Epiphany 5 2012

Epiphany 5 2012

I have to confess that when I was in high school, I was not very nice to the church kids. In fact, I would go so far as to say that I was antagonistic.

I hadn’t been raised in Church, so while there was respect for God in a general sense—our religion was more blue-collar work ethic and liberal politics. We really only ever made it to church when I started wearing weird dark clothes and listening to loud music… (I guess not a whole lot has changed.)

The fact is that I didn’t like how cliquish these people were; I didn’t like how they treated other people; and I especially didn’t like that they seemed just too sacrosanct to have anything to do with anyone who wasn’t part of their group. I’m sure none of you knows anyone like that…

 Needless to say, then, I wanted about as much to do with their God as I did with them… So, like I said, I wasn’t very nice.

Well, as all of you have probably figured out, God has quite a sense of humor. And at some time toward the end of high school, I found myself going to church and even getting something out of it.

Before long

Before long, I was accepted by the church kid group that I had previously antagonized (y’know, I felt guilty). We were starting Bible studies, and all kinds of different stuff. And while I was accepted by this group, and I was enjoying being a Christian—the thing that always bothered me was that I couldn’t understand why no one ever thought to tell me about God before.

I mean, these were people who were supposed to have known God very well. They had a personal relationship with Jesus Christ. Sure they handed me plenty of tracts, but no one really ever told me anything about God. What’s even more, they never told me why knowing God even mattered.

To be          fair, I suppose any of us might be at a loss for words if we were asked why God mattered. Especially when the question is more personal—not just something about how we like God because creation is pretty, or something like that. Not to say that there is anything wrong with being amazed by Creation. Certainly our reading from Isaiah offers a sweeping and beautiful vision of Creation, and God as transcendent above all of it.

But it also understands the more finite aspects of God and humanity as well. That personal element that St. Paul infers in his letter to the Corinthians.

He explains

He explains that to those outside the law, he became as one outside the law. To the weak he became weak. He even goes so far to say that he became all things to all people. And if we’re to believe this, that Paul is not disingenuous about being all of these things—then we can only assume that what he means is that he opened those parts of himself to others that his message could be communicated.

So, to those under the law, Paul admitted his legalism. To the weak, Paul shared his own weakness; and for all other people and types—Paul needed only consider those things in himself and be honest.

For Paul, I suppose meeting some of these different types of people was kind of like having a mirror held up to him. If he was going to offer the transformative message of the gospel, he needed to know why it mattered—not just to those he was speaking to, but why it mattered to him.

And I’m willing to bet that when Paul put himself in that frame of mind (seeing aspects of himself in others), it was less a matter of becoming like them—it was coming to the realization that he was one of them.

Simply put

Simply put, he was legalistic, he was weak, and he was all of those other things that were supposed to be red flags for religious people. And because he knew the need for transformation in Christ in himself, he knew how important it was for others to be given the chance to hear the transformative gospel of Jesus.

Whatever you may think of St. Paul, what I love about his ministry is that he told people about who he was—where he’d come from. Sure, he had a keen theological mind, and an amazing grasp of Roman and Jewish culture. But the power of his preaching was rooted in his ability to help others connect the dots by sharing the meaning and experiences he had with God.

So for the people he preached to, they got a glimpse of who Paul was, and they were able to connect to him and trust him. This allowed them to accept what he said, not just because he was slick and charismatic—not because he had all the answers, but because he knew what it was like to experience the love of God when he really needed it.

It almost sounds too simple, doesn’t it? I mean, at the risk of sounding a little Evangelical, if sharing the Gospel of Jesus is as simple as telling people we trust and who trust us why God matters—then why does it seem like such a hard thing to do?

The truth is

The truth is, the longer I’ve been in the Church the tougher it gets to share my own faith. This is especially true since becoming an Episcopalian. You know, faith to us is something that is very private—it’s kind of like shopping for underwear with your mother. You’re never really all that comfortable, but you know you gotta do it.

          But the thing that draws honest spiritual connection from me is when I get to know people. It’s when I’m made aware of my inability to say anything clever, or catchy, and I’m left only able to tell someone why God matters to me. Often it’s a chance for self-deprecating fun, but as long as God shines through—I’m completely alright with that. In the end it’s the honesty and the connection that makes the difference. Besides, people are getting a skewed enough view of Church and religion. A little honesty might go a long way.

          So why does God matter to you? What keeps you coming back to participate in the mysteries of the sacraments? What keeps bringing you back to be with people with whom you might otherwise have no other connection?

If we can’t answer it for ourselves, how can we answer it for others?

         

St. Paul says

St. Paul says that by having the knowledge and gift of the gospel he has an obligation—a responsibility to share it. When I think of how messed up I am and how much I really need God; I can imagine that there are other people just as messed up and just as in need as I am. I think that alone is obligation enough for me to share with people why God matters.

That’s not to say that I’m out to convert people; that’s God’s work. So, if sharing the gospel is about being honest and connecting to people—maybe it’s not as awkward as shopping for underwear with mom after all. However it is something we have to do.

Epiphany 4 2012

Epiphany 4, 2012

You may or may not agree with me, but I have to say that I think the Gospel of Mark is perhaps the most disturbing of the Gospel accounts.

I don’t know if it’s the shortness of the book, or the starkness of the narrative. It seems to move so quickly that it makes a restaurant menu look like War and Peace in comparison. It just somehow feels sparse and fearful to me. After all Mark’s version of Jesus is far more enigmatic than in the other Gospels. He’s so much so that even his disciples are continually confused and made afraid by his actions. It’s altogether an almost desolate portrait for something called the “Good News.”

But what I will say for the account is that it doesn’t waste time getting to the essentials of the message of good news—namely the sacrifice of Jesus, and the salvation of the world.

Now, I’m sure that as all of you were sitting down last night studying the Gospel of Mark in preparation for today; you had the same response as I did to our reading. Is this a story about exorcism, or is it really about the authority of Jesus?

Well if you were reading the same commentary I was, you would know that the answer is the authority of Jesus.

Once again we find Jesus

Once again we find Jesus teaching in the synagogue. We don’t know what he was teaching, but it says that the people were amazed because he taught them as one having authority. Whatever it was, it apparently got a possessed guy bent out of shape, and Jesus casts the spirit out. I suppose at that point if there was any question about authority, it got settled then…

I also imagine that the scribes were surprised. After all, these guys were the ones who were supposed to have the authority to teach and interpret the Hebrew Scriptures. They were the ones who had spent all of that money going to seminary—and then Jesus showed up and out-classed them with an exorcism. But the truth is, the people recognized Jesus’ authority before that—even the possessed guy attests to it.

However in defense of the scribes, he is technically the Son of God. So, they shouldn’t feel too bad about getting shown up. However, a question for us might be how we would recognize this authority that Jesus has, and what it means for us.

One of the interesting things about the Gospel of Mark is that the people who are supposed to know Jesus seem to just not get him. Like I said before, his disciples seem to never understand what he’s doing or what his teachings mean.  Instead, throughout the narrative, Jesus and his disciples come across very different people who do get it. Whether it’s blind Bartimaeus, or the Syrophenician woman, the people who seem to recognize Jesus and his true authority are those without any power of their own.

However, when they met

However, when they met Jesus, it wasn’t as if their lack of power was the issue—instead it was the promise of renewed strength, and reconciliation that made all the difference. And it was because of Jesus’ openness that they were able to realize and accept his authority. What’s more, it was when their story intersected with the story of God in Jesus that their lives were changed forever.

The thing about God’s story/God’s Word, is that it transforms our own lives and stories. This is especially true in the person of Jesus, because by his very incarnation—his being with people and sharing in their lives, he made God real to them. And by their meeting God in Jesus, these people were able to connect their own stories with God’s story, and thereby make God real to others.

There is something to be said for our lives and our stories as interpretation of God’s Word. We may even say our story as interpreting God’s Story. Because what we sometimes forget is that who we are and what we do is always wrapped up in who God is to us—and how God has been revealed to us in Jesus Christ, and through Scripture and tradition, and more importantly through people we know and trust.

This is because the way that the Gospel of Jesus is designed, is that by its nature it is something to be shared and integrated into our lives.

In this context

In this context, our stories begin to have even more power and authority. Because they’re no longer stories about ourselves alone—but become part of the greater story of God.

In this way, God’s Spirit gives us new meaning, and calls us, in turn, to incarnate the love of God. And by sharing our own renewed story, we become part of the transformative work of Christ in the world.  

That is when our stories have the power to change lives and reveal the true Christ—the one from whom all authority comes to us. No matter how beaten-up or broken down we may feel. No matter how insignificant or commonplace we think our lives—if we’re willing to give our selves and our stories to God, they have power.

The point is, when the people heard Jesus teaching, I don’t think that it was just the fact that he is the Incarnation of God that made them recognize his authority. What I do think is that what Jesus taught—the revelation of God to God’s people in Scripture, and God’s longing to be close to us and in love with us, and the promise of God’s Kingdom—all of it was the good news that they needed to hear. So when Jesus made the connection—both in word and presence, it was an invitation to know God’s love and share in the story of God.

After that…

After that…I suppose the exorcism seemed like a cheap magic trick in comparison. Because the true power and authority of Jesus was revealed in his ability speak of God’s love.

I wonder what would happen if we shared our stories with others? How could our lives reflect this authority that the people recognized in Jesus? What difference would it make in the world? Would our stories be the invitation that others needed to meet Jesus Christ? Who knows? But, I hope we’re willing to leave here and find out.

Feast of the Epiphany 2012

Feast of Epiphany 2012

What did they come to see? I can imagine this was the question that Herod asked these three strangers from the East. What could have brought them from their far-off places and far-off cultures so distant and other, to come to Israel?

          Matthew’s Gospel, of course tells us a star led them. And while they knew that they were travelling to pay homage to a king—the fact that they were apparently kings themselves makes me wonder why it would matter at all.

          Honestly, most of what we know about these men comes from tradition. As we’ve just read, Matthew’s Gospel really doesn’t tell us much about them. However, what becomes evident from the text (and perhaps the most important thing about this story) is that these men were not from Israel. All the same, they understood that the birth of Jesus was something extraordinary and something for the world.

          It’s an interesting story but it appropriately marks the beginning of the season of Epiphany—this season of Light and revelation. It makes this very nice transition from the birth narrative of Christmas, and draws us into the miracles and mysteries of Christ.

Epiphany, as you probably know is the season when we recall the revelations of God (also called theophanies)—God’s in-breaking into our reality. We also read about these manifestations in the miracles and signs that Jesus did. Of course the most profound of these theophanies is the birth of Jesus himself, the Incarnation of God.

But what did these wise men come to see? It’s not as if they could have guessed all that Jesus would become or what he would do, much less what he would mean for all of Creation… Then again, even those of us who know the stories can’t really fathom all that Jesus is.

So, perhaps we could ask ourselves the question: What have we come to see? What brings us from our homes to be here every Sunday? I mean, sure we know that church attendance is one of the items on the checklist for being a good Christian. But a checklist really isn’t a very good reason to waste a perfectly good Sunday…

Instead, I believe it’s something far deeper. In fact, I would say that we come here for the same reason that the Wise Men followed the star. There was a profound mystery that called out to them and drew them deeper into the greater mysteries of God.

The thing about mysteries and signs is that they call us out of our places of comfort. They also call us inward, to a deeper place to try to understand what it is that compels us. But the mysteries of God call us to come together to share our experiences of God, and together try to understand their greater significance. It’s like the old Indian proverb about the blind men experiencing an elephant. Each of them feels a different part—ears, tusks, legs, tail. When they later compare notes, they find their in complete disagreement about what the elephant is like. The point being, that if they would have shared their collective experience, a fuller picture of what the elephant is would have emerged.

This, I think, is where the idea of being spiritual but not religious fails. Because outside of religious tradition, we can easily mistake our spiritual experiences with the divine as something for ourselves only. Whereas religious tradition calls us to relationship and responsibility for one another. It gives us a place to come together to try to figure out just what our experiences with God in Jesus Christ really mean. And in this way, by sharing our experiences and revelations of God, we get a fuller understanding of who God is—and inevitably draws us closer together as a community of faith.

We really only have Church tradition and legend to tell us what might have happened to the Wise Men after they returned to their respective countries. We can’t say for sure whether or not they ever really understood who Jesus is. But their willingness to be called out to follow a star to find out the meaning and significance of a divine mystery should inspire us.  What mysteries have called us here? How can we share them for the benefit of the whole Church?

Feast of the Holy Name 2012

Feast of the Holy Name 2012

          It may or may not have made it into your calendars as such, but today is the Feast of the Holy Name (also known as the Circumcision of Our Lord). Imagine saying that to someone rather than “Happy New Year…”According to Church tradition, this was an important event in the life of Jesus; and is part of the birth narrative in the Gospel of Luke—(as we’ve just heard). So, today being eight-ish days after the day we celebrate the birth of Jesus, we commemorate his naming as a feast day.

And while the letters of St. Paul spent a good amount of time on the subject; you’ll be happy to know that this sermon is not about circumcision.

However, what it is about (to a certain degree) is the subject of names. As you probably know, this sort of naming ceremony is a much bigger deal in other cultures—especially ancient Hebrew culture. This is because in the ancient world one’s name was somehow connected to a person’s essence. Often names would be evoked in magical spells to add more power to them. So, to know someone’s name was to have power over them.

 Even in our modern context, we have some idea of the importance of names. For example, think about how important it is that people pronounce our names correctly… Or, better still, think about how much stock our culture places in seeing our own names in print…

 In some families, there is the tradition of a namesake. Naming children after their parents or grandparents, because there is this sense that something about the person may be conferred with the name.

 In some Christian traditions, there is also the practice of taking a saint’s name at confirmation. Once again, there is this idea that some virtue of the namesake would be conferred—also that the saint in question might continually pray for the person.

Even up until the early 20^th century, it was considered a very private thing to share one’s first name. Apparently it was bad form to refer to someone by their first name (or “Christian Name”) if you did not know them personally.

All of this is to say nothing of our practice of naming buildings, estates or even cars as if they somehow possessed some anima of their own.

The point is that there really is something about names. Our names are somehow part of our personality—they’re an extension of who we are when we’re not around—especially to those who know us.

So even if we don’t understand names to the same extent as those in the ancient world, we still get a pretty good idea of how important a name is…

In Ancient Hebrew understanding—and even in modern Judaism today—the name of God is a name that is too holy to be spoken. So much so that God is referred to by the moniker, “Hashem” simply meaning “The Name.”  This is of course the name which God revealed to Moses from the burning bush, the name that is transliterated as Jehovah or Yahweh. And while the meaning of this name is not completely clear, it is loosely translated as “I Am that I Am”, or “I Shall Be as I Shall Be.”  

The point being that the name itself is one which isn’t very precise to begin with… It’s as if God wanted to be so intimately known by Israel that the name was entrusted to Moses. But at the same time it is still a name which doesn’t really allow us to pin God down. If we consider the ancient understanding of names, perhaps we can guess why.

So, often in Scripture people gave God names based upon certain actions, or things that God did for them. The naming of God then became this very personal thing, even an act of devotion to God. All the same, this name, “I Am” is still the predominate name by which God chooses to be historically known.

But it shouldn’t be too hard for us to see the conundrum in all of this. We know that by God’s nature that God wants relationship with us. In fact, by God’s nature as Trinity and One we know that relationship is a big deal to God. However, there is something about God’s name that keeps God separate and wholly away from us. And with a name which cannot be uttered or fully understood, the identity of God becomes hard to connect to—let alone to have relationship. This is of course where Jesus comes in.

While God has a mysterious puzzle of a name; the name of Jesus is something quite different. It is a name which means “Salvation.” Once again it’s a name given based upon something that God does for us. But it’s also a name common to us, making it far more intimate. Jesus (Hesoos), or even its other form Joshua, for example, remain popular names.

Now, this doesn’t devalue the power of the name Jesus. In fact, I think that the power in the name of Jesus is found in the fact that it is a name that belongs to us—it’s a name which belongs to humanity, regardless of culture. This is because even though he is the Incarnation of God, Jesus belongs to us.

That is to say that in his humanity, Jesus draws who God is well into our sphere of being. God is no longer simply mysterious and transcendent (although that part remains). Rather, in Jesus, we experience God as having a life we can imagine and a personal name we can call. But in Jesus, God also experiences us—not just as our creator and sustainer—but as a friend, a companion—someone who’s had some of the experiences common to all people. So in this way, Jesus—even by his very name—brings us closer to God by recalling to us all of who Jesus is to the whole of human experience. It recalls God’s act of salvation through Jesus. And all of this comes simply through him having a name.

We know from Scripture that all of the fullness of the Godhead was pleased to dwell in him. But the power and wonder of Jesus for us is that he was also pleased to dwell with us—a fact made concrete by his participation in human history. Not to mention his continual love and longing for us.

We know from our own experience that names have a significant place in our lives—even a kind of power. Perhaps this is some remnant of a more ancient time, or some mimetic memory left over from our ancestors. But when we think about the mystery of the Incarnation, and the fact that God was given a name—a common name, no less—perhaps we might wonder if we’ve forgotten the power of the name Jesus.