Events of this past week have caused everything from terror and fear, to fascination and awe. And the power of quick global media coverage enabled local events to affect people around the world.
First, tornadoes swept across the southeastern United States. Here in Atlanta, we are wary and familiar with those turbulent weather patterns. Most of us know how to behave. But these tornadoes were fierce and terrifying, wandering indiscriminately across our region. They destroyed everything from college towns to historic churches to leisurely lakeside mansions, and many of our neighbors died.
We reacted with fear and fascination, some of us tuned to our weather reports and radar screens for hours. Violent weather fascinates us. Then, we reacted with sorrow and aid. Good and beautiful relief appeared from neighbors and strangers.
The royal wedding was next in line. Of course, any wedding is a fun and fascinating celebration. But this one almost made us Americans believe in constitutional monarchies! Weddings give us hope – whether we are the young flower girl or the distant cousin or even the old bachelor. The commitment of two people to love and honor each other for the rest of their lives fascinates us.
Done well, wedding liturgies show us beauty and mystery; and the wedding of Prince William and Catherine Middleton did just that. We Anglican Christians were especially proud of a service that combined drama, music, and fine words into an event of powerful grace. In fact, God’s graceful blessing turned two individuals into a couple, turned them into the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge.
Finally, on Sunday evening, just as a new week was beginning, the world heard the startling rumor that Osama bin Laden was dead. The President of the United States was to deliver a speech late that night. Many of us stayed up late to hear the official news. Others rushed to the White House or to Ground Zero to celebrate. At a baseball game, the crowd learned the news on their smartphones and begin chanting spontaneously, “USA, USA.”
How were we supposed to react to the news and details of Osama bin Laden’s death? I heard everything from jubilation to vengeance. I heard both revenge and justice. Some religious people were quoting that the one who lives by the sword will die by the sword (Matthew 26:52). Others remembered Ezekiel 23:11, “I take no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but that the wicked turn from their ways and live.” We were all fascinated; and, in the end, I heard careful relief.
I was one of those with somber relief. Violent death should never be a source of our fascination and awe. But it is worth cheering when a war is over, no matter who started or ended it; I hope this event signals the end of something. And it is certainly worth saluting the brave operation that found the person responsible for decades of terror and fear. I give thanks for such courage.
Unfortunately, violence is a part of this fallen world; and, unfortunately, violence fascinates us. We have a choice to remain fascinated with it or to focus on the mystery of healing and hope. The mystery of healing and hope is harder, but it is much more gratifying. It turns our fascination into the energy of grace and blessing. May grace and blessing be with us during these weeks to come.
22 April 2011
DYING IS HARD WORK
(a sermon for Good Friday, 22 April 2011)
“My kingdom is not from this world.” -- Jesus to Pilate, in The Gospel of John, 18:36
“My kingdom,” said Jesus, “is not from this world.” This “world.”
This “world” has a hard time calling this day “Good.” Today, well-intentioned reporters and newscasters note that Christians commemorate Good Friday as the day when Jesus was crucified and died. Well, that’s a start. But it says little about why we call this Friday “Good.”
The “world” cannot call this Friday good; the “world” is unable to call this Friday good. When I say the “world,” I mean that world around us which is unable to hear the spirit of Jesus. I mean “the world,” in the way Jesus meant it when he said to his disciples, “you do not belong to the world” (John 15:19), and “the world does not know the Father” (John 17:25), and “in the world, you will have tribulation, but be of good courage, for I have overcome the world” (John 16:33).
For, the “world” is unable to accept death. Wherever we look in this world, we see attempts to deny death. We read about this latest health plan, or this new elixir, or diet plan or workout plan, which will extend our youth. We get excited about the temptation. Wouldn’t it be great to live forever? We dye the gray out of our hair and feel younger!
Some of the most holy moments of our lives occur when we are sitting with someone who is about to die. I was there. I have sat in somber hospital rooms, and quiet hospice rooms, even in people’s homes, with families who are waiting for their loved one to die. During these times, everyone knows death is imminent; but no one can slow down, or speed up, the process. Time, in fact, seems to stand still.
Were you there? These are holy moments. I remember, when I was younger, my own grandmother dying. Of course, I had known her throughout my childhood. Almost every week, it seemed, we drove up from the country and had supper in her fine home. As we would leave her house, all piled into the family station wagon, we would look at her in the front door. She would always, always, be standing there silently in the door, with her hand raised, giving us a silent blessing as we left. We loved that blessing, that precious wave good-bye. God bless.
Years later, she was dying; and I sat on the bed with her, I asked her to give me a blessing again. And she did. Just like she had always done from the front door. This time, she was not standing up, and her body had become withdrawn and fragile; but she raised her hand and blessed me. It was one of the most powerful blessings I have ever received, from a dying and holy woman. When a dying person blesses you, you are truly blessed.
Many of us have sat with people about to die. Were you there? Yes, some of those moments are unexpected and truly tragic. An accident. A wicked disease. Some horror takes away our loved one at too young an age, long before we ever thought death would intrude. Some of the moments, however, are more gentle. An old man lives a long and good life, and the time simply arrives; he slips away.
No matter how our minds interpret the event –unexpected or expected—the moments before death are emotionally draining. Even when our minds, our intellects, accept the reality of death, its moment makes our hearts grieve, its moment saddens our souls.
All this is why we gather on Good Friday. Today is not a day to remember something about Jesus; today is a day to remember something about ourselves. Obviously, we do remember Jesus today; we hear the long gospel, a horrible narrative about his last hours. We imagine him carrying a cross, then on the cross, then dying. We see some vague image in our prayers. We are there.
But what we really do, today, is remember something about ourselves. Because there are many days in our lives that feel more like Good Friday than Easter. Maybe if we had our way, we would choose the naïve and innocent joy of Easter every day. Again, the “world,” the “world,” sure wants to make every day feel like naïve Easter joy!
But there are many days that we do not feel like waking up for Easter morning. On some mornings, the night has been too long. Maybe there is too much sadness in our lives. Maybe someone we love has died.
Maybe someone we love has been horribly inconsiderate to us, maybe even mean to us, has maybe even betrayed us. Maybe that someone who was so mean was the person we thought we could trust the most. Maybe a friend has turned out to be an enemy. Jesus knew these events.
Maybe that someone who has been so incomprehensible, or so unconscionable, seems to be God, God himself – or God herself, whatever gender we are imagining right now.
Today is a day to remember those events. The death that we experience today is not simply the death of Jesus long ago. It is the death of those we know, and have known, today. To walk the way of Jesus today is to follow Jesus to the cross with our own lives, with our own memories, and with our own deaths. It is only because of today that we can truly know new life. Saint Paul understood; in his Epistle to the Romans he said, “If we have died with Christ, we believe that we will also live with him” (Romans 6:8).
Ultimately, Good Friday is about accepting death. And the “world” around us would rather not accept the reality of death. It is too hard. Dying is hard work.
Today, I remember the words of someone who died only recently. I was not there, at the bedside. It was a daughter and her mother who were there, alone in the hospice care room. For almost two months, the daughter had been travelling back and forth to the hospital room, sometimes on good days –when her mother was quite lively and even enjoyed a gin and tonic. But, more and more, there were bad days, when her mother found it more and more difficult to breathe.
In fact, the mother had lung disease, and even the slightest limp across the room left her exhausted for an hour. Fortunately, the mother’s mental capacity remained quite strong. She could think, and she knew perfectly well she was dying.
On the last day of her life, only the daughter and her mother were in the room. In fact, the mother had asked the nurses to leave. Together, the daughter and mother spent those holy moments. Woman, behold your daughter; daughter, behold your mother. Together.
“It’s okay,” said the daughter. “You’re doing a great job,” said the daughter. And the mother looked up and said, “Dying is hard work.” To which the daughter replied, “Yes, and you are doing a great job.”
The mother was right. “Dying is hard work.” In the next hour, she had died.
We do not believe in resurrection if we do not also believe in death. Dying is hard work. Dying is good, hard, work. We do not believe in Jesus, if we do not believe also in Good Friday. Good Friday is good, hard, work.
Were you there? Were you there, when they crucified my Lord? When they laid him in the tomb? Sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble. Dying is good, hard, work.
The Very Reverend Samuel G. Candler
Dean of the Cathedral of St. Philip
06 April 2011
I AM A CANDIDATE FOR BISHOP OF WASHINGTON
Dear Friends,
For the past few months, faithful members of the Diocese of Washington have been in conversation with me about being a candidate for their next bishop. This has been a new and unusual process for me. Many of you know that, in the past, I have resisted most such conversations about running for bishop anywhere. Like other clergy I know, I am among a group who truly enjoys parish ministry. I have been asked to run for bishop countless times, and I have refused those opportunities.
However, this time around, I accepted the invitation to be in discernment about a possible vocation to be Bishop of Washington. Washington, D.C., of course, is the nation’s capital; and the Diocese of Washington (which also includes four counties in Maryland) represents a unique and challenging setting for ministry. The next bishop of that diocese will not only oversee a wide diversity of parishes, and a wide diversity of clergy; but the next bishop will be expected to speak in a very political setting on behalf of the wider church. They have said that they seek a bishop “who is willing and able to have a broad ministry, as a compassionate pastor to parishes and clergy in a diverse diocese, as a leader of complex institutions and as a spokesperson for the Church in the Capital and internationally.”
My past two months of holy discernment have actually shown me that I do have some thoughts, opinions, and even visions for what a bishop should be. Having been a parish priest for over twenty-five years, I find that I do envision what an effective and inspiring bishop could be. Perhaps God is calling me to consider that vocation as the next piece of my life. Perhaps God is calling me to expand my community to include Washington and the wider world.
In turn, the Search Committee of the Diocese of Washington has also been attracted to what my life and ministry might offer that diocese, and, from there, the wider world. Thus, on Thursday, March 31, they will announce that I am one of their final five candidates for Ninth Bishop of Washington. They will publish my biography and my written answers to their original search questions. For two and half months, people will ask me all sorts of further questions. Then, on June 18, 2011, the Diocese of Washington will gather to elect one of their five candidates. I am truly honored to be among that group.
However, this decision to let my name go forward for nomination has been a difficult one. I truly love the Cathedral of St. Philip, I dearly love Atlanta, and I deeply love this entire area of north Georgia, where I grew up. This place has been my community, and I am a man who needs community. God has always called me to oversee and to inspire holy community; and God has always called me to preach and to teach from community. If I am elected, I hope I will not so much be leaving my present community as much as I will be enlarging God’s community. And, of course, if I am not elected, I hope I can vigorously continue a beautiful and fulfilling ministry here in Atlanta.
Wherever God calls me next, even if it is a call to remain happy and challenged here at the Cathedral of St. Philip, I know that God will call me to beloved community. I will appreciate your prayers during this time of holy discernment. Please pray for the Cathedral of St. Philip, as we continue to worship and serve God in Atlanta and in the world. Please join me in praying for the Diocese of Washington as they discern who their next bishop will be. And, finally, as God calls you, do pray for me! I have been blessed with a wonderful ministry here at St. Philip’s, and it is quite a difficult thing even to imagine not being here with you.
Grace and peace to you, in Jesus Christ our Lord,
Sam Candler
25 March 2011
BIRTHDAY OF FLANNERY O'CONNOR
I am glad Flannery O'Connor was born this day, the Feast of the Annunciation; so I read again "A Temple of the Holy Ghost." Brilliant. Tantum ergo Sacramentum Veneremur Cernui.
15 March 2011
ARE WE PREPARED?
With sadness in our hearts, and with horrifying images of devastated Japan still in our minds, many of us began the First Sunday of Lent with a plaintive series of prayers called “The Great Litany.” Here at the Cathedral, we sang it in procession, walking completely around the Cathedral nave, twice, before entering the altar. From The Book of Common Prayer, page 149:
The earthquake, then the tsunami, then the loss of power and water, then the nuclear radiation emergency have rolled across Japan just like one earthquake itself, with wave after wave of tremor and terror. As I write these words, and a few days later as you read them, still another emergency may have developed.
We keep the people of Japan in our prayers. We keep the people of the Middle East in our prayers. We keep in our prayers all those threatened by natural disaster and political disaster. Lent is a season for prayer. And Lent is a season for self-examination.
The news media, meanwhile, peddles both news and anxiety; and their tradition goes back a long way. It was George Bernard Shaw who said, “Newspapers are unable, seemingly, to discriminate between a bicycle accident and the collapse of civilization” (see The Week magazine, March 11, 2011, page 23).
Obviously, news such as the earthquake in Japan is serious and anxiety provoking enough; it is certainly a collapse. Still, after a few days of reviewing the destruction, one headline on the television caught my eye. “Are We Prepared?” it asked. The newscasters had begun to turn their eye to the United States of America, and, especially to our earthquake preparedness and nuclear emergency preparedness. I knew, immediately, what they would conclude. “No,” they would say, “in many ways, we are not prepared.”
To which I respond, “Of course we are not fully prepared.” There is no way, in this complicated and mysterious world to be fully prepared for every possible disastrous scenario. When we believe we have fully protected ourselves from one sort of calamity, a completely different one will surprise us. Of course, I fully support all our material efforts at protection. I believe in the work of scientists and good politicians who truly seek the common good. It is good to think and to prepare.
But there are other ways of being prepared, than simply scrambling aimlessly to avoid physical death. I notice, for instance, the amazing sense of order and collective good in the Japanese people. I have heard little about looting and opportunistic violence there; on the contrary, people are caring for one another with amazing good will. Such behavior indicates that their spirits have, indeed, been prepared.
“Are we prepared?” True preparation involves much more than just spending on physical infrastructure and stocking food and water in our basements. True preparation involves knowing how to care for other people in the midst of tragedy, even in the most unexpected kinds of tragedy. True preparation involves knowing how to live with grace and honor even in the midst of death.
True preparation is a matter of our spirit, and the Church has been in the business of preparing our spirit for a long time. Our prayer, our coming together for nourishment and service, our spiritual disciplines, are all ways of preparing ourselves. Our Lenten self-examination is a way of preparing ourselves.
Sadly, we will all die. We admitted as much on Ash Wednesday, when the priest touched us and said, “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” But “from dying suddenly and unprepared…..Good Lord, deliver us.”
“From lightning and tempest; from earthquake, fire, and flood;
from plague, pestilence, and famine;
Good Lord, deliver us.
….From dying suddenly and unprepared;
Good Lord, deliver us.
The earthquake, then the tsunami, then the loss of power and water, then the nuclear radiation emergency have rolled across Japan just like one earthquake itself, with wave after wave of tremor and terror. As I write these words, and a few days later as you read them, still another emergency may have developed.
We keep the people of Japan in our prayers. We keep the people of the Middle East in our prayers. We keep in our prayers all those threatened by natural disaster and political disaster. Lent is a season for prayer. And Lent is a season for self-examination.
The news media, meanwhile, peddles both news and anxiety; and their tradition goes back a long way. It was George Bernard Shaw who said, “Newspapers are unable, seemingly, to discriminate between a bicycle accident and the collapse of civilization” (see The Week magazine, March 11, 2011, page 23).
Obviously, news such as the earthquake in Japan is serious and anxiety provoking enough; it is certainly a collapse. Still, after a few days of reviewing the destruction, one headline on the television caught my eye. “Are We Prepared?” it asked. The newscasters had begun to turn their eye to the United States of America, and, especially to our earthquake preparedness and nuclear emergency preparedness. I knew, immediately, what they would conclude. “No,” they would say, “in many ways, we are not prepared.”
To which I respond, “Of course we are not fully prepared.” There is no way, in this complicated and mysterious world to be fully prepared for every possible disastrous scenario. When we believe we have fully protected ourselves from one sort of calamity, a completely different one will surprise us. Of course, I fully support all our material efforts at protection. I believe in the work of scientists and good politicians who truly seek the common good. It is good to think and to prepare.
But there are other ways of being prepared, than simply scrambling aimlessly to avoid physical death. I notice, for instance, the amazing sense of order and collective good in the Japanese people. I have heard little about looting and opportunistic violence there; on the contrary, people are caring for one another with amazing good will. Such behavior indicates that their spirits have, indeed, been prepared.
“Are we prepared?” True preparation involves much more than just spending on physical infrastructure and stocking food and water in our basements. True preparation involves knowing how to care for other people in the midst of tragedy, even in the most unexpected kinds of tragedy. True preparation involves knowing how to live with grace and honor even in the midst of death.
True preparation is a matter of our spirit, and the Church has been in the business of preparing our spirit for a long time. Our prayer, our coming together for nourishment and service, our spiritual disciplines, are all ways of preparing ourselves. Our Lenten self-examination is a way of preparing ourselves.
Sadly, we will all die. We admitted as much on Ash Wednesday, when the priest touched us and said, “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” But “from dying suddenly and unprepared…..Good Lord, deliver us.”
09 March 2011
SELF-EXAMINATION: FAT TUESDAY AND ASH WEDNESDAY
We burned up some fat last night. Actually, we did not exactly burn it up. We fried batter in it, made pancakes with it, and then ate the result. We consumed it, lavishly and wildly. Pancake suppers, with lively children of all ages, with beads and costumes and craziness, are one of the highlights of fat parish life. “Mardi Gras” means Fat Tuesday, and we were phat last night.
A few hours after our pancake supper, we went to church, for Ash Wednesday. There, of course, the mood changed. The priest said, “I invite you, therefore, in the name of Church, to the observance of a holy Lent, by self-examination…”
“I invite you to self examination,” the priest said. Yes, I know there were other Lenten disciplines mentioned, but “self-examination” may actually be one the hardest. Ever since our weekly tests of school days, few of us enjoy examinations. To take an exam is to submit ourselves to some test. A true test is rarely easy; when one “tests” metal, one refines it and burns off the impurities. It can be a fiery and dangerous process, like burning off fat.
A further etymology reveals that the word “examine” evolved from the same root as the word “to exact,” which means “to drive out.” Again, “to exact” something is to drive out impurities, to refine. The season of Lent, then, is said to be a season of examination, a season of driving something out, a process which can be painful. We rarely submit ourselves to a voluntary examination.
But the Church asks us to do something even harder. It is not merely “examination” that we are asked to observe, but “self-examination.” Who in the world has the power to test oneself, to voluntarily drive out elements from one’s own character or set of habits?
It’s not just the willpower of self-examination that I lack. It is the actual ability. Consider self-examination of our own bodies. Do you realize how much of our bodies we cannot actually see?
We cannot see our backs, of course. And more importantly, we cannot see our heads, except during those fleeting moments in a mirror a few times a day. We cannot actually see how our eyes and facial muscles reveal our souls.
Thus, a full self-examination of our bodies is close to impossible. The same impossibility probably exists for our souls. A full self-examination of our souls is close to impossible. I, for one, will need help even in performing self-examination. I will need the perspective and wisdom of others.
Without others, I am like one of church children who waltzes into the parish hall with his name proudly scrawled on his name tag, but with the tag upside down on his shirt. He can read it fine, but no one else can. (Actually, some adults do this on occasion, too.) Self-examination is not complete and accurate, unless other people can read me, too. Self-examination is not complete and accurate unless I am reading what other people are saying, too. In short, we need other people in order to perform self-examination.
I was glad to have lots of others around me in the parish hall on Fat Tuesday, when we were burning up fat. We joked and sang and made merry. In doing so, we were burning off some of those outer layers, some of that fat, some of that other stuff which was not really us. Revelling, we were also revealing our inner selves.
So, Fat Tuesday and Ash Wednesday belong together. The discipline of self-examination is a discipline of burning off that which is does not need to be a part of us. We cannot perform the complete exam, the complete test, alone; so we gather in community on both days. We start on Fat Tuesday; but the fat on Fat Tuesday becomes the ashes on Ash Wednesday. For the next forty days, we might find a way to repeat the process daily. Self-examination, and the burning off of fat, might lead to new life, and Easter self-revelation!
A few hours after our pancake supper, we went to church, for Ash Wednesday. There, of course, the mood changed. The priest said, “I invite you, therefore, in the name of Church, to the observance of a holy Lent, by self-examination…”
“I invite you to self examination,” the priest said. Yes, I know there were other Lenten disciplines mentioned, but “self-examination” may actually be one the hardest. Ever since our weekly tests of school days, few of us enjoy examinations. To take an exam is to submit ourselves to some test. A true test is rarely easy; when one “tests” metal, one refines it and burns off the impurities. It can be a fiery and dangerous process, like burning off fat.
A further etymology reveals that the word “examine” evolved from the same root as the word “to exact,” which means “to drive out.” Again, “to exact” something is to drive out impurities, to refine. The season of Lent, then, is said to be a season of examination, a season of driving something out, a process which can be painful. We rarely submit ourselves to a voluntary examination.
But the Church asks us to do something even harder. It is not merely “examination” that we are asked to observe, but “self-examination.” Who in the world has the power to test oneself, to voluntarily drive out elements from one’s own character or set of habits?
It’s not just the willpower of self-examination that I lack. It is the actual ability. Consider self-examination of our own bodies. Do you realize how much of our bodies we cannot actually see?
We cannot see our backs, of course. And more importantly, we cannot see our heads, except during those fleeting moments in a mirror a few times a day. We cannot actually see how our eyes and facial muscles reveal our souls.
Thus, a full self-examination of our bodies is close to impossible. The same impossibility probably exists for our souls. A full self-examination of our souls is close to impossible. I, for one, will need help even in performing self-examination. I will need the perspective and wisdom of others.
Without others, I am like one of church children who waltzes into the parish hall with his name proudly scrawled on his name tag, but with the tag upside down on his shirt. He can read it fine, but no one else can. (Actually, some adults do this on occasion, too.) Self-examination is not complete and accurate, unless other people can read me, too. Self-examination is not complete and accurate unless I am reading what other people are saying, too. In short, we need other people in order to perform self-examination.
I was glad to have lots of others around me in the parish hall on Fat Tuesday, when we were burning up fat. We joked and sang and made merry. In doing so, we were burning off some of those outer layers, some of that fat, some of that other stuff which was not really us. Revelling, we were also revealing our inner selves.
So, Fat Tuesday and Ash Wednesday belong together. The discipline of self-examination is a discipline of burning off that which is does not need to be a part of us. We cannot perform the complete exam, the complete test, alone; so we gather in community on both days. We start on Fat Tuesday; but the fat on Fat Tuesday becomes the ashes on Ash Wednesday. For the next forty days, we might find a way to repeat the process daily. Self-examination, and the burning off of fat, might lead to new life, and Easter self-revelation!
22 February 2011
I LOVE YOU, YOU'RE PERFECT, NOW CHANGE!
(a sermon for 20 February 2011)
“I love you, you’re perfect, now change!” About fifteen years ago, a great musical comedy appeared off broadway with that title: “I Love You, You’re Perfect, Now Change,” with words and lyrics by Joe DiPietro and music by Jimmy Williams.
It’s one of the great titles of all time, because no one needs to have actually seen the musical in order to appreciate the phrase. In fact, the phrase appeared for the last fifteen years in advertisements all over the sides of New York busses, and inside subway cars.
“I love you. You’re perfect. Now change.”
Any one of us who has ever been in love knows what that phrase means. It means that our love for another person develops in stages.
The first stage, inevitably, is about ourselves. “I love you.” Yes, about ourselves. The first flush of love is usually something inside ourselves. We are aware of desire. Something rises up in us, some rush of hormones or adrenaline; and we call it love.
The next stage, often immediately following the first, is about the object of our desire. “Wow,” we say, “You are perfect. You are the very ideal of perfection. Not a blemish on you!” Now, if we are on the receiving end of love, we really like that stage. Someone is calling us “perfect.” That feels pretty good! Someone has actually been able to look beyond our faults and been able to call us “perfect.” We tend to start believing that projection.
Then. Then... the third stage. First stage: I love you. Second stage: you’re perfect. But third stage: now change. Any of us who has ever been in love knows what this stage means, too. Yes, I love you. Yes, you are wonderful. But, …the way you do such and such really has begun to bug me. In fact, it has always bugged me. Can’t you change that habit?
And what about that other boring thing you do...? And that disgusting thing….? Do you realize you are always…? Grow up! Change!
I love you. You’re perfect. Now change.
Ultimately, those are three incredibly powerful words. Love. Perfection. Change. Wonderful words, but also disturbing words. Well, this morning, they are all gospel words.
During his long and severe Sermon on the Mount, Jesus has prescribed almost impossible behavior. If your right eye offends you, pluck it out, he says. If someone strikes you on the cheek, turn the other cheek. If someone takes your coat, give them your cloak, too. If you are angry with someone, it’s the same as murder.
We are incredulous, time after time, when we hear those words. No one, not even the greatest saint among us, has ever met those standards, day after day. Jesus has explored the depths of the law and the depths of human conscience; he knows what our thoughts and desires are. And he knows that no one fulfills all the law and the prophets. No one meets every jot and tittle of the law.
Then, at Matthew 5:48, he sums up his severity. “Be perfect,” he says, “as your father in heaven is perfect.”
Is this supposed to be the kind and gentle, ever-understanding Jesus? The one who forgives us and has mercy on us and loves us? How could any one of us ever be perfect as our father in heaven is perfect?
The answer has to do with understanding perfection. I do not believe that Jesus defines perfection as most of us do. For most of us, perfection means we got it all right. We scored one hundred per cent on the test. We met every standard. We had no blemishes or scuff marks. Maybe we all aspire to that sort of perfection, but every one of us should also realize that no one actually attains it.
And, friends, that is not what Jesus means by “perfection.” Being perfect does not mean living a morally sinless and unstained life.
The word for “perfect” here in Matthew chapter five is the Greek word “telios,” which means “the end” or “completed.” So, I believe that when Jesus says “Be perfect,” what he really means, in our language, is “be perfected.” He means for us to carry on, to reach that point that God intends us for us, to reach that perfected end to our life journey He means “Reach maturity. Be completed.” Perfection means to be perfected.
In fact, I believe that when Jesus says this, he is actually continuing his re-definition and re-development of Old Testament law. Remember how he has been re-defining throughout Matthew five? He says, “ you have heard that it was said, ... but I say to you,” over and over again. “You have heard an eye for an eye, but I say to you turn the other cheek.” Right?
Jesus has been changing the meaning of the old law. Jesus has been developing new meaning. And I believe he is doing the same thing here, because his quotation sounds like something out of Leviticus 19:2, “Be holy, for I the LORD your God am holy.” But Jesus changes the word. Jesus says, in Matthew, “be perfected, as your father in heaven is perfected.” Jesus is implying that to be holy, as Leviticus commanded us, actually means to be completed, to be perfected, to reach that perfected end of our soul’s journey.
Now, look at another version of these words. In today’s gospel, Matthew quotes Jesus as saying, “Be perfect, as your father in heaven is perfect.” But Luke, another gospel writer, quotes Jesus another way. In both cases, Jesus seems to be referring to the old Leviticus verse: “be holy, as your father in heaven is holy.” But Luke, at 6:36, quotes Jesus as saying, “Be merciful, as your father in heaven is merciful.”
What is going on here? Leviticus says, “be holy, as the Lord your God is holy” (Leviticus 19:2). Matthew says, “be perfected, as your father in heaven is perfected” (Matthew 5:48). Luke says, “Be merciful, as your father in heaven is merciful” (Luke 6:36).
The way I read this succession of bible verses is this: “To be perfect is to be perfected, to be changed, and it is to be changed toward mercy.” Perfection, then, means change. Perfection means change in just the same way that Jesus changed Leviticus. Jesus changed the words. And then, Matthew and Luke both used different words when they were quoting Jesus!
Perfection means change. I can go no further in this sermon without quoting the great nineteenth century theologian on this matter, the Anglican Catholic thinker who taught many of us that Christian doctrine actually develops. True religious doctrine is not static; true doctrine changes. He was John Henry Newman, later John Henry Cardinal Newman, who converted from Anglicanism to Roman Catholicism later in his life. “To live is to change,” he said, “and to be perfect is to have changed often.”
To live is to change, and to be perfect is to have changed often. That’s the way he said it in the nineteenth century. And it is still being said.
“I love you, You’re perfect, Now change.” That’s the way the musical comedy show said it. But those words are not merely humorous. They are the truth. None of us is perfect by virtue of having satisfied every jot and tittle of the law. However, every one of us being perfected, because every one of us is changing.
We are changing, with God’s grace, towards God’s grace. We are changing, with God’s mercy, towards God’s mercy. Be holy, said Leviticus. Be perfect, said Matthew. Be merciful, said Luke. They all meant the same thing: Be changed, be changed, be changed, into the same love which is God himself.
“I love you. You’re perfect. Now change.” They are three powerful words; they are three gospel words. “I love you, you’re perfect, now change.”
Jesus said, “Be perfect, as your father in heaven is perfect.” –Matthew 5:48
“I love you, you’re perfect, now change!” About fifteen years ago, a great musical comedy appeared off broadway with that title: “I Love You, You’re Perfect, Now Change,” with words and lyrics by Joe DiPietro and music by Jimmy Williams.
It’s one of the great titles of all time, because no one needs to have actually seen the musical in order to appreciate the phrase. In fact, the phrase appeared for the last fifteen years in advertisements all over the sides of New York busses, and inside subway cars.
“I love you. You’re perfect. Now change.”
Any one of us who has ever been in love knows what that phrase means. It means that our love for another person develops in stages.
The first stage, inevitably, is about ourselves. “I love you.” Yes, about ourselves. The first flush of love is usually something inside ourselves. We are aware of desire. Something rises up in us, some rush of hormones or adrenaline; and we call it love.
The next stage, often immediately following the first, is about the object of our desire. “Wow,” we say, “You are perfect. You are the very ideal of perfection. Not a blemish on you!” Now, if we are on the receiving end of love, we really like that stage. Someone is calling us “perfect.” That feels pretty good! Someone has actually been able to look beyond our faults and been able to call us “perfect.” We tend to start believing that projection.
Then. Then... the third stage. First stage: I love you. Second stage: you’re perfect. But third stage: now change. Any of us who has ever been in love knows what this stage means, too. Yes, I love you. Yes, you are wonderful. But, …the way you do such and such really has begun to bug me. In fact, it has always bugged me. Can’t you change that habit?
And what about that other boring thing you do...? And that disgusting thing….? Do you realize you are always…? Grow up! Change!
I love you. You’re perfect. Now change.
Ultimately, those are three incredibly powerful words. Love. Perfection. Change. Wonderful words, but also disturbing words. Well, this morning, they are all gospel words.
During his long and severe Sermon on the Mount, Jesus has prescribed almost impossible behavior. If your right eye offends you, pluck it out, he says. If someone strikes you on the cheek, turn the other cheek. If someone takes your coat, give them your cloak, too. If you are angry with someone, it’s the same as murder.
We are incredulous, time after time, when we hear those words. No one, not even the greatest saint among us, has ever met those standards, day after day. Jesus has explored the depths of the law and the depths of human conscience; he knows what our thoughts and desires are. And he knows that no one fulfills all the law and the prophets. No one meets every jot and tittle of the law.
Then, at Matthew 5:48, he sums up his severity. “Be perfect,” he says, “as your father in heaven is perfect.”
Is this supposed to be the kind and gentle, ever-understanding Jesus? The one who forgives us and has mercy on us and loves us? How could any one of us ever be perfect as our father in heaven is perfect?
The answer has to do with understanding perfection. I do not believe that Jesus defines perfection as most of us do. For most of us, perfection means we got it all right. We scored one hundred per cent on the test. We met every standard. We had no blemishes or scuff marks. Maybe we all aspire to that sort of perfection, but every one of us should also realize that no one actually attains it.
And, friends, that is not what Jesus means by “perfection.” Being perfect does not mean living a morally sinless and unstained life.
The word for “perfect” here in Matthew chapter five is the Greek word “telios,” which means “the end” or “completed.” So, I believe that when Jesus says “Be perfect,” what he really means, in our language, is “be perfected.” He means for us to carry on, to reach that point that God intends us for us, to reach that perfected end to our life journey He means “Reach maturity. Be completed.” Perfection means to be perfected.
In fact, I believe that when Jesus says this, he is actually continuing his re-definition and re-development of Old Testament law. Remember how he has been re-defining throughout Matthew five? He says, “ you have heard that it was said, ... but I say to you,” over and over again. “You have heard an eye for an eye, but I say to you turn the other cheek.” Right?
Jesus has been changing the meaning of the old law. Jesus has been developing new meaning. And I believe he is doing the same thing here, because his quotation sounds like something out of Leviticus 19:2, “Be holy, for I the LORD your God am holy.” But Jesus changes the word. Jesus says, in Matthew, “be perfected, as your father in heaven is perfected.” Jesus is implying that to be holy, as Leviticus commanded us, actually means to be completed, to be perfected, to reach that perfected end of our soul’s journey.
Now, look at another version of these words. In today’s gospel, Matthew quotes Jesus as saying, “Be perfect, as your father in heaven is perfect.” But Luke, another gospel writer, quotes Jesus another way. In both cases, Jesus seems to be referring to the old Leviticus verse: “be holy, as your father in heaven is holy.” But Luke, at 6:36, quotes Jesus as saying, “Be merciful, as your father in heaven is merciful.”
What is going on here? Leviticus says, “be holy, as the Lord your God is holy” (Leviticus 19:2). Matthew says, “be perfected, as your father in heaven is perfected” (Matthew 5:48). Luke says, “Be merciful, as your father in heaven is merciful” (Luke 6:36).
The way I read this succession of bible verses is this: “To be perfect is to be perfected, to be changed, and it is to be changed toward mercy.” Perfection, then, means change. Perfection means change in just the same way that Jesus changed Leviticus. Jesus changed the words. And then, Matthew and Luke both used different words when they were quoting Jesus!
Perfection means change. I can go no further in this sermon without quoting the great nineteenth century theologian on this matter, the Anglican Catholic thinker who taught many of us that Christian doctrine actually develops. True religious doctrine is not static; true doctrine changes. He was John Henry Newman, later John Henry Cardinal Newman, who converted from Anglicanism to Roman Catholicism later in his life. “To live is to change,” he said, “and to be perfect is to have changed often.”
To live is to change, and to be perfect is to have changed often. That’s the way he said it in the nineteenth century. And it is still being said.
“I love you, You’re perfect, Now change.” That’s the way the musical comedy show said it. But those words are not merely humorous. They are the truth. None of us is perfect by virtue of having satisfied every jot and tittle of the law. However, every one of us being perfected, because every one of us is changing.
We are changing, with God’s grace, towards God’s grace. We are changing, with God’s mercy, towards God’s mercy. Be holy, said Leviticus. Be perfect, said Matthew. Be merciful, said Luke. They all meant the same thing: Be changed, be changed, be changed, into the same love which is God himself.
“I love you. You’re perfect. Now change.” They are three powerful words; they are three gospel words. “I love you, you’re perfect, now change.”
26 January 2011
THEODICY IN LITERATURE: HOW DOES ONE LIVE WHEN THE WORLD IS NOT GOOD? THE SPARROW AND THE CATCHER IN THE RYE
How does one live when the image of the good has been shattered? That is one way of phrasing the classical question of theodicy in contemporary terms. Classically, the term "theodicy" means "a justification of God's goodness or power when evil exists." It might be the central problem of theism, which is belief in a personal and good and all-powerful God. If God does exist as all-good and all-powerful, why does evil also exist? A theodicy is a defense of God, or at least an explanation of God, while also acknowledging the existence of evil -- or at least the existence of The Bad.
I have just finished reading one of the best literary versions of theodicy that I have ever read. It is The Sparrow, written by Mary Doria Russell, published in 1996. The book tells the story of Emilio Sandoz, Jesuit priest, who follows his faith in God to become one of the first earth visitors to an alien planet. Yes, the book participates in a science fiction genre. But, like all good science fiction, the book is really describing our current human condition. The best science fiction is always about present humanity! And this one is about, God, too!
In the case of The Sparrow, alien music is detected from the Arecibo Observatory in the year 2019; and it is the Jesuits, among all the governments and organizations of the world, who are fist able to mount an expedition to visit the planet, Rakhat. Emilio Sandoz, superb linguist, and deep man of faith, is on the trip, with his best friends. I was delighted that it is the Jesuits who are the first explorers to the alien planet, as they often were in the history of western civilization -- for better or for worse.
I do not reveal the plot by saying that all of Sandoz's friends die; that fact is declared early in the story. As the story develops, one discovers the intensity and delight of Sandez's faith. But by 2059, when Sandoz has returned to earth and is remembering his journey, his faith is silent and dreadfully damaged. The book is, thus, a theodicy. How does one believe in a good God when all evidence seems contrary to that fact? How does one believe that "not one sparrow falls to the ground without God knowing it?" (Matthew 10:29, from which the title of the book is derived).
Now, jump back to the great J. D. Salinger (author of The Catcher in The Rye, and of my favorite, Franny and Zooey), who died one year ago. Today, I read another slender review of Kenneth Slawenski's new biography of that deeply spiritual writer, J.D. Salinger. I have already mentioned the Wall Street Journal review, by Carl Rollyson . Today, Dierdre Donahue writes in USA Today that
Slawenski has written a terrific literary biography, one that jolts the reader into realizing why Catcher connects with readers 60 years after its publication. It is not about prep school misery. Rather, in its oblique way, Catcher in the Rye touches on the struggle to keep living even if one has lost faith that the world is a good place.
Is that grand adolescent novel, The Catcher in The Rye, also a kind of theodicy? Yes, I think so.
I have just finished reading one of the best literary versions of theodicy that I have ever read. It is The Sparrow, written by Mary Doria Russell, published in 1996. The book tells the story of Emilio Sandoz, Jesuit priest, who follows his faith in God to become one of the first earth visitors to an alien planet. Yes, the book participates in a science fiction genre. But, like all good science fiction, the book is really describing our current human condition. The best science fiction is always about present humanity! And this one is about, God, too!
In the case of The Sparrow, alien music is detected from the Arecibo Observatory in the year 2019; and it is the Jesuits, among all the governments and organizations of the world, who are fist able to mount an expedition to visit the planet, Rakhat. Emilio Sandoz, superb linguist, and deep man of faith, is on the trip, with his best friends. I was delighted that it is the Jesuits who are the first explorers to the alien planet, as they often were in the history of western civilization -- for better or for worse.
I do not reveal the plot by saying that all of Sandoz's friends die; that fact is declared early in the story. As the story develops, one discovers the intensity and delight of Sandez's faith. But by 2059, when Sandoz has returned to earth and is remembering his journey, his faith is silent and dreadfully damaged. The book is, thus, a theodicy. How does one believe in a good God when all evidence seems contrary to that fact? How does one believe that "not one sparrow falls to the ground without God knowing it?" (Matthew 10:29, from which the title of the book is derived).
Now, jump back to the great J. D. Salinger (author of The Catcher in The Rye, and of my favorite, Franny and Zooey), who died one year ago. Today, I read another slender review of Kenneth Slawenski's new biography of that deeply spiritual writer, J.D. Salinger. I have already mentioned the Wall Street Journal review, by Carl Rollyson . Today, Dierdre Donahue writes in USA Today that
Slawenski has written a terrific literary biography, one that jolts the reader into realizing why Catcher connects with readers 60 years after its publication. It is not about prep school misery. Rather, in its oblique way, Catcher in the Rye touches on the struggle to keep living even if one has lost faith that the world is a good place.
Is that grand adolescent novel, The Catcher in The Rye, also a kind of theodicy? Yes, I think so.
25 January 2011
CHURCHES IN DEBT
"Since 2008, nearly 200 religious facilities have been foreclosed on by banks, up from eight during the previous two years and virtually none in the decade before that, according to real-estate services firm CoStar Group, Inc. Analysts and bankers say hundreds of additional churches face financial struggles so severe they could face foreclosure or bankruptcy in the near future."
So reports Shelly Banjo in an article in the Wall Street Journal, 25 January 2011.
Jesus said something like, "those who live by the sword will die by the sword" (Matthew 26.52), which I take to mean that we die the same way we live. If we want to use the prevailing credit markets and bank products for our ministries, we ought to know what we are doing. We ought to use them wisely.
Debt is valuable if used conservatively; it destroys us if we use it unwisely. That applies to individuals, companies, and --yes-- even to churches.
Churches ought to use the wisdom and individual talents of our members. Not all of us preach. Not all of us teach. But some of us do work in the financial field; some of our number are excellent bankers. Use their advice! Don't listen to the preacher when it comes to accumulating debt loads; listen to the (sound and faithful) bankers among you!
So reports Shelly Banjo in an article in the Wall Street Journal, 25 January 2011.
Jesus said something like, "those who live by the sword will die by the sword" (Matthew 26.52), which I take to mean that we die the same way we live. If we want to use the prevailing credit markets and bank products for our ministries, we ought to know what we are doing. We ought to use them wisely.
Debt is valuable if used conservatively; it destroys us if we use it unwisely. That applies to individuals, companies, and --yes-- even to churches.
Churches ought to use the wisdom and individual talents of our members. Not all of us preach. Not all of us teach. But some of us do work in the financial field; some of our number are excellent bankers. Use their advice! Don't listen to the preacher when it comes to accumulating debt loads; listen to the (sound and faithful) bankers among you!
22 January 2011
A New Biography on J.D. Salinger
Carl Rollyson says that, "Kenneth Slawenski's insightful and sympathetic biography, "J.D. Salinger," convincingly shows that Salinger felt he had sinned by polluting his early work with worldly ambition. His decision to repudiate the world he had wanted to win over with his writing thus had some of the fervor of a religious quest. In "Franny" (1955), the title character cries out: "I'm just sick of ego, ego, ego. My own and everybody else's. I'm sick of everybody that wants to get somewhere, do something distinguished and all, be somebody interesting." Such desires, Salinger eventually concluded, fundamentally contradicted his sense of writing as a sacred craft."
(from Carl Rollyson, "A Phony Who Reformed," Wall Street Journal Book Review, 22 January 2011)
(from Carl Rollyson, "A Phony Who Reformed," Wall Street Journal Book Review, 22 January 2011)
16 January 2011
THE CALL TO BELOVED COMMUNITY
(a sermon for Epiphany 2A and Martin Luther King, Jr. Weekend - a shorter edition of these remarks is published 16 Jan 2011 at Episcopal Cafe.)
Last weekend, when I heard the devastating news from Tucson about the shooting of Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords and the killing of six others, I was on retreat with the Chapter of the Cathedral of St. Philip. (The Chapter is the elected group of eighteen lay leaders of the Church; four canons and I were also there.) We were in the snow-covered mountains of North Georgia, preparing for the year. Obviously, my outlook suddenly saddened. I was struck deeply by the news, not just because the violence was senseless and in such a public space, but because I admire public servants.
We need politicians. We need public servants, who are called and willing to enter our public places and to care for them. Public servants always risk their time, their honor, and their reputation; they are not supposed to be risking their physical lives. On our Cathedral Chapter this year, and on retreat with us, was the sister of one of Georgia’s statewide elected officials; she knows better than I what her brother must endure and care for.
We need politicians, politicians who take challenges and make themselves vulnerable. However, the Tucson events reminded me that, at some level, we are all politicians. We all have a place, politically, in this democratic republic of the United States of America, and we all take risks. The victims of the Tucson shootings, from a federal judge to a nine-year old child, were fulfilling their roles in the public square. They were showing up for a good old-fashioned “Meet your Congressperson” event. People and politicians were doing what we were supposed to be doing.
The theme I presented to the Cathedral Chapter was “Beloved Community.” It is the image with which I view the future. The Cathedral of St. Philip has the gift, in our times, of being a beloved community; all churches in these times have that gift. Our gift of beloved community enriches us, but it can also serve as a model of community for the world around us.
This weekend, our country honors the memory and the witness of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., prophet and preacher of this city. Dr. King was fond of the phrase “beloved community,” and I will always associate the image of “beloved community” with him; but he was not its originator. I would claim that its origin goes back to the New Testament itself. “Beloved” is a dear phrase in the New Testament, from the instant in which Jesus is called “beloved” at his baptism, in the gospel lesson we heard last Sunday.
The first thing Jesus does after his baptism, the first thing he does, according to the Gospel of John, is call people to community. According to the Gospel of John, the first recorded words of Jesus are to people hanging around him. “What are you looking for?” Jesus asks them. “Rabbi,” they respond. And Jesus says, “Come and see.”
Come and see. The first thing the beloved Jesus does is call disciples into beloved community. Note, too, the countless instances in which Saint Paul describes his church members as “beloved” (five times in the Corinthian epistles). God really does love Jesus, who called the church into being. The church’s great apostle, Paul, really did love his people. The church is meant to be a community, beloved of God, beloved by each other, and beloved for the world.
But these are times in which our society seems especially confused about community. Our culture too easily accepts shallow community; and we often demand shallow community.Waiters come up to my table and introduce themselves by their first names. Talk show hosts demand that callers use only first names. Our schools and civic organizations and sports teams call themselves “families.” These associations are nice, and valuable to our wider community life. However, using intimate forms of conversation before the hard work of relationship-building can lead to dramatic disappointment. True community takes time and effort and care.
Another area where we are truly confused about community is in our use of television, the internet, and social media. (Can you believe that the term “social media” was not even a phrase a few years ago?) The speed in which we can acquire data, through television and random internet searches, leads us to think that we know all there is to know about a subject or person just with mechanical facts. Our social media sites give us the opportunity to make quick comments, and sometimes biting, vicious comments, about subjects and persons without having to look at other people face to face. These comments create a “form” of community, but that form is astoundingly weaker and less informed than face-to-face community! At their weakest, members of these “internet communities” are actually quite isolated and lonely; they become loners and renegades.
I do admit, of course, that these forms of social media, at their best, are wonderful! I find that, at their best, they reinforce healthy relationships that have already been formed face to face. I love reviewing social media photographs, for instance, which remind me of wonderful past events or which inform me of what my friend or colleague is doing.
Jesus continues to ask us, “What are you looking for? Jesus continues to ask our culture, “What are you looking for?” And we are looking for community, even when we are confused about it. Today, I believe the church has the calling and gift to be true community, to be “Beloved Community.” We are meant to gather together, to learn and laugh together, to love and cry together. And, together, we account for each other. We teach each other and hold each other to standards of civility and grace. We love for the long term, and we live for the long term, not the short term. The Christian Church, at our best, offers true and beloved community.
I am way down the line when it comes to being qualified to speculate about why the Tucson shootings occurred. Like you, I have read and listened to all sorts of reactions. But most of them leave me concerned that our various reactions to the shootings have become further elements of our polarized divisions. Even our various reactions to a tragedy have become occasions for antagonistic extremes.
David Gergen, at CNN.com, made the sad observation on 9 January 2011, just a day after the shootings, that “As of this hour, we have a country that is not only deeply saddened but even more divided than we were before the shooting.”
So, I repeat: Even our various reactions to a tragedy have become occasions for antagonistic extremes. I do not want to speculate too extremely myself. The simplest explanation for the Tucson violence is a deranged person. But I would also suggest that people who resort to violence are not, unfortunately, part of beloved communities. For various reasons, they sadly do not belong to communities who offer measured grace and civil relationship and justice over the long term. People who resort to violence are not part of healthy religious communities, healthy Christian churches, healthy Jewish synagogues, or healthy Muslim mosques. My sad comment about the Tucson shooter is that he did not have beloved community.
The way out of random acts of violence is the way of community. I mean healthy, life-giving, community; and I mean beloved community. It is beloved community that sustains daily interactions of civility and sustenance. With others, face to face, hand in hand, and sometimes arm to arm, we learn how to behave in the world. We learn how to care, and we learn how to express disapproval with peace and honor.
Finally, of course, in a beloved community, our ultimate values are the same values as the One who “beloves” us. And it is a peaceful and just God who beloves us. Such is the God who inspired Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., inspired him to realize that the church’s values of peace and non-violence could be a model for the world around us. That world certainly includes the political world, in which we all play a part. Dr. King’s vision of a beloved community came to include, not just the church, but the world itself. And that is our calling, too. All of us have a part in today’s political world, to risk ourselves, to give ourselves, to the peace and justice, honor and respect, of a truly beloved community. I thank God for everyone who shows up in this church, for beloved community. I thank God for everyone who shows up in the public square, for the common good, to take that risk.
“What are you looking for?” Jesus said, “Come and see.” Beloved community.
Jesus asked, “What are you looking for?” and he said,”Come and see.”
John 1:38, 39
Last weekend, when I heard the devastating news from Tucson about the shooting of Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords and the killing of six others, I was on retreat with the Chapter of the Cathedral of St. Philip. (The Chapter is the elected group of eighteen lay leaders of the Church; four canons and I were also there.) We were in the snow-covered mountains of North Georgia, preparing for the year. Obviously, my outlook suddenly saddened. I was struck deeply by the news, not just because the violence was senseless and in such a public space, but because I admire public servants.
We need politicians. We need public servants, who are called and willing to enter our public places and to care for them. Public servants always risk their time, their honor, and their reputation; they are not supposed to be risking their physical lives. On our Cathedral Chapter this year, and on retreat with us, was the sister of one of Georgia’s statewide elected officials; she knows better than I what her brother must endure and care for.
We need politicians, politicians who take challenges and make themselves vulnerable. However, the Tucson events reminded me that, at some level, we are all politicians. We all have a place, politically, in this democratic republic of the United States of America, and we all take risks. The victims of the Tucson shootings, from a federal judge to a nine-year old child, were fulfilling their roles in the public square. They were showing up for a good old-fashioned “Meet your Congressperson” event. People and politicians were doing what we were supposed to be doing.
The theme I presented to the Cathedral Chapter was “Beloved Community.” It is the image with which I view the future. The Cathedral of St. Philip has the gift, in our times, of being a beloved community; all churches in these times have that gift. Our gift of beloved community enriches us, but it can also serve as a model of community for the world around us.
This weekend, our country honors the memory and the witness of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., prophet and preacher of this city. Dr. King was fond of the phrase “beloved community,” and I will always associate the image of “beloved community” with him; but he was not its originator. I would claim that its origin goes back to the New Testament itself. “Beloved” is a dear phrase in the New Testament, from the instant in which Jesus is called “beloved” at his baptism, in the gospel lesson we heard last Sunday.
The first thing Jesus does after his baptism, the first thing he does, according to the Gospel of John, is call people to community. According to the Gospel of John, the first recorded words of Jesus are to people hanging around him. “What are you looking for?” Jesus asks them. “Rabbi,” they respond. And Jesus says, “Come and see.”
Come and see. The first thing the beloved Jesus does is call disciples into beloved community. Note, too, the countless instances in which Saint Paul describes his church members as “beloved” (five times in the Corinthian epistles). God really does love Jesus, who called the church into being. The church’s great apostle, Paul, really did love his people. The church is meant to be a community, beloved of God, beloved by each other, and beloved for the world.
But these are times in which our society seems especially confused about community. Our culture too easily accepts shallow community; and we often demand shallow community.Waiters come up to my table and introduce themselves by their first names. Talk show hosts demand that callers use only first names. Our schools and civic organizations and sports teams call themselves “families.” These associations are nice, and valuable to our wider community life. However, using intimate forms of conversation before the hard work of relationship-building can lead to dramatic disappointment. True community takes time and effort and care.
Another area where we are truly confused about community is in our use of television, the internet, and social media. (Can you believe that the term “social media” was not even a phrase a few years ago?) The speed in which we can acquire data, through television and random internet searches, leads us to think that we know all there is to know about a subject or person just with mechanical facts. Our social media sites give us the opportunity to make quick comments, and sometimes biting, vicious comments, about subjects and persons without having to look at other people face to face. These comments create a “form” of community, but that form is astoundingly weaker and less informed than face-to-face community! At their weakest, members of these “internet communities” are actually quite isolated and lonely; they become loners and renegades.
I do admit, of course, that these forms of social media, at their best, are wonderful! I find that, at their best, they reinforce healthy relationships that have already been formed face to face. I love reviewing social media photographs, for instance, which remind me of wonderful past events or which inform me of what my friend or colleague is doing.
Jesus continues to ask us, “What are you looking for? Jesus continues to ask our culture, “What are you looking for?” And we are looking for community, even when we are confused about it. Today, I believe the church has the calling and gift to be true community, to be “Beloved Community.” We are meant to gather together, to learn and laugh together, to love and cry together. And, together, we account for each other. We teach each other and hold each other to standards of civility and grace. We love for the long term, and we live for the long term, not the short term. The Christian Church, at our best, offers true and beloved community.
I am way down the line when it comes to being qualified to speculate about why the Tucson shootings occurred. Like you, I have read and listened to all sorts of reactions. But most of them leave me concerned that our various reactions to the shootings have become further elements of our polarized divisions. Even our various reactions to a tragedy have become occasions for antagonistic extremes.
David Gergen, at CNN.com, made the sad observation on 9 January 2011, just a day after the shootings, that “As of this hour, we have a country that is not only deeply saddened but even more divided than we were before the shooting.”
So, I repeat: Even our various reactions to a tragedy have become occasions for antagonistic extremes. I do not want to speculate too extremely myself. The simplest explanation for the Tucson violence is a deranged person. But I would also suggest that people who resort to violence are not, unfortunately, part of beloved communities. For various reasons, they sadly do not belong to communities who offer measured grace and civil relationship and justice over the long term. People who resort to violence are not part of healthy religious communities, healthy Christian churches, healthy Jewish synagogues, or healthy Muslim mosques. My sad comment about the Tucson shooter is that he did not have beloved community.
The way out of random acts of violence is the way of community. I mean healthy, life-giving, community; and I mean beloved community. It is beloved community that sustains daily interactions of civility and sustenance. With others, face to face, hand in hand, and sometimes arm to arm, we learn how to behave in the world. We learn how to care, and we learn how to express disapproval with peace and honor.
Finally, of course, in a beloved community, our ultimate values are the same values as the One who “beloves” us. And it is a peaceful and just God who beloves us. Such is the God who inspired Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., inspired him to realize that the church’s values of peace and non-violence could be a model for the world around us. That world certainly includes the political world, in which we all play a part. Dr. King’s vision of a beloved community came to include, not just the church, but the world itself. And that is our calling, too. All of us have a part in today’s political world, to risk ourselves, to give ourselves, to the peace and justice, honor and respect, of a truly beloved community. I thank God for everyone who shows up in this church, for beloved community. I thank God for everyone who shows up in the public square, for the common good, to take that risk.
“What are you looking for?” Jesus said, “Come and see.” Beloved community.
24 December 2010
BELIEVE IN THE DREAMS OF THE PERSON YOU LOVE
(a sermon for 19 December 2010,
the Fourth Sunday of Advent, Year A)
Matthew 1.18-25
It was a few days before Christmas. A woman woke up one morning and told her husband, "I just dreamed that you gave me a pearl necklace for Christmas. What do you think this dream means?" “Oh,” he replied, “you’ll know the day after tomorrow.”
The next morning, she turned to her husband and said the same thing, "I just dreamed that you gave me a pearl necklace for Christmas. What do you think this dream means?" "You'll know tomorrow." he said.
On the third morning, the woman woke up and smiled at her husband, "I just dreamed again that you gave me a pearl necklace for Christmas. What do you think this dream means?" He smiled back, “Oh, you’ll know tonight.”
That evening, the man came home with a small package and presented it to his wife. She was delighted. She opened it gently. But when she did, she found -- a book! It was titled "The Meaning of Dreams."
What have you been dreaming about lately?
Some of us are dreaming about wonderful possibilities. We’re dreaming of pearl necklaces and sugar plum fairies, new bicycles and upgraded computers. I hope all those dreams come true!
As I consider my own dreams, I realize that I dream in two major categories. I have two kinds of dreams. Sometimes, my dreams are dreadful. I imagine painful relationships. I live out meetings and deadlines that I have missed. I am standing in a pulpit, for instance, with nothing to say. These are nights that I spend wrestling like my ancestor, the patriarch, Jacob.
But on other occasions, my dreams are the most refreshing I can imagine. I have also dreamed about reconciliation. I have dreamed that enemies are at my table, and we are living convivially. I have dreamed of flying fancily through the air. I have dreamed of new life and hope. I have dreamed of lean years followed by wonderful years. These are nights that I dream like my ancestor, the patriarch, Joseph. Yes, Joseph in the Old Testament, too, was a dreamer.
During this past year, researchers at Harvard University “asked people to navigate a maze, and found that those who both napped and dreamed about their maze experience, in any way, showed a tenfold improvement when they did the maze a second time.” (The Week magazine, Dec 24, 2010, page 32.) The suggestion is that dreams make you smarter. The magazine called The Week, said that the process “isn’t necessarily rational or literal—but reflects a deeper process in which the unconscious mind consolidates what it has learned and produces new insights.” (The Week Magazine, Dec 24, 2010, page 32).
That is my answer to the question, “Why do we need sleep?” We need sleep in order to dream. We need to dream.
Today’s gospel lesson, on the Fourth Sunday of Advent, is about a dream, Joseph’s dream. Besides the wise men, a few verses later, Joseph is the only person in the New Testament who dreams. Other characters have visions, and the Angel Gabriel appears to Mary in the Gospel of Luke. But only Joseph dreams.
And only Matthew tells Joseph’s story. The more familiar story, which we have known for as long as we have seen Christmas pageants, is about Mary receiving the word of the Lord, from an angel. But that story is only in the Gospel of Luke.
The Gospel of Matthew tells the story from another point of view, maybe a forgotten point of view these days. Matthew tells the story from the man’s point of view, Joseph’s point of view. All the action in Matthew’s birth narrative revolves around Joseph taking action. Nothing against Mary and Luke, of course! But it’s good, once every three years in our lectionary cycle, to hear the story from Joseph’s point of view!
(By the way, in our two other gospels, Mark and John, there is no account whatsoever of the physical birth of Jesus. We have four gospels, and they differ dramatically in how they tell the story of Jesus’s birth. That’s why we have four gospels. And that’s why we have many types of Christians!)
Surely, Joseph was in a troubled way. Joseph, a man of decency and responsibility, realized that his betrothed was actually pregnant before they were married. What should he do?
Well, he took time to sleep. He took time to rest. He took time to dream. Somehow, it was in his dream that Joseph consolidated things; he put it all together. He realized something wonderful and astounding. Ancient scriptures, an angel, all sorts of theologizing, came flooding into his soul. Yes, God would enter the world. Immanuel, “God With Us” would be born to his wife, as crazy as that was to understand.
Joseph had to trust the angel in his dream, but Joseph also had to trust someone else. Joseph had to trust Mary. I know Mary would be his wife, and surely Joseph must have loved Mary. But still, this took a lot of trust! For Joseph, the way of salvation meant trusting someone else.
This is why Joseph’s dream is so important. Joseph dreamed of the salvation of the world. And he dreamed that true salvation comes through someone else.
That is the lesson for us, too. Like Joseph sometimes, we are supposed to trust God and then get out of the way. Trust that God is working through our wife, and then get out of the way. Trust that God is working in our children, and then get out of the way.
Imagine young Mary, minding her own business, suddenly being overcome with news of a great conception, a great presence of the divine. It’s something to have an angel speak to you. Wouldn’t it be great to know that such a revelation might happen again?
Well, you know what? It did happen again.
The angel did appear to someone besides Mary. The story is recorded right in the Bible, but not in Luke. It appears in Matthew. The angel did appear to someone else. The angel appeared to Joseph.
Now, if the angel can appear to Mary, and then also appear to Joseph, that means that the angel can appear to you and me, too. In the Bible, the annunciation does not occur only once, but twice – not just to a woman, but also to a man. Not just to Mary and Joseph, but also to you and to me!
What are you giving for Christmas this year? I do not mean what are you getting. We all want something wonderful, I am sure. But what are you giving for Christmas?
The greatest gift you can give this year is to believe in somebody, to believe in someone’s dreams, to believe that God is working in the person beside you. That’s the gift that Joseph gave Mary, and, thus, the gift that Joseph gave the entire world.
Likewise, the great gift you can give is to have faith in someone else; believe in their dreams. Believe in the dreams of the person you love. Believe in the dream of your husband. Believe in the dream of your wife. Believe in the dreams of your children. Believe in the dream of your hero, your leader, your friend. Believe in their dreams!
And sleep comfortably this season. I know some folks do not sleep well. Too much worry. Too much food and drink. Take time to sleep.
The reason we sleep is to dream; and the reason we have relationships is so that we will have someone who will believe our dreams.
God works through those relationships. God works through both Mary and Joseph. God needs both Luke’s story of the annunciation and Matthew’s story of Joseph’s dream. They are miracle stories.
God works through a young and wonderful woman, and her husband believes in her. It is a miracle repeated again and again. Believe in the dreams of the person you love. Believe in dreams this Christmas, and Jesus will be born again. Believe in dreams this Christmas, and God will appear in the world.
AMEN.
The Very Reverend Sam Candler
the Fourth Sunday of Advent, Year A)
Matthew 1.18-25
It was a few days before Christmas. A woman woke up one morning and told her husband, "I just dreamed that you gave me a pearl necklace for Christmas. What do you think this dream means?" “Oh,” he replied, “you’ll know the day after tomorrow.”
The next morning, she turned to her husband and said the same thing, "I just dreamed that you gave me a pearl necklace for Christmas. What do you think this dream means?" "You'll know tomorrow." he said.
On the third morning, the woman woke up and smiled at her husband, "I just dreamed again that you gave me a pearl necklace for Christmas. What do you think this dream means?" He smiled back, “Oh, you’ll know tonight.”
That evening, the man came home with a small package and presented it to his wife. She was delighted. She opened it gently. But when she did, she found -- a book! It was titled "The Meaning of Dreams."
What have you been dreaming about lately?
Some of us are dreaming about wonderful possibilities. We’re dreaming of pearl necklaces and sugar plum fairies, new bicycles and upgraded computers. I hope all those dreams come true!
As I consider my own dreams, I realize that I dream in two major categories. I have two kinds of dreams. Sometimes, my dreams are dreadful. I imagine painful relationships. I live out meetings and deadlines that I have missed. I am standing in a pulpit, for instance, with nothing to say. These are nights that I spend wrestling like my ancestor, the patriarch, Jacob.
But on other occasions, my dreams are the most refreshing I can imagine. I have also dreamed about reconciliation. I have dreamed that enemies are at my table, and we are living convivially. I have dreamed of flying fancily through the air. I have dreamed of new life and hope. I have dreamed of lean years followed by wonderful years. These are nights that I dream like my ancestor, the patriarch, Joseph. Yes, Joseph in the Old Testament, too, was a dreamer.
During this past year, researchers at Harvard University “asked people to navigate a maze, and found that those who both napped and dreamed about their maze experience, in any way, showed a tenfold improvement when they did the maze a second time.” (The Week magazine, Dec 24, 2010, page 32.) The suggestion is that dreams make you smarter. The magazine called The Week, said that the process “isn’t necessarily rational or literal—but reflects a deeper process in which the unconscious mind consolidates what it has learned and produces new insights.” (The Week Magazine, Dec 24, 2010, page 32).
That is my answer to the question, “Why do we need sleep?” We need sleep in order to dream. We need to dream.
Today’s gospel lesson, on the Fourth Sunday of Advent, is about a dream, Joseph’s dream. Besides the wise men, a few verses later, Joseph is the only person in the New Testament who dreams. Other characters have visions, and the Angel Gabriel appears to Mary in the Gospel of Luke. But only Joseph dreams.
And only Matthew tells Joseph’s story. The more familiar story, which we have known for as long as we have seen Christmas pageants, is about Mary receiving the word of the Lord, from an angel. But that story is only in the Gospel of Luke.
The Gospel of Matthew tells the story from another point of view, maybe a forgotten point of view these days. Matthew tells the story from the man’s point of view, Joseph’s point of view. All the action in Matthew’s birth narrative revolves around Joseph taking action. Nothing against Mary and Luke, of course! But it’s good, once every three years in our lectionary cycle, to hear the story from Joseph’s point of view!
(By the way, in our two other gospels, Mark and John, there is no account whatsoever of the physical birth of Jesus. We have four gospels, and they differ dramatically in how they tell the story of Jesus’s birth. That’s why we have four gospels. And that’s why we have many types of Christians!)
Surely, Joseph was in a troubled way. Joseph, a man of decency and responsibility, realized that his betrothed was actually pregnant before they were married. What should he do?
Well, he took time to sleep. He took time to rest. He took time to dream. Somehow, it was in his dream that Joseph consolidated things; he put it all together. He realized something wonderful and astounding. Ancient scriptures, an angel, all sorts of theologizing, came flooding into his soul. Yes, God would enter the world. Immanuel, “God With Us” would be born to his wife, as crazy as that was to understand.
Joseph had to trust the angel in his dream, but Joseph also had to trust someone else. Joseph had to trust Mary. I know Mary would be his wife, and surely Joseph must have loved Mary. But still, this took a lot of trust! For Joseph, the way of salvation meant trusting someone else.
This is why Joseph’s dream is so important. Joseph dreamed of the salvation of the world. And he dreamed that true salvation comes through someone else.
That is the lesson for us, too. Like Joseph sometimes, we are supposed to trust God and then get out of the way. Trust that God is working through our wife, and then get out of the way. Trust that God is working in our children, and then get out of the way.
Imagine young Mary, minding her own business, suddenly being overcome with news of a great conception, a great presence of the divine. It’s something to have an angel speak to you. Wouldn’t it be great to know that such a revelation might happen again?
Well, you know what? It did happen again.
The angel did appear to someone besides Mary. The story is recorded right in the Bible, but not in Luke. It appears in Matthew. The angel did appear to someone else. The angel appeared to Joseph.
Now, if the angel can appear to Mary, and then also appear to Joseph, that means that the angel can appear to you and me, too. In the Bible, the annunciation does not occur only once, but twice – not just to a woman, but also to a man. Not just to Mary and Joseph, but also to you and to me!
What are you giving for Christmas this year? I do not mean what are you getting. We all want something wonderful, I am sure. But what are you giving for Christmas?
The greatest gift you can give this year is to believe in somebody, to believe in someone’s dreams, to believe that God is working in the person beside you. That’s the gift that Joseph gave Mary, and, thus, the gift that Joseph gave the entire world.
Likewise, the great gift you can give is to have faith in someone else; believe in their dreams. Believe in the dreams of the person you love. Believe in the dream of your husband. Believe in the dream of your wife. Believe in the dreams of your children. Believe in the dream of your hero, your leader, your friend. Believe in their dreams!
And sleep comfortably this season. I know some folks do not sleep well. Too much worry. Too much food and drink. Take time to sleep.
The reason we sleep is to dream; and the reason we have relationships is so that we will have someone who will believe our dreams.
God works through those relationships. God works through both Mary and Joseph. God needs both Luke’s story of the annunciation and Matthew’s story of Joseph’s dream. They are miracle stories.
God works through a young and wonderful woman, and her husband believes in her. It is a miracle repeated again and again. Believe in the dreams of the person you love. Believe in dreams this Christmas, and Jesus will be born again. Believe in dreams this Christmas, and God will appear in the world.
AMEN.
The Very Reverend Sam Candler
21 December 2010
A MESSIAH FOR HARD TIMES
(a sermon for 2 Advent, 5 December 2010)
My wife and I were watching a television newscast last week. At least I think it was a newscast. It was host with two guests. But the host was doing most of the talking –loudly, too, and commanding the conversation so roughly that the so-called guests could hardly get a word in edgewise. My wife finally noticed, “All they are doing is yelling. They are just yelling at each other. Turn it off,” she said. We did.
We were left with a question that many people are asking these days, “Can we have political engagement at all without yelling?” Without being enemies?
Maybe not. We live in hard times, high anxiety times with high decibel enemies. I do not need to review all of our anxiety for you. Maybe it starts with economic uncertainty, and the fear that we will not see the restoration of jobs and economic growth any time soon. It continues as we walk through airport security pat-downs. Anxiety seeps up through vast internet connections, whose messages are now known as leaks, screams, and bullying.
And, if you want to sense mere anxiety in the world, simply turn on the television news any night between the hours of five o clock and ten o clock.
It does not matter which network you watch, and it does not matter whether you are watching local news coverage or world news coverage. What sells is anxiety and enemies. The global economic situation is often too complicated to cover in a thirty minute broadcast, and so the local news stations cover fires and automobile wrecks, and traffic – oh the traffic! – and the inequity of salaries, and potholes in the roads, and flimsiest of threats to our well-being. We are a threatened people.
But if anything good might come out of the past three years of economic crisis and emotional anxiety, it should be an ability to relate to the tension times, and the crisis times, in the Bible itself. Most of us may not realize that much of the Bible was written during threatening times, especially during politically threatening and economically threatening times.
The New Testament, for instance, is not written from a country that knows power or dominion. The New Testament was written in a dominated, poor, obscure little area, far away from the powers of Rome, or of ancient Greece, and the previous powers of Babylon and Assyria. It was an area tossed this way and that, always under the threat of being captured and taxed to death, or of even being destroyed.
Most of the Bible was written during treacherous and politically uncertain times. Maybe there were calmer moments, during which editors compiled all the prophecies and pronouncements and rituals and liturgies into a smoother narrative; but the actual times were tough.
Isaiah, the great prophet Isaiah, wrote during one of these tumultuous and politically threatening times. We hear one of his great passages this morning, a passage we have come to associate with Christmas, or, at least with Advent. Advent would not be complete unless we heard these words,”
A shoot shall come out from the stump of Jesse,
and a branch shall grow out of his roots.
The spirit of the LORD shall rest on him,
the spirit of wisdom and understanding,
the spirit of counsel and might,
the spirit of knowledge and the fear of the LORD.
4 …with righteousness he shall judge the poor,
and decide with equity for the meek of the earth;
5 …Righteousness shall be the belt around his waist,
and faithfulness the belt around his loins.
6 The wolf shall live with the lamb,
the leopard shall lie down with the kid,
the calf and the lion and the fatling together,
and a little child shall lead them.
7 The cow and the bear shall graze,
their young shall lie down together;
and the lion shall eat straw like the ox.
8 The nursing child shall play over the hole of the asp,
and the weaned child shall put its hand on the adder’s den.
9 They will not hurt or destroy
on all my holy mountain;
for the earth will be full of the knowledge of the LORD
as the waters cover the sea.
10 On that day the root of Jesse shall stand as a signal to the peoples; the nations shall inquire of him, and his dwelling shall be glorious. (Isaiah 11:1-10)
Of course, we have come to associate this prophecy with the messiah, Jesus. But that comparison is too easy. It is too easy to read these words in retrospect and pronounce that they have been fulfilled in Jesus as the messiah.
The times were tough. The times were tough when Isaiah wrote these words.
First of all, remember that the land we now know as “Israel” has very rarely in history been one unified region. There has always been division, among the various tribes, and especially between the North and the South. For most of Old Testament history, the two largest areas were Israel, in the North – and Judah, in the South. Again, we tend to think that “Israel” and “Judah” are just two different names for the same holy land. Not at all. Israel was the northern kingdom, and Judah was the southern kingdom.
The only real time these two kingdoms enjoyed unity, and a degree of peace, was under the great king David. Indeed, he is known as the greatest King in the Hebrew scriptures, because he held together both Israel and Judah. Outside of King David’s time, there is always a tension, in the Old Testament, between the North and the South, between Israel and Judah.
But these were difficult political times beyond the holy land, too. Syria, to the north, was almost always a threat. And, during the time of Isaiah, it was Assyria who was the far larger threat. In the year 738 BC, Tiglath-Pileser, of Assyria, threatened to come down through Syria and Palestine. Therefore, the northern king (that would be Israel) entered into an alliance with Syria. Together, perhaps Israel and Syria could resist Tiglath-Pileser.
But, remember, Judah was the southern kingdom. Judah, under King Ahaz, was not part of this alliance. They were in the south, not threatened by Assyria. So the kings of Syria and Israel tried to replace Ahaz with a king who might join them. What intrigue!
Ahaz, and Judah, were so offended that they did an end run. They sought to form an alliance with Assyria, with the dreaded enemy. And it worked. Assyria defeated Israel in 722 BC, while in alliance with Judah. 722 marked the last record of the northern tribes in human history; all able-bodied Israelites were exiled to Assyria.
Judah was spared, but the threat of foreign occupation still remained. In fact, perhaps the threat was even greater, for Judah had seen what had happened to its brothers in Israel.
It is in this circumstance that Isaiah the prophet meets King Ahaz, of Judah, on several occasions, with oracles of warning and judgement. And it is Isaiah, Isaiah himself, who has three children, three sons, whose names indicate a part of Isaiah’s message. This was not uncommon among the prophets of the Old Testament – to give their own sons names which represented their prophecy.
Isaiah’s first son was named “Shear-jeshub,” which means “a remnant shall return.” Isaiah’s second son was named “Immanuel,” which means “God with us.” Isaiah’s third son is named “Maher-shalal-hash-baz”, which means “the spoil speeds, the prey hastens.” That third name indicates imminent threat, doesn’t it? But all this is to confront Ahaz with both the judgement of God, and the long-term care of God.
It is these prophecies, and these names, as you all know, that are so familiar to us Christians around the seasons of Advent and Christmas. Today, on the Second Sunday of Advent, it is critical for us to realize that these names were the names of real people. These prophecies had their roots in real and historical situations.
Isaiah was not simply sitting alone, peacefully, in some holy quiet retreat imagining the birth of Jesus Christ. Prophecy, and the word of God, always emerges from real situations, often from crisis situations, times of struggle and even despair.
And God’s word is the same in those situations. A remnant shall return. No matter what is destroyed, or looks destroyed, a remnant returns. The branch shall grow out of the stump of Jesse, the root of David. There is always, always, the possibility of new birth. And God is with us. No matter what the threat. No matter what the division. God is with us.
“The wolf shall lie down with the lamb,” Isaiah says, the leopard shall lied down with the kid, the calf and lion and fatling together, the cow and the bear, the lion and the ox. The young child shall put its hand on the snake’s den.” Natural enemies enjoying peace together is what Isaiah prophecies.
Today, in our own politics, everyone speaks of non-partisanship, but is it possible? Our political scene, and our nightly newscasts, seem to contain natural enemies who want to completely annihilate the other side. And, thus, it has become the easy reaction to complain –like I am doing right now—to complain of strident voices speaking past each other.
So it is that my wife watch a newscast that devolves into mere yelling at each other. Yes, everyone longs for more civil discourse, more true interaction, communication, even communion, like this beautiful peaceable kingdom that Isaiah imagines. Is it possible?
We need a messiah.
In times of similar anxiety, and even physical exile, Isaiah named his own sons with names of God’s truth. He used the naming of his own sons as a means of getting the point across. But the great truth of his prophecy is that these names had a more dramatic and far-reaching meaning. Isaiah was actually looking for a messiah that would come from history, but who would lead us to a place beyond history.
This is why the Church hears these dramatic lines each year in the weeks leading up to Christmas. The messiah of God is located in history, but the messiah of God is also beyond history.
And, as wonderful as we might consider our contemporary political leaders and messiahs, none of them will be able to lead us to that true peaceable kingdom, where even natural predators lie down with each other, and hold each other’s hands!
Yes, we need a messiah for these hard times. Today, we make alliances with all sorts of leaders and groups and parties and even nations, thinking that we will be delivered. They may fulfill our needs for a season. But they are not the heavenly messiah. No earthly leader should ever be mistaken for this righteous root of David.
The righteous root of David, that branch that grows from the stump of Jesse, is certainly the One we call the Prince of Peace, Wonderful Counselor, a Sign to the Nations. It is for that true messiah that we wait. Isaiah and Judah waited twenty-seven hundred years ago. We still wait today.
And in three weeks, that messiah will be here. Yes, the messiah was born in human history, in a particular time full of strife and anxiety, but so that he might address the strife and anxiety of every age. In whatever age, in whatever turmoil and defeat and collapse, God’s messiah will be born. God’s messiah will be born, from a root of what is already here, yes, but from above, too, leading us to that ultimate peaceable kingdom of God.
AMEN.
The Very Reverend Samuel G. Candler
Dean of the Cathedral of St. Philip
A shoot shall come out from the stump of Jesse,
And a branch shall grow out of his roots. (Isaiah 11.1)
My wife and I were watching a television newscast last week. At least I think it was a newscast. It was host with two guests. But the host was doing most of the talking –loudly, too, and commanding the conversation so roughly that the so-called guests could hardly get a word in edgewise. My wife finally noticed, “All they are doing is yelling. They are just yelling at each other. Turn it off,” she said. We did.
We were left with a question that many people are asking these days, “Can we have political engagement at all without yelling?” Without being enemies?
Maybe not. We live in hard times, high anxiety times with high decibel enemies. I do not need to review all of our anxiety for you. Maybe it starts with economic uncertainty, and the fear that we will not see the restoration of jobs and economic growth any time soon. It continues as we walk through airport security pat-downs. Anxiety seeps up through vast internet connections, whose messages are now known as leaks, screams, and bullying.
And, if you want to sense mere anxiety in the world, simply turn on the television news any night between the hours of five o clock and ten o clock.
It does not matter which network you watch, and it does not matter whether you are watching local news coverage or world news coverage. What sells is anxiety and enemies. The global economic situation is often too complicated to cover in a thirty minute broadcast, and so the local news stations cover fires and automobile wrecks, and traffic – oh the traffic! – and the inequity of salaries, and potholes in the roads, and flimsiest of threats to our well-being. We are a threatened people.
But if anything good might come out of the past three years of economic crisis and emotional anxiety, it should be an ability to relate to the tension times, and the crisis times, in the Bible itself. Most of us may not realize that much of the Bible was written during threatening times, especially during politically threatening and economically threatening times.
The New Testament, for instance, is not written from a country that knows power or dominion. The New Testament was written in a dominated, poor, obscure little area, far away from the powers of Rome, or of ancient Greece, and the previous powers of Babylon and Assyria. It was an area tossed this way and that, always under the threat of being captured and taxed to death, or of even being destroyed.
Most of the Bible was written during treacherous and politically uncertain times. Maybe there were calmer moments, during which editors compiled all the prophecies and pronouncements and rituals and liturgies into a smoother narrative; but the actual times were tough.
Isaiah, the great prophet Isaiah, wrote during one of these tumultuous and politically threatening times. We hear one of his great passages this morning, a passage we have come to associate with Christmas, or, at least with Advent. Advent would not be complete unless we heard these words,”
A shoot shall come out from the stump of Jesse,
and a branch shall grow out of his roots.
The spirit of the LORD shall rest on him,
the spirit of wisdom and understanding,
the spirit of counsel and might,
the spirit of knowledge and the fear of the LORD.
4 …with righteousness he shall judge the poor,
and decide with equity for the meek of the earth;
5 …Righteousness shall be the belt around his waist,
and faithfulness the belt around his loins.
6 The wolf shall live with the lamb,
the leopard shall lie down with the kid,
the calf and the lion and the fatling together,
and a little child shall lead them.
7 The cow and the bear shall graze,
their young shall lie down together;
and the lion shall eat straw like the ox.
8 The nursing child shall play over the hole of the asp,
and the weaned child shall put its hand on the adder’s den.
9 They will not hurt or destroy
on all my holy mountain;
for the earth will be full of the knowledge of the LORD
as the waters cover the sea.
10 On that day the root of Jesse shall stand as a signal to the peoples; the nations shall inquire of him, and his dwelling shall be glorious. (Isaiah 11:1-10)
Of course, we have come to associate this prophecy with the messiah, Jesus. But that comparison is too easy. It is too easy to read these words in retrospect and pronounce that they have been fulfilled in Jesus as the messiah.
The times were tough. The times were tough when Isaiah wrote these words.
First of all, remember that the land we now know as “Israel” has very rarely in history been one unified region. There has always been division, among the various tribes, and especially between the North and the South. For most of Old Testament history, the two largest areas were Israel, in the North – and Judah, in the South. Again, we tend to think that “Israel” and “Judah” are just two different names for the same holy land. Not at all. Israel was the northern kingdom, and Judah was the southern kingdom.
The only real time these two kingdoms enjoyed unity, and a degree of peace, was under the great king David. Indeed, he is known as the greatest King in the Hebrew scriptures, because he held together both Israel and Judah. Outside of King David’s time, there is always a tension, in the Old Testament, between the North and the South, between Israel and Judah.
But these were difficult political times beyond the holy land, too. Syria, to the north, was almost always a threat. And, during the time of Isaiah, it was Assyria who was the far larger threat. In the year 738 BC, Tiglath-Pileser, of Assyria, threatened to come down through Syria and Palestine. Therefore, the northern king (that would be Israel) entered into an alliance with Syria. Together, perhaps Israel and Syria could resist Tiglath-Pileser.
But, remember, Judah was the southern kingdom. Judah, under King Ahaz, was not part of this alliance. They were in the south, not threatened by Assyria. So the kings of Syria and Israel tried to replace Ahaz with a king who might join them. What intrigue!
Ahaz, and Judah, were so offended that they did an end run. They sought to form an alliance with Assyria, with the dreaded enemy. And it worked. Assyria defeated Israel in 722 BC, while in alliance with Judah. 722 marked the last record of the northern tribes in human history; all able-bodied Israelites were exiled to Assyria.
Judah was spared, but the threat of foreign occupation still remained. In fact, perhaps the threat was even greater, for Judah had seen what had happened to its brothers in Israel.
It is in this circumstance that Isaiah the prophet meets King Ahaz, of Judah, on several occasions, with oracles of warning and judgement. And it is Isaiah, Isaiah himself, who has three children, three sons, whose names indicate a part of Isaiah’s message. This was not uncommon among the prophets of the Old Testament – to give their own sons names which represented their prophecy.
Isaiah’s first son was named “Shear-jeshub,” which means “a remnant shall return.” Isaiah’s second son was named “Immanuel,” which means “God with us.” Isaiah’s third son is named “Maher-shalal-hash-baz”, which means “the spoil speeds, the prey hastens.” That third name indicates imminent threat, doesn’t it? But all this is to confront Ahaz with both the judgement of God, and the long-term care of God.
It is these prophecies, and these names, as you all know, that are so familiar to us Christians around the seasons of Advent and Christmas. Today, on the Second Sunday of Advent, it is critical for us to realize that these names were the names of real people. These prophecies had their roots in real and historical situations.
Isaiah was not simply sitting alone, peacefully, in some holy quiet retreat imagining the birth of Jesus Christ. Prophecy, and the word of God, always emerges from real situations, often from crisis situations, times of struggle and even despair.
And God’s word is the same in those situations. A remnant shall return. No matter what is destroyed, or looks destroyed, a remnant returns. The branch shall grow out of the stump of Jesse, the root of David. There is always, always, the possibility of new birth. And God is with us. No matter what the threat. No matter what the division. God is with us.
“The wolf shall lie down with the lamb,” Isaiah says, the leopard shall lied down with the kid, the calf and lion and fatling together, the cow and the bear, the lion and the ox. The young child shall put its hand on the snake’s den.” Natural enemies enjoying peace together is what Isaiah prophecies.
Today, in our own politics, everyone speaks of non-partisanship, but is it possible? Our political scene, and our nightly newscasts, seem to contain natural enemies who want to completely annihilate the other side. And, thus, it has become the easy reaction to complain –like I am doing right now—to complain of strident voices speaking past each other.
So it is that my wife watch a newscast that devolves into mere yelling at each other. Yes, everyone longs for more civil discourse, more true interaction, communication, even communion, like this beautiful peaceable kingdom that Isaiah imagines. Is it possible?
We need a messiah.
In times of similar anxiety, and even physical exile, Isaiah named his own sons with names of God’s truth. He used the naming of his own sons as a means of getting the point across. But the great truth of his prophecy is that these names had a more dramatic and far-reaching meaning. Isaiah was actually looking for a messiah that would come from history, but who would lead us to a place beyond history.
This is why the Church hears these dramatic lines each year in the weeks leading up to Christmas. The messiah of God is located in history, but the messiah of God is also beyond history.
And, as wonderful as we might consider our contemporary political leaders and messiahs, none of them will be able to lead us to that true peaceable kingdom, where even natural predators lie down with each other, and hold each other’s hands!
Yes, we need a messiah for these hard times. Today, we make alliances with all sorts of leaders and groups and parties and even nations, thinking that we will be delivered. They may fulfill our needs for a season. But they are not the heavenly messiah. No earthly leader should ever be mistaken for this righteous root of David.
The righteous root of David, that branch that grows from the stump of Jesse, is certainly the One we call the Prince of Peace, Wonderful Counselor, a Sign to the Nations. It is for that true messiah that we wait. Isaiah and Judah waited twenty-seven hundred years ago. We still wait today.
And in three weeks, that messiah will be here. Yes, the messiah was born in human history, in a particular time full of strife and anxiety, but so that he might address the strife and anxiety of every age. In whatever age, in whatever turmoil and defeat and collapse, God’s messiah will be born. God’s messiah will be born, from a root of what is already here, yes, but from above, too, leading us to that ultimate peaceable kingdom of God.
AMEN.
The Very Reverend Samuel G. Candler
Dean of the Cathedral of St. Philip
11 December 2010
CAN YOU BE SPIRITUAL...BUT NOT RELIGIOUS?
A Sermon from the Very Reverend Sam Candler
for the Buckhead Community Thanksgiving Service, in Atlanta
(With the Churches and Choirs of The Cathedral of St. Philip, Peachtree Presbyterian Church, Peachtree Road United Methodist Church, Wieuca Road Baptist Church, Second Ponce de Leon Baptist Church, and the Roman Catholic Cathedral of Christ the King.)
At Peachtree Presbyterian Church
21 November 2010
My thanks for you!
I give thanks to our hosts tonight, all who worship and who lead, at Peachtree Presbyterian Church. I give thanks for the excellent and faithful musicians of our six parishes. I give thanks for the Buckhead community. And I certainly give thanks to my five colleagues, the other five senior ministers here tonight – pastors of what have to be the finest Christian parishes in the country!
But I give thanks, mostly, for you – you who are assembled as one body tonight, one body, with very many members.
It is a busy season. Many families and households are getting ready to travel. Some have already left. Many are already preparing to buy gifts and decorate for –dare I say it?—Christmas itself.
But you are here, gathered together as one body. One Body of Christ, from several denominations.
And so I want to remind you of the story I told a few years ago. Some of you have heard it before, but it bears repeating, especially on a night like this.
Do you know how many Christians it takes to change a light bulb?
Well, it depends upon your denomination. If you’re a charismatic Christian, it takes only one. Your hands are already in the air.
If you’re a Pentecostal Christian, the anwer is: Ten. One to change the bulb, and nine to pray against spirit of darkness.
Presbyterians: None. Lights will go on and off at predestined times.
Roman Catholic: None. Candles only.
Baptists: At least 15. One to change the light bulb, and three committees to approve the change and decide who brings the potato salad and fried chicken.
Episcopalians: Three. One to call the electrician, one to mix the drinks, and one to talk about how much better the old one was.
Mormons: Five. One man to change the bulb, and four wives to tell him how to do it.
Unitarians: We choose not to make a statement either in favor of or against the need for a light bulb. However, if in your own journey you have found that light bulbs work for you, that is fine. You are invited to write a poem or compose a modern dance about your light bulb for the next Sunday service in which we will explore a number of light bulb traditions, including: incandescent, fluorescent, three way, long-life, and environmentally sustainable, all of which are equally valid paths to luminescence.
Methodists: Undetermined. Whether your light is bright, dull, or completely out, you are loved. You can be a light bulb, turnip bulb, or tulip bulb. Church-wide lighting service is planned for Sunday. Bring bulb of your choice and a covered dish.
Lutherans: None. Lutherans don't believe in change.
Finally, the Amish: What's a light bulb?
Yes, we all have our ways of changing a light bulb, or lighting the room, or lighting the world with the light of Christ. We all have our ways, and they are good and healthy ways.
Every kind of Christian here tonight has a different way of lighting the world for Christ, and the world needs every one of your ways.
Tonight, in the Spirit of Thanksgiving, I give thanks for all these ways of being a Christian. The body of Christ, as we heard in tonight’s lesson, does not consist of only one sort of member. The complete Body of Christ needs all the members.
The Body of Christ. You know, later this week, there will be lots of concerns about bodies. Thanksgiving seems to be one day of the year when we give ourselves permission to feed our bodies. Families have been planning for weeks what they will eat. Traditions are remembered. Some dare to start new traditions. Then we eat. We drink. We have second helpings. Our great aunt forces us to have third and fourth helpings.
Maybe next week, or next January, when the feasting is over, we begin to care about our bodies in a different way. We go back on diets!
I know the dieting is important. But, tonight, I want to say that the eating is important, too. Bodies are important in Christianity. It is part of our historic, orthodox, and catholic faith that Jesus Christ descended from the heavenly kingdom and was incarnate; he was a real live, flesh and blood, body.
It was through a body that Jesus Christ served and changed the world. It was through a body that God loved the world. And it is through a body that God still loves the world.
God does not work in the world through some dis-embodied spirit, like a kind of ghost. God works through people.
Have you heard the phrase lately, “I am spiritual, but I’m not religious” ? Of course you’ve heard it. Many of us have probably said it. I know what we mean when we say that. We mean that we enjoy the spark and the life of God, the wonderful spirit of love and wonder, but we don’t get so much out of organized religion.
Right. Organized religion can so often get in the way, can’t it? Even though I work in an organized religion, I know what people mean when they make that complaint. Sometimes, the church seems too obsessed with trivial matters.
Maybe that’s why people are always leaving church and looking for something else.
Have you heard about the man they discovered all by himself on a desert island a few years ago. Apparently, he had been living there successfully for years, all by himself. No one else there.
When they found him, they also discovered three buildings on the island, right behind him. They asked him, “What’s this building?” “Why,” he said, “That’s my home, my house. That’s where I live.”
“Oh, that’s good,” they said, “and what’s this second structure?” “Well, the man replied, “that’s my church. That’s where I go to church.”
“Excellent. How beautiful!” the crowd said. “And what’s this third building on the island?”
“Oh,” the man said, “that’s where I used to go to church.”
No matter where we are, it seems, we can find a reason to leave church. We can find a reason to leave organized religion.
Tonight, however, I want to say something about organized and institutional religion. I give thanks for it tonight. I give thanks for churches, and for an important reason. These communities of faith, even if we struggle and fall short time and time again, these communities of faith are exactly the way we are spiritual in the world.
I do not believe it is possible to be a spiritual person in this world without being religious. Oh, I realize along with everyone the great thrill and excitement of feeling one with God. Sometimes we feel that on vacation, or at the mountains, at the lake, or at the beach. Or even on the golf course, or just early on a beautiful morning.
It’s great to feel spiritual. But the moment we try to do something with that spirituality. The moment we try to connect it to other people. The moment we try to take it out into the world – well, right then!—is the moment we become religious.
Religion is spirituality in the flesh. Religion is spirituality when it takes on a body!
The word “religion,” comes from the Latin word “ligio,” meaning “to tie.” The word “ligament” comes from the same word, Ligaments tie together the muscle and the bone in our bodies. “Relgion,” “re-ligio,” means to tie back together. To re-connect. Good religion is about tying things back together.
Can you be spiritual without being religious? I don’t think so. I suppose you could try it, but it’s a very lonely life. Being spiritual without being religious is to be by yourself, maybe enjoying yourself fine, but being removed from the give-and-take matters of community.
Good spirituality is about being religious, about being connected to people, to other bodies, to other denominations, to friends and to strangers.
Tonight, I give thanks for bodies. For muscles and tendons and bones that are tied together in a magnificent Body of Christ. I also give thanks for the traditions and structures and routines that many of us will participate in this Thanksgiving. These are the flesh-and-blood ways we give thanks. And they are good things. They are religious things.
Yes, be spiritual this Thanksgiving! Give thanks in your heart and soul.
But, also be religious. Connect your spirituality with another body of flesh and blood. Be connected. Join a community of faith. Healthy spirituality is always connected. Healthy spirituality is always religious.
AMEN.
The Very Reverend Sam Candler
Dean of the Cathedral of St. Philip
for the Buckhead Community Thanksgiving Service, in Atlanta
(With the Churches and Choirs of The Cathedral of St. Philip, Peachtree Presbyterian Church, Peachtree Road United Methodist Church, Wieuca Road Baptist Church, Second Ponce de Leon Baptist Church, and the Roman Catholic Cathedral of Christ the King.)
At Peachtree Presbyterian Church
21 November 2010
For just as the body is one and has many members, and all the members of the body, though many, are one body, so it is with Christ. For in the one Spirit we were all baptized into one body—Jews or Greeks, slaves or free—and we were all made to drink of one Spirit.
Indeed, the body does not consist of one member but of many. If the foot would say, “Because I am not a hand, I do not belong to the body,” that would not make it any less a part of the body. And if the ear would say, “Because I am not an eye, I do not belong to the body,” that would not make it any less a part of the body. If the whole body were an eye, where would the hearing be? If the whole body were hearing, where would the sense of smell be? But as it is, God arranged the members in the body, each one of them, as he chose. If all were a single member, where would the body be? As it is, there are many members, yet one body. The eye cannot say to the hand, “I have no need of you,” nor again the head to the feet, “I have no need of you.” On the contrary, the members of the body that seem to be weaker are indispensable, and those members of the body that we think less honorable we clothe with greater honor, and our less respectable members are treated with greater respect; whereas our more respectable members do not need this. But God has so arranged the body, giving the greater honor to the inferior member, that there may be no dissension within the body, but the members may have the same care for one another. If one member suffers, all suffer together with it; if one member is honored, all rejoice together with it.
Now you are the body of Christ and individually members of it. (First Corinthians 12:12–27)
My thanks for you!
I give thanks to our hosts tonight, all who worship and who lead, at Peachtree Presbyterian Church. I give thanks for the excellent and faithful musicians of our six parishes. I give thanks for the Buckhead community. And I certainly give thanks to my five colleagues, the other five senior ministers here tonight – pastors of what have to be the finest Christian parishes in the country!
But I give thanks, mostly, for you – you who are assembled as one body tonight, one body, with very many members.
It is a busy season. Many families and households are getting ready to travel. Some have already left. Many are already preparing to buy gifts and decorate for –dare I say it?—Christmas itself.
But you are here, gathered together as one body. One Body of Christ, from several denominations.
And so I want to remind you of the story I told a few years ago. Some of you have heard it before, but it bears repeating, especially on a night like this.
Do you know how many Christians it takes to change a light bulb?
Well, it depends upon your denomination. If you’re a charismatic Christian, it takes only one. Your hands are already in the air.
If you’re a Pentecostal Christian, the anwer is: Ten. One to change the bulb, and nine to pray against spirit of darkness.
Presbyterians: None. Lights will go on and off at predestined times.
Roman Catholic: None. Candles only.
Baptists: At least 15. One to change the light bulb, and three committees to approve the change and decide who brings the potato salad and fried chicken.
Episcopalians: Three. One to call the electrician, one to mix the drinks, and one to talk about how much better the old one was.
Mormons: Five. One man to change the bulb, and four wives to tell him how to do it.
Unitarians: We choose not to make a statement either in favor of or against the need for a light bulb. However, if in your own journey you have found that light bulbs work for you, that is fine. You are invited to write a poem or compose a modern dance about your light bulb for the next Sunday service in which we will explore a number of light bulb traditions, including: incandescent, fluorescent, three way, long-life, and environmentally sustainable, all of which are equally valid paths to luminescence.
Methodists: Undetermined. Whether your light is bright, dull, or completely out, you are loved. You can be a light bulb, turnip bulb, or tulip bulb. Church-wide lighting service is planned for Sunday. Bring bulb of your choice and a covered dish.
Lutherans: None. Lutherans don't believe in change.
Finally, the Amish: What's a light bulb?
Yes, we all have our ways of changing a light bulb, or lighting the room, or lighting the world with the light of Christ. We all have our ways, and they are good and healthy ways.
Every kind of Christian here tonight has a different way of lighting the world for Christ, and the world needs every one of your ways.
Tonight, in the Spirit of Thanksgiving, I give thanks for all these ways of being a Christian. The body of Christ, as we heard in tonight’s lesson, does not consist of only one sort of member. The complete Body of Christ needs all the members.
The Body of Christ. You know, later this week, there will be lots of concerns about bodies. Thanksgiving seems to be one day of the year when we give ourselves permission to feed our bodies. Families have been planning for weeks what they will eat. Traditions are remembered. Some dare to start new traditions. Then we eat. We drink. We have second helpings. Our great aunt forces us to have third and fourth helpings.
Maybe next week, or next January, when the feasting is over, we begin to care about our bodies in a different way. We go back on diets!
I know the dieting is important. But, tonight, I want to say that the eating is important, too. Bodies are important in Christianity. It is part of our historic, orthodox, and catholic faith that Jesus Christ descended from the heavenly kingdom and was incarnate; he was a real live, flesh and blood, body.
It was through a body that Jesus Christ served and changed the world. It was through a body that God loved the world. And it is through a body that God still loves the world.
God does not work in the world through some dis-embodied spirit, like a kind of ghost. God works through people.
Have you heard the phrase lately, “I am spiritual, but I’m not religious” ? Of course you’ve heard it. Many of us have probably said it. I know what we mean when we say that. We mean that we enjoy the spark and the life of God, the wonderful spirit of love and wonder, but we don’t get so much out of organized religion.
Right. Organized religion can so often get in the way, can’t it? Even though I work in an organized religion, I know what people mean when they make that complaint. Sometimes, the church seems too obsessed with trivial matters.
Maybe that’s why people are always leaving church and looking for something else.
Have you heard about the man they discovered all by himself on a desert island a few years ago. Apparently, he had been living there successfully for years, all by himself. No one else there.
When they found him, they also discovered three buildings on the island, right behind him. They asked him, “What’s this building?” “Why,” he said, “That’s my home, my house. That’s where I live.”
“Oh, that’s good,” they said, “and what’s this second structure?” “Well, the man replied, “that’s my church. That’s where I go to church.”
“Excellent. How beautiful!” the crowd said. “And what’s this third building on the island?”
“Oh,” the man said, “that’s where I used to go to church.”
No matter where we are, it seems, we can find a reason to leave church. We can find a reason to leave organized religion.
Tonight, however, I want to say something about organized and institutional religion. I give thanks for it tonight. I give thanks for churches, and for an important reason. These communities of faith, even if we struggle and fall short time and time again, these communities of faith are exactly the way we are spiritual in the world.
I do not believe it is possible to be a spiritual person in this world without being religious. Oh, I realize along with everyone the great thrill and excitement of feeling one with God. Sometimes we feel that on vacation, or at the mountains, at the lake, or at the beach. Or even on the golf course, or just early on a beautiful morning.
It’s great to feel spiritual. But the moment we try to do something with that spirituality. The moment we try to connect it to other people. The moment we try to take it out into the world – well, right then!—is the moment we become religious.
Religion is spirituality in the flesh. Religion is spirituality when it takes on a body!
The word “religion,” comes from the Latin word “ligio,” meaning “to tie.” The word “ligament” comes from the same word, Ligaments tie together the muscle and the bone in our bodies. “Relgion,” “re-ligio,” means to tie back together. To re-connect. Good religion is about tying things back together.
Can you be spiritual without being religious? I don’t think so. I suppose you could try it, but it’s a very lonely life. Being spiritual without being religious is to be by yourself, maybe enjoying yourself fine, but being removed from the give-and-take matters of community.
Good spirituality is about being religious, about being connected to people, to other bodies, to other denominations, to friends and to strangers.
Tonight, I give thanks for bodies. For muscles and tendons and bones that are tied together in a magnificent Body of Christ. I also give thanks for the traditions and structures and routines that many of us will participate in this Thanksgiving. These are the flesh-and-blood ways we give thanks. And they are good things. They are religious things.
Yes, be spiritual this Thanksgiving! Give thanks in your heart and soul.
But, also be religious. Connect your spirituality with another body of flesh and blood. Be connected. Join a community of faith. Healthy spirituality is always connected. Healthy spirituality is always religious.
AMEN.
The Very Reverend Sam Candler
Dean of the Cathedral of St. Philip
12 November 2010
A PRAYER FOR THE DAYS AFTER ELECTION DAY
On 8 November 2010, the Downtown Atlanta Rotary Club featured Cynthia Tucker and Ralph Reed as a panel reviewing the previous week's election results. To open the meeting, The Very Rev'd Samuel G. Candler delivered this invocation:
O God, in the days following elections, some are exultant, others despondent. Some are wary, some are triumphant. Some will forge forward, or back, depending upon the issue. Some will gather, harvesting fruit whose seeds were planted long ago. Some will seek to sow new seeds, into soil now plowed, turned up and over, but also fertile and expectant.
The political life is a rough and tumble life. It is for those who inspire fresh vision, but who also know how to scrap and scrape. It attracts the wise and savvy, and also the naïve and boisterous. It lifts up the lowly, and it humbles the exalted.
And so we remember the words of the Preacher of old. "For everything there is a season. A time to be born, and a time to die. A time to plant, and a time to pluck up. A time to break down, and a time to build up. A time to weep, and a time to laugh. A time to mourn, and a time to dance. A time to throw away stones, and a time to gather stones together. A time to seek, and a time to lose. A time to keep silence, and a time to speak." (Ecclesiastes 3:1-8). Or, as the Singer sang, "To everything there is a season. Turn, turn, turn."
The United States of America, at our best, turns gracefully. We engage the dance of politics every two years, or every four years, or every six years, with some trepidation and some missed steps. Some of us stumble, or step on each others' feet, or even knock down our partners. But some of us twirl splendidly, knowing exactly when to grasp and when to let go. Some of us leap to heights which we have never before ascended.
Then, after two, or four, or six, or sixteen, years, our dance ends. We tire, or watch a new troupe come forward, with new moves and routines - or maybe it is an old routine with some fresh twists. We turn, turn, turn.
Gracious God, we thank you for those who offer themselves for public service; we thank you for those who participated in last week's elections. Teach all of us us to turn gracefully. Teach us to win gracefully. Teach us to lose gracefully. In grace, we realize that you, O God, have created us all. We are, together, citizens of a greater community than our fenced-off political pastures. And you, O God, have loved us all - winners and losers, the exalted and the humbled.
Wherever our political loyalties lie, O God, show us grace in our relationships and deliberations in the days to come. Show us love of God, and love of neighbor. AMEN.
The Very Reverend Sam Candler
Dean of the Cathedral of St. Philip
Atlanta, Georgia
8 November 2010
(this prayer has also been published at Episcopal Cafe, on 12 November 2010)
O God, in the days following elections, some are exultant, others despondent. Some are wary, some are triumphant. Some will forge forward, or back, depending upon the issue. Some will gather, harvesting fruit whose seeds were planted long ago. Some will seek to sow new seeds, into soil now plowed, turned up and over, but also fertile and expectant.
The political life is a rough and tumble life. It is for those who inspire fresh vision, but who also know how to scrap and scrape. It attracts the wise and savvy, and also the naïve and boisterous. It lifts up the lowly, and it humbles the exalted.
And so we remember the words of the Preacher of old. "For everything there is a season. A time to be born, and a time to die. A time to plant, and a time to pluck up. A time to break down, and a time to build up. A time to weep, and a time to laugh. A time to mourn, and a time to dance. A time to throw away stones, and a time to gather stones together. A time to seek, and a time to lose. A time to keep silence, and a time to speak." (Ecclesiastes 3:1-8). Or, as the Singer sang, "To everything there is a season. Turn, turn, turn."
The United States of America, at our best, turns gracefully. We engage the dance of politics every two years, or every four years, or every six years, with some trepidation and some missed steps. Some of us stumble, or step on each others' feet, or even knock down our partners. But some of us twirl splendidly, knowing exactly when to grasp and when to let go. Some of us leap to heights which we have never before ascended.
Then, after two, or four, or six, or sixteen, years, our dance ends. We tire, or watch a new troupe come forward, with new moves and routines - or maybe it is an old routine with some fresh twists. We turn, turn, turn.
Gracious God, we thank you for those who offer themselves for public service; we thank you for those who participated in last week's elections. Teach all of us us to turn gracefully. Teach us to win gracefully. Teach us to lose gracefully. In grace, we realize that you, O God, have created us all. We are, together, citizens of a greater community than our fenced-off political pastures. And you, O God, have loved us all - winners and losers, the exalted and the humbled.
Wherever our political loyalties lie, O God, show us grace in our relationships and deliberations in the days to come. Show us love of God, and love of neighbor. AMEN.
The Very Reverend Sam Candler
Dean of the Cathedral of St. Philip
Atlanta, Georgia
8 November 2010
(this prayer has also been published at Episcopal Cafe, on 12 November 2010)
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