Hugh's Day: A Sermon

Hugh of Lincoln November 17, 2010
Luke 12:35-44
Titus 2:7-14

In the early summer of 2009, I managed to make two pilgrimages while living and studying in England. One was to the famed appearance of Our Lady in Walsingham in the Norfolk region; the other was to the shrine of Saint Hugh of Lincoln inside the massive Lincolnshire cathedral. Both hold a special place in my spiritual formation that shall never be forgotten.

The flat midlands of Lincolnshire afford the eye great, distant vistas of Britain. From the train down from Mirfield, I could see far in the distance the towering cathedral of Lincoln floating above the town as it sat quietly atop a massive hill. Consecrated in 1092, the existing cathedral as we know it today was restored and enlarged in 1192 under Hugh’s episcopacy. The western front is a rather interesting blend of Norman and Roman architecture that reflects the long history of the faithful of Lincolnshire, one of the largest dioceses in England. With the double-stroller off and kids in tow, we headed into the town of Lincoln like bewildered pilgrims worn down by two very spirited children. Like good Episcopalians, we found a nice pub for lunch. Fortified and feed, we climbed the massive hill towards the cathedral. All along the way, I responded to numerous objections from the family: “if you’ve seen one cathedral Chad, you’ve seen them all.” But after spotting a confectionary shop, I knew I could buy back their loyalty during this forced uphill march. After all that it took to get here, I found myself asking the question: what is it about Hugh?

Born around 1140 into a noble family in the Burgundy region of France, Hugh was the youngest of three sons. His mother, Anne, who died relatively young, was known for her particular care of the poor and sick. The sight of seeing his mother wash the sores of local lepers seared young Hugh. Following his mother’s death, Hugh’s father William enrolled Hugh at a local Austin Canons’ monastery for his education—a common practice amongst the nobility at the time. Hugh’s devout and highly restrictive education formed him at young age. At fifteen, he made his profession as a canon and was later ordained deacon at nineteen. Soon afterwards, Hugh was given charge over a parish where he tasted pastoral strife. But something else was stirring deep within him.

Not far from Hugh’s parish rose the Chartreuse mountains, often snow-capped and vivid with color. High in the Chartreuse range bore a monastery and order of the same name, the Carthusians. This highly austere and secluded monastic order was founded by Bruno who followed the reforming spirit of Cluny. Known for their great silence, the Carthusian order is a community who blends the eremitical way of life with that of enclosed brotherhood. Few Carthusians were ever elevated to the episcopacy and few managed canonization by the Church, something that is a point of pride for them because theirs is a life hidden in Christ through prayer, silence, study, and liturgy. All of these drew Hugh to the mountains to see the great charterhouse known still as Le Grande Chartreuse. At twenty-three, Hugh joined the order and was destined for a life of contemplation and silence in the alpine mountains of France. Or so he thought.

Ten years into his life of solitude and prayer, the missionary spirit rose up in the Order as King Henry II of England sought to pay penance for his unfortunate role in the death of his archbishop of Canterbury, Thomas a Beckett. Henry sought to found three houses in England and the Carthusians were chosen to be one of the three. Hugh was appointed prior of the new house and sent off to England. Hugh’s reputation was quickly spreading on the island. When he secured a land grant from the King of England for the new monastery, he bought the existing huts and houses from the peasants and then in turn gave them their dwellings back which were carted off and sold again by the peasants. Hugh was not going to go the way of the Benedictines and Cistercians who were well known across the land for their often unscrupulous entrepreneurial zeal. Not long into his priorate at Witham, Hugh was elected Bishop of Lincoln and later ordained to the episcopate in Westminster Abbey.

Again I ask the question: what is it about Hugh? Or still, what does Hugh have to say to us today? Here you have a monk who is bishop. He refused to indulge the lavish lifestyle prominent amongst his brother bishops at the time. He lived under the strict discipline of his order, much to the annoyance of many secular clergy around him. He was unrelenting in his care for the poor and even washed the sores of lepers in his Episcopal mansion—something his momma would have been proud to see. Above all, Hugh’s humility and tact is something that many politicians today should heed; for his cheerfulness and love of God’s people made it difficult for the ruling powers to oppose him. In our age of divisive, hate-filled rhetoric which alienates and polarizes the citizenry, Hugh would not hesitate to direct our eyes to the millions of children who have no health insurance, those who are homeless and jobless. Hugh would tend our sores and wash our feet, and that is something worth celebrating today. Hugh, quite simply, had a way with people that drew them closer to the love of God in Christ. His example and witness to us echoes our readings from Luke and Paul’s epistle—where striving for the Kingdom of God begins with how we conduct our own lives in accordance with Christ. Hugh was Christ’s hands, voice, and love made present to all who came near.

Back at the cathedral, I managed to squeeze our large American stroller through the tiny doors of the western porch. Once inside, I was awestruck by the grandeur and simplicity of one of Hugh’s lasting memorials. While he never saw the cathedral completed, its foundation serves as just one of many of the saint’s legacies for the Kingdom. As I moved to the far east-end, back behind the great choir and high altar, I saw what I had longed to see—the shrine of Hugh. I dropped to my knees, touched the shrine, and made the sign of the cross. Hugh’s spirit was palpable, and my prayer to Christ was that I may follow the good example of such a humble servant to draw others to God.

Click here to see my post from last year with photos from the pilgrimage. 

A Fisherman's Tale

Funeral Liturgy for Charles G. Michael

Friday, September 24, 2010

St. Peter's Episcopal Church

Isaiah 25:6-9, Psalm 121, Romans 8:31-39, John 11:21-27

"Martha said to Jesus, 'I know that he will rise again in the resurrection 
on the last day.'  And Jesus said to her, 'I am resurrection, and the life.  
Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live.'" (John 11:24-25)

On September 3, 1925, the world was forever changed.  That day is a special day for so many of us, it is the day Charles Granville Michael came into the world.  He would grow up to change the world in only the way that he could--quietly, patiently, with love and gentleness. 

Early in his life, he came to know words like sacrifice and offering, words that my generation is only now beginning to understand.  Charlie was determined to join the war effort and secured a phony birth certificate in order to reach the legal age to join the US Navy.  At the tender age of 16, he left the comfort of home in Grayson, Kentucky, said goodbye to his mom and dad, and set out for a world adventure.  He would tell you that he was too young, too naive, and too green.  But he heard the call of service and deep in his bones he had to answer it.  Following the bombing in Pearl Harbor, Charlie was sent to the Pacific theater where he served faithfully for 8 years rising to be a bombardier flight pilot.  If you never saw the anchor tattoos on his forearms, you would never know of his daring journey in the Navy.  He never, ever talked about it. 

This past June, when the cancer was visibly taking over, I was able to spend a lot of time with him. I prodded him for information and stories about the war.  I even asked him if he ever had any regrets, to which he broke down and said that he knew so many men who died and could not let it go.  We never spoke about it again.

Following the war, Charlie returned to the tri-state area to build a life for himself.  The beautiful Nancy Mary Philip caught his eye and they married.  For 52 years, Charlie and Nancy would tear up the square dance circuit in a beautiful dance of true love and companionship. Because of whatever happened during the war, Charlie refused to take the Government's GI Bill.  He was determined to earn his own way in the world, again on his terms.  He found work at a local steel shop, Steel Products, and began as the low man on the totem pole, welding and fabricating steel out in the hot, hellish heat on the shop floor.  

He dabbled in television and small electronic repairs, as it feed his fascination with circuitry and engineering.  This would later serve him well as he invented train engine testers that were quickly purchased by CSX.  He had no formal training in any of this, for he had an insatiable hunger for knowledge--he wanted to know intimately why and how things worked.  It fed his scientific mind.  Charlie was smart and his inquisitive mind was going to serve him well.  Yes he would make mistakes, but he would mull them over and learn from what they had to teach him.

Eventually he was able to buy ownership of Steel Products and expanded the business.  His success model was simple:  he lived the 'golden rule.'  He was quite proud of the fact that his men never unionized--he knew exactly what it was like to work in the shop and prided himself on knowing from bottom to top what each man was required to know and do.  He cared deeply for his men and treated them like extended members of his family. 

Charlie's family was growing too.  With a son, Peter, and daughter Pam, the Michael family, I imagine, was the American family of the 50's and 60's.  When he could keep Nancy from secretly re-carpeting the house or control his emotions when he'd discover a house filled with new furniture, he managed to build a family and a business, grounded on his life of faith.

Charlie was a fisherman.  He loved to fish.  It didn't matter to him what he'd be catching, so long as the fish were biting.  Fishing, he believed, was the reward of patience.  Sure it was time away from the demands of work, but it was his way of putting the world in perspective--focusing on learning what Mother Nature had to teach about creation.   

A son, a brother, a husband, a father, a grandfather, and a great-grandfather, Charlie cast his net wide into the world and all the while helping to shape a small part of it in the process.  His was a life of seeing Christ in every person he met.  No one ever felt like a stranger to him.  I doubt there is anyone here today that did not get a hug, a friendly kiss, or his incredible smile greeting them every time you met him.  From bishops to star football coaches to the local wait staff at Bob Evans, Charlie treated every one, every one as a sacred, special human being without exception.  Life, for Charlie, was about living and loving, giving of himself to others because this was all he knew.  Even in death, Charlie has given his body for medical research; those lessons learned at such a young age stuck with him all his life.   

           

Jesus was a fisherman too.  He cast his nets and caught the whole world.  Time and again when the disciples failed to understand Jesus, he implored them to cast their nets to other side, only to pull in a tremendous catch.  Jesus was no stranger to death either.  The story of Lazarus is, I believe, one of the more intimate stories of Jesus in the Gospel accounts that has something to say to us today about life and death about living and loving.  Jesus wept at the tomb of his dear friend, grief and suffering--something so profoundly human--overcame Our Lord.  But, something even more deeply powerful was in store for Lazarus:  resurrection.  After four days of lying in the tomb, Lazarus was called forth to leave behind the sealed tomb thereby showing the glory and power of God. 

Death, we know, is not our end.  If the Easter story ended on Good Friday then the whole Christian narrative would be radically different.  But it does not end at the cross.  Death is forever swallowed up by life.  The Easter proclamation forever marks us as people of life and light.  When we dip our toes into the waters of Baptism, Christ makes an eternal claim on our lives.  That claim does not end in death.  Death is but a means, it is not our ultimate destination. 

Paul, in his letter to the Romans makes clear to the Christian community that

God's love for us is manifest in the person and work of Jesus Christ.  "For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord."  Nothing, nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ.  No matter how hard we try, no matter what challenges we face, God's love abides. 

We live to see the beatific vision, to be face-to-face with the risen Christ,  raised by Him as citizens of the Kingdom of God.  To delight in the heavenly banquet that Isaiah so eloquently describes, is the feast of our lives brought to fulfillment in the heavenly Jerusalem.  And our invitation is wide open to all of God's children.  Life conquers death.  The light of Christ overcomes the darkness.  And especially now, we struggle to live into that reality each and every day of our lives. 

But the Good News is quite simply this:  "Even at the grave we make our song Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia."  What Christ has accomplished for us is eternal life, it's worth singing about today and everyday.  Yes the Easter life can be a struggle at times, but we don't have to go it alone.  We have Christ, the Lord and Author of Life who binds us together in the earthly Church.  When we break bread and join in fellowship with one another, we find the source and summit of our lives made whole in Christ.   

Charlie's theology was very simple and yet powerful.  He always told me to live my life by giving others their flowers now, and not at their graves.  Let people know that you love them, he said, and show it.  This is how he lived his life.  This is his powerful story, told to us by his many, many deeds. 

My sisters and brothers, today we are those seedlings, little flowers nourished by Christ through Charlie's witness.  May we live to be the sweet perfume of the Holy Spirit, radiating life, beaming love to every one, everywhere.  Amen.               

Not Another Temptation Sermon

First Sunday of Lent, Year C
February 21, 2010
Christ and Grace Episcopal Church

Petersburg, Virginia

Romans 10: 8b-13

Luke 4: 1-14

Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, was led by the Spirit in the wilderness, where for forty days he was tempted. 

         

Woe is me!  Temptation, Lent, ashes, woe is me!  You know what I'm talking about.  Whoever says, "I'm looking forward to Lent this year?"  Huh?  We don't need another sermon on temptation, heck we could give that one!  That dessert looks mighty tempting.  Those prices at Sam's Club are just too good, let's sock up for the winter.  But that job would give me so much power and prestige if I accept it, think of all that we have!  That investment firm is really promising me assurance and prosperity for my future, if only I promise them my faithfulness in giving.  Woe is me! Temptation, the basic human condition we fight day in and day out.  We know temptation so very well.

        

Luke's Gospel today reminds us of Our Lord's exile in the wilderness, and the temptations by the Adversary which serves as the capstone moment in Jesus' formation before his public ministry begins.  There in the wilderness, the desert of wasteland, Jesus is confronted not once but three times by the Adversary to tempt the Son of God to show his hand and see if this new Light in the world could be snuffed out. Perhaps this would have made him so weak and vulnerable that Jesus would do almost anything.  Wouldn't we?  Bread, power, and fidelity.  Simple temptations, promising and awesome: great power over creation, authority over the kingdoms of the earth, and all the promised glory and honor due a mighty king.  Bread, power, and fidelity.  Simple, eh?

"If you are the Son of God, command this stone to become a loaf of bread!"  There is no doubt, that Jesus the Son of God could in fact do this.  If he would only do this, he could have something to eat.  But this question goes deep into the heart of the ministry of Jesus, for what would the Christian narrative be if Jesus was simply bread for himself?  A selfish Jesus, that doesn't seem to fit.  Jesus' whole earthly ministry was spent being bread for everyone--feeding, nourishing, sustaining, and filling hungry mouths with the Word of God. "One does not live by bread alone," Jesus says, and so we know that we ourselves cannot sustain life without the spiritual nourishment from God alone.   

         

"But, I'll give you glory and authority over all the kingdoms of the world, and I can give it all to you in a nanosecond!  It's yours, if you will only worship me.  Come on, it's easy!"  The King of Kings, a king whose Kingdom is not from this world, without missing a beat says, "worship the Lord your God and serve only him."  But the world could have changed in an instant!  No more injustice, war, famine, or disease!  But would the price be?  Whose power would be exalted?  Surely it wouldn't be God's. 

         

Stubborn until the end, the Adversary tried once more, "if you are the Son of God, throw yourself down from the temple, and let the angels catch you."  From the dizzying heights of the pinnacle, looking out over creation, Our Lord fights vertigo, "do not put the Lord your God to the test."  Bread, power, and fidelity the testing of the soul, the triumph of Christ.

         

It is no accident that our Gospel lesson falls on the First Sunday of Lent.  The Lenten journey can easily be mistaken for a time of "woe is me" and heaped upon by teachings against temptation, selfish abstinence for the avante garde, and a great way to show others that we're really working hard at this Lent thing.  Perhaps this is why some don't look forward to Lent.  So then, what does it all mean?  

         

The Gospel truth in all this is: bread, power, and fidelity.  Consider these temptations of Christ in the positive.  What are we tempted to do with our bread?  Or better yet, who are we being bread to?  What are we doing with our God-given power, prestige, or influence when we are vaulted to the pinnacles?  Are we tempted to work for justice?  Are we tempted to use what we have to fight disease, end hunger, heal addiction, and eradicate homelessness?  Are we tempted to be faithful to God?  Tempted to a life of discipleship and prayer?  Are we tempted to live in forgiveness to ourselves and those who have wronged us?  After those forty days, without food, our Lord took up his public ministry.

         

If we look to Christ for the answers, than, yes, you guessed it.  We should succumb to those temptations.  These are the temptations to us, the beloved of God, not from the evil in our world.  The Lenten journey is the greatest season in which we are invited to deepen our walk with Christ, to see in ourselves the God-given love that drives us out from our own deserts and into the streets--witnessing a message that the Adversary and the powers and principalities of this world don't want to hear!  We cannot live on bread alone.  That's what our Eucharistic fellowship every Sunday primes us for, and this happens year-round.

         

St. Paul's letter to the Romans furthers this idea that Christ is so near to us He is in on our lips and in our hearts.  Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved--no one is excluded or left out.  To confess with our lips that Jesus Christ is Lord, then we cannot ignore the temptation to follow the Master.  This Gospel truth is not about who is saved and who is out, it's about our ability to "walk the talk"--being bread to our neighbors, striving for the Kingdom with every thing we have, and a complete and total dependency on the wounded, risen Christ. 

         

Leaven, influence, and faith.  If we wait for Lent to be the time of "giving something up" then we truly miss the mark of the Master's call to discipleship.  Our temptation is corporate and communal.  The Kingdom is not about individuals, but the whole of the creation moving sweetly to God's song of love.  The temptations of Our Lord reveal the ingredients for a life of discipleship:  the need for spiritual, enriching food, striving for justice and peace, and a complete trust in the sovereignty of God.  Our Lord is modeling these staples in the face of great evil and temptation that promises all the riches and glory of the world.  But that's just it.  We are in the world but not of it.  We are working to bring about God's Kingdom here and now.  

May our Lenten journeys be full of temptation: temptation to be rising bread for a hungry, hurting world; temptation to use our power and influence to bring about the Reign of God in the streets of Petersburg and beyond.  May our Lenten journey be full of temptation to walk each and every step of the way with the Lord and Master of love and mercy.   

Matthean Judgment and Elizabeth, Princess of Hungry

Feast Day of Elizabeth, Princess of Hungry

November 19, 2009

Chapel of the Apostles

Sewanee, Tennessee

Tobit 12:6b-9

Matthew 25:31-40

  

“Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these 
my brothers and sisters, you did it to me....”

       Her name was Sara, and this is her story.[1]  I met Sara while working during Clinical Pastoral Education (CPE) at Saint Matt’s, a homeless shelter specializing in recovery programs for drug addiction and alcoholism.  St. Matt’s was founded on this very text from our Gospel this evening.  Now Sara was about 49 years old and she was recently released from prison.  She was homeless, in recovery for her crack addiction, and she was a prostitute.  Her face was rough, worn down by years of smoking and falling upon the hard knocks of street life.  In order to get money for her addiction, she would steal her mother’s jewelry and pawn it for crack.  One day she came to visit with me and told me that she still had some of her mother’s jewelry and did not know what to do with it, for she did not want it as it just lingered as a constant reminder of her past.  She had virtually no money to her name and each client of St. Matt’s was required to pay $25 a week to the shelter, demonstrating their commitment towards recovery.  I asked her what she thought would a good act of charity.  We then discovered that the ideal thing to do would be to sell the jewelry and anonymously pay the weekly fees for some families in the shelter that were struggling mightily.

      

I did not see her for a few days on the property and one afternoon she popped in with a huge smile.  She had done just what she said she was going to do.  Not only did this act of love help her to feel good about herself, it made her feel empowered as a human being who is a beloved child of God.  I saw in Sara the beginnings of her process of breaking free from the bonds of sin that enslaved her.  At the end of my time at the shelter, she brought me a gift, a National Geographic magazine featuring the history of the Vatican.  She paid 50 cents for it, and she was well on her way towards a holistic recovery.   

  

Our Gospel this evening from Matthew is a scene of judgment—the separating of the sheep from the goats.  To establish the context for this passage, it is preceded by three parables about preparing for the coming of the Son of Man, demanding constant watchfulness from the Matthean community of Jewish Christians.  The interpretation is that there is a separate judgment upon the Jews and the Gentiles by the Messiah—which is consistent with the Jewish ideas about the judgment of Gentiles.  The background for our text this evening is the judgment of Gentiles based on their treatment of Israel.[2]  The departure for Matthew is how these new Jewish Christians of Matthew’s community accept the presence of non-Jews who were not Christian while explaining how and why they can become part of the Kingdom of God.[3]  This gets at the difficulty of interpreting these offensive texts as anti-Semitic, as Dr. Holloway suggests in his recent sermon on this very same passage.[4] 

       

So if we hold to this idea that when the Son of Man sits upon his throne in final judgment looking at the non-believing Gentiles and separating out who has done works of charity and mercy directed towards us, then we diminish millions of other people who are to be sent off to eternal damnation.  Holloway reminds us that this is form of “Christian absolutism” at its very core.[5]  Is this the good news that we hunger for?  Was St. Matt’s shelter founded upon the direct exclusion of others?  No and no.  But we must acknowledge that this is in our tradition and we must repent of it.

       

So the preaching task, then, is how to apply this Gospel text in our everyday lives, teasing out the Good News.  We choose the side of hospitality, to recognize God’s likeness and image in all persons, receiving every person as though we are receiving Christ himself—something that is so old in our tradition as well and can be found in St. Benedict’s Rule.  We choose to place at the center of my life the “Fount of all Being,” and nourish that presence daily with prayer, scripture, and the Eucharist.  Being consumed by Christ, acts of mercy, love, and charity become our natural response.  Being consumed by Christ, we do not stand for the disfigurement of poverty, hunger, and discrimination which prevails in our time and circumstance.  Being consumed by Christ, we serve as the hands of the King of Kings here and now—not because it wins us points in the big book, but because we become transfigured beings by those whom we purport to help.  This is what I think Jesus means when he says later in Matthew, “for you always have the poor with you, but you will not always have me.”[6]

       

The 50 cents that Sara spent for the National Geographic was an act that transformed me—I had seen that issue before, but this time it became something very powerful, something Christ-like. 

       

There is no coincidence that our text today falls on the feast of Elizabeth, Princess of Hungry, who modeled Christian charity and gave up her wealth to further the common good of the people of Hungry.     

       

In this Kingdom season, which reaches its climax this Sunday being Christ the King, my prayer for us all is that we stand in our truth and acknowledge those texts in Holy Scripture that divide and pass judgment on others.  The truth does indeed set us free, free to worship God without fear, holy and righteous in God’s sight, all the days of our life.  Amen.    

---

[1] The name has been changed to protect confidentiality.

[2] See Daniel J. Harrington, S.J., The Gospel of Matthew, in Sacra Pagina.  (Minnesota:  The Liturgical Press, 1991), 358-359.

[3] Ibid., 359.

[4] Dr. Paul A. Holloway in a sermon delivered in the Chapel of the Apostles (Sewanee, TN) on November 11, 2009.

[5] Ibid.

[6] Matt 26:11, NRSV

Morning Prayer Reflection

Proper 26,  Daily Office Year 1

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

Chapel of the Apostles, Sewanee

Nehemiah 12:27-31a, 42b-47

Revelation 11:1-19

_________________________________________________

Thomas Merton once wrote that perhaps the best view of the world is experienced from standing on its fringes, on the margins outside of the city. The readings in the Office this morning, I think, help restore the tension found in the midst of the Kingdom of God.  On one side we have the restoration or rebuilding of the walls of Jerusalem in Nehemiah, with great fanfare and processions.  In the Revelation to John, we have the utter destruction of the city with dead bodies laying waste in the streets, earthquakes, peals of thunder, and so forth.   If we take Brother Merton’s perspective, then, what do we see in the city?  Celebration?  Devastation?

            

In the midst of the paradox, I believe that we can see the need for recovering Kingdom theology.  The Kingdom is like…it’s like…well, we struggle in the pulpit to articulate exactly what the Kingdom of God is.  It goes by many names:  God’s Divine Commonwealth, the Kingdom of Christ, the Reign of God.  Our wise Lord used parables to not only stretch our minds but prevent the Kingdom from being limited to mere human vocabulary.  The Kingdom of God can only be seen from the margins, here Merton’s view is that of Our Lord’s who spent his earthly ministry deep in the heart of the edges and corners of the world. 

            

The good news of the Kingdom of God is indeed revolutionary news.  That the Kingdom of God stands in contrast to and in conflict with the powers and principalities of this world is proof that it’s origins are not of this world—the Kingdom of God stands as judgment upon it.  Kingdom theologian Kenneth Leech writes, “the Kingdom is otherworldly…a constant symbol of the other world, a sign of transcendence.  It is a source of change and transformation for this world, a vision and impulse for a new world.”[1]  Moreover, Leech warns us that for too long the Church has evacuated the good, revolutionary news of the Kingdom, loosing the essence of conflictual and world-transforming dimension.

            

So did the great processions and fanfare in Nehemiah appear utterly ridiculous to the hungry, the orphaned, and the widowed?  Does the utter ruin of the city that John reveals in his writing fill the poor with a sense of doom and gloom? Where do you choose to stand and see?

            

Make no mistake, you cannot help build the Kingdom of God.  Nay, if you’re looking for it, you may be well served to look at a tiny mustard seed.  It’s already come.  Embrace it.  Taste it.  Live it and further it’s mission in the world in your own ministry, today.  Join the revolution.  Amen.

---

[1] Kenneth Leech, We Preach Christ Crucified. (New York: Church Publishing, 2005), 43.

Sermon Audio

Okay, I'm honestly not a self-promoter, but I thought this was actually a decent picture of me taken whilst preaching at St. Paul's.

Click on the link to hear my most recent sermon given at St. Paul's, Chattanooga.
http://stpaulschatt.homestead.com/Pentecost16_sermon.mp3

Morning Prayer Reflection

Proper 20,  Daily Office Year 1

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Chapel of the Apostles

Sewanee, Tennessee

2 Kings 5:19-27

1 Cor 5:1-8

___________________________________________

Lord David Hope, former Archbishop of York and yours truly

 outside of Halifax Parish Church, June 2009.

It was nearing the end of my time on placement from The College of the Resurrection at Halifax Parish Church in West Yorkshire.  The Parish was celebrating its patronal feast day, that of Saint John the Baptist.  It was a truly festive occasion, complete with a rare High mass set of vestments on loan from the Community of the Resurrection.  Our guest preacher that evening was Lord David Hope, the former Archbishop of York and Primate of England.  Following the peace, the Vicar invited me to stand next to him at the altar before the canon of the mass was to begin.  All ready the nerves were starting to kick in.  After the fraction and the clergy received the holy sacrament, Hilary—the vicar—handed a chalice of wine to the Archbishop and then turned to me and handed me the patten full of bread!  Now, I had several images racing in my head of a certain liturgics professor here having a mild stroke at this proposition, but I had to pull it together as the choir was in place and ready to receive.  Perhaps I was safe being a continent away!

Out came the hands.  So I did what I knew, I carefully took the wafer, made the sign of the cross and said, “the body of Christ, the bread of heaven.”  At that point, I had no earthly idea what Common Worship said about any of this, nor was I about to embarrass the vicar by asking Lord David his opinion on the matter.  Vicars in the Church of England have absolute, legal authority over their parishes.  So off I went.  One by one, I distributed the bread in the most reverent manner possible.  What struck me the most as I walked back and forth behind the altar rail was the image of one broken human being handing over the bread of wholeness to another.  The eyes, their eyes were very telling.  So much of the pain of life, the joy of life, and the hope for Christ was all bound together in their eyes.  It was palpable.      

During my hour-long bus ride back to Mirfield, I reflected on what had happened in the liturgy.  This bread, this bread of sincerity and truth was in our hands so that it could feed our souls.  Christ’s body taken, blessed, broken, and given to the world was somehow making me whole, giving me life to pursue the truth.  I, like most seminarians I’m sure, daydream of the time when as a celebrate at the table, I can proclaim to the people, “Alleluia, Christ our Passover has been sacrificed for us.”  And now I find myself in the very midst of unpacking those words.  To proclaim those words is to know deeply what Paul is describing in today’s epistle.

The unleavened bread, rises up, just as Our Lord rose from the tomb.  We are bound to strip away the old leaven, the leaven of sin that attempts to destroy our lives.  Just as the Corinthians read this exhortation from Paul, we hear this today as the invitation to strive for the narrow door, to remove from ourselves those things which pervert the Gospel and obscure the truth.  That way, we can say with all sincerity and truth, "it is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me" (Gal 2:20).

The bread of life was given for freedom to live a life of conversion as God’s beloved people.  Disorder, chaos, and sickness are the results of sin.  Wholeness and health are results of the truth.  Hear what the first letter of John says, “for if we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us, but if we confess our sins, God who is faithful and just, will forgive our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness”(1 John 1: 8-9).

So for today, seek the banquet of the lamb, the great festival of festivals, where we all have a welcomed seat ready for us.  But know this, there is no warning label attached to the Christian life, your pursuit of the truth may be dangerous, but ultimately the heavenly joy will shine down on your path as you rise up to meet Our Lord upon the road.  Therefore let us keep the feast.  Amen.

Water-Logged, A Sermon

16th Sunday after Pentecost, Year B

Sunday, September 20, 2009

Saint Paul's Episcopal Church

Chattanooga, Tennessee

Ritual Mass with Baptism

Psalm 1

Mark 9: 30-37
_______________________________________________

One of the greatest joys of being a father is being able to take your children to the amusement park.  Funnel cakes, ice cream, and my personal favorite, cotton candy; the amusement park is one of the great pastimes for any big-kid at heart.  It’s a place where you can lay aside any sense of decorum and let the good times roll.  It’s a place where the ride takes control of your life, twisting and turning on a path unknown.

This summer, I was able to take my daughter to Camden Park back in my hometown.  As a child growing up in West Virginia, the possibility of even going to Camden Park was an unbelievable treat.  And now, some twenty years later, I find myself passing through the same ticket gates now holding my daughter’s hand.  Not surprising, the same rides were still there and still working.  We started off slowly, working our way through the kiddy rides, which are pretty big to any ambitious two-year old.  The carousel, the boats, and the requisite train ride around the perimeter of the park felt as natural to me as reliving my childhood.  But, looming in the far off distance was the ubiquitous water ride called the Log Flume, a giant among rides in the Park that ends with a steep descent crashing through a monstrous wall of water.  I could see in her eyes that water plus a fun ride was surely going to equal one great time with Daddy.  I smiled.

We stepped into our boat and shoved off for the twisting turns of the deceptively calm, flowing water.  Now, just in case you have any misgivings about this giant drop at the end there is a smaller version that first tests your resolve, it prepares you for the next monumental climb coming just around the corner.  Well, after that first, tiny splash, she began to cry, “I do want to ride this anymore.”  To which I responded, “it’s too late to change your mind now.  Just hold on to daddy and close your eyes!”  The belts began to pick up our little log boat and up we climbed.  Up, up, and up still some more.  And then, of course, there’s that brief moment of levelness, a feeling that everything will be okay, and then woosh!  As our stomachs raced to our heads, we plunged down, down, down and until finally the king of all splashes hit us.  We were safe and horizontal—soaked, water-logged might be more accurate.  Her cries were fairly audible throughout the entire park, but as we came back to the starting house, there stood grandma and grandpa taking pictures and cheering us on.  The crying quickly stopped, and before you knew it, my daughter was telling her little brother how much fun she had; she passed through the water and the water forever changed her experience of fun.

       

Mark’s Gospel this morning continues the narrative from last week, where Jesus instructs his disciples to take up their cross and follow him, warning us that there is no profit in gaining the whole world only to forfeit life itself.  For Mark, the mystery of the cross and its implications for discipleship dominates the Gospel.  Today, the teaching takes on yet another twist:  “whoever wants to first must be last of all and servant of all.”  To illustrate the point, because the disciples in Mark never seem to understand, Jesus takes in his arms a small child.  Why a child?  Perhaps it was the nearest warm body to make his point, or perhaps that in this culture children were seen as both small and insignificant.  Fortunately, this has changed greatly over time.

In his rule for forming monastic communities, Saint Benedict urges new communities to include the young in the councils, chapters, and decision-making groups, because, he believes that more often than not, the Holy Spirit speaks through youthful souls.  Children help remind us to never let go of our sense of wonder.  Through children’s eyes we are free to regain our creative, curious nature that keeps us in awe of God’s unfolding plan of creation.  We will join and pray in a few minutes following baptism, that these newly baptized candidates receive the gift of joy and wonder in all of God’s works.  For if we dare to lose that sense, we risk losing our reverence of the great mystery of God’s sovereignty.  So Jesus’ illustration with the child is not lost:  whoever welcomes the least, the lost, and last welcomes Jesus.  Whoever welcomes people who may seem insignificant, those who live on the margins, who are powerless, who have no status in society, welcomes the Lord and Savior of the world.  So, who is the greatest among you?

In this culture of honor and shame, this was a very important question, and Jesus overturns these accepted norms using a child.  To be great in the community of Jesus is to be a servant of all; reaching out and embracing those on the fringes of our world.  The Ubuntu theology from South Africa expresses this clearly:  I am because you are.  Honoring the sacred presence of Christ in every person we encounter is the new norm—regardless of gender, orientation, ethnicity, or anything else.  These are the new norms of the Kingdom.  “The Kingdom of God has come near,” John the Baptist proclaims in the beginning of Mark, and even as the Gospel ends with the finality of the cross and empty tomb, leaving out any post-resurrection stories, the implication for us is to carry on the work of the Kingdom.  And here is where we connect with Baptism.

This morning at Saint Paul’s we’re preparing to join with these new candidates for a water ride of their own.  Baptism is the indissoluble covenant between God and us: we go down into the water, buried with Christ in his death, only to then rise up sharing in His resurrection.  Baptism is at the very heart of our common life of faith in Christ.  Baptism has shaped our Book of Common Prayer and how we witness the Gospel equal with our sisters and brothers.  For many of us who were baptized at a very early age, it is so easy to see this as a past event—all I can do is look at the photograph of my parents holding me next to the font when I was a mere three months old.  And yet, baptism is not a past event, it is a real present reality.

The Episcopal Church embodies this in the form of the Baptismal Covenant, a reminder at every baptism that we all are presently sharing in the work of the Kingdom.  If baptism is the great equalizer for the Kingdom of God, then our Baptismal Covenant names before God our commitment to proclaim by Word and Deed the Good news to everyone, to seek and serve Christ in all persons, striving for justice and peace among all people, and respecting the dignity of every human being.  This is our bond, this is our obligation to the Kingdom!  It is always before us. And we cannot do this alone; we must share in the Apostle’s teaching and fellowship, accomplished only within the community of faith.  It is done by dying to ourselves and truly taking the plunge down the steep waterfalls in our lives, so that we can honestly say, “it is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me.”

The bonds forged by God in the waters completely and forever change our whole world.  With Christ alive inside of us, we are like trees planted firmly in the ground, with strong, hearty roots feed by deep streams of water.  With Christ alive inside of us, we bear fruit for the Kingdom, we can weather the turbulent storms in our lives and not be blown away.  With Christ alive inside of us, we can, as our Collect this morning says, hold fast to the heavenly things that endure.  We cannot pass through the walls of water and hope to emerge the same person.  We, who are baptized, are bound and beckoned to be the hands of Christ, the voice of Christ, and the love of Christ yesterday, today, and forever.  Life in Christ floods everything that we do:  how we choose to spend our money, where we spend our time, and ultimately which god we worship in the center of our being.

So we rejoice today as our household continues to grow and be flooded with the Holy Spirit.  May that same spirit flood our souls and continue to burn that celestial spark where Christ lives and moves and grounds us.  Amen.

Preaching to the world

Photo:  The nave and high altar of St. Paul's, Chattanooga.

St. Paul's is a vibrant, large urban parish filled with the Holy Spirit.  

 A gem in the Diocese of East Tennessee that makes you feel blessed to be an Episcopalian.

Tomorrow, live at 10:30 a.m. (Eastern Standard Time), yours truly will be preaching at my field education parish, Saint Paul's Episcopal Church in Chattanooga, Tennessee. You can hear a live stream of the service, which will include five baptisms, via the parish's website or you can go directly to the radio station's site.  Both links are posted below.

If you can't spend that much time listening tomorrow, the sermon will be archived in a few days on the parish website, click below to go there now.  I'll be posting the text on the blog tomorrow as well.
St. Paul's Episcopal Church website

To listen to the service tomorrow, go directly to Talk Radio 102.3 fm in Chattanooga where the service is broadcast live, simply click on the "Listen Live" button at the top of the webpage.

Subversive Bread

10th Sunday after Pentecost
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Holy Trinity Episcopal Church
Onancock, Virginia

Deuteronomy 8:1-10

John 6: 37-51

“I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever.”

We Southerners are very particular people. We’re particular about our traditions, we’re particular about our Ice Tea, and we’re especially particular about our food. You know exactly what I’m talking about. There’s only the proper way to make potato salad, devil an egg, or even fried chicken. Food here in the South is more than just sustaining life, it’s a way of life. It’s a way that we show hospitality and share with one another the fruits of our labor. Now living in England for seven weeks showed me a different side of food. The English are not exactly known for their cuisine, you can only live for so long on fish and chips! Before long, Mary and I were reminiscing about food. Ah, comfort food, the stuff that reminds you of home, of something familiar, of family. Hers was chicken and dumplings and mine was pecan pie and fresh tomatoes! Everywhere we went, we would somehow say to one another, “don’t you miss having such-and-such…” We were in West Yorkshire talking about Southern food. We didn’t go over there for the cuisine, but somehow that follows you. Inevitably, it seems, that you miss the comfort of things you can have easily only once they have disappeared.

Bread is the food that is woven throughout our readings this morning. In the Old Testament lesson we learn from Moses why Israel spent forty years wandering in thedesert. Forty years! Moses tells them that this was in order to humble them, and that in all that time the LORD was there leading them---never allowing the clothes on their backs to wear out or even their tired feet to swell up. They were given manna to eat, a strange new food, in order to teach Israel that they could not live on solely, “in order to make you understand that one does not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of the LORD.” Israel lacked the comfort of a home and the comfort of familiar food. And only by God’s grace did Israel survive the long ordeal. Their reward, however, was great. The land God was setting aside for was filled with olive trees, honey, figs, wheat, barley. The land was so rich that the flowing streams of waters were fed by deep wells—wellsprings that will not dry up. This place, this land is where Israel will lack nothing, where they can eat bread without scarcity. This is the gift and promise of God, so long as the commandments are kept.

Bread takes on an even deeper philosophical meaning in John’s Gospel reading. Jesus boldly proclaims, “I am the bread of life.” Jesus is the living bread that came down from heaven. Surely this is not the comfortable food that the disciples,much less even today, we can stomach reasonably. What an astonishing statement. “I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh.” Consider this familiar statement heard every Sunday: “take eat, this is my body which is given up for you.” I wish the disciples’ reaction to this statement was recorded, probably more eyebrows were raised in the Upper Room than we can imagine. And yet we listen to all this as though we have heard many times before. Nothing seems odd to us about claiming one’s body as food. Yes, intellectually, we know that Jesus is clearly talking about something beyond the daily need of food; perhaps he’s clever at metaphor. But, if we cannot live by bread alone and at the same time we’re to eat the living bread from heaven, then what are we supposed to be eating?

It’s no coincidence that the language of food is used to help us understand in the most basic of ways our need for sustaining life. Feeding the stomach is important; feeding the soul is critical. Bread is one of the most staple items in just about every diet. Christ as the living bread from heaven is the gift from God to the world—just as the promised land was a foretaste of heaven on earth for Israel. All this, however, presupposes our complete and total dependency on God, or as the psalmist writes, “taste and see that the Lord is good, happy are they who trust in him.” You cannot simply feed your stomach and ignore your soul. You’ll surely die. And yet this heavenly bread is not comfort food—it’s not intended to satisfy our sense of building a comfort zone. It is to feed our souls and to spur us to action for the Kingdom. I am afraid that we hear those words so many times, “take eat,” or “give us today our daily bread,” that we use them as a sense of comfort rather than a call to action for Kingdom. The reality is that the Christian life is not a life of comfort. Even here, in this house of worship, there is no safe side of the altar or even a safe pew to hide from the call of Christ to work for the Kingdom. To eat this living bread, to partake in the life of Christ is dangerous work. And yet the rewards, the joy, the freedom of love which this life offers is truly awesome.

The words of Jesus are radical indeed. This bread is subversive to the established powers and principalities of this world. It subverts all the things in this world that are fleeting and flawed, things like power and greed. This bread is celebrated more times than we recite the pledge of allegiance, more times than we pay our taxes, and more times than we vote. The power of Christ is threatening to the powers because they live on bread alone. When we gather to break this bread and celebrate Jesus as the living bread taken, blessed, broken, and given to us and to the world, we are putting our trust in his Kingship and sharing in the powerful nourishment needed for body, mind, and soul. It’s easy to think that we eat Christ in the sacrament, but really it is Christ who consumes us. Hear again the words from this morning’s Collect, “Grant to us, Lord, we pray, the spirit to think and do always those things that are right, that we, who cannot exist without you, may by you be enabled to live according to your will.”

Our joy and our comfort comes from knowing that Christ has made a complete and total claim on our lives, and that we cannot exist otherwise. Our hope is that by sharing in the bread of life, we can be partakers of the Kingdom and serve as Christ’s hands in the world today. We live dangerously as Christians, but we live protected by God’s love and grace which is sustained every time we gather as the Body of Christ. Our comfort comes from trusting God, trusting in God’s ability to nourish us with exactly what we need, never going hungry. “I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever.” Amen.

On Prayer

A Morning Prayer Sermon, 8th Sunday after Pentecost, Year B
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Holy Trinity Episcopal Church
Onancock, Virginia

Ephesians 4:1-7. 11-16
Mark 6:45-52

"And he went up on the mountain to pray."

Spirituality is in and religion is out. That’s the new trend these days. Stroll down the aisles of any bookstore and you will see many titles purporting to help your spiritual growth. We no longer need institutions such as the Church to bring us into a life of holiness; we can now do it alone. Spirituality, I believe, is a hyped up synonym for prayer, and prayer is something that we do not talk enough about in the Church. As a life-long Episcopalian, I cannot recall a single Christian Education class that even remotely came close to the topic of learning how to pray. Prayer is simply a given, so we believe, Jesus will teach you how to pray and your life will be prosperous. Ask and you shall receive! Knock and the door will be opened to you! That is prayer. . . come again? That simplicity fails to recognize the complexity and diversity of the human situation. How do we pray as a community? How do we pray privately? How do we know if we are doing it the "right way?" Unfortunately, there is no step-by-step numbered guide for instruction in prayer.

Building a rich life of prayer is more like an adventure, a journey to the heart. I sometimes wonder that the reason we neglect to seriously address this critical part of the Christian experience is because we are afraid that we will be found out—found that we cannot or do not pray or even believe that we lack the theological language to express our feelings and emotions, fearing our simple ways of the heart before the throne of the Almighty. I want to be a priest who prays. So often I see in parish profiles that parishes are searching for dynamic, visionary leaders—someone who can preach and help move a congregation to grow. We seem to take for granted that all of this should come automatically. It doesn’t. Only if it comes from a life deeply rooted in prayer.

Prayer is the essence of the Christian life, and we see that modeled in this morning’s gospel from Mark. Last week we heard the story of Our Lord feeding five thousand hungry souls, a miraculous action that still astonishes us today. And now this week we see the reflective side of
Jesus: “and he went up on the mountain to pray.” The model, we learn, is that of action and reflection—a paradigm of movement and rest. Which one comes first, well, that seems to be a chicken-and-egg question. The point is that Our Lord takes time in his earthly ministry to be alone and to pray. We see this pattern again and again. To go up to the mountain symbolizes a lot of the movement of the Gospel story—a movement of ascent, up to the heavens, the language of resurrection. Mark does not give us the content of the prayer and we can only presume that in that act of prayer there was more movement of descent, God indwelling in the recesses of the heart than could ever be reported. There is nothing wrong with the language of resurrection, for it’s a critical component to our story and our common life. However, we seem to have lost the language of Pentecost, the language of Incarnation—God descending to us, God desiring to be in an intimate relationship with God’s creation. The language of spirituality, and I would be willing to wager that most books on Spirituality, neglect this essential descending movement of prayer.

The problem is an old one and continues to plague the church even today. The problem in prayer is intellectual ascent. Culturally, we are hard-wired that education equals success, degrees equal security. Smart people are promoted, smart people make six figure salaries and have second homes. But when that logic is applied to the life of prayer it only reduces God to an object—an object that can be studied, measured, and ultimately contained. Prayer becomes like any another intellectual activity. But God is not an object, God is limitless and surpasses our human understanding.

So, we cannot climb mountains and think our way into heaven. God came down to us first, descending into our hearts and stirring us to work for the Kingdom. The action part of the model comes out of and is informed by, a rich life of prayer. The Christian life is not about doing good works in order to obtain heavenly salvation, the point is to be the hands of Christ, the mouth of Christ, and the visible and embodied love of Christ here and now. All this flows out from the totality of our life being consumed by Christ in prayer. I suspect this is what the Gospel passage is pointing us towards. “Speaking the truth in love,” as St. Paul says in today’s epistle, is only possible through intimacy with Christ in prayer—a total and complete dependency upon God as the strength and source of our action. Thus, prayer is at the very heart of all ministry—a piece of equipment that every saint and sinner needs.

If then prayer is at the heart of our common life in Christ, it must also be work. For this reason, we come up with a lot of reasons to avoid or put off praying. “There’s no time for praying, I am way too busy.” Believe it or not, this is heard more than you would imagine in our seminaries these days. There’s always a vestry or committee meeting to attend, a church fundraiser to organize, the altar brassware needs a good polishing, the Vacation Bible School needs my help—and these are just some of the more common Christian excuses. The call of God to prayer is deep and we need to get past our limitations that we place on God, for God is not interested in how pretty our altars look, how concise our bulletins are, or even how well we think we worship. God is interested in what is in our hearts, the very substance of our souls. When we descend with the mind into the heart, there we find God’s presence that was instilled in us from our creation. There we find our integrity and authenticity, there we see our sinfulness

surrounding by God’s gracious mercy and love.

If prayer is work, then prayer is also dancing. With each beat, each rhythm of the heart, God calls us onto the dance floor to be in intimate relationship. God’s love comes to us in prayer: we do not have to have a heightened vocabulary or even much experience of prayer, all we have to do is go out onto the floor and be guided in our footsteps.The dance is both vigorous and slow, close and yet far apart, strange and somehow very familiar. It is work and yet is also rest—it is the most intimate way in which God comes to us

So, then, we as church have our work and our fun cut out for us: we need to talk openly about our life of prayer—our struggles, our disappointments, and our breakthroughs. The community, the body of Christ, is the ultimate support group and is necessary in prayer. No book can offer you this, it is experiential and embodied in flesh, not paper. When we allow ourselves to be consumed by the risen Christ, we can with our minds descend into our hearts and find a wellspring of the living presence eternally inside of us. Prayer is the vehicle to wholeness, the means for us to remember that it is “not I, but Christ who lives inside of me.” Being spiritual or religious is completely meaningless unless it is dependent upon prayer. What ever your language, your style, or situation in life, pray. Pray and pray always that God is the source of your ministry and the foundation of your being. God can teach us to pray, we only need ears to listen. Amen.