A shoot shall come forth out of Jesse,
And a bud shall grow out of his roots.
The spirit of life shall be with him,
The spirit of wisdom and truth.
The prophet Isaiah was full of words of hope to a people who faced one crisis after another. Threatened by foreign invasion and weak leadership, they did not know which way to turn. Return to the Lord, Isaiah said, for he will raise up a new ruler for you from the descendants of King David, the son of Jesse. He will lead in wisdom and truth, and bring peace to the earth.
Then the lamb shall lie down with the leopard,
And the lion eat straw with the ox,
For the hand of a Child shall lead them,
To the peaceable kingdom of God.
Early Christians saw Isaiah’s prophecy of David’s descendant fulfilled in Jesus Christ. It was this Child who would usher in a new Eden, a place where animals would neither eat one another nor harm anyone. It’s like the painting of “The Peaceable Kingdom” by Edward Hicks, in which people and animals look out as though the viewer has disturbed their tranquility.
From out of the wells of salvation
Will he draw us the water of life;
His waist shall be girdled with justice,
The heart of his heart shall be Love.
My brother Richard Horn wrote these words many years ago and set them to music for a Christmas card. Words and music were subsequently published and have been sung during Advent ever since, especially on the second Sunday of Advent in liturgical Year A, when we hear the reading from Isaiah on which the text is based.
He’ll come from the end of his heaven,
And the earth shall be torn from its place;
Our lives shall be filled with his radiance
As floodwaters cover the sea.
In Advent we wait for the return of Christ, even as we prepare to celebrate that first appearance at Christmas. The Bible portrays the Second Coming in cosmic terms, as though the earth will be torn from its place. Our lives will be totally up-ended. And yet the One whose heart is Love will fill us with his radiance, with joy irresistibly flowing everywhere, like floodwaters covering the sea. God’s love will be all-encompassing.
Then the lamb shall lie down with the leopard,
And the lion eat straw with the ox,
For the hand of a Child shall lead them,
To the peaceable kingdom of God.
What wonderful yearning there is in Isaiah’s vision! This is not "pie in the sky by and by," but rather a hope and a promise that this life is not the end, that there is more than what we see now. A time will come when all things will be reconciled to God and to one another. That is the promise God gives us through Jesus Christ. Knowing that such a time will come, we can begin now, in all of our weak and broken humanity, to work for the coming of that peaceable kingdom. It will come in God's time, whether we like it or not, whether we believe it or not. Wouldn't it better to work with God for the coming of the kingdom, rather than simply wait?
Advent 2: Isaiah 11:1-10; Psalm 72; Romans 15:4-13; Matthew 3:1-12.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Monday, November 22, 2010
Yearning
This year I am not tempted to greet everyone on the first Sunday in Advent with “Happy New Year!” It was funny the first time, perhaps. At least it’s appropriate. Advent 1 marks the beginning of a new three-year lectionary cycle, when all Episcopal churches are supposed to follow the Revised Common Lectionary. But this year I am more aware of continuity than change.
Toward the end of Pentecost, the lessons focused on the end times, the second coming of Christ. Advent begins with the same. “You know what time it is,” Paul writes to the Romans, “how it is the moment for you to wake from sleep…the night is far gone, the day is near.” Jesus says, “But about that day and hour no one knows, neither the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father…Keep awake, therefore, for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming.”
One introduction to the church year that I recently read acknowledged this focus on the unpredictability of the second coming, and then said that because of it, the church should work to bring about God’s reign of peace and justice today. There’s an implication that we can create the kingdom of God on earth. That’s debatable. Even so, I don’t think it goes deep enough.
What I sense this year is a tremendous amount of yearning. Some yearn for gainful employment. Some stop by the church looking for food or gas money to get to a job interview or an Iowa City hospital. A Quad City colleague sits in an interstate rest stop and sees young women desperately trying to get out of the human trafficking web in which they are enmeshed. All of these people yearn for very real physical needs, needs that must be met before spiritual growth can occur.
I see spiritual yearning, too. “Can we have some Wednesday evening sessions on prayer?” I am asked. That request was made last year; will I finally take it to heart this time? I think of the beginning of Psalm 63: “O God, you are my God; eagerly I seek you; my soul thirsts for you, my flesh faints for you, as in a barren and dry land where there is no water.” But do those who are thirsting and fainting always know that it is God that they seek? And how will they know unless there is someone to tell them, to walk with them?
Yes, “Happy New Year” is just a bit too glib this year. Yearning doesn’t need humor; it needs Good News. The news that God has already come in human flesh, in human frailty, in human poverty. The news that God came to us through a bewildered, poor, unmarried young woman. The news that God loved us so much that God was willing to die for us. The news that Christ overcame death and will indeed come again to make all things new. Does that end yearning? No. But at least then we know what it is we’re yearning for.
Advent 1: Isaiah 2:1-5; Psalm 122; Romans 13:11-14; Matthew 24:36-44.
Toward the end of Pentecost, the lessons focused on the end times, the second coming of Christ. Advent begins with the same. “You know what time it is,” Paul writes to the Romans, “how it is the moment for you to wake from sleep…the night is far gone, the day is near.” Jesus says, “But about that day and hour no one knows, neither the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father…Keep awake, therefore, for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming.”
One introduction to the church year that I recently read acknowledged this focus on the unpredictability of the second coming, and then said that because of it, the church should work to bring about God’s reign of peace and justice today. There’s an implication that we can create the kingdom of God on earth. That’s debatable. Even so, I don’t think it goes deep enough.
What I sense this year is a tremendous amount of yearning. Some yearn for gainful employment. Some stop by the church looking for food or gas money to get to a job interview or an Iowa City hospital. A Quad City colleague sits in an interstate rest stop and sees young women desperately trying to get out of the human trafficking web in which they are enmeshed. All of these people yearn for very real physical needs, needs that must be met before spiritual growth can occur.
I see spiritual yearning, too. “Can we have some Wednesday evening sessions on prayer?” I am asked. That request was made last year; will I finally take it to heart this time? I think of the beginning of Psalm 63: “O God, you are my God; eagerly I seek you; my soul thirsts for you, my flesh faints for you, as in a barren and dry land where there is no water.” But do those who are thirsting and fainting always know that it is God that they seek? And how will they know unless there is someone to tell them, to walk with them?
Yes, “Happy New Year” is just a bit too glib this year. Yearning doesn’t need humor; it needs Good News. The news that God has already come in human flesh, in human frailty, in human poverty. The news that God came to us through a bewildered, poor, unmarried young woman. The news that God loved us so much that God was willing to die for us. The news that Christ overcame death and will indeed come again to make all things new. Does that end yearning? No. But at least then we know what it is we’re yearning for.
Advent 1: Isaiah 2:1-5; Psalm 122; Romans 13:11-14; Matthew 24:36-44.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Making Peace Through the Blood of the Cross
Christ the King Sunday is something of a mystery to me. I don’t remember it growing up, so I don’t have a childhood context. We don’t have a monarchy in this country, so the concept of a king does not resonate, and such autocratic authority is inimical to an egalitarian, democratic spirit. And worst of all, this year’s Gospel reading suddenly propels us into the midst of Jesus on the cross. At least during Lent we have some preparation for the crucifixion, but it’s hardly what we expect in the midst of Thanksgiving plans.
“If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself!” The soldiers mock Jesus as he hangs on the cross under an inscription that says, “This is the King of the Jews.” The two criminals on either side argue with one another. One derides Jesus because he didn’t save any of them, but the other rebukes the first and asks Jesus to remember him when he comes into his kingdom. Finally, Jesus speaks. “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.”
The paradox of the day is clear. The one who is supposed to be king dies an ignominious death. He who is destined to save others cannot save himself. It just doesn’t make sense. No wonder some who want a more rational explanation argue that Jesus was a victim of Roman oppression and religious machinations and that this wasn’t really part of God’s plan. Those who espouse that idea also seem unwilling to entertain the thought that Jesus was in any way divine. He was just a good man with a special connection to God who ran afoul of the authorities.
The problem with that approach is that it doesn’t fit the witness of Scripture. It doesn’t fit the experience of faith, either. Faith is more comfortable with paradox than reason is. How else can one understand the reading from the letter to the Colossians? “For in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, and through him God was pleased to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, by making peace through the blood of his cross.”
Making peace through the blood of his cross! How outrageous is that? That someone should have to suffer so that reconciliation could occur – it offends all of our Western sensibilities. Yet that is the witness of the gospel. It is the witness – but not the end of the gospel. Yes, Jesus dies, but he also rises again on the third day. For me, resurrection is the key. If Christ has not been raised, Paul wrote to the Corinthians, then our faith is futile and we are still in our sins. It is only through the new life of Jesus Christ that we, too, have new life available to us. Only through Jesus can we be reconciled to God.
The image of Jesus as King reminds us that, although he was just like us in his humanity, he was wholly other than us in his divinity. The two have to be together for reconciliation to occur. Without the humanity of Jesus, we have no one who lived and was tempted like us. Without his divinity, we have no one who has the standing to approach God on our behalf. That’s the paradox of our faith – a paradox clearly captured by the image of the King of the Jews dying on a cross.
Last Pentecost: Colossians 1:11-20; Luke 23:33-43; see also First Corinthians 15:17.
“If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself!” The soldiers mock Jesus as he hangs on the cross under an inscription that says, “This is the King of the Jews.” The two criminals on either side argue with one another. One derides Jesus because he didn’t save any of them, but the other rebukes the first and asks Jesus to remember him when he comes into his kingdom. Finally, Jesus speaks. “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.”
The paradox of the day is clear. The one who is supposed to be king dies an ignominious death. He who is destined to save others cannot save himself. It just doesn’t make sense. No wonder some who want a more rational explanation argue that Jesus was a victim of Roman oppression and religious machinations and that this wasn’t really part of God’s plan. Those who espouse that idea also seem unwilling to entertain the thought that Jesus was in any way divine. He was just a good man with a special connection to God who ran afoul of the authorities.
The problem with that approach is that it doesn’t fit the witness of Scripture. It doesn’t fit the experience of faith, either. Faith is more comfortable with paradox than reason is. How else can one understand the reading from the letter to the Colossians? “For in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, and through him God was pleased to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, by making peace through the blood of his cross.”
Making peace through the blood of his cross! How outrageous is that? That someone should have to suffer so that reconciliation could occur – it offends all of our Western sensibilities. Yet that is the witness of the gospel. It is the witness – but not the end of the gospel. Yes, Jesus dies, but he also rises again on the third day. For me, resurrection is the key. If Christ has not been raised, Paul wrote to the Corinthians, then our faith is futile and we are still in our sins. It is only through the new life of Jesus Christ that we, too, have new life available to us. Only through Jesus can we be reconciled to God.
The image of Jesus as King reminds us that, although he was just like us in his humanity, he was wholly other than us in his divinity. The two have to be together for reconciliation to occur. Without the humanity of Jesus, we have no one who lived and was tempted like us. Without his divinity, we have no one who has the standing to approach God on our behalf. That’s the paradox of our faith – a paradox clearly captured by the image of the King of the Jews dying on a cross.
Last Pentecost: Colossians 1:11-20; Luke 23:33-43; see also First Corinthians 15:17.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Signs of the End?
Another election season has come and gone, setting new records for cost and nastiness. Winning an election appears to be the end for which all means are acceptable, and now that the U.S. Supreme Court has removed barriers to corporate contributions, more money is available to fund those means. It is an unusual race in which candidates stick to the issues and treat one another with respect. In our part of the prairie one state representative was elected that way, a small bit of relief in what was otherwise a slimy shouting match.
Two years ago Democrats rejoiced and the Republican Party seemed finished. Last week the Republicans surged back and the Democrats lost ground. Each time some people on the losing side view the results in almost cosmic terms: the beginning of the end of the world as we know it. Considering how many of our problems need thoughtful solutions, and how likely gridlock will prevent anything happening over the next two years, perhaps the doomsayers have a point.
All of this tempts me to interpret Jesus’ comments on the end times politically. I resist that temptation, however, because his starting point is something never seen by the reigning culture in our country: total domination by a foreign power and the destruction of the central religious shrine (in Jesus’ case, the Jerusalem Temple). This is not Sudan or Pakistan; our lives are not in danger because we are Christians.
I also resist it because the end times are not really Jesus’ focus. What is most important, he says, is how you live when really bad things happen. Worried about persecution? That gives you an opportunity to witness to the faith. Rehearsing your answers? Don’t bother. I will give you a mouth (literally) and a wisdom that no one opposing you will be able to withstand. That’s exactly what we see happening in places where Christians really are persecuted. To apply this to U.S. politics is to trivialize it.
So what to do with this Gospel? Certainly it should not be used as a predictor, a claim that there are now wars and insurrections and great earthquakes, so the end is coming soon. Elsewhere Jesus makes it quite clear that his return will be unpredictable and unexpected. Yet the emphasis on how we live our lives is timeless. The baptismal covenant provides the blueprint: pray and worship, resist evil, proclaim the Good News by word and example, seek and serve Christ in all persons, strive for peace and justice, respect the dignity of all human beings. If those had been followed in this recent election, it would have been a very different process. We can only pray and hope that those who will now hold office will come to their senses after a bitter contest and govern in a more reasonable and faithful way.
Pentecost 25: Luke 21:5-19.
Two years ago Democrats rejoiced and the Republican Party seemed finished. Last week the Republicans surged back and the Democrats lost ground. Each time some people on the losing side view the results in almost cosmic terms: the beginning of the end of the world as we know it. Considering how many of our problems need thoughtful solutions, and how likely gridlock will prevent anything happening over the next two years, perhaps the doomsayers have a point.
All of this tempts me to interpret Jesus’ comments on the end times politically. I resist that temptation, however, because his starting point is something never seen by the reigning culture in our country: total domination by a foreign power and the destruction of the central religious shrine (in Jesus’ case, the Jerusalem Temple). This is not Sudan or Pakistan; our lives are not in danger because we are Christians.
I also resist it because the end times are not really Jesus’ focus. What is most important, he says, is how you live when really bad things happen. Worried about persecution? That gives you an opportunity to witness to the faith. Rehearsing your answers? Don’t bother. I will give you a mouth (literally) and a wisdom that no one opposing you will be able to withstand. That’s exactly what we see happening in places where Christians really are persecuted. To apply this to U.S. politics is to trivialize it.
So what to do with this Gospel? Certainly it should not be used as a predictor, a claim that there are now wars and insurrections and great earthquakes, so the end is coming soon. Elsewhere Jesus makes it quite clear that his return will be unpredictable and unexpected. Yet the emphasis on how we live our lives is timeless. The baptismal covenant provides the blueprint: pray and worship, resist evil, proclaim the Good News by word and example, seek and serve Christ in all persons, strive for peace and justice, respect the dignity of all human beings. If those had been followed in this recent election, it would have been a very different process. We can only pray and hope that those who will now hold office will come to their senses after a bitter contest and govern in a more reasonable and faithful way.
Pentecost 25: Luke 21:5-19.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
For All the Saints
This year All Saints is transferred to Sunday, November 7, as far as it can be moved. At Christ Church we will have people carrying banners of saints and putting photos of their loved ones in the window alcoves. It is also a First Sunday, so youth will be participating in the service, and we will have incense – new Trappist incense burned on new “smokeless” charcoal. To round out the day we will have two baptisms, both bringing large extended families.
How does all of this fit in with the readings for the day? It’s still lectionary Year C, so we have what often seem like third-string selections (the most appropriate ones having been assigned to Years A and B). Daniel has a terrifying vision of four great beasts rising out of the sea. Ephesians is even more obscure than the rest of Paul’s letters, if that’s possible (and indicates that Paul may not have been the real author). The Gospel starts out like Matthew’s Beatitudes, but Luke shortens them and adds his own series of “woes.” What does all of this have to do with All Saints, let alone baptism?
Perhaps the place to start is with the day itself. All Saints originated in the early Christian desire “to express the intercommunion of the living and the dead in the Body of Christ,” as Lesser Feasts and Fasts puts it. Martyrs were especially honored, but all those who had died in Christ were included at first, as in New Testament usage. Only as “saints” became limited to those who led an especially holy life (and why were they mostly male clergy?) did it become necessary to create a second All Souls’ Day for all the faithful departed. I am glad that those faithful departed can once again be included with the “real” saints, and will grace the windows of our church.
Thus it makes sense to celebrate both the beginning and ending of life in the Body of Christ on this Sunday. Ephesians says, “In Christ you also…were stamped with the seal of the Holy Spirit.” “Stamped with the seal” is all one word in Greek, and by using “stamped” the Revised English Bible emphasizes the physically of that sealing. For baptism I will use oil blessed by the bishop, and those sealed by the Holy Spirit in Baptism will be marked as Christ’s own forever. That mark not only signifies ownership but also protection by the owner – Jesus Christ, in this case.
Ephesians lays out what we can expect from being sealed: “what is the hope to which he has called you, what are the riches of his glorious inheritance among the saints, and what is the immeasurable greatness of his power for us who believe.” That’s a pretty big set of promises to give to a three-month-old child, which may be why there will be godparents to remind him down the road. Even so, those promises are often forgotten in the day-to-day work of living. But they are made nonetheless, and a faithful God will not fail to carry them out. Just ask any of the saints.
All Saints Sunday: Daniel 7:1-3,15-18; Psalm 149; Ephesians 1:11-23; Luke 6:20-31.
How does all of this fit in with the readings for the day? It’s still lectionary Year C, so we have what often seem like third-string selections (the most appropriate ones having been assigned to Years A and B). Daniel has a terrifying vision of four great beasts rising out of the sea. Ephesians is even more obscure than the rest of Paul’s letters, if that’s possible (and indicates that Paul may not have been the real author). The Gospel starts out like Matthew’s Beatitudes, but Luke shortens them and adds his own series of “woes.” What does all of this have to do with All Saints, let alone baptism?
Perhaps the place to start is with the day itself. All Saints originated in the early Christian desire “to express the intercommunion of the living and the dead in the Body of Christ,” as Lesser Feasts and Fasts puts it. Martyrs were especially honored, but all those who had died in Christ were included at first, as in New Testament usage. Only as “saints” became limited to those who led an especially holy life (and why were they mostly male clergy?) did it become necessary to create a second All Souls’ Day for all the faithful departed. I am glad that those faithful departed can once again be included with the “real” saints, and will grace the windows of our church.
Thus it makes sense to celebrate both the beginning and ending of life in the Body of Christ on this Sunday. Ephesians says, “In Christ you also…were stamped with the seal of the Holy Spirit.” “Stamped with the seal” is all one word in Greek, and by using “stamped” the Revised English Bible emphasizes the physically of that sealing. For baptism I will use oil blessed by the bishop, and those sealed by the Holy Spirit in Baptism will be marked as Christ’s own forever. That mark not only signifies ownership but also protection by the owner – Jesus Christ, in this case.
Ephesians lays out what we can expect from being sealed: “what is the hope to which he has called you, what are the riches of his glorious inheritance among the saints, and what is the immeasurable greatness of his power for us who believe.” That’s a pretty big set of promises to give to a three-month-old child, which may be why there will be godparents to remind him down the road. Even so, those promises are often forgotten in the day-to-day work of living. But they are made nonetheless, and a faithful God will not fail to carry them out. Just ask any of the saints.
All Saints Sunday: Daniel 7:1-3,15-18; Psalm 149; Ephesians 1:11-23; Luke 6:20-31.
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