Font of Blessing

"O font, font, font..."

++Michael Ramsey upon seeing his baptismal font.

Here at Saint Peter's Episcopal Church, located in the west end of Huntington, West Virginia, I was buried with Christ in the Spring of 1980. It was here at this old wooden font, complete with eight sides, that I rose up out of the waters of baptism to become a member of the Body of Christ.

St. Peter's is a very special church for me and my family. My brother and I were baptized there, my mother was baptized there, my parents and grandparents were married there, my grandmother was buried there, and I was married there. St. Peter's holds much of my family history--it's sort of like an ancestral church for us. It was there that I learned what church was and to appreciate the mystery and beauty of the sacraments. Since becoming a seminarian, I have preached there a number of times and have even read the Gospel at the Christmas eve Mass. Desmond Tutu allegedly preached from the pulpit here during an American tour many, many years ago.

I am a product of this parish. My whole life has been formed by the people there--past and present. As I move forward in the process towards priestly ordination, I cannot help but reflect on the foundation that was created there at St. Peter's.

St. Peter's has the first free-standing altar in the Diocese of West Virginia. I cannot tell you how many years of my life were fed from that altar. My heart will always be there.

Below is the Children's Chapel located in the Nursery. It was here that I learned to say the Lord's Prayer. I remember sitting in these miniature pews. I can still smell the wax candles burning. . .

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.

Transfiguring Motion

Climb! Climb! Climb!

The Feast of the Transfiguration is a feast of motion and movement. Our Lord takes his chosen disciples up on the mountain to reveal His glory; and the response is quite simply this, get down the mountain and walk on the via crucis to Jerusalem. Up and down, the motion that transfigures us to be disciples and to become bread to others for the Kingdom.

Up to ascend to the heavens is our response of love to God, upwards towards God who calls us into a life of divine consumption. Flowing down from heaven is God descending into our lives, into our souls, stirring us to become what we were created to be.

Once we have climbed the heights and been blinded by the radiance of brilliant grace, we are forever changed--we are transfigured into love. All we can do, then, is feel our way down to the bottom where we must live. We cannot stay on the mountaintop forever! The motion of transfiguration is ongoing and a permanent reality in our lives. Ours is the decision to climb and to follow the call of Our Lord to the summit where we can be consumed into His heart. And so the descent is an obvious one, stay and die or get down and live and work for the Kingdom of Christ.

From the Office of Matins, Monastic Breviary.

An Ancient Hymn of Transfiguration:

Quincumque Christum

All ye who yearn the Christ to see,

Uplift your eyes exultingly,

Eternal glory's symbol there

To your astonished glaze lies bare.

Exceeding bright the mystery

To us revealed, that knows no end,

Celestial, everlasting, high,

And older far than heaven or hell.

We there the Gentiles' King behold,

And King of his own Israel;

To Abraham once promised,

And all his seed, whilst ages run.

To him, fortold by prophets old,

Again by prophets witnessed here,

The Father's greater witness bids

Us listen and with faith adore.

To thee, O Lord, be glory given,

Revealing thus thyself to-day,

With Father and with Spirit one,

For ever and for evermore. 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.