Ascension Day

By The Rev. Bernard W. Poppe, Rector

The feast of Ascension Day, which we observe this morning, was actually this past Thursday. It enshrines one of the doctrines of the church and is in the Nicene Creed, which we’ll recite after the sermon. In those words we will say "...he ascended in to heaven and is seated at the right and of the Father."

After the resurrection of Jesus, the scriptures say he appeared to them for forty days until he ascended in the manner it was described in our lessons this morning.

When I was a child this puzzled me. I enjoyed the story of the disciples gathered with Jesus on a hill and he began to ascend in front of them, saying that it was necessary and that he would return one day. That’s when it became puzzling to me. Where did he go? My childhood occurred during the sixties and that was also the decade of early space flight. Since the body went up in the air, like the helium balloons I’d let go of, something had to happen. Balloons popped, I understood that. Presumably Jesus didn’t pop, but kept going. Did he go into space and would the astronauts see him, I wondered. Would he need the same breathing apparatus they needed, or does being God’s son make it OK. Who does he talk to? I was an inquisitive child with many questions. All of them got the same response. It’s the response our Sunday School kids often get from their parents, "Ask the Rector."

I was afraid of him and so my questions went unanswered. By the time I was no longer afraid of him I had made peace with my ignorance. Frankly, I still don’t have the answers to those specific questions, and I still think they’re good ones. However, I have a different way of looking at the issue.

The Ascension is the completion of the incarnation of Jesus. He came into the world mysteriously and he left the world mysteriously. He was born as a result of the promise of God voiced through the prophets for generations and departed with a promise to return. He reflected the love of God which transcends the physical world that we know and is a Spirit that is immortal.

God accesses flesh and spirit. God stepped into the world in human form incarnated in Jesus and also flows though Spirit in the world now as God did before and always will. St. Paul says that we are the temple of the Holy Spirit. It’s a wonderful way of saying that God is in us. The creative love of God is spirit that flows through us. It’ humbling, it’s reassuring, and it’s exciting. Through the inspiring Spirit of God within us, we become the body and blood of God in the world - the hands and feet of God beating with the heart of the Holy Spirit. None of which can be proven by the way. But none of which can be denied either. That’s what makes faith so much fun, and our beliefs, what St. Paul called in another place, a stumbling block to those unacquainted with our faith.

The Ascension of Jesus is a reflection on what we can hope for. I’m not talking about whether we will ascend in our bodies the way some Christians insist. I’m hoping for an updated model myself. Car manufacturers are not the only ones whose chassis have planned obsolescence.

I’m talking about a very different hope. And it has to do with the life of faith and love. Consider this: Jesus grew and developed. At the peak of his strength he was beaten, crucified and died. His resurrection was miraculous and breath taking. And his ascension brought him into the realm of Spirit which continues forever.

Also consider our lives. We grow and develop. The peaks of our strength may be physical, but they may also be emotional or psychological. Inevitably something happens and we fall, to where it feels like something inside us dies. But we don’t. We get up, stronger than we thought possible, and continue. In faith, we will hopefully learn from the experiences life brings us, and in our new strength, we ascend into a different spirit. We transcend and in so doing we are transformed. Our spirits are different.

You don’t have to be a theologian to figure that out. All of us have gone through heartbreaking, horrible experiences. Experiences that could have broken us, broken our wills or our spirits. Perhaps in some it might even feel like that. But we are here and we have survived whatever has hurt us. The death of loved ones, divorce, addiction, abuse, war, physical and mental illness, unemployment, bankruptcy, the list can go on. You name it, one of us in here has had it. But we have also survived it, and that is the spirit of God in us that cannot be killed, that resurrects and ascends. We are transformed through our life experiences.

The best of what I have to offer as a priest and pastor, came at the price of the worst things that have happened to me. I’m not getting into them here, don’t worry, but suffice it to say that because of what I have endured and survived, I can counsel and encourage others who go through similar things. And when I go through new things, I can be open and listen to others who have something to tell me. During my life, I have been transformed a few times, and I suspect some more are on the way. It’s inevitable. We all have.

As the disciples watched Jesus ascend into heaven, Jesus said, "...(Y)ou will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, and all Judea and Samaria, and to the end of the Earth."

We witness the power of the Holy Spirit when we tell another person of our experience of the Spirit of God working in us to transcend the struggles of this life - our own and those of our neighbor. Ascension is that point of transformation from body to spirit, from struggle to triumph. And we are witnesses. Each one of us, because the power of God has flowed through each one of us, guided and protected us, and will continue to do so. We are witnesses.

I no longer worry about the same questions I had as a child about the Ascension. I suppose it’s like worrying about how many angels can dance on the head of a pin. We’re all disciples in different places, hearing the word of God and sharing the word of God in different ways. But it is the same spirit blowing within us and among us. We can’t prove it, we may not always feel it, but sometimes we do and as a result, we cannot deny it. The spirit of God is real and transforms us. We are witnesses. Amen.

©2010 St. George's Episcopal Church, Maplewood, NJ

Easter Sunday

By The Rev. Bernard W. Poppe, Rector

Alleluia, Christ is risen! The Lord is risen indeed, Alleluia! The ancient greeting rings out with a truth first described as an idle tale! How about that? The women come back from the tomb of their beloved Jesus telling the disciples about the empty tomb and the angels and the message of Jesus being raised for the dead and the disciples dismissed it as an idle tale. As though the women thought the disciples were being a bit too gloomy and thought they’d perk them up a bit with a resurrection story. Peter goes to verify and him they believe. Somehow the women who stood by Jesus the whole time were making things up, but Peter who denied him was credible. Now that’s an idle tale.

The details of the resurrection the women spoke of are vague and lost in the mist of time and layered story. But something happened. Something so profound as to propel the disciples, not to return to their former lives, but to turn to a lives of missionaries to proclaim the resurrected Jesus. Lives that often led to deprivation, ridicule, persecution and martyrdom. People don’t do that for an “idle tale.” They do that because of some truth that has deeply transformed them. They do that because their lives have so profoundly changed that there was no going back.

In the first lesson we read this morning from Isaiah, we hear the author in the voice of God saying, “..I am about to create a new heaven and a new earth; the former things shall not be remembered or come to mind. But be glad and rejoice forever in what I am creating...” People of faith have always believed in God’s ability to create something new from something old. Order out of chaos. And even life out of death. Over and over again, the stories differ in the details and times, but the essential similarity is the triumph of life over death. The victory of truth and justice over that which is evil and self seeking. There has always been a belief in resurrection.

The story of Jesus’ resurrection is so compelling because it is a victory over death itself. Prior to that, most resurrections had to do with health or life’s circumstances, not life itself. What made Jesus so miraculous is that God’s action created something new. A new heaven and a new earth.

I believe in resurrection. I believe in Jesus’ resurrection and I believe in my resurrection and I believe in your resurrection. I believe in the resurrection of Haiti and Iraq. I believe in the resurrection of people and places where life is in danger or lost. Because I believe that resurrection is life itself and that life doesn’t end, it transforms.

The disciples become interesting case studies for me. They had pretty decent lives before Jesus showed up. Steady jobs, families, they pretty much knew their way around and probably felt relatively secure and comfortable in their lives. Jesus shows up and turns everything upside down. They hit the road, have a little hint of glamour and fame, but that ends badly with an arrest and Jesus’ execution.

But in the midst of all this, they got a taste of a deeper life they didn’t see or know about before and they couldn’t pretend it didn’t exist. They saw and felt the love of God in a powerful way they could no longer live without. They chose a more difficult life, physically, in most of their cases, but we have to assume that the serenity they had in their spirits was worth the price. What an amazing depth of knowing God that would lead them to live the lives they led. For as vague as the details of the Gospels can be about the resurrection, the lives of the disciples who continued to follow Jesus after his resurrection are testimonies not only to Jesus’ resurrection, but their own.

I have experienced resurrection myself through new life that has risen from the ashes of divorce, addiction and the deaths of loved ones. I have seen the resurrection of so many others whose faith in God and the promise of resurrection has changed their lives, especially when they thought it was over. There is a living death that occurs in so many ways, that each of us can testify to. And I’ll bet that without much prompting, many of those stories of living deaths can also be understood to contain the seed of resurrection. And these are not idle tales. They are real.

I’ve seen people in the throes of addiction, what I often call the living dead, who have found new life through recovery. I’ve seen sections of towns and cities come back through the efforts of hard working activists, organizers and regular people on the street. I’ve seen people who faced the deaths of spouses or partners with faith that their lives would continue and did.

I’d like to tell you a particular story of resurrection that I saw last year. While I was on sabbatical last year, the first leg of the trip was to the Holy Cross Monastery in Grahamstown, South Africa. During the month I was there I got to know the small community of brothers pretty well. One of the brothers, Josias, told some of his personal story in a Lenten sermon he preached while I was there. He took for his text Psalm 22 that begins, “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me..” It’s a very important psalm since Jesus quotes it from the cross. It’s verses describe the desolation of the speaker and how beaten down he is. The verse Josias focused on was the 6th verse that says, “but as for me I am a worm and no man...”

He stopped there and told a little of his story as a black man born in Johannesburg during the last days of Apartheid. The struggles and tensions in those final days of that evil system, the danger and the temptation to be beaten down by it. His lips trembled with emotion as he told of the assaults on his humanity and how often he was treated like a worm and no man.

He told of his early conviction in his faith and how the love of God in Jesus pulled him out of despair and gave him new life. This shy, soft spoken, sweet young man riveted the congregation when he looked up from his sermon text and declared in full voice, “I am a man, and no worm.”

Resurrection is claiming life from that which appears dead. Josias spoke for all of us in the life circumstances that make us feel “less than”. In God’s love we are people and not worms. We are worthy enough for God to have been incarnated in the life of Jesus, to have given us miracles and healing. To have taught us and shown us the love of God. To have died for us and risen, as proof that life does not end. It changes and deepens, but it does not end.

In truth some people still call stories of resurrection “idle tales”. They are not. Once you’ve seen them or lived them, you can’t deny them. They are wonderful stories of hope and love, and they are worth telling, despite what anyone else thinks.

From the psalm today, verse 24 speaks for us - On this day the Lord has acted, we will rejoice and be glad in it!” Amen.

©2010 St. George's Episcopal Church, Maplewood, NJ

Good Friday

By The Rev. Bernard W. Poppe, Rector

A man hangs on a cross. The pain is unimaginable - even by those who inflicted it. Perhaps it’s because they couldn’t imagine it, that they were able to accomplish it. I wonder if anyone who has endured agony can willingly inflict it on someone else without reliving it, without experiencing it again.

When Jesus hung on the cross he said, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” They didn’t. On the different levels that people exist, they didn’t know. Physically, none of the Centurions had experienced the pain of crucifixion and drove the nails in without knowing what they were doing. The people gathered around had no idea what it was like to be ridiculed unjustly and tortured. They didn’t know what they were doing. The disciples hadn’t been betrayed and set up for a mock trial, and they didn’t know what they had done.

Perhaps it’s because none of them knew that they were able to do the horrible things they did. And still Jesus forgave them, because they didn’t know. Or rather, they didn’t fully know.

Two thieves hung on either side of him. One ridiculed him in the same way the crowds did. The other asked to be remembered, finding in his pain a relationship with Jesus that he didn’t have before. It’s a curious scene between three men, presumably strangers, now bound by history and the common experience of hanging on a cross.

That grim tableau is a microcosm of our world as well. People causing pain to others in crimes and battle without really knowing the fullness of their actions. I wonder if Presidents who have experienced war are more reluctant to declare it than those who have not. I wonder if those who have experienced crime committed against them, or the pain of attack could ever easily commit such things themselves. But in our world, people do things all the time that create pain and havoc while not really knowing what they do from an experiential level.

And in relationship to Jesus, there are people who hang in pain that reflect the reactions of the two thieves. In the moments of their most excruciating pain, some turn toward God while others turn away.

The focal point for all of this is Jesus. The one who hangs in the middle with arms outstretched to gather into one embrace those who ridicule and those who come for comfort. Earlier in his interview with Pontius Pilate, Jesus said that he came into the world to testify to the truth. Pilate asks “What is truth?” For Pilate, truth was no doubt malleable, subject to the spin given it. What people believe to be true is not always truth. People in positions to create the impression of truth understand this and use it to their advantage.

How threatening it is to have someone who embodies truth. That same person will become a light that shows where lies have been told. The truth of Jesus is the unconditional love of God. It’s not earned, or stolen, sold or won. It’s freely given. Because he told this truth, because he lived this truth, because he was this truth, he was arrested and killed. It was too much to bear. I think there is a secret fear common among people - that we are not lovable. Many people have a hard time accepting compliments because they don’t believe the one giving the compliments. Others have a hard time accepting love, because they do not believe themselves worthy of love, or they are hiding some secret truth that if the one offering love knew, would withdraw that love. The simple truth of being loved gets very complicated. As Jesus embodied a truth almost unbearable to accept, he was taken and hurt.

But he forgave them, because they didn’t know what they were doing. He forgave them, because they didn’t know what HE was doing. But in the end it was not in their power to kill him, but it was in his power to help them live.

When I was a teenager my uncle was working on a house from a ladder and fell. He was hospitalized and hurt his back very badly. I drove my grandmother, who at the time was in her late eighties, to the hospital to see her son, who was in his early sixties. I remember being so struck by her quiet tears as she held his hand, saying in a voice meant only for herself, or perhaps it was a prayer - that she could be the one in that bed who was hurt so that her son could be alright.

A mother’s love is a powerful thing. And the desire to relieve the suffering of her child even at her own physical expense is extraordinary. No matter how old the mother, or how old the child the love remains the same.

She was not able to take the place of her son, but that story has become a way for me to understand the depth of love that would have God take the pain of the world to himself as a way to relieve the suffering of humanity. I think the worst form of suffering isn’t even the physical as bad as that is. I think the worst suffering is to be without hope or love.

By knowing, by truly knowing what human suffering is, God enters our world and lives in a way that we cannot know. And in God’s willingness to bear that pain, to take the insults, ridicule and torture God not only embodies the truth of God’s love beyond our knowing, but also the hope that it’s still freely given in the forgiveness of that which we do not know. It simply is. God’s love simply is.

What we do here in story and song is to celebrate that love that would hang on a cross and still not be defeated. It is a wonderful truth. Amen.

©2010 St. George's Episcopal Church, Maplewood, NJ

Maundy Thursday

By The Rev. Bernard W. Poppe, Rector

Holy Week captures the themes and drama of the love of God in a way that is beautiful, tragically poignant and mystically triumphant. The Tenebrae service last night previewed the themes of the shadows of desolation creeping over the light. With readings of lamentations and psalms that voice the cries of those who are suffering and lost, the spirit touches the depth of pain in any person. Regardless of the circumstances that may have caused the pain in our lives, we are connected to the writers of lamentations and psalms, not in their physical reality, but in their spiritual reality. When the psalmist writes, “Save me O God for the waters have risen up to my neck. I am sinking in deep mire, and there is no firm ground for my feet....” we don’t know what that writer was experiencing that caused him to write this, but we deeply and viscerally understand the emotion behind it.

Quite literally water is rising in this state causing great suffering to those displaced from their homes. I watch the news of my home state Rhode Island also suffering from floods. The cries of “Save me O God..” call out from those facing a literal flood.

The cries from Haiti, the Middle East and so many other places torn by natural disaster and war also need saving from the waters of suffering as they rise. The shadows of Tenebrae give voice to this as they try to overcome the light. But at the end of the service, it is the light of Christ triumphant that will not be put out. The presence of God giving strength and hope to those in need, to those who rescue and those who rebuild.

The service of Tenebrae is abstract in it’s witness. Maundy Thursday, by comparison is much clearer. The Latin word, Mandatum, from which we get the word “Maundy” means command. Jesus gave his disciples the command to love one another as he had loved them. It sounds simple enough, but is so difficult. How can we ever plumb the depths of Jesus’ love for us in order to show that love to each other? As if in response to this unspoken question, Jesus shows them a simple way. He washes their feet. And he expects them to wash each others feet.

The action is bother literal and mystical. Jesus does in fact wash their feet, in much the same way we read the story of Mary washing his feet with her tears in an earlier story this past Lent. It is a sign of humility and love. But it is also a sign of trust and humility on the part of those whose feet are being washed. Jesus’ humility allows them to be vulnerable.

There is an intimacy in washing feet. Many people keep their feet hidden, especially if they are scarred or disfigured, or discolored. Often our feet bear the marks of physical difficulties, a metaphor for the pain traveled along this life’s road. To show another person our feet is to risk them seeing something that is painful for us to let others see.

Again, while that is literally true about our feet, it is also spiritually true. We try to hide and mask the pains and emotional scars that have accumulated in our lives. We do not want others to see them and feel vulnerable if they do.

When Jesus took the disciples feet in his hands to wash, he cleansed the dirt from their feet in a physical way, but also invited them to share their spiritual pain as well. To make themselves vulnerable to his love and healing touch. Love one another as I have loved you, he commands them. Interesting that he does not ask, but commands.

Tomorrow during Good Friday we’ll see just how vulnerable he made himself. The command is to be completely vulnerable and completely trustworthy of another’s vulnerability. It’s both simple and threatening, and difficult. And yet, here we are.

In our ceremony there are four chairs set up. I’ll invite anyone to come forward to sit in any of them and I’ll begin washing the feet as the shoes and socks are removed. I also will invite anyone who wishes to do the washing as well. Some may choose to do both - have your foot washed and then wash another person’s.

Reading bible stories is a rich experience. Beneath the story itself is a layer of human and spiritual truth. That’s what we delve to find. Holy Week is the richest mine of these stories since the themes go the deepest beyond the stories which are powerful in themselves, but even richer in the spirit which moves through them. It is that spirit of God which finds us and invites us in. It is that spirit of Jesus which commands us to learn from Him and love one another as he has loved us.

We’ll have a few moments of silence to meditate on this love and then as I move to the stations I’ll invite those who wish to participate in this part of the ceremony to do so. Amen.

©2010 St. George’s Episcopal Church, Maplewood, NJ

"I am about to do a new thing"

By The Rev. Bernard W. Poppe, Rector

The first lesson this morning is from the prophet Isaiah. It’s a long book of 66 chapters whose content covers more than a generation of history and material. Biblical scholars have identified four different writing styles, and, given the time span of information covered, have concluded that the book must be the work of four authors whose works have been compiled into one book.

This is not an unusual practice. The authors, using the primary Isaiah as their inspiration, see their works as a continuation of his. In other words, their writing conveys what they believe Isaiah would have said if he was in their situation. The book of Isaiah is the largest of the books called “Major Prophets” in the Old Testament and was written in the years leading up to the sacking of Jerusalem, the beginning of the Babylonian Exile and well into the sixty year period.

In both Jewish and Christian traditions, the Book of Isaiah serves as part of the foundation for the hope and expectation of the Messiah. In our Christian tradition, we hear lessons from Isaiah particularly during the Seasons of Advent and Lent. Both these seasons highlight the aspects of expectation of God’s action in the world. Advent highlights the expectation of the coming of the Messiah into the world, and Lent highlights the expectation of the resurrection.

In the season of Advent we read a passage from Isaiah that is very famous. Here it is: “A voice cries out: In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway for our God.” It’s a directive to the people of Israel to get ready, to clean house, to prepare for God’s arrival. Prepare personally and prepare as a society. But prepare. That directive is in the 40th Chapter of Isaiah.

Our lesson this morning is from the 43rd Chapter of Isaiah. Listen again and see how these lines compare with those from just a few chapters earlier. “Do not remember the former things, or consider the things of old. I am about to do a new thing, now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert....” I will make a way in the wilderness.

The message that comes through time and again in the Bible is that when we are unable to make a way to God, God will make a way to us. Similar to last week’s story of the Prodigal son, the son makes an effort, but the Father rushes out to embrace him and welcomes him in a much larger way than the son could eve have imagined.

Isaiah makes this theme within the context of a few chapters. It’s good for us to work on the way to God, on preparing and making it clear; but in the end, it is God who makes the way to us. Jesus refers to himself in the Gospels as The Way, the Life and the Truth. In Jesus, God makes a way to us. We know God better because of, and through, Jesus.

Since we’re observing Women’s history month, I’ll use an example from the history of women in the Episcopal Church. Comedian Robin Williams, who is an Episcopalian, drew up a top ten list of reasons to be an Episcopalian. I’m just going to give you one, you can google the rest. Number eight on the list is this: Male and female God created them; male and female we ordain them.

But it wasn’t always that way. Women weren’t allowed to be Vestry members until the 1950’s. The subject of women priests (and no one even breathed about women bishops), came up strong in the 1970’s culminating in the “illegal” ordination of the notorious Philadelphia Eleven in 1976 by “renegade, activist Bishops”. These eleven women were ordained outside the parameters of General Convention and it formed a delicious controversy for many years, some echoes of which still linger. But it also served to break the impasse in the debate and paved the way for General Convention to legislate the ordination of women in the Episcopal Church. Many priests and parishes threatened to leave, some did, and the world continued to turn. But justice was served. In one sense quickly, given the progress from vestry to priesthood in 20 years. But in a larger sense much too slowly, since the whole gender issue of equality was absurdly late in being raised.

The Episcopal Church struggled to make a way in the wilderness and made some noble efforts. But in looking back historically and spiritually, it definitely looks like the Spirit of God moving those who wanted to do what was right and guided the Church into the way of justice. It’s a slow process still, since some dioceses in this country still refuse to ordain women, but even their numbers are dwindling. Globally, the rights of women are shockingly absent and this includes among the Anglican churches for whom women priests are a long way off. But inevitably justice will happen, people will try to make a way into it, and God will do the rest. Love and Justice are of God, and God will not be blocked.

In the Gospel lesson, Jesus is at the home of Martha, Mary and Lazarus. They were clearly good friends since this is the third story that includes them. It also takes place the week before Jesus’ final entry into Jerusalem and his crucifixion. There is an ominous tone to this story about the use of expensive oil. Judas takes the posture that it’s a wasteful luxury. The wider context is that Jesus is being prepared for death and burial, although most don’t realize this.

Mary is the member of the family who seems most spiritually attuned. Her actions demonstrate faith, sacrifice and humility. Presumably she bought the ointment in the first place. And in the previous story regarding this family, Jesus raised the brother Lazarus from the dead. So it’s likely that in gratitude, no expense was too much to show appreciation. And Mary acted out of instinct and love. She was making a way to Jesus, even though she may not have realized the full import of those actions. And later that week, God would be making the ultimate way to humanity through his actions.

In his letter to the Philippians, Paul gives a lesson in humility. He lists his very impressive resume for the church in Philippi. He was born in the right family, attended the best schools, held high positions in the synagogue and society -implying that it was higher than theirs - and clearly told them that all that means nothing at the end of the day. He says, “I regard all that as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ and be found in Him...”

We can let ourselves get in the way that we try to prepare for God. Our own resumes or backgrounds or accomplishments can be very beneficial in terms of the service that we offer. Like Mary, offer to God our best. But those same aspects of ourselves can get in our way if we treat them as measuring sticks as to why we are better than others or deserve more. That can also work in reverse. Because of disadvantages, setbacks or past hurts, we may feel deserving of better. That also might get in our way. Anything that blocks us from working in God’s service to bring mercy and justice to God’s people works against us.

It’s the humility demonstrated by Mary and Paul in our lessons today that begin the way to God. God’s love comes to us regardless of the resume. Each of them defied the expectations and stations of their worlds to get to know Jesus better. They knew that their worth and esteem was rooted in God’s love more than anything else.

Jesus says something at the end of the lesson that has often been misused. He says, “You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.” This line has often been misused throughout history to justify callous behavior toward the cash and materially poor. But given the way the Gospels use words, the “poor” Jesus may be referring to, might very well be those who are poor in spirit, those who don’t know how to put aside the resume. That is, those who let them get in their way to God or God’s service.

Paul certainly used his credentials when it served his purpose. He claimed his Roman citizenship quite boldly and prominently when it was able to further his mission. He didn’t count it as rubbish then. But only when he used it as a measuring stick of his worth.

Regardless of our credentials, resumes and holdings, our value and worth before God is in our humanity alone. Accepting that calls out the humility in us and begins to prepare the way of God. Even as we start on the way, we come to see clearer as time goes on that God has already cleared the way for us. “I am about to do something new, “ Isaiah tells us God says, “Do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.” Whether out in the world or deep within us, those place that are tangled or parched have hope. Amen.

©2010 St. George's Episcopal Church, Maplewood, NJ

Reconciliation

By The Rev. Bernard W. Poppe, Rector

Paul wrote to the Corinthians “...We entreat you on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God.” It’s a heartfelt plea from someone who cared very much for them. He told them, “We have been given a ministry of reconciliation.”

Ah, but there’s a catch. Before we can embark on this wonderful ministry of reconciliation, we must first be reconciled ourselves. That was the Corinthians’ problem. They were so convinced of their own sacred status that they had fallen into a less than perfect lifestyle of proving themselves holier than the next member of their community. They were exclusionary, judgmental, elitist, and mean to one another. Paul, needless to say, was disappointed in them and wrote this letter to correct their behaviors.

Each of these readings refer to some who reached for something better and run into problems because either they weren’t ready or didn’t know what they were getting into.

In the lesson from Joshua, the Israelites had finally gotten into the Promised Land after wandering in the desert for forty years. By that point Moses has died and Joshua had taken his place in leadership. The painful memories of slavery in Egypt could recede as well as the long period of searching. Their new life was about to begin. The promised land they had worked so hard to enter was theirs. Or was it?

It seems the Promised Land was not delivered empty. It was a country that had been inhabited for many generations by people who were not convinced by Hebrew stories of God making a promise to a man they didn’t know who was long dead. The land that had been promised to the Israelites was inhabited by the Canaanites, and they had no intention of leaving. Some kind of accommodation needed to be made, some kind of peace and reconciliation between two peoples who inherited the land.

The Prodigal Son as we know it, is that famous parable of a young mans’ dreams of the good life and his impatient acts to get it. He blundered his way through reckless waste in the hope of finding his own promised land. He lost everything and hit bottom. The realization of his own foolishness sobered him up and he returned to his father’s house to face the consequences.

In each of these stories, as different as they are, there is the theme of reconciliation uniting them. The people of Israel had dreamed about the Promised land for such a long time that it became romanticized as the land flowing with milk and honey. Everything would be wonderful, very much a utopia. The younger son of the parable also hoped for a utopia. A young man with a windfall of new money sees the world as his oyster. Each were in for a rude awakening.

When we put the story from Joshua and the Gospel lesson side by side, the two peoples of Israel and Canaan could be compared with the two sons. The Canaanites stayed in the land while the Israelites left the land so long before for a better life, which they enjoyed for a while. That is, several generations before it all went bad and they became slaves in Egypt. Beaten down they came back home. The Canaanites, like the older brother in the parable were not happy about their return. As far as they were concerned all the land was theirs. They didn’t want to hear about any promise made to a hundred year old man a few hundred years ago, by a god they didn’t recognize. The tensions between the two groups festered for many years without being fully resolved. There was no parent to mediate as there is in the Gospel lesson.

One of the ways we can read Bible stories is to put ourselves in the place of one or more of the characters. In the parable of the Prodigal Son, who do you identify with, given some of the issues in your life? The younger son who wanted to get away from the world he knew and stretch his legs to find his promised land? The older son who remains responsible and stays at the work and then resents the return of the younger son? The parent who mediates the factions? Or the fatted calf who feels like an innocent bystander caught up in a family drama that’s not going to end well for him no matter who celebrates?

Reconciliation isn’t easy. Reconciliation with ourselves, reconciliation with others and reconciliation with God. I’ve always liked the phrase in the parable that says of the younger son in the pit of his remorse: when he came to himself... There was in him a moment of awakening when he realized his mistakes and wanted to turn around. He was fully spent in the pursuits of false dreams and the consequences of his actions reach a point of such pain that he could no longer stand it. He had to admit first to himself what he did that was wrong and then admit it to the person he wronged, in this case his father. When “he came to himself” he found the integrity in his spirit that had left him for a while during his misadventure. But he found it and tried to make things right again. He grew up. He was reconciled to himself first and then worked on being reconciled with his father. By the end of the story he found peace and a reconciliation he never thought possible. Oddly, the older brother has not shared in the reconciliation, with himself, his brother or his father. He remains judgmental, angry and separated from the festivities. Until he realizes these defects in himself, until he’s reconciled to himself, he can’t be reconciled with anyone else. In this sense, he too is a prodigal son who has left and we hope returned, though the parable doesn’t say one way or the other.

In the stories of Lent, we’re given different lenses to look at ourselves and our relationships. Where have we made mistakes that we need to admit and be reconciled with ourselves? Where do we have the work to do of being reconciled with those we have harmed? Where have we stood in judgment of those trying to make amends, feeling self righteous or angry? I sometimes wonder if the older son was really envious of his younger brother for being more daring than he and risking big, even if it did blow up in his face? Regardless, there are times when we’ve all stood in those shoes as well. Even the older brother needed to “come to himself” and admit his wrongs to be reconciled with himself, in order to be reconciled to his family.

The gospel lesson begins with the tax collectors and sinners (other translations read prostitutes) listening to Jesus; while the Pharisees observed this grumbling in judgment. These groups also like the younger and older sons were in need of reconciliation with themselves and each other. The father was delighted at the return of the younger son and all was clearly forgiven. God takes pleasure in reconciliation, not punishment. People get caught up in wanting punishment. In this parable Jesus sets up a paradigm of radical forgiveness in a way that people, through the eyes of the older brother think is unjust. Yet how wonderful it is to know that’s how God is.

Think about this parable in the days ahead and consider the brothers and how you relate to them. Or as Paul says, “God...has given us a ministry of reconciliation; that is, in Christ God was reconciling the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them...so we entreat you on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God.” Amen.

©2010 St. George's Episcopal Church, Maplewood, NJ

Believing in God's Promise

By The Rev. Bernard W. Poppe, Rector

The first lesson today from Genesis tells an old story. Not quite in the beginning, but close to it. The central figure in this story is Abram. Shortly after this story his name would be changed and he would come to be known as Abraham. But at this point, he’s still Abram. Genesis has described several conversations between God and Abram up to this point, and in each one God has promised Abram that he would make a great nation of his descendants. Apparently Abram was getting tired of this promise since both he and the reader at this point are aware that Abram is in his late seventies and his wife Sarai is not far behind in years and they had no children.

God seems oblivious to this fact as the promises continue, but Abram is annoyed. Finally Abram calls out and says “What will you give me, because I am childless and the only heir I have is my servant Eliezer.” But then an amazing sight is described that is in fact a ritual of covenant between God and Abram. In the offering of animals and the mysterious appearance of a smoking pot that passes between them, a deal is made. God formalizes the promise and just beyond the lesson we read, a prediction is made that foretells the descendants of Abram leaving that land, being enslaved in Egypt and then returning. The deal God made with Abram was the promise of the land that would become the nation of Israel.

All of this because Abram was a righteous man, and God likes righteous people. Righteousness involves to trusting, and often waiting. By the end of his life, Abram had two sons, one by his wife’s servant Hagar named Ishmael, and one by his wife Sarah named Isaac. But he had faith that out of these children a mighty nation would come. He had this faith, because God had promised.

God’s promise is a theme that runs through the Bible constantly. Another theme is the difficulty people have in believing it, or at least having the patience to see them come to pass. In the Gospel lesson another promise is alluded to. Jesus responds to the Pharisees who warn him about Herod’s threats by invoking the words “third day”. Those words used in the body of the Gospels foreshadow the resurrection on the third day and the promise of God made to all believers through the resurrection.

The Bible is a book written many years after the stories they describe and the writers include elements of foreshadow to tie the themes together for the readers and show how God’s promises eventually come to pass. What distinguishes a righteous from an unrighteous person is the one who holds onto the faith in the promise and the one who doesn’t. The one who lives into the promise and the one who acts as though it doesn’t exist.

One of the strengths of the themes in these stories, the tireless patience of the writers, and the examples of the righteous people they depict, is that any reader can identify with them in their own difficulties and despite apparent obstacles, believe that God’s promise will come true and always comes true.

During this February observance of Black History month among other events and activities, there have been pictures on the bulletin covers of contemporary African American religious leaders. On the cover today is a picture of The Rev. Peter Gomes, professor of Christian Morals at Harvard University and Chaplain of Harvard’s Memorial Church. He’s an American Baptist minister and among his many books is one that became a best seller in 1996 called The Good Book. In it he describes how the Bible has been used as a weapon throughout history against Jews, women, homosexuals and usually any kind of change and progressive justice. His new book, called The Scandalous Gospel is a discussion of the radical nature of the Christian faith that most contemporary Christians would find, well, scandalous. He argues that true Christian values have been left behind and replaced with harsh, judgmental, narrowly focused and self serving ideologies. Actual Christian love, as Jesus lived and taught it, is far more inclusive and caring than today’s Christians would recognize.

As a man of faith, a gay man, an African-American man, a professor and prophetic voice in America and the world today, Rev. Gomes also speaks of the promise of God, it’s obstacles in societies, and yet its endurance and ultimate victory.

It’s hard to tell people to wait. It’s harder to be a person who does wait. The people in Haiti must wait. Their ordeal will end, but not for a long time. Now the people of Chile, as well as the people of the Middle East and Africa, and even in America. The promise of God reaches individuals and nations, but sometimes it seems excruciatingly slow or at worst forgotten.

One of the major tensions for us to balance what must wait with what can change now. Sometimes being told to wait is simply an effort to put off changing what is wrong. Dr. King’s famous statement that justice delayed is justice denied argues against the obstacle of waiting. How long were African Americans told to wait, that “now is not the right time”. Similar statements are being made today with marriage equality and even health care. In the end, waiting and stalling are not the same and we need to be careful about mistaking one for the other.

Jesus refers to prophets being killed in Jerusalem. Jerusalem is an important image since it is the capital of Israel, the very heart of the country, and the tangible symbol of God’s true promise to make them a nation. And yet in the midst of this promise, suffering and division has always been present. There is bitter grief in Jesus saying how he would gather them all like a hen gathers her chick if they would but listen.

How many problems and issues in the world that bring suffering would be solved if people would listen to the love of God and extend that loving hand. How simple it seems for the love of God to gather people, and yet we would not.

The collect we opened the service with for this second Sunday of Lent asks God to “...be gracious to all who have gone astray from your ways and bring them again with penitent hearts and steadfast faith to embrace and hold fast the unchangeable truth of your Word, Jesus Christ, your son.”

It’s easy to get overwhelmed with need and injustice in the world. It’s easy to walk away and say nothing can be done. But at the very least, awareness is something. Awareness leads to prayer and prayer leads to action. When we are called in extraordinary circumstances to show God’s love, we do. The generosity and outpouring of prayer and goodwill flows to various people in times of need. Our challenge is to embrace people in the ordinary times as well. We’ve demonstrated this many times in responding to disaster relief, to homelessness, and to people in need in our own parish. It’s all part of the unfolding promise of God.

But the promise of God does not only flow out to others. The promise of God is to us too. Abram was a simple man who heard the promise of God in a vision and believed it. He didn’t see its fullness, but his faith in it determined how he lived his life. He did not live as someone who felt beaten and betrayed by a promise not kept, but as someone who lives in the expectation and joy of a promise not yet fulfilled.

How each of us approaches our lives is really up to us. We can live in dread of inevitable disaster, or in optimistic hope of inevitable victory. The Scandal of the Gospel, found in the Good Book is a profound belief in the promise of God and the unshakable quest to embrace it. The promise of Jesus is a life of fullness and eternal life.

God showed Abram the sky and told him to count the stars if he could. That same number would be the number of his descendants. For a seventy something year old man without any children, that must have seemed pretty far fetched. But he believed even when the promise seemed absurd. And it filled his life with joy and expectation. God’s promise of love, inclusion and justice sometimes seems equally far reaching and absurd, and yet it’s what informs our lives. We can live in the joy and expectation of God’s promise unfolding. Amen.

©2010 St. George's Episcopal Church, Maplewood, NJ