Look Up! Sermon for Lent 4b, March 26, 2007

A website dedicated to safe bicycling includes a list of “top tips” for bike riders. The first of these tips is this: “Raise your vision higher and further. As far as you can see there is information to help you judge what's going to happen next.” (http://www.bikesafe-london.co.uk/toptips.htm) This is what the story of the Brazen Serpent is all about: raising our vision higher, above the immediate problems of the day, so that we can see where we are going. The Episcopal religion writer Phyllis Tickle has paraphrased today’s reading from the Book of Numbers this way:

The Children of Israel had fled Egypt to the accompaniment of mighty signs and wonders and had come to the borders of the Promised Land. Twelve spies were sent across the river into this lush and fertile land, but the reports with which the spies returned were not as promising as the land itself. The country across the Jordan was indeed rich and fecund, they said, but it was also filled with mighty warriors—giants almost in their size and strength. Ten of the scouts said there was no way that the Children, a rag-tag band of exhausted migrants, could conquer, much less evict, such warriors.

But two of the spies filed a different report. Joshua and Caleb said the Children must cross over and enter, for Yahweh had pledged them this land would be the strength of their hands and the defense of their lives. Ten almost always takes precedence over two, however, and the Children of Israel, freshly come from the glory of a parting sea and a Passover angel, decided to follow the advice of the ten fearful scouts. They broke camp and returned to the desert across which they had just come.

Yahweh was angry at this faithlessness and decreed that the Children of Israel were to wander for forty years in that desert they had chosen for themselves, until every single one of the Children, save only Joshua and Caleb, was dead. So they wandered and tested God and one by one they died, until indeed only their children survived.

It was those Children's children, then, whom near to the end of the forty years, Moses, along with Joshua and Caleb, began to lead back toward the Promised Land. But like their progenitors, the men and women of this second generation began also to doubt and complain. They said things like, "Let us go back to Egypt. At least there we were fed, had homes we could live in one place." They said also, "Who of us has seen God? To which of us has he spoken? Who among us can say he or she believes all the tales our fathers and mothers left us? Who?"

And the wrath of Yahweh lashed out against them again. This time, the story says, Yahweh sent snakes into the camps to kill his apostate people. There were droves of snakes moving through the camp of the Children's children…snakes in the tents, snakes in the breadbaskets and the cooking pots, snakes in the bedrolls and snakes in the cribs. Then Moses, falling on his knees, petitioned God's mercy on the Children. God told Moses then to take a consecrated brass vessel at the door of the Tent of Meeting and hammer it quickly into the image of the serpents that were attacking the Children's children. Moses did and he wound the brass snake around the crosspiece of his staff and then he ran through the camp, holding the staff aloft and calling out to the people in the throes of their agony, "Look up! Look up and be saved! Look up! Look up and be saved!"

In our Gospel lesson, Jesus says that this is what his ministry, his life, death, and resurrection are all about. We are all, I’m sure, familiar with at least on verse from today’s Gospel reading. It’s the one some guy with a rainbow wig displays written on a piece of cardboard at, it sometimes seems, every televised sporting event. John 3:16: “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.” These are good reassuring religious words. But we all too often forget that they were spoken to Nicodemus in the context of a much larger conversation and that there were some words spoken before them: “Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life.”

Writing about one hundred years after the death, resurrection, and ascension of Jesus, John understands these words to be Jesus’ foreshadowing of his death on the cross, and certainly they can be so understood. But would Nicodemus have understood this before the crucifixion? Probably not.

Nicodemus, rather, would have remembered the story of Moses from the Book of Numbers, the story of how the Children of Israel were saved by raising their vision higher and further, so that as far as they could see there was information to help them judge and understand what was going to happen next. Nicodemus might also have remember the advice set out in the Book of Proverbs: “Where there is no vision, the people perish....” (Proverbs 29:18a [KJV]) This would seem to be where Jesus was headed in his conversation with Nicodemus, for he goes on to draw the distinction between those who walk in darkness and thus do evil, and those who walk in light and can see clearly, doing the work of God. Like Moses with the Brazen Serpent, Jesus is telling Nicodemus (and John, by including this story in his Gospel, is telling us) to look up! Stop focusing on the petty problems at our feet and start seeing the vision God has for us.

What is a “vision?” A vision is an idea or an image of a more desirable future for an individual or a group. Ideally, it is so compelling an idea that it, in effect, jump-starts the future by calling forth the skills, talents, and resources to make it happen. Vision always deals with the future. Vision is where tomorrow begins.

Bob Logan, a Baptist church developer with whom I once studied, has a pretty good definition of a "vision" for a religious group. Such a vision, he says, has "the capacity to create a compelling picture of a desired state of affairs that inspires the people to respond." A good vision, says Logan, portrays that "which is desirable, which could be, which should be, and which is attainable." But, he warns, a vision for a religious people must be a "Godly vision."

A Godly vision [he says] is right for the times, right for the church, and right for the people.
A Godly vision promotes faith rather than fear.
A Godly vision motivates people to action.
A Godly vision requires risk-taking.
A Godly vision glorifies God, not people.

Anyone who has driven a car or ridden a bike knows that there is a basic rule which must always be followed; it is the basic rule churchgoers must follow, too. That indisputable rule is the one set forth on the bicycle safety website. Another way to put it is this: “Look where you are going.” All other objects of our attention may be interesting, but they are never to become the preoccupation of the person driving the vehicle or riding the bike or attending church. However beautiful or interesting the scenery or the ambiance of the trip may be, the driver or bike rider or churchgoer, if the journey is to be successful, must watch where he or she is going. Not to keep this rule in mind could well produce some very unsatisfactory results.

Unfortunately, much of our time in the church is spent looking back. We may call this “remembering our heritage,” “reexamining our roots,” “remembering the faith of our forebears,” or even “learning the lessons of history.” This may sound like great fun or an exercise with much value. The memories undoubtedly create for many a wonderful, languid nostalgia. But the past should not unduly influence the future. Hope is a thousand timesbetter than heritage! Try as we will, we cannot chang the past, but with very little effort we cab dramatically alter or effect the presumed future.

Another way of diverting our gaze to listen to those who say, “We must look about us.” It is true that the passing scene through which we are moving is a fascinating thing indeed, especially in our present, amazing world. In these very days and weeks, a tidal wave of things, concepts, events, transpirings has come upon us with attendant, spectacular fascinations. What’s more, interesting events are multiplied by millions via international radio and television and the internet.

But Moses with the Brazen Serpent and Jesus talking to Nicodemus are no more calling us to gaze around at the passing countryside than they are calling us to look down at our feet or to look backward. Rather, that story and this conversation alludes to it are calling us to look up, to look ahead, to get our vision trained on where it belongs – where we are going!

We have a vision for St. Paul’s – a vision to bring people to Jesus Christ through this parish, to add to our “goodly fellowship of the saints” by inviting others to join us in worship, fellowship, study and service. I think this meets Bob Logan’s criteria and is a Godly vision which promotes faith; I hope it is a vision which motivates people to action; I know it is a vision which will require us to take some risks, but which nonetheless is right for the times, right for the church, and right for the people of this parish and of this community.

There is a Japanese proverb which says, “If you look up, there are no limits.” This is why the Son of Man was lifted up, so that we might look up and in him see the vision of what God has in store for us, so that whoever believes in him may have eternal life, life without limits. If we look up, there are no limits. Amen.

Cleansing the Temple: Sermon for March 19, 2006

A lot of people think the story we heard from St. John’s Gospel is a justification for not having gift shops or rummage sales or craft bazaars in the church, but that’s not what it’s about at all!

The folks who were selling animals and changing money in the Temple, where actually not in the Temple per se. They were in the courtyard area known as "The Court of the Gentiles," where those not of the Jewish faith were permitted to come, and they were not doing anything "wrong" under Mosaic Law. They weren't breaking any of the Ten Commandments we heard in the lesson from Hebrew Scriptures; they weren't breaking any of the rules in the Levitical purity code; they weren't doing anything contrary to the holiness code of Deuteronomy. They were not breaking the law!

Indeed, what the sellers of animals and the money changers were doing was, strictly speaking, in aid of the law: their business was to help others offer sacrifices acceptable under Temple tradition, custom and rule. The animals being sold in the courtyard were for sacrificial purposes – it was not like the sale barn at the farm shows and the county firs, where spring lambs and hogs are put on the auction block. The cattle, sheep and doves these folks were selling were the proper animals for sacrifice, sold according to the purchaser's ability to pay. There were economic implications for purity: poor people could hardly afford to give a tenth of their crop to the Priests, but if they didn't, they found they were then unable to sell their grain for it was judged "impure." When it came to temple services, the poor were unable to offer their best animals or their best produce. But the Law made allowances; poor farmers could purchase a dove or a small sheep to offer, instead of offering a bull or a valuable she-goat. The sellers of pure animals were an important part of the Judaic religious system.

Money changers were likewise a very important part of this system. Roman coins were considered impure and could note be used to buy sacrifices. The money changers weren't simply giving change for a twenty: they were giving "pure" tokens in exchange for "impure" money ... sometimes, for an extra fee, but that was acceptable under the Law. What they were doing wasn't illegal! They were not law breakers.

So that’s the scene – a venerable tradition of sacrificial animal sales, of money exchange, all in aid of the religious system being practiced in an open courtyard just outside the sacred precincts of the Temple. In this scene comes Jesus striding purposefully onto the Temple ground ... you can almost envision it. He enters the courtyard and sees this religious commerce going on ... to the residents of Jerusalem, this was normal and acceptable, but as a rustic Galilean, Jesus has a different expectation what should be happening in the Temple. It's not that he's a rube or a country bumpkin; rather, he is from a region in which there has been a tradition of great rabbinic teachers such as Honi the Circle-Drawer, who performed great healings, and Hanina ben-Dosa, who insisted upon personal holiness, and Hillel, considered still by many to have been the greatest of the rabbis, a region steeped in the idea of the Temple as an extremely sacred place of prayer. Can't you just see his hands trembling as he picks up some scraps of leather and plaits a sort of home-made lash to drive this activity out? Imagine the confusion that must have reigned as he began driving the beasts and their keepers out of the courtyard, as he began knocking over the tables of the money changers. This is not “gentle Jesus, meek and mild”!

What is going on may not be illegal ... but somehow, deep in one's gut, one knows that it is not quite right.... That's what this story of the cleansing of the Temple is all about. A recognition that something isn't quite right.... In the Epistle to the Romans, Paul suggests to us that this is the human condition. He writes in the first person, but he is truly speaking about all of us and every human being that ever lived when he says:

I can will what is right, but I cannot do it. For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I do. *** I find it to be a law that when I want to do what is good, evil lies close at hand. (Rom. 7:19,21)
We've all been there, haven't we? We've all had that sense, at one time or another, about a situation or about our own behavior, that something isn't quite right.

It is this human tendency to do evil rather than good that the Law was supposed to address. The Ten Commandments, and all the Levitical and Deuteronomic law which descended from them, were supposed to help us turn to the good, rather than to what is bad. But that human tendency to do evil corrupted even the Law. The Psalmist who penned today's Gradual was, I think, something of an optimist: he (or she) wrote ...

"The law of the Lord is perfect and revives the soul; *
the testimony of the Lord is sure and gives wisdom to the innocent.
The statutes of the Lord are just and rejoice the heart; *
the commandment of the Lord is clear and gives light to the eyes."

Evangelist Fred Brown recalls the Psalmist's words when he analogizes the Law to a flashlight. If suddenly at night the lights go out, he says, you use it to guide you down the darkened basement stairs to the electrical box. When you point it toward the fuses, it helps you see the one that is burned out. But after you've removed the bad fuse, you don't try to insert the flashlight in its place. You put in a new fuse to restore the electricity. The Law doesn't really solve the problem of human behavior, it simply illuminates it.

A Biblical analogy likens the Law to a plumb line. ([Amos 7:7.15] "He showed me: behold, the Lord was standing beside a wall built with a plumb line, with a plumb line in his hand.") When a builder wants to check his work, he uses a weighted string to see if it's true to the vertical. But if he finds that he has made a mistake, he doesn't use the plumbline to correct it. He gets out his hammer and saw. The law points out the problem of sin; it doesn't provide a solution.

This is where those folks in the Temple went wrong; they thought that doing nothing illegal was sufficient. This is where a lot of us modern Christians it wrong. too; we think that doing nothing illegal and minding our own business is sufficient. In his book, The Ragamuffin Gospel, Brennan Manning writes that we have "twisted the gospel of grace into religious bondage and distorted the image of God into an eternal, small-minded bookkeeper." That's what got Jesus's goat there in the Temple courtyard. Not illegal activity, but activity that "distorted the image of God into an eternal, small- minded bookkeeper."

Maybe what we need to do is to twist something else, not God, but the human recording of God's Commandments. Methodist writer J. Ellsworth Kalas' book, The Ten Commandments from the Back Side, (Abingdon 1998), "twists" the Big Ten so that they can move from that deadly familiar "Thou shalt not...." list, into a lively and new place in our lives. Here's Kalas's "back-side" version of the Commandments:

1. God shall have all of you.
2. You shall adore the mystery that is beyond comprehension.
3. You shall enter into God's name.
4. The Sabbath will keep you.
5. You shall accept the blessing of the past so that you can have a future.
6. You shall embrace life.
7. You shall cherish the sacredness in you and your mate.
8. You shall become a larger person.
9. You shall bless and be blessed by the truth.
10. You shall rejoice in your neighbor's having.

We need to begin reading Scripture, the Law, the Prophets, the Writings, the Gospels, the Epistles, the whole darn thing, in this way. "Thou shalt nots" are all well and good, but like the discipline of Lent, they are only good if the negative is illuminated by a positive. We give up one thing for Lent in order to make room for something else – we give up movies in order to make room for Bible study; we give up our bridge game in order to make room for prayer; we give up one meal each week in order to donate its cost to provide food for someone with none.

As Kalas's "twisting" makes clear, each “thou shalt not” commandment is, likewise, a “thou shalt” commandment: every injunction to not do something, is an injunction to do something else. "Thou shalt not do murder" is a commandment to exercise a sacred regard for human life; "Thou shalt not steal" is a commandment to respect the possessions others have received from a loving God; "Thou shalt not commit adultery" is a commandment to honor and revere human relationships.

When we focus on only the negative aspects of the Scriptures, we engage in legalism. Brennan Manning really puts us on the spot when he writes:

"The tendency in legalistic religion is to mistrust God, to mistrust others, and consequently to mistrust ourselves. Allow me to become personal for a moment. Do you really believe that the Father of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ is gracious, that he cares about you? Do you really believe that he is always, unfailingly, present to you as companion and support? Do you really believe that God is love?"

This is what the story of Jesus cleansing the Temple is all about. It wasn't that the animal sellers or the money changers or even the Priests were doing anything "wrong" or "illegal." It was that they had lost sight of the fact that God is love; for them, the Law had ceased to be a light giving wisdom and clarity.

During this Season of Lent we must examine our faith and ask ouselves, have we lost sight of the fact that God is love? Have we lost sight of the Gospel's light of wisdom, clarity and grace? Are we, like those folks in the Temple courtyard, worshiping a "distorted image of God [as] an eternal, small- minded bookkeeper?"

When we were living in the Kansas City area, there was a news report about a man who was injured in a serious automobile accident and ended up in a coma. He was taken to St. Joseph Carondolet, a local hospital run by an order of nuns. After more than 60 days in a coma, he woke up with surprisingly little side effects. After a few days of recuperation, his doctors decided he was well enough to be visited by the nun who ran the hospital's business office; she wanted to know how his bills, which were staggering, were going to be paid. Did he have any insurance? No, he said, he didn't. What about any relatives who might help him with the bills, a brother or a sister?

"I only have one sister, and she's an old maid, a nun like you."

"Sir," the business manager replied, "a nun is not an old maid. She is married to the Lord."

"In that case," he said, "send the bill to my brother-in-law."

God in Christ is not a small-minded bookkeeper! He is our brother who has already settled the fine, already made the sacrifice, already paid the bill with God's gracious, wonderful, unearned, unmerited and freely-given love. Amen.

Taking Up the Cross: Sermon for Lent 2B, March 12, 2006

What do you suppose this “Take up your cross” stuff of Jesus is all about? Have you given that much thought? I’ll bet you have you used the popular phrase, "This is my cross to bear." What did you mean by that? Usually people say that about an illness they have: “This arthritis is just my cross to bear.” Or they may say it about a troublesome relative: “My son-in-law is just my cross to bear.” Our usual understanding of bearing one’s cross is that it is some sort of long-term, if not perpetual, annoyance; the picture we have is of that a person walking through life with this heavy burden on their shoulders. Such an understanding does seem to fit with the Way of the Cross, with Jesus walking through the streets of Jerusalem carrying the heavy burden of those large timbers. Finally, he fell under the burden, and a man named Simon is commandeered from the street to carry the cross the rest of the way to Golgotha. But we must remember that the cross is not intended as a burden. We might as well say, “This arthritis is my sack of potatoes to bear.” No, the cross is not a burden, but a means of death.

Many of us display a cross as a piece of jewelry or a work of art. Sometimes women wear a beautiful cross as a necklace or even as an earring. Most churches display a cross as a work of art in the sanctuary, as we do. There are many forms of crosses as art work - the St. Andrew cross, the Budded Cross, the Latin Cross, the Celtic Cross, the Jerusalem Cross. They are worthy works of art, but their beauty tends to make us forget that the cross was a cruel death-machine invented by the Romans.

Can you imagine a woman wearing an ornate little silver chair on her necklace? A friend examines it closely and asks, “What is this cute little chair you have there?” The woman then proudly replies, “Oh, that? It's a model of the electric chair used for the death penalty.” Can you imagine our beautiful sanctuary with a crude wooden electric chair at the front in the place of the cross? People would be shocked. People don't really like to be reminded of death and sacrifice, but the cross is just such a reminder.

Here at the half-way point of the Gospel of Mark, Jesus makes a dramatic change of direction. The happy, crowd-pleasing days of preaching and healing in Galilee are ending, and Jesus has begun to make his way to Jerusalem. On three occasions in the next three chapters, Jesus tries to prepare his disciples of the harsh realities of his ministry, of the probably outcome of his coming encounter with the authorities in Jerusalem. But the disciples, like us, are very slow to understand what Jesus is saying. The disciples respond to these three incidents with outright denial in 8:32, with frightened silence in 9:32, and complete obtuseness in 10:35.

On this occasion, Peter takes exception to Jesus negative attitude. He pulls him aside in order to rebuke him. But Jesus rejects Peter’s message and his attempt to assume the role of teacher. Jesus fully expects that the future will hold suffering, rejection, and death, and he is prepared to accept that. He knows that he needs to prepare his followers for it.

He turns to the rest of those gathered there and proclaims, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.” In so doing, Jesus throws down the gauntlet and issues a clarion call for radical discipleship. It's a call that he has given before in different ways.

On one occasion, a young man came to Jesus and asked, “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” Jesus spoke to him of the commandments. The young man claimed to have kept them all. Then Jesus said, “You lack one thing; go, sell what you have, and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow me” (Mark 10:21).

Jesus call was absolute demand. When he said, “Follow me,” he meant leaving something or someone or some place behind. To obey meant to walk into the unknown unencumbered - ready to listen, to learn, to witness, to serve. Many of the people who heard this call to radical discipleship found that they could not break loose from the things that bound them. The rich young ruler sadly walked away “for he had many possessions.” Another man wanted to wait until his elderly father died. One of the most poignant verses in the Bible is John 6:66, which says, “After this, many of his disciples drew back and no longer went about with him.”

Jesus always wants us to count the cost, but make no doubt about it - he calls those who would be his disciples to come and die with him. “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.”

Have you heard this call to radical discipleship? Does your faith entail a radical commitment to Jesus Christ? Are you willing to die with him? Or are you willing only to go through the motions with a casual Christianity?

I want to give you a specific challenge today to do something to move your level of commitment from the casual to the radical.

The first challenge I have is for you to make a commitment to show up. Tom Peters in his book In Search of Excellence quotes Woody Allen as saying, “Half of success is showing up!” I want to suggest to you that showing up is a significant Christian commitment as well. I want to challenge you to show up at church ... and bring someone with you. Our official parish records show us as having over 400 members! At worship on any given Sunday we see about 130 people. Obviously, many of our members need to make a commitment to be here - regularly and faithfully. Look around. Who do you know that isn’t here? I don’t mean people who’ve never been here ... I mean people who in someway claim to be members of this congregation but haven’t been in church in the past several months. If they were to show up with you every Sunday this year, the lectionary will lead them, as it will lead all of us, through a complete study of the Gospel of Mark. If they were to show up with you on Wednesday evenings, they would (in our current midweek program) learn quite a bit about the commitments we as Christians make to God, to one another, and to our community. If they and you show up at the Adult Forum or Sunday School classes on Sundays, you and they will gain a broad knowledge of the Episcopal Church’s Catechism.

These are low-commitment opportunities that can make a big difference in your life, in the lives of those folks we haven’t seen for a while, and in the life of this congregation.. For many people this commitment will be a big step, but it is the kind of action that can open the door. You can begin where you are, but showing up is half the battle.

But I want to challenge you to an even deeper discipleship. The vestry did some really significant work on our annual retreat this weekend. You will be hearing from them soon about some growth-oriented activities and ministries we would like to see started here at St. Paul’s – small-group fellowship ministries, a deeper more intentional prayer ministry, an intentional evangelism and new-comer incorporation ministry, and others. Many of you may shudder in horror and say, “I could never find the time to get involved in those sorts of things.” But the fact is you do what you really want to do. You make time for the things that matter in your life.

I want to suggest to you that Jesus is calling you to a radical discipleship, and this may be exactly what radical discipleship means for you this year. Perhaps you have stood on the sidelines and watched as other members over the years have committed themselves to the programs and ministries of the church. Perhaps you are a newcomer and are unsure what you should be involved in, or how to go about getting involved. Perhaps you are an oldtimer who previously was very active, but recently you’ve been thinking, “I’ve done my time ... it’s someone else’s turn now.” Well, the time for standing on the sidelines, whether newcomer or older member, is at an end; St. Paul’s cannot afford any more uninvolved, sideline-sitting members. St. Paul’s has no sidelines anymore. I encourage you to commit yourself to radical discipleship. When your vestry calls upon you to be apart of these growth-oriented programs, respond affirmatively, remembering that Jesus said, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.”

There's a great story about the artist Rodin, who one day saw a huge, carved crucifix beside a road. He immediately loved the artwork and insisted on having it for himself. He purchased the cross and arranged to have it carted back to his house. But, unfortunately, it was too big for the building. So, he knocked out the walls, raised the roof, and rebuilt his home around the cross.

When you hear Jesus' call to radical discipleship, I hope you will decide to knock down the walls and rebuild your life around the cross. Remember, Jesus said, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.”

A Time of Discovery: Lent 1B, March 5, 2006

In today's Gospel Lesson, we heard again the familiar story of Jesus' baptism in the Jordan by his cousin John the Baptizer and his subsequent journey into the desert. It seems to me that that desert experience may not have been fully Jesus' idea. You'll recall the Gospel reading said that the heavens were "torn open" and that the Spirit in the form of a dove "drove" Jesus into the desert. That sort of description suggests that he may have been a bit reluctant to undertake that forty day retreat during which he prayed, discerned God's will in his life, came to understand who he was and what he was about, and planned his ministry.

I suppose that vestry's are probably a bit reluctant to go on retreat with their rectors and other clergy, but it is an annual necessity. Some time to pray, discern God's will in our lives as leaders and in the lives of our congregations, come to understand who we are and what we are about, and plan the direction our parishes’ ministries will take during the next year, two years, three years, five years....

This is what your vestry will do for two days at the end of this week. They and I will continue a process which, in one sense, began almost 200 years ago with the founding of this congregation, but which, in a more immediate sense, began about five months ago in October and November, 2005. Many of you took part in those in-home "cottage meetings" of up to a dozen St. Paulines at which we discussed our understanding of who we are as this congregation and what we believe God is calling us to be and do in this place. The process continued a couple of weeks ago when the Gratitude Group hosted a potluck supper at which about 60 people heard their report that the four areas of our congregational life which generated the most energy in those meetings were Fellowship and Evangelism, Communication, Christian Formation, and Stewardship and Finance.

Several years ago, this parish began living with, under and into a mission statement which says this:

As the Body of Christ at St. Paul's we invite others to join us in proclaiming the Gospel through worship, prayer, learning and reaching out in mission and ministry.

At the end of this week, your vestry and staff will gather at Camp Cedar Hills with our diocesan congregational development officer, the Rev. Dr. Patricia Hanen, and we will take the feedback from those “cottage meetings,” that mission statement, and data from and about our parish and community, and prayerfully seek to discern God’s vision for St. Paul’s Parish in the next year, two years, three years, five years.... Similarly, many of us will be gathering here on Wednesday evenings during Lent to share a supper of soup and salad, to study the Lenten Bible readings, and to better understand our commitments to God, to one another, and to the community around us.

Today’s lessons, and specifically the account of the end of the Flood which we heard read from Genesis, are instructive as we take these next steps in discernment. You remember the story, how Noah sent out the birds hoping for a sign that the Flood was ended and, eventually, the dove returned with a sprig of laurel, and Noah and his family found the dry land. As they did so, God spoke to Noah and promised him that never again would God flood the earth and destroy all creatures. In fact, God made the promise not only to Noah but to "all flesh that is on the earth." As a sign of this promise, which in Biblical language we call a "covenant," God put the rainbow in the sky and said, "Whenever you see the rainbow, you will remember my promise."

As I was pondering these lessons, I went onto the Internet and looked up rainbows. There I discovered a website which contains a great deal of scientific information about rainbows. It's the sort of stuff I should have learned in college physics, but I must not have been paying attention. I found out, for example, that it was Rene Descartes who figured out how the rainbow is produced by suspending glass balls and observing how they reflect and refract light. Descartes surmised, correctly, that rainbows are produced when light is reflected and refracted through tiny drops of water suspended in the atmosphere and which are essentially spherical in shape. He found, with his glass balls, that the point from which one observed the light passing through the ball determined the color of light one observed, so that the spectrum one sees in the rainbow is determined by where one is standing at the time.

That website I mentioned poses the question, "Does everyone see the same rainbow?" Its answer is, "No." Since the particular colors and the distribution of colors seen depend upon the position of the observer, this means that everyone sees a different, particularly unique rainbow. We may all see a rainbow, but we don't see the same rainbow.

This, it seems to me, points us toward a significant theological understanding of the story in Genesis. The Covenant made by God with Noah and with "all flesh that is on the earth" is not merely a blanket promise made to us all as a group; it is also an individual covenant, a special promise made to each of us individually. The Covenant is both personal and community-directed. As I thought about this it reminded me of the way God counts people. You may remember that I’ve mentioned this before: God counts people "One .... one .... one .... one .... one ...." Each person is special and unique and of the highest priority to God. So each person receives a special and unique promise, and sees a special and unique rainbow.

The mission of the church is like that, as well. One of the exercises a retreat leader led on a vestry retreat I attended several years ago was a prioritizing of church activities. It became clear as, during the first step of that process, we called out suggestions of things our church "ought to do" during the coming year that we all saw things a bit differently. For one the mission of the church is primarily focused on the teaching of the Bible and biblical truths; for another, the mission of the church is primarily embodied in up-lifting and informative worship; for another, the church's mission is primarily about doing community service; for another, it is about fellowship, recreational activities, and the building of relationships.

The mission of the church is, like the rainbow, a spectrum, and each of us sees it in our own unique and special way. But... we all have to see it and do it together and, whether we like it or not, we have to prioritize and choose among the many tasks the church could be doing, and we have to settle on a way to do the ones we choose. We can't do them all, nor can we do them in all the ways, at all the times, and in all the places convenient to every member! Like Jesus driven into the desert, parish leaders must make choices, and congregations must trust them to do so and accept the plans they make, the goals they envision, and the priorities they set.

Making those choices was the second part of the exercise our leader took us through in that long-ago vestry retreat. When we had listed eleven different ministries our parish could do in the next year, three years, five years .... we were each given five votes to cast. We could use them all to vote five times for one thing; or we could vote one time for each of five things; or we could group them any other way we saw fit, as long as we didn't cast more than five votes. When the voting was done, we had four top vote getters, two immediate tasks and two longer-term activities.

The Senior Warden and I met with Dr. Hanen a week or so ago and shared some ideas, so I know that part of what she will do with our vestry will be some similar goal-setting exercises. I hope that we will return from our retreat with some similar short-term and long-term goals for the parish.

Now I need to pause here and reiterate that the vestry will be setting short-term and long-term goals for the parish. Again, let me underscore those words for the parish. The point and purpose of a vestry retreat, although we will be taking a look at some matters specific to our lives as leaders, is not about setting goals for the vestry! It is about making plans for the parish. One of the truths about our life as a church is that the leaders, the vestry and the clergy, cannot be the only "doers" of ministry; that is a task shared with all members of the congregation. Your leadership will be just what that word says; leaders – overseers and coordinators of ministry. They will not be your surrogates in the doing of ministry: they will be asking you, recruiting you, encouraging you to work with them to accomplish the goals and plans that come out of this retreat.

Both short-term and long-term plans and goals will mean that your vestry will be counting on you to be the ministers your baptism made you. They also mean that your leadership will be thinking of budgeting over longer periods than one calendar year and will be talking about financial stewardship, growth, facilities, and such much more often and much more frequently. Again, such plans and goals will mean that you will be recruited, asked, encouraged, prodded, maybe even nagged about your baptismal ministry, and about increasing your commitment of time and talent to St. Paul’s Parish and its programs and ministries.

Lent is a time of discernment, of figuring out what God's will is in our individual and corporate lives. Lent is a time of understanding, of learning who we are and what we are about. Lent is a time of planning, of preparing and mapping out a course for the future. Your vestry is starting this Lent in an excellent way, and we invite you (and, we believe, God expects you) to join us on the exciting journey ahead. You can do so during the next five weeks by coming to the soup suppers and joining in the process of understanding our covenants and commitments, and when the vestry reports back from our retreat, by listening carefully to what we have learned and by joining in the accomplishment of the goals we will have set.

You can begin even earlier. You can begin now by praying for your parish leadership every day. Let us pray:

Almighty and everliving God, source of all wisdom and understanding, be present with our parish staff and vestry as they go on retreat to consider and plan for the renewal and mission of St. Paul’s Parish; be present with those who will gather on Wednesday evenings to study your word and our covenants. Teach all of us in all things to seek first your honor and glory. Guide us all to perceive what is right, and grant us all the courage to pursue it and the grace to accomplish it. May this Lent be a time of new discovery for our congregation; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Wiping Away the "I": Sermon for Ash Wednesday 2006

Jesus said, "Beware of practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them...." (Matt. 6:1) Oh! How we might wish that these words of his had been taken more seriously throughout the church's history!

On only two or three occasions, Jesus taught his disciples about prayer. The Gospel Lesson for Ash Wednesday, which we have just heard, is one. A second is in Luke's Gospel when the disciples specifically ask him, "Teach us to pray" and the Lord proceeds to instruct them in the Our Father. (Matthew, however, records the instruction of the Lord's Prayer as part of the story we have just read, so perhaps they are one-in-the-same instruction on prayer.)

The third is the parable of the Pharisee and the Publican who both go to the Temple to pray. The Pharisee, you will recall, thanked God that he was not like other men and bragged about his fasting and his tithing. The tax collector, however, simply prayed: "God, have mercy on me, a sinner." Jesus is rather clear that the tax collector's prayer is the sort to which God pays attention.

Ever since these incidents of prayer instruction by Jesus, the church seems to have been fighting about the proper way to pray and the proper way to exhibit (or not exhibit) one's piety.

The 19th Century New Hampshire journalist and poet Sam Walter Foss offered a rather humorous view of this in his poem Cyrus Brown's Prayer:

"The proper way for man to pray,"
Said Deacon Lemuel Keyes,
"And the only proper attitude,
Is down upon his knees."

"No, I should say the way to pray,"
Said Reverend Dr. Wise,
"Is standing straight with outstretched arms,
And rapt and upturned eyes."

"Oh, no, no, no!" said Elder Slow,
"Such posture is too proud;
A man should pray with eyes fast closed,
And head contritely bowed."

"It seems to me his hands should be
Austerely clasped in front.
With both thumbs pointing toward the ground,"
Said Reverend Dr. Blunt.

"Las' year I fell in Hodgkin's well
Head first," said Cyrus Brown.
"With both my heels a-stickin' up,
My head a-pointin' down;

"An' I made a prayer right then and there;
best prayer I ever said.
The prayin'est prayer I ever prayed,
a-standin' on my head."

True worship, as one wag has put it and as Jesus tries to make clear in today's Gospel Lesson, is "more a question of attitude than of altitude." The truest prayer is that spoken in the heart, not in some public display of piety, whatever form that may take. Psalm 51, which we will say together in just a few minutes, makes this so clear.

Psalm 51 is traditionally supposed to have been written by King David. An introduction to the psalm in the Bible describes it as "A Psalm of David, when Nathan the prophet came to him, after he had gone in to Bathsheba." (Ps. 51, NRSV) In it the king cries:

Had you desired it, I would have offered sacrifice, *
but you take no delight in burnt-offerings.
The sacrifice of God is a troubled spirit; *
a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.
(Ps. 51:17-18, BCP versification)

Dennis Bratcher, a Nazarene theologian, says of the superscription of Psalm 51:

Here is the importance of the superscription for this psalm. It tells us at what point in life God's people are to pray this psalm as a confessional prayer. The superscription tells us that this is the Psalm we should pray when we are David the king, the anointed one of God; when we have seen Bathsheba on the rooftop; when we have taken her even though she is someone else's wife; then when we have killed her husband Uriah the Hittite, and now stand before Nathan the prophet confronted by the magnitude of our sin!

As theology, this psalm is about that very particular crisis point in a person's life when they are confronted not only with what they have done, but with who they are that has allowed them to do it. The superscription defines this crisis as the only proper context in which to pray this prayer, where this prayer and only this prayer is appropriate. (Psalm 51 and the Language of Transformation: A Biblical Perspective on Holiness, emphasis in original)

The brilliance of our Ash Wednesday tradition and the Prayer Book liturgy's use of Psalm 51 on Ash Wednesday is that it points out to us that "that very particular crisis point ... when [we] are confronted ... with who [we] are that" allows us to sin is a point we arrive at on a daily basis! It is not all that particular or unique; it was not unique to David; it is not unique to any person or any time.

Brother Justus van Houten of the Society of St. Francis has pointed out that ...

The mark of the cross is the shape of a capital "I" scratched out. The capital "I". That which is uniquely me. My strengths and my weaknesses. My talents and my sins. I have imposed ashes on thousands of people, and I am struck at how different each one is: we come in all shapes and sizes, and colors and textures. Each of us is like none other. We are each called into a personal relationship with God that is different from everyone else -- not necessarily better or worse, just different. But this capital "I" is also that which separates me from God. It represents those things that I claim for myself alone: my terminal desire for uniqueness.

There is a fundamental difference between "sin" and "sins". "Sins" are the relatively petty acts that are symptomatic of the underlying "sin." "Sin", on the other hand, is the alienation and feelings of being separated from God, the sense that God is totally transcendent and holy and I am purely mortal and fallen. The capital "I" that forms part of the cross etched into my forehead is the "I" that underlies my "sin" -- that state of being separated from God.

In imposing the ashes, the vertical stroke of the capital "I" is followed by the horizontal stroke of crossing it out. The "I" that is crossed out is the "I" that leads to the feelings of alienation from God. It is as if in the horizontal stroke the loving arms of Christ are stretched out to welcome me back home. The wiping away of the "I" that separates me from God gives me the freedom and the ability to reach out to my brothers and sisters.

We wear ashes upon our foreheads not in order to "[practice our] piety before others in order to be seen by them," (Matt. 6:1) but in order to wipe away the 'I' and remind ourselves that we are "servants of God" perhaps destined to suffer all those things Paul mentioned, "afflictions, hardships, calamities, beatings, imprisonments, riots, labors, sleepless nights, [and] hunger" (2 Cor. 6:4-5), but also promised "purity, knowledge, patience, kindness, holiness of spirit, genuine love, truthful speech, and the power of God." (2 Cor. 6:6-7)

These are the treasures we can "store up for [ourselves] .. in heaven" if we will but "return to [the Lord] with all [our] heart, with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning; rend[ing] [our] hearts and not [our] clothing." (Joel 2:12-13) We wear ashes upon our foreheads to wipe away the "I", to remind ourselves of these treasures, and to recall that "where [our] treasure is, there [our] hearts will be also." (Matt. 6:21) Our ashes remind us that true worship and true prayer takes place in our hearts, that it is "a matter of attitude, not altitude." Amen.