is the first battle he fights in this story, is to tell Saul of the dangers he has faced as a shepherd. Lions and Tigers and Bears (oh my) he says, have I driven off while protecting my sheep. He has saved lambs from their very jaws and killed the dangerous beasts when necessary. This is pretty impressive, though it is no more than the shepherds job. Next, David says that while he has done these things, it is the LORD who has made it possible. Now, says David, the LORD will make it possible for me to defeat Goliath. This is not a battle of might vs. might, but of arrogance vs. faith, and our faith in the LORD will help us win.
Saul is convinced and David has won his first battle. Yet Saul is still thinking of this fight in the wrong terms, and so we come to the second part of this story that people generally forget. Saul, imagining that this is still a military conflict, dresses David up in his armor and helmet and arms him with a sword. Comically, David tries to walk in this get-up and fails. David then removes the gear of war and takes just his shepherding tools out to meet Goliath. This scene is not meant merely to emphasize the relative smallness and weakness of David, though it does do that. More importantly, this scene makes it clear that if David is to win it will not be by facing power with greater power, but by subverting what the world knows as power with something different.
Everybody knows the rest of the story. Goliath taunts David. David replies that while Goliath seems very impressive the LORD is on David’s side and that should be enough. The climax of the story is a tiny piece of prose compared to all of the text working up to it. A quick stone to the forehead and Goliath falls. In some sense this is still a military victory, for David has employed violence against violence. Yet in a greater sense David’s victory comes from his faith that God can overcome incredible odds if one is willing to play by Gods rules.
I wish there were another couple sentences in this story. I wish that, after David had convinced Saul but before he went out to face Goliath, there was a scene in which he prayed as Jesus prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane. “I’m trying to do what you want here God, but I am afraid.” Having such a scene would not only conveniently tie together the scripture lessons of the day for your preacher, it would also humanize David who in other passages is very human indeed. Despite the lack of that scene, I am certain that David was frightened, and rightly so. He’d have had to be crazy not to have been. Faith in the LORD is a powerful ally, but a mighty warrior armed and armored is a terrifying thing to face regardless.
Had Jesus been there to advise David I’m sure he’d have said the same thing he did to his Disciples on the Sea of Galilee many years later. “Why are you afraid? Have you still no faith?” A tacit acknowledgement that there is indeed something to be afraid of, but that through faith we are called to act as if we are not afraid. This is the very definition of courage, of course, and not something we ever grow out of needing.
The truth of the matter is that when I was lying in bed in that darkened bedroom as a kid, I was right to be afraid, just like all the other kids are right. Perhaps we had the details wrong. We said we were afraid of the monster under the bed or in the closet, or of the bad guy who might come in the door or window. These fears weren’t real, and our moms were correct to say that we didn’t need to be afraid of them. Yet they were incorrect to say that there was nothing to be afraid of, for there are plenty of things to be afraid of and we knew it whether we could articulate it or not.
Death, to start with. At some point and on some level we all come to realize we will not live forever. Yet even leaving aside this greatest fear, there are plenty more to go around. Injury or disability. Hunger. Failure. Loss of a loved one. Loneliness. The list is long. There is much to fear. Jesus does not say that there is nothing to fear, only that in faith we need not fear, for God seeks to aid us in victory over that fear.
Only to aid us though. It is worth pointing out that while Jesus stilled the wind and the waves, the Disciples were still going to have to row to shore. AMEN.

View archived copy here.

The Friday Letters
19 June 2009

My Brothers and Sisters in Christ,

I received many comments about last week’s letter. Thank you to all who wrote in or mentioned something in passing. Clearly you’d rather hear about my wife than any of the other things I usually write about. I can’t say that I blame you.

This week has flown by and appears set to end in rain. I take secret delight (not so secret anymore I guess) in the rain, though I feel bad for the myriad people tending their drippy wet booths downtown for Meeker Days. Perhaps it will let up later and all can be green and pleasant for the weekend.

I had two occasions to dine out this week with different groups. Wednesday I attended a special dinner at the home of a parishioner. Last night I was out at Trackside Pizza with some of the men of our parish. I very much enjoy the opportunities to break bread in these different settings, and to celebrate and take counsel for the good of our lovely little parish.

You had more than enough text from me last week, so I’m keeping this short. May your Friday be celebratory, your weekend wonderful, and your heart dwell graciously in the hands of God.

Peace,

Ben.

A sermon by Benjamin J. Newland on the second Sunday after Pentecost, which is also Graduating High School Senior Sunday.
1 Samuel 15:34-16:13
Psalm 20
2 Corinthians 5:6-17
Mark 4:26-34
Samuel is Saul’s prophet, but more than that he is Saul’s chief supporter, his biggest fan, and his closest friend. Saul’s time as King of Israel is over, and Samuel is sad. Thus opens our story for today, and the story we will be following for the next few months. Samuel is grieving over the loss of his friend and king Saul, and in a very unusual turn of phrase for the Bible, the Lord is sorry that he made Saul King in the first place.
Perhaps you remember that last year at about this time we began a series of scripture readings from the Old Testament that began with the creation story in Genesis. We followed Abram, then Isaac, then Jacob, then Joshua and his brothers. Throughout the summer we followed, off and on depending on how exciting the other readings were for that Sunday morning, the times of the Patriarchs and the Exodus of the people of Israel from Egypt. We have now come full circle around the year and begin again our chronological journey through the Old Testament, this time picking up the storyline with David’s anointing.
Once God rouses Samuel from his grief, he walks the prophet through the motions of choosing the next King of Israel. Many of you will know this story. Samuel is led to the house of Jesse the Bethlehemite and there interviews his sons. The firstborn son, named Eliab, is tall and handsome, so Samuel figures this must be the guy. He gets out his horn of oil and makes ready with the anointing.
Then the Lord offers this bit of wisdom: “Do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature, because I have rejected him; for the Lord does not see as mortals see; they look on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.” This bit of insight alone would make this story worth reading and remembering. Do not let appearances be the whole of your judgment, especially when God is involved, for God does not see as we see. There is a neat little play on Hebrew word choices in this passage which for once comes across in the English pretty well: Samuel is always looking, but only the Lord ever sees.
The story continues to set up the punch line of this particular divine joke. The next eldest son walks by. No, not this one, says the Lord. Then the next, then the next, until seven sons have passed by Samuel and all have been rejected. Samuel is confused. The Lord has picked none of these, he says to Jesse, are you out of sons?
Jesse is not out of sons. There is one more. His name is David and he’s out shepherding the flocks while his elder brothers go through the prophetic lunch line. Jesse can be excused for leaving David out, as David is just about the least likely candidate for Kingship you could have found. In fact, David’s unlikelyness seems to be the point of this story.
Let us list the reasons David is unsuitable to be the next King of Israel. First, David is the youngest son. Youngest sons do not inherit property or titles. There are seven brothers ahead of David in line for handed down honors. Second, there is that number of brothers: there are seven of them. Seven is a very Biblical number. It has all kinds of religious significance and meaning. David is number eight. Eight doesn’t mean anything sacred at all.
Enough of why David’s position in his family makes him  unlikely. Such things are nearly irrelevant, because David’s family is so ridiculously unlikely. David’s father Jesse is described in the scriptures as being a man of no wealth or power. Hardly a candidate for father of the King. Jesse’s grandmother was Ruth, who you may remember from another scripture, and while she’s the star of that scripture she is still a foreigner and an immigrant, which makes David less than 100% Hebrew and would seem to be a disqualification for Kingship. The other side of the family tree is even worse, as Jesse’s grandfather was Boaz, who we are told in other places was descended from Tamar, an adulteress, and Rahab, a Caananite prostitute.
Consider then, David’s family. These are not the trust-funded blue-bloods from New England whom you’d think would run for President. These are some weird folks from the Ozark mountains whom you wish had never made it onto the public stage.
The point of this story of the anointing of David, and the point of my reveling in its odd details, is a point that you have probably guessed already, since I have made it many times before: God makes very odd choices. The first bit of wisdom we received was the Lord telling us not to be deceived by appearances. All well and good, except that God then does something that so strains our credulity that the lesson is impossible to take to heart. When seen through the our eyes, and comprehended through our understanding, the people God chooses to carry out God’s work in the world are the wrong people, with the wrong credentials, and no chance of success. “The Lord does not see as mortals see,” indeed.
The second parable Jesus offers us this morning simply reinforces the lesson of Samuel. Here is a mustard seed, says Jesus, just a tiny little thing which looks very unimpressive. Yet when you throw it on the ground it grows into something unexpected: not a noble tree but a huge shrub; nothing grand or awe-inspiring but something useful and popular. We use this parable most often to talk about faith. The moral of this story, we say, is that if you could have even a tiny amount of faith, an amount similar in size to this mustard seed, your faith could be planted and grow to huge proportions.
I’d like to point out that, at least in the Gospel of Mark, that’s not what Jesus said. Jesus said that the Kingdom of God was like a mustard seed, not your faith. It’s a strange comparison, don’t you think? If I were trying to advertise for a new way of life and wanted to use a vegetable kingdom metaphor I think I’d tell people that my kingdom was like an acorn, that would grow into a mighty oak. Or a redwood sapling, that would grow into the tallest of trees. Jesus, on the other hand, says that his kingdom is going to be like a really big shrub. Can you hear the echoes of Samuel and the Lord here? No, says God, not the tallest and most beautiful, for while you look, I see, and I do not see as mortals see.
There is an assumption that underlies our willingness to choose based on appearances and our inability to comprehend God’s seemingly illogical choices. It is the assumption that we can know the future where God and humans are involved. We assume that we can look at someone and know their fitness for this or that position, for this or that career. We are constantly wrong, but we never loose faith in our ability to judge people.
There is a particular poignancy to having these readings and these lessons on the day we have set aside to honor the graduating High School seniors of our church. In just a few moments, six tall and attractive young people will stand before you, and we will congratulate them for their accomplishment and give them gifts, and wish them well. It is good and right that we do this, and also good and right that we fully expect them to do well in the future. Yet our scriptures encourage us to not just look at them, but see them. Who among these young people is a mustard seed waiting to become shrubbery? Who among these young people is the eighth son of a crazy hillbilly?
It is perhaps a bit odd to compare graduating seniors to shrubs or to cast aspersions on their family. Odder still that in Biblical terms these are great compliments. To combine such scriptures with a celebration of graduations is to know that while we are saying congratulations we are also saying that we love you, that we have loved you for as long as we have known you, and that we will continue to love you whatever path you find yourself on in the future. God says these words to each of us, and today we say them to you. May we always see each other, and not just look; and may we come to see with God’s eyes, and not our own. AMEN.

View archived copy here.

The Friday Letters
12 June 2009

My Brothers and Sisters in Christ,

In the year 2004 the twelfth of June fell on a Saturday. I know this because I attended a wedding on the twelfth of June, 2004, that was different from all the other weddings I’d attended up to that point. Mostly in that I was on the other side of the altar rail.

Clergy don’t get married very often in my experience. These days Episcopal clergy are often what we call “second career” priests, as in, they’ve already had one career before being called to the ministry. Thus, they are either already married or have already been married and are now unlikely to get married again. My seminary class was unusual in that out of a class of twenty some there were around half a dozen of us under the age of 35. That was an abnormally large number, but still pretty small. Out of that half dozen or so one was already married and another got married during seminary. Of the rest of us only Carla and I didn’t have steady girlfriends. As Carla is gay, there wasn’t much chance of romance on that front.

The point, I guess, is that finding someone to marry when you’re an Episcopal priest is an odd experience to say the least. Even in the wider Christian community we Episcopalians are an odd group. The Roman Catholic Clergy have no sympathy, obviously, and many of the more evangelical of our brother Pastors have a rather more traditional view of clergy wives than is contemporary for the Episcopal Church. The default means of meeting women don’t work. Have you ever tried to meet a girl at a bar, and when she asks what you do for a living, you say, “I’m a priest”? I have. Once.

Adding to the difficulty is the generally well reasoned rule that clergy ought not to date parishioners. This is good common sense, as parish relationships can be challenging enough without adding romance to the mix. Then there’s the wider business policy of not dating coworkers. Again, good idea. Except that, where else am I supposed to meet a girl? The kind of girls you can meet at a dance club on Friday night are generally not the kinds of girls you’d like to bring to church on Sunday morning on the arm of the priest. Just my own limited experience, but there it is.

Yet we know that our God is a God with a sense of humor, and not to be bound by human rules. Thus it was that Kim Ji Eun arrived at Grace & Holy Trinity Cathedral as an Organ Scholar. An Organ Scholar, by the way, is not on staff. Neither is she a parishioner. An Organ Scholar falls neatly into the grey area between these two prohibited areas. Not that that was the first thing I thought about. No, first I thought was, “Oh my God, where did that incredibly hot Asian chick come from?”

There are many great stories that fit into the next year of our lives and together compose the relationship that we built over the next year. I’d need many more pages to tell even some of them. Besides, I’d inevitably get some details wrong and Jieun would have to set the stories straight after the fact. I’ll be happy to tell you some later.

For now, let me tell you some of the things I remember about June twelfth, 2004. Clergy often complain about weddings where the couple is only in a church for the backdrop. This was not that wedding. The processional was not “here comes the bride” but a full hymn with all verses—cross, torches, and incense in procession. We had a full choir singing, not because we could afford one, but because they loved Jieun by this point and we couldn’t have stopped them singing if we’d wanted to. There were three deacons, two priests, and a bishop behind the altar rail (not counting me). Communion music was offered by a chamber ensemble including harpsichord, and if I remember correctly there were at least three different organists.

Despite its grandeur, we paid almost nothing for this wonderful event. My mom made the wedding dress. A friend took pictures. The music was all donated. The reception was at the church and was pot luck. We had thirty-eight homemade wedding cakes. That’s right, thirty-eight. I tried the three that sounded the best. Jieun had a tiny bite of every single one.

As a priest, I often shoulder the responsibility of caring for the people who come and go in the parish I serve. Occasionally though, I am given such gifts of care that I don’t imagine there will ever be a way to balance the scales in this world. Jieun and my wedding was such an occasion, and neither of us will ever forget it. The only way I know to seek to repay some of what I have been given is to work towards building a church where each relationship is given the blessing and love that mine has been, whether those relationships are marital, or parental, or anything else. God grant me the wisdom and strength to do that.

Five years ago today Jieun and I were married. It’s still one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. I have not always been the perfect husband, but I hope she would agree that I’m getting better with practice. I hope, by the grace of God, to have many more years in which to perfect my technique. I love her like I have loved no one else. I am a better priest for her presence in my life, a better person for having loved her, and a better man for having been loved by her. May God bless everyone to have such a partner in life.

Peace,

Ben.

A sermon by Benjamin J. Newland on Trinity Sunday
Isaiah 6:1-8
Psalm 29
Romans 8:12-17
John 3:1-17
On this first Sunday after the Feast of Pentecost we mark the occasion known as Trinity Sunday. We set aside this particular Sunday in order to consider this central mystery—this fundamental paradox—of our faith. God is three. God is One. The math doesn’t make any sense at all, but somewhere in the doctrine there is an understanding to be found.
We begin our meditation upon this three-in-one mystery with the Collect prayer that began our worship: “Almighty and everlasting God, you have given to us your servants grace, by the confession of a true faith, to acknowledge the glory of the eternal Trinity, and in the power of your divine Majesty to worship the Unity…” Trinity and Unity: not either-or but both-and; not first then second but simultaneously; not two different descriptions of the same thing, but two completely true descriptions of one mysteriously true reality. We call this day Trinity Sunday, yet we could just as accurately called it Unity Sunday. In the Trinity of God we find the Unity of God. In God’s divine Unity we find the mystery of the Trinity.
The scriptures appointed to be read on this occasion tell us as much about the Trinity by what they leave out as they do by what they say. There is no Trinity in scripture of course. Oh, its roots are there. The Holy Spirit that moves over the waters in Creation is indeed the Holy Spirit. God the Father has been there since that very first conversation with Abram. Jesus pervades the Christian Scriptures even when his physical presence does not. The ingredients of the doctrine of the Trinity are present in scripture, to be sure, but there is no clear description of it. God does not speak to Abram and say, “Abram, I am the first person of the Trinity and I want you to leave your land and your people and follow me.” The Holy Spirit, when it speaks in words at all, speaks not of its own place in a Trinity of Godhead, but speaks with the voice of the Wisdom of faith. Neither does Jesus speak of Trinity explicitly, though he talks often of his Father in Heaven, and just last week he spoke passionately about the Gift of the Holy Spirit who was to come, to be an Advocate with the Father, and to continue the work of truth that Jesus had begun in the disciples.
And so it is that on Trinity Sunday we read not about the Trinity but about its members. In the Gospel of John we hear Jesus and Nicodemus having a conversation about new birth. ‘Is this rebirth?,” asks Nicodemus, ‘How can that be?’ ‘No, not rebirth,’ Jesus replies, ‘but new birth through water and spirit. New birth in the risen life that I have come to bring.’
Nicodemus does not understand Jesus’ talk about second birth any better than we usually understand the doctrine of Trinity, yet he presses on. He comes to Jesus for this conversation at night, in secret, hiding his interest in this Son of God. When next Nicodemus appears in Scripture he will be bolder, less afraid of following Jesus, and less confused by his teachings even when he does not understand them fully.
Also given to us this day in Scripture is the story of Isaiah’s call. While this is the unique story of the Prophet’s own call to God’s service, we can all stand with Isaiah in this experience as we seek to understand our own call by God. When Isaiah finds himself in the presence of God he is, of course, overwhelmed. His first reaction is as many of our own first reactions are when faced with an invitation by the Holy. Isaiah protests his own fitness for God’s work. “Woe is me! …for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips…” I am not worthy, God, says Isaiah. How many of us have said the same thing?
Yet God is never satisfied with the objections of God’s prophets. The Seraph touches Isaiah’s lips with a burning coal. In this symbolic gesture God demonstrates how simply God can purify the intentions of our hearts, and the words of our mouths. ‘Your objection is noted and rejected,’ says God. ‘Now, I am in need of hands in the world. Who will go?’
Isaiah answers with the stark simplicity of the true servant of God “Here I am; send me.” We are all meant to speak these words to God. If ever you are in doubt about what words to offer God in prayer you could find no better example than these five words of Isaiah’s: Here I am. Send me.
While the story of Nicodemus’ nighttime conversation with Jesus, and Isaiah’s vision of being called by God, are both powerful scriptures, both worthy of our meditation and worship, it is less clear how they are meant to clarify the doctrine of the Trinity for us. To be fair, I don’t think there are any Scriptures in the Bible that would clarify the doctrine of the Trinity for us. In the absence of easy explanations I suppose we’ll have to make due with powerful inspirations. Perhaps we should have kept reading Isaiah. If we’d read one more verse we would have encountered these words:  “Keep listening, but do not comprehend; keep looking, but do not understand.” Certainly not inspiring words, but words that more accurately describe our position with regards the Trinity most of the time.
In the end, I am not sure we are meant to understand the Trinity of God. Much ink has been spilt over the past two millennium as very intelligent and faithful people tried to explain rationally the mystery of God’s Trinity in Unity. Perhaps it is enough to know that we have been given a glimpse of God’s nature in this idea of a triune Godhead. There is more to God than a creator. There is more to God than a Son come to live among us. There is more to God than a Spirit that pervades us and our world. There is more to God, always more to God, than we can know or understand. Perhaps what Jesus and Isaiah are trying to tell us today is not a way to understand God, but a way to serve God, who is more than we can ever understand.
In the name of our Triune God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; Creator, Redeemer, and Giver of Life; Interceder in History, Presence among us, and Eternal Voice of Wisdom. AMEN.