If the Devil is good at anything, it is at distracting us from the things that really matter.
A remarkable thing was announced today in Canterbury. The Archbishop or Canterbury, Justin Welby, announced that representatives from the Roman Catholic, Eastern Orthodox, Anglican and Coptic churches would be meeting in the next few years to discuss fixing one universal date for Easter. Currently Easter is a feast that moves according to the first full moon of Spring and it is usually celebrated at different times by churches in the East and in the West due to the use of different calendars. Fixing one date for Easter would heal a division that has existed in the church for over 1000 years. In fact, one of the first great divisions between Christians in England was between Roman and Celtic missionaries over the date of Easter. Now we are looking at the very real prospect that in 5-10 years the major branches of Christ’s Church will be celebrating his resurrection on the same day for the first time in many centuries.
This Is Huge.
This is a huge announcement, but unfortunately most people missed it because they were too distracted by all of the hype that has been generated around the issues of same sex marriage and whether or not the various Anglican churches, which disagree about this issue, can remain together. One astute reporter at today’s press conference asked the Archbishop to speak more about this (he was my hero for the day for doing that), but most other reporters just wanted to focus on the divisions and disagreements within the Anglican Communion.
On the one hand, we have deep disagreement between Christians about how to honor and serve the lives and relationships of Gays and Lesbians, something which has been a matter of debate for the past 30 years or so.
On the other hand, we have news of a potential agreement between the major Christian churches on settling a division that has existed for over 1000 years, and directly pertains to our proclamation of the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.
Which one of these issues should really be getting the most press and attention?
Personally (traditionalist that I am when it comes to liturgy), the idea of setting one immovable date for Easter doesn’t thrill me, but it would be a small sacrifice to make for the possibility of having all Christians come together at the same time to proclaim with one voice the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. That would be a liturgical change worth making. And while the divisions in our church over the issue of same sex marriage matters to me personally, I refuse to let that one division distract me from doing what I and the church are really called to do.
The take-away from this morning’s press conference, if you ignore all the distractions that the Devil tries to throw in the way, is that there really is always hope for Christians to overcome our divisions, no matter how old they are and no matter how deep they run. The key is of course to maintain perspective and to keep our attention on that which is of supreme importance: our proclamation of the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.
Sermon preached at The Church of the Resurrection, New York
for The Feast of the Epiphany 2016
In the year 614AD, a Persian army invaded Palestine and in the course of its pillaging and plundering took possession of the two most important churches in all of Christendom: The Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem and the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem.
The Church of the Holy Sepulchre, the site of Our Lord’s death and Resurrection, was quickly set fire to, but when the commander of the Persian army entered the church of the Nativity, so the story goes, he saw depicted there in mosaics that told the story of the Birth of Our Lord, three interesting figures: they were Magi (or wise men) that had come to honor this special child and what was most remarkable, they were dressed as Persians.
The commander of the Persian army realized then and there that whatever had happened on this spot, whatever had caused these people to build a shrine on this site, involved his people too. Here were his own people bringing gifts to this Jewish child. Whatever all of this was about, he might not have known, but what he did know was that he, as a Persian, had a place in this story.
So he ordered the building to be spared. And there it still stands today.
I love that story. It is hard, of course, to know just how much of the story is historical and how much is legendary, but that doesn’t really matter, because the truth in this story is about more than just one moment in time. The truth is this: that building survived because someone from the outside realized that the birth of Jesus Christ had significance for him too. He was an outsider, and yet, he was a part of the story.
I must admit I have always loved and been fascinated by those three wise men. The scriptures don’t give us very many details. Tradition may give us their names: Gaspar, Melchior and Balthazar, but not much else. So we are left to wonder: where might they be from? How might they have traveled? Would they have trekked on camelback down the king’s highway through exotic places like Petra? Could one have even travelled from even farther away India or Africa (perhaps riding an elephant as your nativity scene so beautifully depicts), or even China maybe? In the movies and in artistic depictions, the wise men are always in the most exotic and foreign dress and they are almost always depicted as being from different races. They are foreigners, they are outsiders, they have nothing to do with the race, religion or culture that Jesus is born into, and yet there they are right there at the heart of the story; there they are in almost every depiction of his birth.
The manifestation of Christ to the gentiles, or the Epiphany, which we celebrate this night is about more than commemorating one moment or episode in the life of Christ. It is about celebrating the truly miraculous fact that we, who are outsiders, are invited to participate in the life of Christ and the worship of God through him. It doesn’t matter what culture we are born into, what class we are born into, what race, what country…no matter how foreign we think we are, no matter how much of an outsider we may feel, there is still within Christ’s story, room for us.
The fact is: we are all of us outsiders here, or at least at some point we were. Nobody is ever born a Christian.
While it is true that many of you may not remember a time before you knew the church and its teachings, and that is a blessed thing I am sure, but you were not born into this religion. Nobody has a birthright to the grace offered through this holy child.
You can be born a Jew, you can be born a Muslim, but you cannot be born a Christian. To be a Christian you must convert. You must look at the story of the birth of Christ, and no matter how foreign or different you may feel, you must find yourself within it. You must realize that his birth, no matter how distant and far away it seems, has implications for your life.
Now your conversion may have taken place at a very early age. It is likely that many of you do not remember your baptisms, but that is of no importance. What is important is that at some point your parents or your Godparents wanted you to be a part of Christ’s story. Well done.
Still, no matter how faithful your parents were and no matter how much they wanted you to live a Christian life and to know the blessings of our Lord, you were the one who had to be converted. You were the one who had to be made part of the body of Christ through the waters of baptism. And whether you came to those waters early in your life or late, you must never forget that everyone begins their journey of faith as an outsider. The miracle that we celebrate here tonight, is that no one need remain an outsider.
This church was the first place that I ever encountered the tradition of blessing chalk on the Epiphany for the purpose of marking our doorposts with the year and initials of the three wise men. I am happy to say that in the past 10 years I have seen this practice increasing among churches and among the faithful, perhaps with a little help from social media. It is an excellent way for us to be reminded of our faith during our daily comings and goings and it is an invitation for our lord to bless our homes during the coming year, but I would put to you that this little symbol can be more than just a sign of blessing made in some mysterious code.
I would put to you that the symbol we mark on the outside of our doors with this chalk can be a reminder to us, that we, like those wise men, all began our journey on the outside, as foreigners to the household of God; as people, who through some miracle given by God and not through any merit of their own, have been given an invitation to enter and who have found themselves to be a part of this story.
Let that symbol remind us of all those who seek God and as yet have not found him. Let it remind us of all of the outsiders in our midst: the foreigners, the outcast, the unloved and the lonely. Let it remind us that just as we have found a place for ourselves within this story, that there is still room here for yet more. Indeed part of our charge as Christians is to help others cross that threshold; to find here a home for themselves as well; to find in Christ’s story a part of their own story.
In our world of countless distractions, it is a miracle that people still seek God at all. In the Magi, we have the model of the religious pilgrim: the journeyer, the seeker, the person who risks much, and leaves much behind in order to search for God. Perhaps the greatest gift that the Magi had to offer Jesus was their attention and devotion: the very fact that they sought him to begin with was undoubtedly worth more to Christ than the Gold, frankincense and myrrh. I imagine it is still so today: Christ honors those who seek him. We must honor those who seek him as well.
Our faith survives because people on the outside still realize that the birth of Christ has significance for them too. There is no reason in this world why the birth of a Jewish child in Palestine should be of any concern to wise men from Persia or anywhere else, and yet miraculously it was of concern. Great Concern. There is equally no reason why it should be of concern to us living some 2000 years later, and yet miraculously here we are, taking the time to end our celebration of his birth, by celebrating the moment that those on the outside realized just how significant it was, and were welcomed into the story.
This parish was founded 150 years ago as a mission to those who were on the outside. This neighborhood, was then outside the city limits, and its residents were at the time in no sense a part of New York City’s elite or genteel society. But the founders of this parish believed that the people that lived here were a part of Christ’s story as well, and thus the Church of the Holy Sepulchre (later the Church of the Resurrection) was begun. But despite the fact that this church has for quite some time now, been well within the city limits, it is still very much in the mission field. Outside of these doors are a vast multitude of souls that do not have the connection to Christ’s story that you have; that are disconnected from the traditions of his church and unaware of the spiritual witness of countless saints and sages, who were also born outside of Christ’s kingdom, and yet found a place for themselves within it. As we leave here tonight to hurry home and mark our doors with the symbol of the Magi, may we give thanks to God that we who were born outsiders have been reborn as a part of this story, may we give thanks for the witness of this parish, which exists to retell this story, and may we always remember those who are still on the outside, looking to get in.
Sermon for Christmas Eve 2015 at The Church of The Ascension, Rockville Centre
Readings:
Isaiah 9:2-7 Titus 2:11-14 Luke 2:1-14(15-20)
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.
This year represents the 50th anniversary of a Christmas tradition that I am sure is near and dear to the hearts of many of us here. I, like many of you, grew up watching the Charlie Brown Christmas special, and although it is a part of secular Christmas, something of which I am usually very skeptical, there is a timeless quality to that short little cartoon that makes it stand apart from the countless other Christmas specials that those of us that grew up with television have been subjected to.
If you haven’t watched it in a while, let me just remind you of how it begins. Charlie Brown, your average boy in an average American town has a problem. He isn’t happy. It is almost Christmas and all of his friends seem to be in the Christmas spirit and Charlie just isn’t. What is more, to all of his friends, that Christmas spirit seems to be primarily concerned with a joyful expectation of what gifts they will get on Christmas morning. Everyone is busy filling out their letters to Santa, telling him all the things they want; although to be fair, Lucy does admit that she never gets what she really wants: real estate.
Think about this for a minute. Think about how much in our world and in our lives has changed in the last 50 years, or for that matter, in the last 30, or 20, or 10. So much has changed in the last 50 years, and yet even then, Charlie Brown’s biggest complaint is how commercial Christmas had become. No computers, no internet, no cell phones, only 3 television channels, and even then there was an underlying disillusionment with the celebration of Christmas, so much so that we would create a children’s cartoon television special to talk about it.
Were the makers of the Charlie Brown Christmas special simply being prescient in their portrayal of Charlie Brown’s dilemma? Were they being prophetic about how commercial Christmas would become? Or, were they perhaps touching on something that has been a perennial problem for Christians throughout the ages: namely, how do we remain focused on the birth of Christ, when the world seems to be trying to draw our attention elsewhere? Maybe Charlie Brown’s observations about Christmas are not so much a reflection on what Christmas was like 50 years ago, but about what Christmas has always been like and maybe that’s why his Christmas special still seems timely and relevant, when so many others are dated.
So I decided to do a little research. I took a look back at portrayals of Christmas through the 20th century and before. Since I have always been a fan of old movies, it was not an onerous task. Think of some of your favorite Christmas films…the classic ones. Miracle on 34th street for instance. That film is about the conflict between the material secular world and its commercial Christmas, and the real Santa Claus, who is far more concerned with what is in a child’s heart, than in what is under their tree.
Or take one of my favorites: The Bishop’s Wife, about an Episcopal bishop who spends more time at Christmas worrying about building his cathedral, than he does tending to the emotional needs of his family. Or take a look at one of the darker films of the genre: It’s a Wonderful Life…about a man driven to the brink of suicide because the material pressures of the world have blinded him to the true importance he has had for the people around him. Film after film, story after story, at Christmas time we find people who’s interior life is in conflict with the world around them. Even in Charles Dickens’s beloved Christmas carol, we have Ebenezer Scrooge who cannot see the deeper meaning in Christmas festivities, but only frivolity and waste. It didn’t start with the Victorians either…the Puritans were so disgusted by the outward celebration of Christmas that they outlawed it, which was of course not the greatest of their religious errors, but a grievous one nonetheless.
What my very informal and unscientific research has shown me is that at Christmas time we become acutely aware of a conflict. It is a conflict that is always there, but we are usually able to ignore it. Throughout most of the year it is very easy to go about ignoring any tension between our physical wants, desires and inclinations and the interior spiritual longing which we all possess, but not so at Christmas. At Christmas people are on their worst behavior, while at the same time singing and proclaiming their greatest ideals. People will walk on top of each other…kill each other…in order to get a material gift, which they will then give in a supposed celebration of Our Lord’s birth. Of course Christmas unsettles us, because it is then that we have to confront the fact that we humans are incapable of living up to our own ideals. We have been singing “Peace on earth, good will towards men” for thousands of years now and it still hasn’t happened. No matter how hard we have tried, and I do think we have tried, we just have not been able to solve the problem of human nature. Our technology has changed, our clothes have changed, our hair styles have changed, but on the inside…people are still the same. Let’s not mince words and just call it what the church has always called it: sin. Who God calls us to be, and who we actually are, are in conflict. We do not live up to our ideals; we cling to the wrong things, we choose lesser goods and momentary gratification. It was ever this way, we just usually ignore it, but at Christmas it is harder to do that.
Now you may be beginning to feel a bit Charlie Brownish yourself. You may be feeling a bit depressed and want to run off to the nearest person dispensing psychiatric help like Lucy, and question why we cannot just be happy, and why we cannot just fix ourselves and our world while we are at it. Well psychiatric help is excellent, and I think many people would benefit from it, but Lucy doesn’t have the answer for Charlie Brown. She can’t help him fix his problem. Only Linus can.
Linus proclaims to know what Christmas is all about and what people are celebrating. So he steps out on stage, calls down the lights, and begins to tell a story. It is a story from the bible, and for those who may question whether children can relate to and understand traditional liturgy, I always hasten to point out that Linus recites from the Authorized or King James Version. Linus proclaims the birth of Christ to Charlie Brown, and he says this is what it’s all about. All of that conflict that you are feeling between your hopes and your dreams and your reality…this is the answer. The war between our ideals and our sins…this is how it is going to be won: not by any device or scheme of our own, but by something that God has done. Perhaps it is no accident that Christmas is such a trying time, for so many people, because it is in that struggle, it is in standing in that place between who we are and who we want to be that we realize just how much we need Christ. My sisters and brothers this is what the incarnation is all about: how God conquers the problem of sin and heals our broken world, and our broken souls.
Anyone can look out at the world and get exasperated at the sins of man, but it is the person of faith that knows that God has already done something about it, and in that knowledge rejoices. That is what we are celebrating at Christmas. Not what we give each other, but what God has given us.
I have watched that Christmas special so many times that I thought I knew it as well as Linus knew the Gospel of Luke, but last week someone pointed out a little detail to me that I had completely missed. I am going to venture to say that a lot of you probably missed it as well. You may want to go home and re-watch it, because it really is a lovely little detail.
We all know that Linus is forever attached to his blanket. It never leaves his hands. It is his security in a world that can be dark and scary. It is a material thing that gives him comfort that he clings to with all his might, but as Linus begins his recitation of Luke’s gospel and the proclamation of Jesus’s birth watch what happens: he drops his blanket. That material thing that Linus loved most, that represented his protection from the scary world and all of his fears, for a few moments it winds up as merely a rag on the floor, dropped by Linus as he is caught up in the awe and wonder of what God has done through the birth of Jesus and the real meaning of Christmas. With Christ he no longer needs to be afraid of this world, with Christ he no longer needs to cling to the material things of this world for comfort and protection; God has given him everything he could ever need or ask for.
It is a little detail, easy to overlook, but there it is: Christ separating a little child from his fears. Linus picks the blanket back up at the end of his speech, but watch what happens later: when he discovers that Charlie Brown’s Christmas tree needs it more than he does, he lets go of it again…uses it to wrap the tree in the love that it needs to shine. What was once a thing to cling to has become a tool to love and support something that needs it more.
If the knowledge of Christ’s birth and what God has done to fix our broken world and our broken souls can transform the lives of children in a cartoon Christmas special, what can it do for us? Can we let go of our fears? Can we find in the proclamation of the birth of Jesus the answer and the antidote to the anxiety and the stress and the unfettered materialism of this season? Can we let go of anything that we are clinging to more than we cling to Christ? Can we for a moment just stand in awe and appreciation, recognizing that God has done for us what we could never do for ourselves? And can we walk away changed…ready to use those possessions that we formerly coveted to help others who need them more?
Sisters and brothers that is our challenge tonight…but not just tonight. As Christians that is our challenge each and every day: to relate to the world differently; to be transformed by the knowledge of what God has done in Jesus Christ; to be subjects of the king that was born that night in the manger in Bethlehem, and to be the heralds of his kingdom.
In the end it doesn’t matter if it is the 1960s, the 1860s or the 1660s, people are still the same; human nature and human sin has not changed, but we can be changed. We can be transformed by knowing what Christmas is really all about. That has not changed. Not in 50 years, not in 200 years, not in 2000 years.
For a moment tonight, be Linus. Let go of whatever you are clinging to and simply hold on to Jesus. You will most certainly pick them up again on you way out, just as Linus did his blanket, but maybe, just maybe you will cling to them less tightly. Maybe you will learn like Charlie Brown, that this is the only part of all this Christmas stuff that actually needs to be taken seriously.
N.B. part of the inspiration for this sermon comes from an article that I shared earlier this week which can be found here.
Sermon preached at The Church of the Ascension on December 6th, 2015.
When I was little we used to take regular trips up to Georgia to visit the extended family. I can remember once sitting in my Aunt’s kitchen, when my uncle leaned over to me and said: “you know Kevin, this here table is very famous, cause all the world’s problems have been solved over this here table.” What he was referring to, of course, were the many discussions that took place at that table during every family gathering. I use the word discussions somewhat jokingly. Arguments would be more to the point, perhaps even ranging on downright fights. This table had seen them all. Religion or politics were quite often the topic of conversation. You could never be sure if the discussion of the moment would end in any sort of agreement, but you could bet your life on the fact that it would end with a piece of cake.
Most of you know that I grew up in a Southern family, but what you may not know, is that I grew up in a mixed family. No, we were not racially mixed, but some of my family was Republican and some were Democrats. Some voted for Carter and some voted for Regan, but at the end of the day they ended up at the same table, discussing the same news. The table might have seen plenty of heated discussions, but it also saw plenty of meals shared in love. Family members did not agree on all the issues, but they still talked and they still broke bread together.
I used to groan to myself whenever one of those discussions started. I used to think “ why can’t we just avoid talking about these things that we don’t agree on?” Now I realize just how precious those moments were, because they don’t really happen anymore, not just in my own family, but I would venture to say in most others as well. We have all isolated ourselves into like-minded cliques. We all have multiple choices for the news, so whether it is television, print, internet or radio we get our information from sources that support our world-view. We only listen to voices that agree with our own; that don’t challenge us. Our Facebook community becomes more and more homogenous and pretty soon we forget that there are reasonable, rational people in the world that completely disagree with almost everything we believe. But the greatest tragedy in all of this, and I would add, the most dangerous for both the future of humanity and our personal salvation, is that now with tailor-made news feeds and friends that only agree with us, we never have to admit that we are wrong.
We don’t even have to admit that we might be wrong. Why should we? It is so much easier to just decide what we want to believe or what makes us feel good and then go online and find someone that agrees with us. No long heated discussions, no having to say you are sorry or admitting you might be wrong: just a world filled with good smart people that agree with us, and evil stupid people that don’t. That is so much easier than having to examine our own beliefs and our own actions, but living a life in which we are always convinced of our own righteousness is not the life we are called to as followers of Jesus Christ.
Self-righteousness is a barrier to God. It is a barrier to our salvation. If you are over-confident in your own righteousness, then you don’t think you need anyone else and ultimately in truth, you don’t think that you need God. When the prophet John the Baptist came to prepare the way of the Lord his primary task , his primary mission, was tearing down those walls of self-righteousness. John challenged everyone he came across to examine their own lives and he called on them to realize that not everything they did or believed or said was right. He called on people to recognize that they are sinners and ultimately all that really means is recognizing that you are not always right.
You may think that self-righteousness is just about someone being smug and holier than thou, but that is really the most benign example of self-righteousness. These people who plot and plan acts of terrorism and mass murder, these people are utterly convinced that they are right and others are wrong. The idea that they in their thoughts and beliefs and actions might, just might, be wrong is completely outside their worldview. If there is no question in your mind that you are right, then there is likely no limit to what you would do to defend your worldview. Hatred, violence and terrorism are ultimately signs of our inability to question our own beliefs and motives.
We cannot fall into the trap of thinking that this is merely other people’s problem and not our own. That, of course, was the very mentality of the scribes and Pharisees and hypocrites that John the Baptist and Jesus were confronting in their ministry. It starts with each and every one of us hearing the cry of John the Baptist. It starts with us hearing the call to repentance. It starts with the realization, not just paying lip service, but the actual realization and belief that we are sinners. That we sometimes believe the wrong things and sometimes do the wrong things. It doesn’t mean that we are evil to our core, it just means that we need help. It means that we need to look for righteousness outside of ourselves. The message of John the Baptist is that that source of righteousness is coming into the world and we need to prepare for it by getting rid of our own false sense of self-righteousness.
It begins with a very simple action. Recognize that in the past you have been wrong. Listen to what other people have to say, discuss your ideas with them, but always bear in mind that you might, just might, be wrong again. Spend time with people that disagree with you. Listen to people who’s worldview is not your own. Something so simple that I witnessed growing up, but sadly see so little of now. I used to think that those discussions in the kitchen were a disruption of the peace…now I realize that they were the source of it. Maybe my uncle was right after all…maybe the world’s problems can be solved around a dinner table.
Then Jesus said to them, “Do not be afraid; go and tell my brothers to go to Galilee; there they will see me.” -Matthew 28:10
In response to our new Presiding Bishop’s call to evangelism, the Acts8 Blogforce has posed the following question: “Where is your Galilee?” Where is it that Christ can be found? Where does Christ still need to be proclaimed?
Rather than write a traditional blog post, my response is the poem below:
My Galilee
I have gone to the shores of Our Lord’s Galilee,
and stood beside the sea.
I have gone to the towns where Jesus preached
to set the captives free.
I have heard the command of the risen Lord,
telling his disciples to “Go.”
I have seen the remains and walked the green fields,
where the Good News first started to grow.
But that Galilee is not my Galilee,
though equally I have been sent,
to go into the world and proclaim the Lord’s story
to preach of his death, resurrection, ascent.
My Galilee has looked a bit different:
it hasn’t been fancy, exciting or new.
My Galilee has been in the shadows
in the places where people thought God was through.
My Galilee is in the valley of death,
with a man who is breathing his last;
holding out grace of forgiveness and life,
when all of the suffering has past.
My Galilee is in burying a child,
beaten by unloving hands,
and standing beside a cold, unmarked grave
mourning where no family stands.
My Galilee is with the aged and infirm,
locked up, confused and ignored
Listening and laughing and singing old songs
and finding life’s meaning restored.
My Galilee is the emergency room,
soaked with the blood of the slain
with the survivors and loved-ones and medical staff,
faced with life’s greatest pain.
My Galilee is the poor urban church,
kept alive by the faith of the few
the overlooked gem, without press or praise
that does not pretend to be trendy or new.
My Galilee is the affluent suburb,
with commuters and families and such
that chase after jobs or possessions or wealth
and still find their lives lacking much.
My Galilee isn’t one place or one people,
it isn’t one class or one race
it is preaching the Good News to all of God’s people,
Last week an article circulated online entitled “10 things I wish everyone knew about the Episcopal Church.” You can read it here. The author had been asked to write an article explaining the Episcopal Church briefly to those from outside the tradition. While I don’t agree with everything in the article, I do think it serves to dispel some popular misperceptions about our church. Still, as I thought about the ten things listed, I began to wonder if we as clergy might be responsible for many of the misperceptions people have about our church (I think we are). So here is my alternate list of 10 things I wish every Episcopal priest knew about the Episcopal Church:
We don’t need to be ashamed of our English heritage.
It’s no secret I am a proud Anglo-phile. I loved Downton Abbey. I loved the Vicar of Dibley. But the British show that I loved most of all is Call the Midwife, specifically because Call the Midwife portrayed the true story of how a group of Anglican nuns ministered the gospel in one of London’s poorest neighborhoods. It reminds me of why I am a member of this particular branch of Christ’s church: not because I love tea and biscuits (though they are lovely), but because I love Jesus and I am frankly proud of some of the ways that the Anglican Church has sought to spread the knowledge and love of Jesus throughout the world. The fact that the Anglican Church can be found worldwide and that the Episcopal Church itself is found in several foreign countries is evidence of the fact that Anglicans have always had a concern for sharing the gospel of Christ with people of differing races, languages and cultures. In fact, Pope Gregory the Great sent Saint Augustine, the first Archbishop of Canterbury, to England with specific instructions to incorporate local customs into his preaching of the gospel. Diversity is not a modern phenomenon.
To say this does not mean that we do not recognize the many ways in which we have failed God’s people throughout the centuries. The Anglican Church, just like every part of the church, protestant or catholic, has sins for which to atone. We need to do that, but in doing so we needn’t overlook the many and powerful ways that our church has been a vehicle of grace and reconciliation. It is true that the Anglican Church was far too involved in British Imperialism, but it is also true that that same church inspired the faiths of individuals like William Wilberforce, who fought and succeeded in abolishing the slave trade. I love tea and cake, and I love a good British television show, but I could still have those and go to any other church (or none at all). I am committed to the Anglican Church not because I love those things, but because I am committed to God’s Kingdom and the Gospel and I am convinced that the Anglican Church, at its best, can give God’s people a glimpse of both.
If we are people of the book then we need to do a better job of making it come alive for people.
Speaking of great things that the Anglican Church has given to the world: having the bible readily available in the English language is one of the great triumphs of the English Reformation. It is true that we spend a lot of time during our Sunday worship reading the scriptures and having a lectionary means that we cannot simply pick and choose the scriptures we wish to read; however, if we think that merely following the lectionary and reading the scriptures on Sunday morning is enough, we are sadly mistaken. In the first place the lectionary leaves things out all the time; important things; things the congregation probably needs to hear even if it makes them uncomfortable. In the second place, it is very hard if not impossible to understand the various books of the bible if you are only getting snippets every Sunday morning without the in-depth study and background that comes from having real bible study.
As priests one of the vows we take is studying the scriptures. This is a lifetime commitment. It is a practice that forces us to listen to the voices of our ancestors in the faith. If we aren’t immersing ourselves in the scriptures regularly how are we ever going to make them come alive for our congregations?
If we are people of the Book of Common Prayer, then we damned well ought to be using it.
Rite III and creative and experimental liturgies have a place in our church, they really do, but that place is NOT the main service on Sunday morning. I would also add that gatherings of the diocese (e.g., conventions) and clergy are not the place for them either. There are plenty of creative things that one can do within the rubrics of the Book of Common Prayer without completely concocting something new of our own. If we are going to tell people that “praying shapes believing” or that “our prayers shape our beliefs” then we need to prove it by not doing the opposite (using our beliefs to shape our prayers) every time we get the opportunity.
We need to stop dumbing down our liturgy in fruitless attempts to reach the unfamiliar and unchurched.
Everyone appreciates having a friendly waiter in a restaurant, but let’s face it, if the food is no good we aren’t likely to go back, no matter how good the customer service is. Be who you are. Offer people authentic worship and don’t worry so much about the people who don’t get or understand everything that you are doing. Just allow them to be. Allow them to watch and allow them to observe without being forced to participate in a way which they may not feel comfortable. Some of the worst sins against visitors are committed in the name of being “welcoming.” Here are some examples of things NOT to do:
Do not force a visitor to stand up in front of the entire congregation and say their name and where they are from (seriously this happened to me in an Episcopal Church recently)
Do not force non-communicants to come up and receive a blessing if they don’t want to.
Do not treat visitors as “fresh meat” that are roped into a committee before leaving their first Sunday. Presumably they came to worship God, let them do that.
It is ok for people to be a little lost, but if they are actually being fed by the liturgy, they are more likely to return and eventually they will learn, and that is the point after all, isn’t it?
We believe in God, Jesus Christ, the Holy Spirit and a whole lot more…
One of the more memorable quotes from our Presiding Bishop-elect Michael Curry this summer was that he can: “say the entire creed without my fingers crossed behind my back.” It was a great moment and a great quote, but what is most revealing is that it needed to be said at all.
It is one thing to deeply question core tenets of the faith while sitting in the pew; it is another thing entirely to do so while standing in the pulpit or at the altar. Unfortunately public perception is often shaped by the people who speak the loudest. In recent years, the voices getting the most press or airtime in the Episcopal Church have often been the voices that have minimized the importance of, if not flat out denied, core, creedal Christian doctrines (you know, things like the Resurrection). It is no wonder then that people around this country and around the world wonder what, if anything, we believe. The Nicene and Apostle’s Creeds are part of our daily and weekly worship. They aren’t listed under the “historical documents” section of the prayer book. They are meant to be said because they are meant to be believed, not once upon a time, but here and now. It is ok to have doubts and questions and to struggle with faith, but at the end of the day if I can’t stand up with integrity and proclaim the faith of the church, I would look for another job.
We need to talk about Jesus more.
People aren’t pressured to go to church anymore. There is no societal expectation. There are also plenty of other organizations out there that a person can devote their time and money to. If they like good music they can go to the symphony. If they like to help others they can volunteer at a shelter or join a not-for-profit. If they feel passionate about liberal causes or conservative causes there are multitudes of organizations out there that will be more than happy to welcome them. If all we talk about are issues and causes of the moment, we are always going to be fighting a losing battle, because people simply don’t need us for that. We are not here to be the liberal church or the conservative church. We are here to be the church of Jesus Christ, offering Christ to the world. Jesus is the one thing that we have to offer that the rest of the world can’t. If we aren’t talking about him, we are wasting our breath.
Our church was not founded in 597, 1534, or 1789. Our church was founded in 33AD.
Our church has been reorganized a few times over the course of its history, but it has never been “refounded.” We are still the same church that was founded by Jesus Christ. When Christian missionaries (from both Roman and Celtic expressions of the faith) first came to England they became the church in/of England. Throughout our history there has been reorganization and reform, but we are still that same church. The Roman Catholic Church has reorganized and reformed several times as well. In every reform good decisions were made, and bad decisions were made and yet still the church marched on. We need to have a little more faith in the resilience of Christ’s church.
The church needs to be bigger than the booze.
I remember the famous southern comedian Lewis Grizzard once said that the Baptists in his town were getting very liberal: they were starting to wave at one another in the liquor store.
The Episcopal Church is not going to be one of those churches that condemns the drinking of alcohol. Nobody wants that, and it usually just leads to hypocrisy anyways. But if all we are offering people is a place where they can drink without being judged, then they could just as soon go to the bar down the street. We need to be a place where people feel they can come to meet Christ, whether they choose to drink or not. We don’t need to banish alcohol, but we do need to confront the perception that that is what we are all about. Enough with the jokes. They aren’t really funny anyways.
Your church is a part of something bigger, but ultimately that something is the One, Holy, Catholic and Apostolic Church of Christ. Everything in between is just middle management.
I may not do things just like my colleague in the next village. I may say mass facing East and my Roman Catholic friends across the street may say it facing the congregation. I may be a gay man and my bishop could be a straight woman. There are lots of issues that we as a church are just not going to agree on. We need to focus on what unites us. There is only one Jesus and he only has one church. Regardless of how we like to separate and sort ourselves, let us always remember who we really work for.
We worship Christ in community; we do not worship THE community.
I can dream of a day when we are all joined together in glory as the one church triumphant gathered around the throne and worshipping together the majesty of God. That will indeed be a glorious day. But as long as we are on this earth, and separated as we all are by time and place, Christ’s church will never be gathered together in one place at one time. We have to learn to remember that we are part of the church even when we aren’t gathered together with it. Yes, we do have private baptisms, we always have, but we are not creating solitary Christians. Whenever you baptize someone you are doing it on behalf of the entire church of Christ and they are being baptized into the entire church of Christ. The church is not someplace we gather on Sunday mornings…it is who and what we are. Each of us has the responsibility to represent the church in the world: wherever we go and whatever we do, but we don’t do this to get people to join our club. The church exists not to point people to itself, but to point people to Christ.
Acts 10:34-43 Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24 1 Corinthians 15:1-11 John 20:1-18
I once heard an archeologist use an expression in an interview that has since become one of my favorites: The way to keep a trail alive is to walk on it
As someone who had a great deal of experience in digging up the past, he was well aware that the difference between a living tradition and a dead tradition is practice. The moment that people stop practicing a tradition, stop teaching its history or stop holding its rituals it dies. And just like a path that no one walks on, the weeds and the grass creep in, and eventually it fades away, disappears and is forgotten.
When our youth group was travelling the Way of Saint James to the cathedral in Santiago de Compostela a couple years ago, we were travelling along a path that had been used by pilgrims for over a thousand years, but despite the fact that this trail was so old, most of the time you didn’t have to worry about getting lost or wonder where you were going, because not only is the path well worn from ancient use, but people are still using it. People are still walking that way and using that trail. It is a living tradition and it is alive because people still experience God along the way. The experience still has something to teach modern people, it still has something to offer to our lives, something which all of the modern technology in the world just can’t replace. There at the tomb of one of Jesus’s first followers, or in the cathedral itself, or in the incense, or maybe just in the faces of the people you meet along the way, God is there and people are still walking that trail to seek him.
This past week we have been walking a different kind of path. We have been walking, figuratively at least, the way of the cross with Christ. We have been telling his story and the story of his disciples, we have been observing ancient traditions that speak to the last things that he said and did, and we have done these things for much the same reason that people still walk the Camino in Spain. This path, this trail of Holy Week is still walked because people still find God there.
Our journey of Holy Week ends this morning with taking a short walk with Mary Magdalene to the tomb. She is walking there to clean and to anoint the body of her dear friend, her leader and her teacher. She is walking there with the expectation of performing the gut wrenching task of unwrapping him from the linen shroud and having to again witness the lifeless body of someone she loves laying before her. We are traveling that way with Mary this morning. Year after year we walk this same path to the tomb with Mary and we retell the story of what she found.
We continue to walk this way and to tell this story because at the end of the road we find something which gives our life meaning. We find out that the world which we thought we knew and understood might be a little more complex and a little more mysterious than we had previously imagined. We find out that miracles do happen, that God really is in control. We find out that the path which we thought led to the grave and no further actually leads to new life.
Mary didn’t find a dead body that morning as she was expecting. What she found was the Resurrected Christ, transformed, but more alive than ever.
I will venture to say that the Easter story isn’t new to most of you. You have heard the gospel witnesses, you have heard preachers and priests talk about it before, you might have even seen the movie…there are lots. You are not here this morning to find out how this story ends, you are here because you know the ending and you find there in that story of Christ’s resurrection something which changes your life and gives it deeper meaning. You are here because deep down you know or feel that the story the secular world tells us, the story that only looks to the material world and not beyond is simply not good enough. You are here because Christ’s story challenges you to imagine a world that is bigger and more miraculous. You are walking this path with us because this trail, this tradition has been kept alive by generations of individuals who have continued throughout the years to find God here and you are walking this path because you have probably found God here too.
Ours is a living tradition. A living trail that continues to lead travelers to a deeper knowledge and love of God. If we have found God along the way, if we have walked to that tomb with Mary and found it empty, if we have experienced God in this place or in the proclamation of the gospel or in the sacraments and rituals of the church that teach us and draw us deeper into the life of Christ, if this path has led us closer to God then we must keep it alive. We must continue to walk on it. We must continue to proclaim and live out these stories which we believe to be true so that future generations will not learn about who Christians were and what we believed between the covers of a textbook. This way, this path, this trail must be kept alive for them.
Our tradition is a living tradition and it will remain so as long as we continue to live it out. This trail will stay alive as long as we continue to walk on it. If we want our children to have faith we must continue to live it out ourselves, not just today, but every day. We need to be living sign posts along the way, arrows that constantly redirect people to the empty tomb and the resurrected Christ.
Walking this way has forever changed my life. I have been and continue to be amazed at the many ways I have encountered God along this journey. It has given me immeasurable hope, not just for what my resurrected life might be like in the next world, but for what my forgiven life can be in this one. If you share this hope of mine, if you have experienced God here in this place or in our tradition and if you want to keep this trail alive: keep walking on it.
Sermon preached at the memorial mass of Alice Mary Roggenkamp. February 22nd, 2015
Alice Mary Roggenkamp liked to hold on to things.
It wasn’t because she had an unhappy or an impoverished childhood, because she didn’t. Alice Mary was raised by loving parents on the upper east side of Manhattan. Her childhood was a happy one growing up around her father’s confectionary shop, and although she was an only child, she had friends and family and pets and much joy. Alice Mary held onto things because it was a part of who she was. As a woman who spent her life working as a librarian, perhaps it was her stock-in-trade, or perhaps Alice just valued things differently than we do.
For so many of us, life has a way of taking from us the things we fight so hard to hold on to. Our vocations, our possessions, our independence, even our loved ones; life has a way of stripping these things from us as we grow older. So it was with Alice Mary as well.
After losing most members of her family, retiring from her career, having to let go of her possessions and her independence, Alice Mary could seem to most of us, as a person that lost everything, but she wasn’t. The thing that Alice Mary treasured the most, then thing that gave her life the greatest joy and meaning, was the one thing that she never had to let go of; it was the thing she held onto until the end: her faith.
You see, this service that we are having here today; many of the details of this service were planned by Alice Mary herself. She was a woman who had lots of opinions, particularly about her faith, which was most important to her, so this service wouldn’t be just left to chance. As a woman who spent so much of her life working in and around the Episcopal Church, she naturally thought that her funeral should be presided over by a bishop…and a priest…and a deacon…and a monk.
Sadly, we were unable to fulfill some of those requests. But I am happy to say that we were able to include all of the music that Alice requested:
Alice wanted “I sing a song of the saints of god”, a song which for many conjures up images of Sunday School (which of course Alice Mary taught), but for her the last verse was important:
They lived not only in ages past, there are hundreds of thousands still, the world is bright with the joyous saints who love to do Jesus’s will. You can meet them at school, or in lanes, or at sea, in church, or in trains, or in shops, or at tea, for the saints of God are just folk like me, and I mean to be one too.
Alice Mary meant to be a saint. She dedicated her life to cultivating holiness in herself and in others. She loved to sing about her faith, so she asked to have the hymn “Holy, Holy, Holy” sung because it begins with the line:
Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord God almighty, early in the morning our song shall rise to thee.
Alice Mary’s song of faith did rise to God. Continually. And Alice Mary’s faith was a very traditional one. She was a member of the Guild of All Souls, an organization centered on saying requiem masses and keeping departed loved ones in prayer, which is why the color of our vestments today is the traditional black for requiem masses. Alice Mary was also associated with a number of monastic communities, specifically, the Sisters of the Holy Nativity, which is why we will be singing “Silent Night” in a few moments, and the Order of the Holy Cross, which is why we will be singing “Onward Christian Soldiers, marching as to war, with the cross of Jesus, going on before.” Despite what some people often think about this song, it has nothing to do with going out into the world and fighting non-Christians. It is about fighting the spiritual fight against evil, which we are all called by our baptism to fight. It is about treading where the saints have trod; it is about knowing that we are a part of the church, over which the gates of hell cannot prevail. That was Alice Mary’s faith. She was absolutely a soldier in God’s army. She always had the cross of Jesus before her.
I was warned, by more than one person when I arrived at Ascension, that Alice Mary liked for the entire Eucharistic prayer to be said for her when you visited her. She didn’t just want a quick communion service. She wanted it all. As a member of the Confraternity of the Blessed Sacrament, communion was very important to Alice Mary. For her it was truly the body and blood of Jesus and it meant the world to her. Most of you know that just a few days ago on Ash Wednesday, Ruth and I went to visit Alice Mary, to impose the ashes on her and to giver her communion. She received the ashes, she prayed the Our Father with us, she received absolution and communion, and then a short while after we left, she passed away quietly in her sleep. Alice Mary had to let go of a lot of things in her life, but the one thing she held onto until the end, the thing she never had to let go of, was the thing that was most important to her: her faith. The one hymn that Alice Mary didn’t request, but that I included was the one we just sang: Faith of our Fathers. “Faith of our Fathers, Holy Faith, we will be true to thee till death.”
Alice Mary was true to her faith until death. So at the end of a life lived in faith and devotion, what can one say? In the commendation we say the words that “All we go down to the dust; yet even at the grave we make our song: alleluia, alleluia, alleluia.” The last request that Alice Mary had was that we include Handel’s Halleluia Chorus in her service, so our postlude will be just that. Alice Mary had to let go of a lot in this life, but in the end she held onto the thing that mattered the most. To that what more can be said than Halleluia.
Inwardly Digest 
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