Looking ahead to the Fourth Sunday in Lent: John 9:1-41

THE FIRST READING: ANOINTING

The first reading for Sunday, April 3 (First Samuel 16:1-13) is the story of the choice of David to be King and his anointing by Samuel.

Then Samuel took the horn of oil, and anointed him in the presence of his brothers; and the spirit of the Lord came mightily upon David from that day forward.

In the Old Testament, anointing was an important action. Kings, priests and prophets were anointed – holy oil was poured on their heads – as a sign that they were chosen by God for the task given to them.

Anointing with oil remained a sacred part of the coronation of French monarchs, and still is part of the coronation of British monarchs in Westminster Abbey.

In the Hebrew Bible all Israel looked for the coming of “the Anointed One” – in Greek the “Christ” and in Hebrew the “Messiah” – who would save the people.

It is interesting that the Lectionary gives this first reading along with today’s Gospel. Jesus makes mud, as you will see, to put on the eyes of the blind beggar – and then sends him to wash, where he is healed. So the Anointed One anoints someone and brings healing and sight and light.

TODAY’S GOSPEL STORY: THE ENCOUNTER OF JESUS AND THE BEGGAR BORN BLIND ( John 9:1-41)

As he walked along, he saw a man blind from birth.

Jesus was walking along an ordinary road when he saw a beggar by the roadside, described as a man blind from birth.

Jesus saw a beggar. The story teller is setting the scene, but we should not pass by these words too quickly. It would be easy – it is easy -- not to see a blind beggar – pass by people in trouble without seeing them. Jesus saw people, noticed them, saw they were there as human beings, as people of infinite value. The story begins with Jesus noticing this man, seeing him. The disciples react and have a question – but the story begins, the action begins with Jesus noticing someone – someone on the outside, in need. .

The disciples see Jesus notice this beggar and ask a question. Always good to ask the questions we authentically have.

Although this question – oh yes, authentic for us humans, we humans ask this sort of question, very human indeed -- this question was (and is) a cruel one.

His disciples asked him, "Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?" Jesus answered, "Neither this man nor his parents sinned;”

An interesting and important answer. The blindness was not a punishment.

“he was born blind so that God's works might be revealed in him.”

Actually why we are all born. Every human being is created by God – every one has been created to be loved by God “so that God’s works might be revealed in him” or her.

“We must work the works of him who sent me while it is day; night is coming when no one can work.”

And then Jesus says one of the seven “I am” statements in John’s Gospel, a self-portrait in words.

Four of the seven “I am” statements are found in our Gospel stories for this Sunday and next Sunday plus chapter ten, which is found between the two in John’s Gospel. Four of the seven are within these three chapters: an important grouping.

“As long as I am in the world, I am the light of the world." When he had said this, he spat on the ground and made mud with the saliva and spread the mud on the man's eyes,

Why did Jesus do this? Jesus was the great master of the imaginative gesture to make a point, to be remembered. At the Last Supper he would take the bread and wine and give it to his friends in a gesture that still is repeated and at the heart of the worship of his church. So that if we talk about the basic, the Supper of bread and wine is on the list. Jesus and the person he encounters, and the Supper (the Eucharist) as the place of encounter.

My own personal thought is that Jesus did this action of making mud so that the blind man might feel even more clearly he was being touched. That is a Ray Webster theory, with my own shingle hung on it. Someone blind, whose sense of being touched would be heightened – someone who was a beggar who had I am sure been treated roughly – would be alert to being touched, and here was something to highlight that.

Putting the story of the anointing of David together with this, strikes me that here the Anointed One is, in a very earthy way, anointing someone, and sending them to wash, where healing will take place – as we are washed in baptism, and anointed ourselves with the Holy Spirit given to us: and the spirit of the Lord came mightily upon David from that day forward.

saying to him, "Go, wash in the pool of Siloam" (which means Sent). Then he went and washed and came back able to see.

In John Newton’s hymn:

Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost but now am found,
Was blind, but now I see. (Hymn 671)

There follows a long account of the reaction of the neighbors:

The reaction of the neighbors

The neighbors and those who had seen him before as a beggar began to ask, "Is this not the man who used to sit and beg?" Some were saying, "It is he." Others were saying, "No, but it is someone like him." He kept saying, "I am the man." But they kept asking him, "Then how were your eyes opened?" He answered, "The man called Jesus made mud, spread it on my eyes, and said to me, `Go to Siloam and wash.' Then I went and washed and received my sight." They said to him, "Where is he?" He said, "I do not know."

They brought to the Pharisees the man who had formerly been blind. Now it was a sabbath day when Jesus made the mud and opened his eyes. Then the Pharisees also began to ask him how he had received his sight. He said to them, "He put mud on my eyes. Then I washed, and now I see." Some of the Pharisees said, "This man is not from God, for he does not observe the sabbath." But others said, "How can a man who is a sinner perform such signs?" And they were divided. So they said again to the blind man, "What do you say about him? It was your eyes he opened." He said, "He is a prophet."

The Jews did not believe that he had been blind and had received his sight until they called the parents of the man who had received his sight and asked them, "Is this your son, who you say was born blind? How then does he now see?" His parents answered, "We know that this is our son, and that he was born blind; but we do not know how it is that now he sees, nor do we know who opened his eyes. Ask him; he is of age. He will speak for himself." His parents said this because they were afraid of the Jews; for the Jews had already agreed that anyone who confessed Jesus to be the Messiah would be put out of the synagogue. Therefore his parents said, "He is of age; ask him."

So for the second time they called the man who had been blind, and they said to him, "Give glory to God! We know that this man is a sinner." He answered, "I do not know whether he is a sinner. One thing I do know, that though I was blind, now I see." They said to him, "What did he do to you? How did he open your eyes?" He answered them, "I have told you already, and you would not listen. Why do you want to hear it again? Do you also want to become his disciples?" Then they reviled him, saying, "You are his disciple, but we are disciples of Moses. We know that God has spoken to Moses, but as for this man, we do not know where he comes from." The man answered, "Here is an astonishing thing! You do not know where he comes from, and yet he opened my eyes. We know that God does not listen to sinners, but he does listen to one who worships him and obeys his will. Never since the world began has it been heard that anyone opened the eyes of a person born blind. If this man were not from God, he could do nothing." They answered him, "You were born entirely in sins, and are you trying to teach us?" And they drove him out.

The poor guy. At the beginning of the story he was outcast – blind from birth and put out to beg. He meets Jesus and is healed and the neighbors do not say hurrah – quite the opposite. And by the end of his encounter with them, they have driven him out and he is an outcast again!

When Jesus found him

Jesus heard that they had driven him out, and when he found him, he said, "Do you believe in the Son of Man?" He answered, "And who is he, sir? Tell me, so that I may believe in him." Jesus said to him, "You have seen him, and the one speaking with you is he." He said, "Lord, I believe." And he worshiped him.

Jesus went looking for the man and found him. William Temple writes:

The man who is driven out by the Pharisaic Court is not left to wander as an outcast. Jesus found him. The man did not find Jesus; Jesus found him. That is the deepest truth of Christian faith; Jesus found me. Our fellowship with Him is rooted in His compassion.

For it is into His fellowship that He welcomes the blind beggar; and to do this, He offers Himself explicitly for the first time as an object of faith. Westcott …

(Note: Brooke Foss Westcott (1825-1901), was Bishop of Durham, England, and great scholar of John’s Gospel.)

… sees here “the beginning of the new Society.” That presses the point too far. But it is true that here for the first time the Lord offers Himself as an object of faith, and does this as a way of receiving into His fellowship one who is alienated from another.

William Temple, Readings in St. John’s Gospel, London: Macmillan, 1945, page 160

Jesus’ “new Society” breaks down human dividing lines – for anyone cut off as a woman, a Samaritan, a blind beggar. For anyone.

An Anglican story: Apartheid and the Archbishop

Geoffrey Hare Clayton (1884-1957) was Anglican Archbishop of Cape Town, South Africa, and primate of the Anglican Church of the Province of Southern Africa. Alan Paton wrote his biography Apartheid and the archbishop: the life and times of Geoffrey Clayton, Archbishop of Cape Town (New York: Scribner, 1974)

In 1957 the South African government passed a law requiring churches to segregate the races in public worship. Archbishop Clayton was a conservative Englishman – but he could not accept separating people by race at the altar rail. He wrote to the Prime Minister on behalf of the Anglican Bishops of the Province, saying:

“We should ourselves be unable to obey this Law or to counsel our clergy and people to do so. We therefore appeal to you, Sir, not to put us in a position in which we have to choose between obeying our conscience and obeying the law of the land."

He signed it and died the next day.

Jesus said, "I came into this world for judgment so that those who do not see may see, and those who do see may become blind." Some of the Pharisees near him heard this and said to him, "Surely we are not blind, are we?" Jesus said to them, "If you were blind, you would not have sin. But now that you say, `We see,' your sin remains."

What comes next

At the risk of adding something to a Gospel reading which is already unusually long, may I note that in John’s Gospel, the next words which follow immediately are chapter ten. Directly after this story, Jesus gives the next two “I am” statements: he says he is the gate of the sheep, the way in for the sheep – the way in for someone just like this healed beggar, someone just like you and me. And then he says: “I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.”

“I am the gate for the sheep – I am the good shepherd”

John 10:1-11 Jesus said, "Very truly, I tell you, anyone who does not enter the sheepfold by the gate but climbs in by another way is a thief and a bandit. The one who enters by the gate is the shepherd of the sheep. The gatekeeper opens the gate for him, and the sheep hear his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. When he has brought out all his own, he goes ahead of them, and the sheep follow him because they know his voice. They will not follow a stranger, but they will run from him because they do not know the voice of strangers." Jesus used this figure of speech with them, but they did not understand what he was saying to them.

So again Jesus said to them, "Very truly, I tell you, I am the gate for the sheep. All who came before me are thieves and bandits; but the sheep did not listen to them. I am the gate. Whoever enters by me will be saved, and will come in and go out and find pasture. The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly. I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.”

(Raymond Webster)

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The Bible texts are from the New Revised Standard Version Bible, copyright 1989 by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the USA, and used by permission.

Sermon preached on the Third Sunday in Lent: John 5:19-24

Exodus 17:1-7; Psalm 95; Romans 5:1-11;
John 4:5-42

There’s something suspicious about a person who’s too quick to sign on to things.  I’m not talking about people who are quick to volunteer, or try something different, or make new friends.  I’m talking about serial committers: people who seem to make big life decisions the way other people decide which socks to wear.  We’ve all had to deliberate about whether to get married, whether to join a new church, or whether to leave a job, and most of us, even if we know what we’ll ultimately do, take our time, consult with others, go through the motions, etc, etc.  So when somebody runs off to Vegas with a girl they met yesterday, or quits her job one morning and enrolls in beauty school the next, we’re shocked, we’re confused, and we’re put off by the unstudied immediacy of the whole thing. 

When a group of us got together to talk about the Samaritan woman during our first Wednesday night Lenten program at the church, her immediacy was one of the things that stood out to everybody.  It shows up in two places.  First, Jesus tells her that she should have asked him for water, because what he has to give can quench thirst forever.  Without missing a beat, she responds, “Sir, give me this water, so that I may never be thirsty ….”  Their conversation continues, and when Jesus tells her things about her life that he shouldn’t know, she realizes that he’s a prophet.  She starts to ask questions, thinking, “Maybe this is the prophet, the Messiah we’ve all been waiting for.”  After Jesus confirms that he’s the guy, she’s off, running to gather her village in a second bold show of immediacy. 

Now you could look at this woman’s relationship history and make some supporting conclusions about her being quick to commit to things.  Jesus reveals it all: she’s had five husbands and is living with a man to whom she’s not married.  But there are some pretty valid historical-cultural reasons why she might have found herself in this situation – and reasons that were largely out of her control, because as a woman she was not a powerful person.  She needed protection, and she needed support.  Her dependency was a given, nothing that she could hide.  And that’s why this woman and other people who are quick to sign up for things, who are quick to say, “Give me this water,” can be so disturbing to us.  They’re emblematic of a basic fact about the human condition: we need.  We are dependent.  We’re creatures who won’t survive unless we have real water, unless we have food and shelter; but more than this, we’re creatures who won’t survive unless we have love, unless we can make meaning of our lives, unless we have purpose and relationships.  The Samaritan woman isn’t particularly fickle or promiscuous; neither is she particularly spiritually open or adept … she’s just particularly transparent; she’s very obviously looking for something; she’s frank in this whole exchange: “Yes.  Please.  I need a Messiah.”   

Which is the opposite of Jesus’ most recent conversation.  You may remember from last week the story of Nicodemus, a powerful person – a judge – living in a powerful place – Jerusalem – who came to Jesus by night and exhibited a sort of caution and confusion in speaking with him that’s so endearing, because it’s how a lot of us feel a lot of the time when it comes to Jesus.  Nicodemus is a responsible person, a newspaper reader, a taxpayer, who isn’t going to join Jesus’ ragtag band of disciples without some serious probing into this whole Messiah thing.  He stands to lose a lot if his friends and neighbors see him with Jesus (which is why he comes at night) and he can’t seem to get his brain around the things that Jesus says anyway: “How can I be born again?” is his famous question.  Nicodemus jumps to the same conclusion as the Samaritan woman, taking Jesus’ words solely at face value.  But his response is totally different.  Nicodemus puts his hand to his chin and mulls over this idea of being born again, while the Samaritan woman holds out her hand, and demands, “Give me the water.”

Whether he should take it literally or not, being born again is exactly the thing that Nicodemus needs.  He needs to be raw again, to see the world with brand new eyes.  He needs to be viscerally aware of what being a creature requires, and how fundamentally dependent he really is.  Instead, Nicodemus is in the same situation most of us end up in:   he’s been able to cover up his dependency with a sense of self-sufficiency.  Because his basic needs have been met, he’s been able to cover up his basic human neediness with responsibility, with mature adulthood, with obligations and allegiances.  He’s built a respectable and comfortable life, he’s become a good person, and he’s scooted far, far back from “the edge,” that place of precariousness and marginality where people do make quick decisions about their lives, and do act with a sort of stunning immediacy and urgency, and are aware of needing help and needing comfort, and needing salvation.  It’s a place that’s really hard for us to get to when we’re safe and healthy, and when things are going well.  But it’s where we end up when things go wrong – it’s where some people spend their whole lives – and it’s this edge that is the place of prayer, where we cry out for Jesus because we sense, suddenly, that we need him.  Because we know, desperately, that we can’t make it on our own.  And because we remember, without a doubt, that we are dust. 

Jesus has been walking the edge this whole Lenten season.  When he’s alone in the desert facing temptation; when he goes, today, to the center of an unfamiliar village and shoots straight with a Samaritan woman; and in the center of power, Jerusalem, with a powerful man, Nicodemus, it’s this edge that Jesus is trying to draw out of him, to make Nicodemus feel the sharpness, the immediacy, the urgency of his human need so that he can receive the gift of grace for the real gift that it is.  So that he can find the meaning, purpose, love, and peace that we all long for in Jesus – in this water that Jesus offers, the water of rebirth, the water of new life, the wellspring that each one of us carries within him or her whose source is Christ, alive in you and in me. 

The Samaritan woman and Nicodemus reflect us back to ourselves, and Jesus has a stake in all of it: our unvarnished, creaturely selves and the polished, self-sufficient selves we sometimes become.  What he really wants, though, are our true selves - or, rather, he knows who we truly are and wants us to discover the truth about ourselves, too … for that is where he lives.  And that is where we will find him. 

Sermon preached by the Rev. Danielle Thompson at St. Chrysostom's Episcopal Church in Chicago, IL on Sunday, March 27 at 8:00 AM and 11:00 AM. 

Looking ahead to the Third Sunday in Lent: John 4:5-42

Where’s Jesus?  We can answer that in a couple of ways this week.  Where he is geographically is important, and where this week’s story about the Samaritan woman and “living water” falls is important. 

John notes that Jesus had to go through Samaria to get back north (where he lived) after being in Jerusalem (where he was celebrating the Passover).  This could be a commentary on geography: the shortest, safest route between the south and the north was through this central patch of land called Samaria.  If you look at a map of ancient Palestine, there’s no reason to avoid it.  Unless, that is, you know something about ancient Palestine.  There was some pretty profound enmity between Jewish people and Samaritan people, which most of us are familiar with from the story of the Good Samaritan in Luke.  For one thing, “southerners” (the area called Judah, where Samaria is) and “northerners” (the area called Israel, where Jesus’ hometown of Nazareth is) had not been inviting one another to parties for some time before both regions were torn apart by war and exile.  When the dust had settled from both the Assyrian and Babylonian invasions and deportations, and the new, triumphant Persian king allowed Jewish people to go back to Israel and Judea, things did not always go smoothly between them and the people who had remained in the land – which appears to have included the Samaritans.  The returnees began to rebuild the temple and reestablish Jerusalem as the center of worship, but the Samaritans weren’t interested.  They didn’t really have any breakthrough ideas about God’s presence in the world and among us that kept them from getting excited about the new temple.  Rather, they had other notions about where the appropriate center of cultic activity was, and ended up building their own temple on Mt. Gerazim, north of Jerusalem.  During a brief period of Jewish rule in-between Greek and Roman occupation of the land, the temple at Gerazim was destroyed. 

When I think about Samaritans in the Bible, I’m quick to apply the label “insiders and outsiders” and assume that because we are reading along with Jesus’ largely Jewish audience, Samaritans always teach us a lesson about his attitude toward marginalized people.  That’s not entirely wrong, since from within any one of these two groups the other group would have been considered to be irritating, unimportant, even threatening.  If you know the other side of the story, though – not just how Jesus’ contemporaries felt about Samaritans, but how suspicious of Jewish people the Samaritans were – you realize that Jesus is doing something bigger and more complicated than reaching out to a person who is unlike him.  He is diving into enemy territory, taking on centuries of discord that has recently focused itself around the very important question of how to worship the one God that both Samaritans and Jews claim to know.  Jesus is sitting beside a well that could be in the middle of the Balkans, or the Middle East, or Chiapas, holding a summit with the other side … only it’s not a head-of-state or a rabbi with whom he is speaking.  It’s a woman. 

Which evokes the second answer to the question, “Where’s Jesus?”  Think about his most recent conversation: last week Jesus spoke with Nicodemus about being born again.  Jesus was in Jerusalem, discussing serious matters with an influential leader in the Jewish Sanhedrin (like a supreme court).  From the center of power with a powerful man, Jesus arrives in a center of conflict with a legally, socially powerless person (the Samaritan woman seems to have had some power to influence or persuade once she runs to tell her neighbors about the Messiah). 

Back to John’s phrase, then, “he had to go through Samaria” (John 4:4, my emphasis).  What do you think: a matter of geographical expediency only, or a trip that tells us something about who he is and what he’s here to do?  

(Danielle Thompson)

Sermon preached on the Second Sunday in Lent

GOD SO LOVED THE WORLD

“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.” (John 3:16)

Genesis 12:1-4a; Psalm 121; Romans 4:1-5, 13-17; John 3:1-17

There are many things around the world in our thoughts and prayers.

The people of Japan are dealing with the aftermath of their worst recorded earthquake, and then a tsunami, and the ongoing crisis with the damaged nuclear power plant. We pray for those trying to find solutions, for those hurt and killed and those trying to help.

There are all the changes – earthquakes in society – in the middle east, and the unfolding situation in Libya. We pray for peace, for freedom, for democracy.

In the midst of the world, the church is called to speak the word that God so loved the world,

all the world, all the people in the world, everyone, not one left out of God's love, of God's intention of loving --

God so loved the world that God gave his only Son. So every one might see in him God’s love, and trust that love, believe in that love, and have life.

Nicodemus

Those words come at the end of today’s story, of a man called Nicodemus coming to see Jesus. Nicodemus is described as a Pharisee, a leader of the Jewish people. In our Lenten Gospel stories Jesus will reach out to a variety of people, crossing all sorts of human dividing lines. Next week he will encounter of woman of Samaria, sometimes definitely from the other side of the tracks in that culture and society. The week after Jesus will encounter the blind beggar – an outsider also.

Nicodemus was not an outsider. He was an educated leader. A few years later, another person appears in the story – just after the first Easter, in the Book of Acts – a young Pharisee named Saul of Tarsus. What great use God made of Saul, calling him to be, turning him into Paul.

Jesus did not send Nicodemus away. Jesus listened to him. Nicodemus paid him a compliment, an intelligent compliment. No one could do the signs Jesus did, apart from the presence of God. An intelligent compliment indeed, because that is exactly what the writer of John calls the extraordinary actions Jesus does – the seven miracles, but the writer doesn’t use the word miracle, the writer says signs. Feeding the great crowd with the few loaves and fish, healing the blind beggar in two weeks, and then the great seventh – calling Lazarus out of death. So may Jesus one day call each one of us.

Nicodemus says to Jesus that no one could do these signs apart from the presence of God. So Nicodemus goes straight to the heart of who Jesus was and is – God with us, Emanuel, the presence of God with us.

Jesus seems to change the subject – something that happens in John’s Gospel. His mother came to him with the news they had run out of wine at the wedding reception and Jesus said his hour had not yet come. He wasn’t changing the subject at all – he was stating very clearly what lay ahead. Drawing all our attention to the moment when he will say, the hour has come – and that will be the hour when we see him lay down his life for us in love – for there we see fully revealed how much God so loved the world, so loves the world.

Jesus tells Nicodemus he must be born from above, born of water and Spirit. “Born of water” most probably meaning that Nicodemus should be baptized, as Jesus was baptized – the great sign of entering the new life in him.

The Holy Spirit

And born of the Spirit. The Holy Spirit is the name for God who is present with us and within us, dwelling with us – did you not know your body is a Temple of the Holy Spirit? Paul would write. The Holy Spirit dwelling in us gives us the strength and courage and wisdom to love with the love of Jesus. Not always, not in everything. Until the day we die a necessary part of our prayer is to ask forgiveness for the mistakes we make. And we do make mistakes. But we are forgiven and go on. We are people who are forgiven, and who are given the Spirit

-- who gives us the love of Jesus to give, if we can just forget self for a moment and give what is given us to give.

-- So abundantly and richly gives.

-- So that we may give to a child, a friend, a lover, someone we forgive, someone we try to help.

-- So that we may love God here in worship, love God in prayer.

I believe the Holy Spirit guides our conscience, if we listen, learn to listen, in making choices. I believe the Holy Spirit gives light – I love the Quaker image of the Inner Light – as we wrestle out what to do. I believe the Spirit gives light as we read the Bible – oh, again, not in everything, not always. But pay attention when something speaks to you, spend time with it – or when something especially perplexes or challenges. Ask God what God is saying by means of the words or the image.

I think images speak quite as strongly as words – so Jesus at the Last Supper took the bread and wine as signs of God’s presence with us in him and we still do that today, a simple action people do around the world.

For me this spending time listening to the word of God in the Scriptures, in the stories of Jesus, is meditation.

And if God calls you to just be there silent, as two friends, two lovers might just be together sometimes – then trust’s the Holy Spirit’s guidance, and just be still. “Teach us to be still” wrote Eliot in Four Quartets. To be still and be loved and offer our love in silence and quiet and the dark, not seeing anything in the love which is the Light.

Always good to be honest with God

Nicodemus honestly expressed his perplexity. "How can these things be?” Always good to be honest with God – one of the best kinds of prayer. Authentically who we are. Remembering Jesus in the garden that night after the Last Supper when he said exactly what was in his heart – please take what is coming away – and then said, not my will but your be done. Not that God’s will was or ever is that God’s innocent Child suffer, that is never the will of God – but God’s will for Jesus and for those who would follow him is that we not run away but face what comes in his love.

“How can these things be?” This story closes with Jesus giving a brief set of statements that are among the most beautiful in John’s Gospel – the Sermon to Nicodemus. Jesus will do the same thing, on the larger scale, at the end of the much longer story of Jesus and the blind beggar, when the final words of that story are followed by the great statement by Jesus “I am the good shepherd; the good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.”

The Son of Man must be lifted up

In today’s story, Jesus says that the Son of Man – he, Jesus – must be lifted up. A double meaning to lifted up. Jesus would be exalted in glory – but the hour of glory would be the hour when we see him love with nothing held back, and that hour was the hour when he would be lifted up on a hill outside the city walls on the cross.

“ so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life.”

John 3:16

Then come the words I opened with today, the great words Martin Luther called “the gospel in miniature.”

If you see someone holding up a sign at Wrigley Field saying “John 3:16” this is the verse referred to! I remember many years ago, on an el in New York, coming back with the kids from the Bronx Zoo, rattling by, looking down from the train on a huge Pentecostal church called just this, John 3:16 – great name for a church, may it be the message of the church in the city and world today, the message to the world, what we have to say:

"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.” (John 3:16)

God so loved the world, the whole world, all the people in the world, everyone one – that he gave his only Son, so that whoever believes in him – trusts in his love – may have life.

"Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world,”

Not to condemn. No. Not to condemn the world. Never. God sent the Son into the world

“ in order that the world might be saved through him."

(This sermon was preached by the Rev. Raymond Webster, Rector, in St. Chrysostom’s Church, Chicago, Illinois, on Sunday, March 20, 2011, the Third Sunday in Lent.)

The texts of the Gospel lesson is from the New Revised Standard Version Bible, copyright 1989 by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the USA, and used by permission.

Looking ahead to the Second Sunday in Lent: John 3:1-17

 Our Gospel this coming Sunday (John 3:1-17) is the first of three stories of encounters people had with Jesus. 

There was a Pharisee named Nicodemus, a leader of the Jews. 

Someone who was a leader of the Jewish people, a prominent citizen, a member of the Pharisees who were a source of much of the criticism of Jesus. Interestingly, this would be the description much later of Saul of Tarsus, who became known as St. Paul.

He came to Jesus by night 

Which has the distinct implication that he did not want to be seen coming to Jesus.  

and said to him, "Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher who has come from God; for no one can do these signs that you do apart from the presence of God." 

Nicodemus makes a nice compliment, leading us to think he had seen and heard Jesus before. Note the emphasis on the word “signs” – “these signs that you do” – which is the word the writer of John uses for the extraordinary actions or miracles Jesus did. Nicodemus compliments Jesus, I think quite sincerely. But Jesus turns the discussion back to Nicodemus, and what he has seen.   


Jesus answered him, "Very truly, I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above." Nicodemus said to him, "How can anyone be born after having grown old? Can one enter a second time into the mother's womb and be born?" Jesus answered, "Very truly, I tell you, no one can enter the kingdom of God without being born of water and Spirit. What is born of the flesh is flesh, and what is born of the Spirit is spirit. Do not be astonished that I said to you, 'You must be born from above.' The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit." 

Jesus places a very great emphasis on the Spirit – the Spirit will also be a theme in his encounter with the woman of Samaria. “Spirit” – the Holy Spirit – is the name for God who is present with us and within us, unseen, like the air we breathe.

We need to be born of water (perhaps a reference to Baptism) and Spirit. The Holy Spirit helps us see who Jesus is, what he has done, what his story means to us. The Holy Spirit gives us the love of Jesus to give – to God in prayer and worship, and to others in loving service. The Holy Spirit gives us the strength and wisdom and courage to love, to see how to love.


Nicodemus said to him, "How can these things be?" Jesus answered him, "Are you a teacher of Israel, and yet you do not understand these things?


"Very truly, I tell you, we speak of what we know and testify to what we have seen; yet you do not receive our testimony. If I have told you about earthly things and you do not believe, how can you believe if I tell you about heavenly things? No one has ascended into heaven except the one who descended from heaven, the Son of Man.” 

Now Jesus turns to the story of Moses in the Book of Exodus, to a scene where Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness. Just so Jesus must be lifted up – and here I think there is a play on the image, for Jesus will be lifted up on the cross, where we will see his love for everyone human being fully and completely given. He will be lifted up in the resurrection from the dead and exalted to glory at the Father’s right hand. There is the double meaning of “lifted up.”  


“And 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.”


Then come the great words Martin Luther called “the gospel in miniature.” If you see someone holding up a sign at Wrigley Field saying “John 3:16” this is what they are referring to!!!

"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.”

God so loved the world, the whole world, all the people in the world, everyone one – that he gave his only Son, so that whoever believes in him – trusts in his love – may have life.

"Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him."

 A WORD ABOUT OUR FIRST READING

 

Our first and second readings are tied together in an important way, and I should offer some notes about them as well.

Our first reading is from Genesis 12:1-4a.

In the Book of Genesis, Abraham and his wife Sarah were the first people to believe in God. Abraham’s original name was Abram, and Sarah’s was Sarai. Their new names were a sign of their new faith in God.

God sent Abraham to live in the new land. God promises Abraham and Sarah that a great nation will descend from them. Both the Jewish people. And also everyone who believes in God.   

The Lord said to Abram, "Go from your country and your kindred and your father's house to the land that I will show you. I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you, and make your name great, so that you will be a blessing. I will bless those who bless you, and the one who curses you I will curse; and in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed." So Abram went, as the Lord had told him; and Lot went with him.

A WORD ABOUT THE SECOND READING 

 

Our second reading is from the Letter of Paul to the Romans 4:1-5, 13-17.

In this passage from his Letter to the Romans, Paul takes a verse from the story of Abraham in the Book of Genesis, to be at the center of his theology in this letter.

“Abraham believed God, and it was reckoned to him as righteousness.” As noted above, in the unfolding story of Genesis, Abraham and his wife Sarah are the first people to believe in God. Belief meant acceptance of faith that God truly existed, and it also meant trust in God – trust in God’s mercy and loving kindness. 

 

Paul takes this verse to mean, that Abraham was put right with God not by being perfect, but by his faith in God. Our righteousness is not based on our works, but on our faith – our own trust in God’s mercy and loving kindness. 

 

What then are we to say was gained by Abraham, our ancestor according to the flesh? For if Abraham was justified by works, he has something to boast about, but not before God. For what does the scripture say? "Abraham believed God, and it was reckoned to him as righteousness." Now to one who works, wages are not reckoned as a gift but as something due. But to one who without works trusts him who justifies the ungodly, such faith is reckoned as righteousness. 

For the promise that he would inherit the world did not come to Abraham or to his descendants through the law but through the righteousness of faith. If it is the adherents of the law who are to be the heirs, faith is null and the promise is void. For the law brings wrath; but where there is no law, neither is there violation.

For this reason it depends on faith, in order that the promise may rest on grace and be guaranteed to all his descendants, not only to the adherents of the law but also to those who share the faith of Abraham (for he is the father of all of us, as it is written, "I have made you the father of many nations") -- in the presence of the God in whom he believed, who gives life to the dead and calls into existence the things that do not exist.

This is a very great passage: that the promise may rest on grace and be guaranteed to all his descendants, who Paul goes on to define as those who share the faith of Abraham (for he is the father of all of us, as it is written, "I have made you the father of many nations").

Pope Pius XI, who died in 1939, is said to have told a group of Belgian pilgrims, We are all Semites – a courageous statement in the face of the anti-Semitism of the late 1930s. That statement is rooted in the words of Paul today. 

(Raymond Webster)

The Bible texts are from the New Revised Standard Version Bible, copyright 1989 by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the USA, and used by permission.

Sermon preached on the First Sunday in Lent

Genesis 2:15-17; 3:1-7; Psalm 32; Romans 5:12-19;
Matthew 4:1-11

Weakness isn’t all bad.  Weakness can be perfectly innocent, like a newborn baby or ripe fruit.  It can mean delicate, or soft.  But something that is soft gives.  When you press it, it succumbs; it’s malleable and manageable.  It can be manipulated, literally handled.  When we’re talking about character, not babies and fruit, weakness isn’t so appealing, is it?  At its most basic, to be weak means to be affected, to be tossed around like a tennis ball.  Which isn’t a quality most of us wish to embody.  None of us want to be worked on.  None of us want our softness, the places where we give, to be exposed or exploited.  That’s why we can’t stand temptation.  Temptation is a loaded truck driving across a warped bridge.  It’s a china teacup in a sink full of pots and pans.  Temptation is a banana in the bottom of a backpack – an irresistible force honing in on just that part of you that is vulnerable and soft. 

And it’s everywhere.  Temptation is one of the great experiences all people have in common.  It depends on our weaknesses for its strength, it feeds on the places where we are vulnerable and soft.  But its ultimate objective is our commitments.  Temptation calls into question the good decisions we’ve made, the things we’ve committed ourselves to.  When your dog eats anything and everything you set before him, he’s not giving in to temptation, because he never decided to take heart health seriously.  But when you tell your neighbor that thing about the other neighbor that you promised you’d keep secret?  Temptation.  No doubt about it.  Because you committed to being trustworthy.  And as long as you do commit to things, and make promises, and decide for one thing over another, you will always be tempted.  It won’t go away.  You can be aware of yourself, resolve to be strong where you are weak, you can get really good at resisting temptation, but as long as we’re human, and we live here, we’re in it for the long haul. 

The same inevitability of temptation is there for Jesus, too.  Today Jesus is led up by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil – the Gospel suggests that this was his whole reason for being there.  And there are a couple of important things to hear echoing around in there.  First, Matthew, who told this story, is always presenting Jesus like a new Moses.  So just as Moses and the Israelites struggled in the desert, and formed their identity in the desert, so will Jesus.  But there’s something more elemental here that we’re supposed to get, something that was an earth-shattering idea for early Christians.  Jesus is more than a new Moses – he’s a new Adam.  Think about it: Adam was with the devil, was tempted, and gave in.  And when he gave in, all of humanity gave in with him, forever and ever and ever.  If Jesus can go through the same thing – go into the wilderness, be tempted by the devil, and stay strong?  Well then maybe he can save us.  If we all attach to Adam and die, maybe we can attach to Jesus and live.  Because he has suffered – he passed through – the same things that we do.

Here’s the tricky part, though.  Does Jesus really have the same experience that we do here?  We pray all the time in Lent that he was tempted like us, but without sin.  When we hear this story, though, it doesn’t sound like normal human temptation.  I’ve never been tempted to perform a miracle, or summon angels, or take over the world.  Even if we could distill Jesus’ temptations down to more relatable things, food, favors, power … they’re still so remarkably cosmic, so out of our league.  In the end, it seems, Jesus’ temptation in the wilderness isn’t really a story about us.  It’s a story about him, and who he was committed to being for us.

Remember, to have temptation, you’ve got to have a commitment, something that you’ve decided to do or be that you are tempted to turn from.  Jesus was committed to his mission, the work he came to do.  And the temptations themselves are his chance to prove that commitment, to present all of his soft places, all of his possibilities for giving in before he set out to do his work.  First, the bread.  Jesus is tempted to turn lots of rocks into lots of bread – not for himself, but for hungry people.    Jesus, who will end his life humiliated, is given the chance to be the people’s hero.  And he stays committed to his mission. What about power?  Plenty of people were expecting Jesus to stage a political revolution, to inaugurate a literal kingdom.  Jesus, who was put to death by an Empire, is given the chance to rule the world.  But he stays committed to his mission.  The worst one of all, to me, is the one about jumping off the temple, and being rescued by angels.  Because you can hear in it foreshadowing of the cross, and you can imagine how afraid he must have been, and how much he must have wanted that help, to escape the event that we’ve all got in the back of our minds as we begin Lent, knowing that Good Friday is coming.  Jesus, who will die a physical death, is given the chance to live.  He stays committed to his mission. 

The tempter, of course, is presenting him with supernatural options: miracles, angels, the kingdoms of the world.  But were Jesus to choose any of them, he wouldn’t end up being a supernatural Messiah – he would end up being a weak, soft human.  He would be a guy whose success depended on handouts and popularity; he’d be a dictator who would rely on force and violence to maintain the status quo; he’d be a refugee, free from death and danger, but running from the work he set out to do for all of us.  Instead, he refuses the supernatural options and chooses, in fact, the only option that’s open to us, too: he remains faithful.  He trusts in God.  Again, he chooses his mission because that’s what we are: we are his mission.  Being like us, being human, being our new Adam, is who Jesus is.  He is Jesus not for himself, but for us.  When he goes to be tempted, he takes us with him into the wilderness and he doesn’t give us up.  Because he is like us, because he’s human, he has places that give, but he doesn’t give in.  And when he makes it through, we all make it through.  When he emerges, strong, we all come out, strong. 

And we all come out with a mission.  Our soft places are still there, we’re still vulnerable, but we’ve been handed a commitment that is bigger than anything else.  We get to show the world what love looks like, we get to show the world what forgiveness means.  We can go through the rest of our lives never giving up hope that our weakness will be made strong, and that like those newborns, little by little we’ll be able to hold our necks straight, and stand up, and walk. Jesus didn’t give us up in the wilderness, and won’t be giving up on us anytime soon.   

Sermon preached  by the Rev. Danielle Thompson at St. Chrysostom's Episcopal Church in Chicago, IL on Sunday, March 13, 2011 at 8:00am and 11:00am. 

Looking ahead to the First Sunday in Lent: Matthew 4:1-11

There are plenty of hot-button issues to keep us busy in this upcoming week’s Gospel reading.  Matthew 4:1-11 is the story of Jesus being tempted by Satan in the wilderness.  When I think of all there is to deal with in this passage, I imagine one of those carnival games where another gopher’s head pops up just as you’ve punched one down with your mallet.  “The Devil!”  “Sin!” “Temptation!” 

In the version of Matthew that I read (NRSV), the devil is described alternately as “the tempter,” “the devil,” and “Satan.”  The Hebrew idea that lies at the heart of each of these titles is of a figure called ha-satan, which means “the accuser.”  The Accuser’s most famous appearance is in Job 1-2, where he (for lack of a better pronoun) is depicted as a member of the heavenly court who challenges human beings in order to test their faith.  Ha-satan is unlike our modern notion of the devil in that he is one of God’s councilors, and his duties are something we can’t imagine God condoning. 

We’re getting pretty close to opening up a can of worms here, which is a hard thing to undertake in a context like this one.  On a blog, we can’t share questions and reflections as we work our way through a theological problem - not ideal.  It might be helpful, then, to point to just two things about ha-satan to help spark some thoughts about the figure of devil in Matthew 4.   

First, even though it’s hard to understand why a member of the heavenly court would be allowed to run around making life difficult for human beings, notice that nobody imputed this sort of activity to God.  In the story of Job, God was ultimately responsible for human well-being, but was not by nature one to test or tempt.

Second, there is something really effective about evil being personified as it is in Satan.  “The Devil” shows us that sin is bigger than any one of our individual failings, yet we experience it as individuals (personally).  The figure of the devil shows us that sin has a power all its own that one person alone isn’t strong enough to tackle.  We may use the terms “structural evil” or “systemic evil” to describe this bigger idea of sin, but my own understanding of “original sin” falls pretty much in line with it.  Finally, the devil can influence a person, can engage a person intimately, and can be worshiped (as he suggests to Jesus in verse 9).  The figure of the devil is objectifiable and personal, but the devil is not a person.  Jesus is, however – and he reveals himself to be very human in this passage of Scripture.  

(Danielle Thompson)

Sermon preached on the Last Sunday in Epiphany: The Transfiguration

At left: an image from the 1947 George Seaton film, "Miracle on 34th St." 

Exodus 24:12-18; Psalm 2; 2 Peter 1:16-21; Matthew 17:1-9

The movie, “Miracle on 34^th St.,” ends with a scene that’s a lot like the one we’ve just read.  A mom, her new husband, and her daughter drive from their city apartment to a house in the suburbs on Christmas Day, thinking they’re on a work errand.  The little girl actually wants nothing more than a house in the suburbs for Christmas, but the grown-ups have been pretty clear that Santa doesn’t do large structures.  Once the family is inside the house, they see that this has been no mere errand, but the house is, in fact, theirs for the taking.  And they notice something that causes all of the pieces to fall into place.  A walking cane is leaning up against the corner of one wall.  The parents look at one another with their mouths open, a deep realization washing over them.  The gift is real, and so is the giver: Santa Claus has actually given them this house.

The brilliant piece of the movie – the most revealing piece of the movie – happens right here.  Up to this point, these two adults have spent a lot of time becoming friends with a man called Kris Kringle, the owner of the walking cane.  Kris believes that he is Santa Claus.  Eventually, they come to believe that he is Santa Claus, they affirm their child’s belief that he is Santa Claus, and they invest a lot of time and energy into convincing other people that he’s Santa Claus.  So you’d think that they actually believe he’s Santa, right?  Well, in a way, they do.  Up until now, they’ve allowed Kris Kringle to be Santa.  And they’ve believed in Kris, in their friend.  They’ve believed in his goodness, his ethical soundness, his decency, his sanity.  They’re happier when he’s around, he’s a positive influence on their child.  He’s made New York City a friendlier place to live in. But he’s their Kris Kringle – their buddy, Santa on their own terms. Do they really believe that he flies all the way around the world in one night?  Or that he gives people houses for Christmas?  Does he have real, actual, Santa powers?  

Miracle on 34^th St. works so well on us because we recognize the sort of holding back that happens when we are asked to truly believe in something.  The last scene of that movie isn’t meant to uncover the cynicism and hard-heartedness of the man and the woman who, despite having said they believe in Santa Claus, don’t really believe until this one “aha moment.”  It’s just a point of connection between us and them, a place for us to recognize how hard it is to give ourselves over to faith in something that we think is impossible, or unimaginable.

It’s the same with the disciples, Peter, James, and John, as we follow them up the mountain with Jesus today.  Notice how the scene is set for us: “Six days after Peter had acknowledged Jesus as the Christ ….”  Peter, it turns out, says he believes in Jesus.  Six days earlier, he’s confessed him to be the Messiah, the one they have all been waiting for.  Over and over again Jesus has been revealing himself to those around him: at his birth, when the magi come to worship him; at his baptism, when the heavens open and God speaks from above; when he heals, and when he teaches, like we’ve heard him doing in the Sermon on the Mount.  Like us, the disciples have witnessed all of these epiphanies, and what’s more, they’ve seen other people – people who barely know Jesus – come to him from out of nowhere, and say they believe in him with no evidence, no grounds for doing so.  Peter makes a bold move and says, “They’re right – it’s you.”  And when we hear it, we hear him saying “I believe that you are God,” or “I believe that you’re not lying about being sent from heaven.”  What he’s really saying is, “Everything that I’ve been taught to look for, every hope that my people have pinned on God for deliverance, for restoration, for eternal joy and for eternal peace – everything Moses gave us in the Law and everything Elijah and the prophets proclaimed to us … everything we had started to believe could never happen … I think it’s you.  The Messiah does exist, and he’s come in you.” 

And Peter does believe.  But again, when he goes up that mountain and discovers what’s waiting for him, we have that walking cane moment.  Picture strolling around the Potomac with the president, and suddenly George Washington and Abraham Lincoln appear before you.  Well, for Jesus’ friends to see him with Moses and Elijah was more profound than that!  They symbolized the truth about God as these men knew it.  There’s no bigger thing that could have happened to Peter than encountering Moses and Elijah – except encountering God, which is the next big shocker.  While Peter is whipping himself up into a frenzy, a voice from heaven silences everything.  When Peter falls to the ground in fear, something in him has changed.  He believed before, but now he knows.  Like Kris Kringle’s friends, he would have testified in a court of law to Jesus’ being the Messiah, but now he can testify with every cell in his body to the fact of Jesus. 

Peter is an icon of faith for us because of his confession that Jesus is the Messiah.  But you and I know that his faith was not unwavering.  About six weeks from now we’ll sit in this same room and read about the hours before the crucifixion, when Peter denied Jesus three times.  And part of why he does so is because the Messiah he had spent his life hoping for was not supposed to die like a common criminal.  Reality didn’t match up with his belief.  Part of why the grownups in Miracle on 34^th street stopped believing in Santa Claus was because their world had ceased to be magical – it was busy, cold, lonely, even painful.  Reality and Christmas did not align.  What Kris Kringle revealed to these people was not that they were bitter, faithless, or jaded – simply that they were mistaken.  And the same is true for Peter – nobody could say that Peter was passionless or unhopeful.  What God shows him in Jesus is just that he’s made a mistake.  It’s a mistake we make every day.  We know that pain is real, that suffering is real, that violence and broken relationships, disparities of all kinds, are real.  But we think that they constitute reality.  The things that hurt us are real – there’s no denying it.  Reality, however, is about who wins the day.  Reality is about who sets the terms of the debate.  Reality is about who is finally responsible for all of this.   And that is God.  That is all that is healthy and reconciling and redemptive in the world.  That is love.  When Peter looks over at Jesus on the mountain and sees that his face is shining, he’s not seeing something new that has happened to Jesus – he’s seeing Jesus as he really is.  He’s seeing the reality of God’s good creation reflected in the face of God’s Son.   It is his great epiphany.

I would not be surprised if that next Christmas, the Miracle on 34^th St. family didn’t find themselves wondering about Santa Claus, even while living in their new house.  I think Peter probably had moments throughout his life when he wondered if it had all been a dream.  Each one of us lives with the routine ups and downs of belief.  Each one of us in this room will face a severe assault on our belief, if we haven’t already. Our challenge is to not hold back.  Our challenge is to remember the shining face of Jesus.  It is to develop a sense of the really real, to learn to recognize Reality as belonging to God, and to claim that reality as our own. 

(Sermon preached by the Reverend Danielle Thompson at St. Chrysostom's Episcopal Church in Chicago, IL on Sunday, March 6, 2011 at 8:00am, 11:00am, and 5:15pm)

Looking ahead to the Last Sunday in Epiphany: Matthew 17:1-9

Ray and I just returned from a three-day workshop in Jacksonville, FL on staffing and supervision.  We stayed with a big group from the Diocese of Chicago at Marywood Retreat and Conference Center (http://www.marywoodcenter.org/), and had a great time learning about “essential functions,” “core competencies,” and “goals and outcomes.”  The best part, as always, was spending time with colleagues from all over the diocese and meeting new people from all over the country.  I met a UCC pastor whose church is down the road from my mom and dad in Connecticut, an Episcopal priest from a church in Tennessee that sponsored one of my seminary classmates for ordination, and a Disciples of Christ minister from Nebraska who did his graduate work with my husband’s favorite college professor.   All at one little conference! 

In-between sessions and outings, I would pull out a legal pad, or close my eyes, and try to meditate a bit on the Transfiguration – which was entirely overwhelming.  Anytime a set of lessons is christened with a heavy-hitting name like Transfiguration!, it feels like the stakes are high.  So much history!  Such strong connections between the readings!  So many layers of meaning!  Often the best approach to a week like this is to break it down into pieces, addressing context and key questions first, and only then pointing to themes that emerge. 

Where are we?   In Matthew 17:1-9, Jesus is on a high mountain with his disciples Peter, James, and John.  Ray notes in our bulletin this upcoming Sunday that this mountain may have been Mt. Tabor or Mt. Hermon, both in northern Israel.  Mountains are the scene of lots of important encounters with God in the Bible – in fact, across the world people believe that mountains bring one physically closer to a deity / deities (think about Mt. Olympus).  The mountain that this scene in Matthew will most readily evoke for us this Sunday is Mt. Sinai, the scene of our Old Testament reading, where God reveals the law to Moses (Exodus 24:12-18).  However, there’s another mountain in Matthew that we only climbed down from last week.  That mountain is the one where Jesus taught, revealing to his disciples the ethic of love at the heart of the law in Chapters 5 – 7, “The Sermon on the Mount.” 

Who is with us?  Peter, James, and John were some of Jesus’ closest friends.  We call them “apostles” because they were sent out to spread the good news about Jesus and to build up the church in its earliest days (the Greek verb apostello means “to send”).  In most places, these three are simply called “disciples” like you and me, a word which means “followers,” or “students.”  Peter seems to have had a really dynamic relationship with Jesus, which is evidenced in the passage of Scripture that we’re looking at today.  James and John were brothers known for their tempers (they were called “Sons of Thunder”), though John has the special distinction of being known as “the disciple whom Jesus loved.”  Take a look at the last chapter of John’s Gospel if you want to get an interesting glimpse into the relationship between Jesus, John, and Peter.  I read a little bit of sibling rivalry there. 

What is happening?  When Jesus and his disciples ascend the mountain, he begins to glow: his face shines like the sun, and his clothes reflect a bright light.  He is “transfigured” (literally, his form – figura in Latin ­– is changed).  Moses and Elijah, two hugely important figures in the Hebrew Scripture, appear to Jesus and his disciples.  You might say that Moses represents the tradition of the Law, while Elijah represents the tradition of the Prophets.  In Matthew’s Gospel, this scene has the effect of credentialing Jesus: he is not an innovator or a rebel, but is totally in line with all of the teaching and revelation that has come before him.  Interestingly, it was believed that neither Moses nor Elijah died, but were taken directly to be with God. 

Peter jumps to do something for the three rocks stars among whom he suddenly finds himself.  He wants to build little shelters for them, but doesn’t get far.  Nobody tells Peter to stop, or that he’s had a bad idea, but a heavenly voice cuts out of a cloud (just like on Mt. Sinai), and drowns out his busy voice, saying, “This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him!”  Peter and the gang fall to the ground, shaking in their sandals.

What do we make of this?  Here are a few questions we can ask about the story of Jesus’ Transfiguration:

1. Compare Matthew 17:1-9 to Moses’ encounter with God in the cloud on Sinai in Exodus 24.  Take a look, too, at Moses’ descent from the mountain in Exodus 31.  Where do you find echoes of one story in the other?  What role does the Law play in both stories? 

2. What lies behind Peter’s desire to build shelters for Moses, Elijah, and Jesus?   Do you recognize his impulse in yourself, or in people in general? 

3. We don’t always spend a lot of time hanging out in the Old Testament in our churches.  Does it surprise you to remember how very bound up with Judaism Christianity is?  What would you expect or hope to discover if we were to focus more on learning about the Old Testament (for instance, studying Deuteronomy or Leviticus as we study the Sermon on the Mount)? 

4. The story of the Transfiguration is always the last reading in the Epiphany Season.  And it reveals Jesus to us in a new way.  But wait – haven’t we been discovering Jesus all along?  Hasn’t all of Epiphany been about “aha moments”?  And in fact, doesn’t Chapter 17 begin by mentioning Peter’s confession that Jesus is the Messiah?  What’s different about the Transfiguration?  What special insight happens here?  

(Danielle Thompson)

Sermon Preached on the Eighth Sunday in Epiphany

Camina, Camina, Camina!

My wife Eve and I are just back Wednesday from a mission trip in Mexico. It was early spring in the southern highlands, flowering trees coming out, and I was remembering a trip to Israel in 1988, also in February, when it was early spring, and the trees were in flower, and the wild flowers were coming out on the grassy hillsides around the lake in Galilee.

We finish our month long reading from the Sermon on the Mount today. When Jesus taught by the lake, it was not desert. There is desert in Israel, and not very far away. But Galilee is not desert. There is a lot of water, a good sized lake, and all kinds of wildflowers. 

Consider the lilies of the field, said Jesus. (Matthew 6:28)  

Consider the lilies of the field – they are beautiful, glorious, even King Solomon in all his glory was not more beautiful than these.

But in the light of the Gospel there is something even more beautiful, even more cherished and loved by God – even more clothed in the glory of God’s love.

And that is the individual human life. Created by God. Loved with a saving love by God in Jesus Christ, who came that we might know and believe the love God has for every single one.

Jesus has given us many teachings in the Sermon on the Mount about ethics. At the heart of Christian ethics is the conviction that each person is created by God and of infinite value. I believe basic human rights are basic to Christian ethics. And extremely important – however hard to safeguard and put into practice – in thinking out our responses in a shrinking volatile changing world. An important Anglican contribution to Christian ethics is a commitment to dignity and value of each person joined with a commitment to freedom of conscience in making ethical decisions.

The most beautiful is the one child, clothed in God’s love.

I was thinking of this visiting a village, getting to know the people, including the children, in a very far away place and culture. A from our parish and diocese flew down to Mexico a week ago – flew to Mexico and then changed planes for the trip to the far south, the Mexican state of Chiapas.

On Saturday, February 19, our team was driven, in the van belonging to the Anglican Diocese of South East Mexico, to the mountain village of Yochib, where a community of people have joined our Anglican church.

Yochib is high in the southern highlands – very high, about 8,000 feet I believe – and we had on sweaters and scarves. It warmed up by noon.  

How did we connect with a village in southern Mexico? Some years ago, our Diocese of Chicago established a companion diocese relationship with the Anglican Diocese of South East Mexico. Chicago also has a companion relationship with the Diocese of Renk in the Sudan.

Parishes and individuals are of course perfectly free to form relationships on their own and Bishop Lee encourages these. St. Chrysostom’s Day School has formed a relationship with an Episcopal school in Haiti – and that has my full and enthusiastic support. Hurrahs and Te Deums.

Our original connection was through our diocese, because it was a diocesan mission connection. Eve and I met Bishop Benito and his wife Angelica, who have been to Chicago a number of times, and been to St. Chrysostom’s and we have visited them in Mexico.

And indeed – was it ten years ago? --  we had a Brunch Auction for Mission to benefit South East Mexico and bought four Chevrolet pick up trucks for their clergy to use in the far flung diocese (Mexico is big, and traveling on mountain roads is slow) and also put water in a priest’s house.

Several years ago at another Brunch Auction parishioners Lisa and Michael Coleman offered their house in San Miguel de Allende, a lovely colonial town in quite another part of Mexico, in the hills north of Mexico City – and then they bought it themselves and gave it to Eve and me to use with the hope we would have Bishop Benito and Angelica come stay for some R & R. Bishop and Angelica did indeed come, what fun we had – and we were joined by Judy and John Bross who had just gotten married!

It was Bishop Benito, and his deacon, the Rev. Deacon Charles Parker – US citizen, professor of economics in Mexico City, commander in the US Navy, renaissance man – it was Bishop and deacon Charles who drew our attention to the new community emerging in the far south state of Chiapas.

Another question – what are Episcopalians doing in Mexico? I thought it was Roman Catholic? Well, Mexico is overwhelmingly Roman Catholic, as is our own city of Chicago (since the 1880s). However Mexico is a big and complex society. As in all of Latin America there is a growing Pentecostal Christian community. There are also mainstream Protestant churches – if you look across the valley in the village we visited one can see the spires of the Presbyterian church! Anyone who knows me, knows I love many things about the Roman Catholic Church – and I pray we all will find ways of working together. But there is a (I hesitate to use the word, it is neither Biblical nor theological) “niche” for the Episcopal Church. We used to say between Rome and Geneva, that the Anglican Church was a middle way, via media, between Rome and Geneva. But perhaps between Rome and Pentecostalism. Also Mexico is a free country and people have religious freedom. 

On Saturday the 19^th we arrived in Yochib and greeted everyone – some faces familiar from last year. Many new. Our team climbed the dirt path up to the clearing in the forest where the church is. The church is a simple hut, open on three sides, with a tin roof and a dirt floor.

So, what did we do? Well, what do Christians do when we gather? We say hello and get to know one another. We read the stories of Jesus together, listen to the Bible stories. We share the Eucharist. And we have a meal together.

This is exactly what we did. In all of these things it was in no way “us” and “them” but the baptized people of God, gathered together at Jesus’ table.    

Eve Webster led telling the children a Bible story, assisted by the local lay leader Francisco. Meanwhile, Victor Conrado, who is from our diocese (from the Cathedral) and originally from Colombia, led a study with the women and older teens.

Not everyone in Yochib speaks Spanish. Many speak the indigenous Mayan dialect Tseltal. The local school is bi lingual, Spanish and Tseltal! As Eve Webster told the Bible story in Spanish, Francisco translated into Tseltal. Meanwhile another friend Esteben translated into Tseltal in the adult Bible study led by Victor Conrado. Esteben Lopez Gomez is a key lay leader in the new mission in San Cristóbol de las Casas – and related to some of the people in Yochib.

Judy and John Bross had brought along a wooden ark for telling the story of Noah – and also had us bring crayons which we passed out for the kids to color. Great fun! And then we sang songs – they taught us some wonderful ones. 

On Sunday we drove out to Yochib again with  Father Florencio, Anglican priest in San Cristóbol de las Casas, who celebrated the Eucharist, in Spanish with readings and translations of Deacon Charles’ sermon into Tseltal. . 

Our primary mission is in the city of Chicago. The primary mission of St. Chrysostom’s, Chicago is here in the city.

But an key part of the mission of the Christian church, from the days of the earliest church, there has also been support of the mission of the church beyond our borders. Not instead of, but also. If you stand amid the ruins of the palaces on the Palatine Hill in Rome, one can look over to the ancient monastery where Pope Gregory the Great sent Augustine to be the first Archbishop of Canterbury in England. To organize and build the Church in England from which we descend.

It means a great deal to me to try to be supportive of this new Church plant in Yochib – to support a Christian community somewhere that was not there before. To support something starting, a church plant, a beginning, something new.  

We went to Yochib because of the companion relationship of our diocese with theirs. Church structures have their failings! But in this case, I believe the Holy Spirit has used the larger relationship between dioceses, to lead two groups of Christian people from extremely different places – in terms of culture and history and language – to be friends.    

When Christians get together we often have food. We also have parties. And I want to invite you to a party to celebrate our friendship with Yochib.

                                               

Judy Bross and a team (including Eve and me) are planning a ¡FIESTA! here at St. Chrysostom’s on Friday, May 13 to celebrate and benefit our companion diocese of Southeast Mexico, and especially this new congregation of Yochib. Please know an invitation.

When we were leaving Mexico on Wednesday, we flew to Mexico City, and for the second year in a row, flying up from the south, had spectacular views of the two great volcanoes outside the city.

Mexico City of course is famously big, the airport is big, and when Eve asked which way to the international flights she told me the policeman she spoke to said it was down the hall, a long distance and then he said “Camina, camina, camina.” Walk, walk, walk, journey, journey, journey!   

Remembering how Jesus said, in John 14, “I am the way,” in La Biblia Latinoamerica, that Father Araiaca gave me, “Yo estoy el camino.”

Jesus who is himself the way, calls us to follow him on his way of self-giving love, caring for one another on the way – caring for others in the church beyond our parish borders, and also beyond our diocesan borders, over all sorts of walls.

Camina, camina, camina. Jesus, may we faithfully follow you day by day. Amen.

(This sermon was preached by the Rev. Raymond Webster in St. Chrysostom’s Church, Chicago, Illinois on Sunday, February 27, 2011, the Eighth Sunday after the Epiphany.)