Will These Dry Bones Live? - A Reflection on Ezekiel 37: 1-14 for the Day of Pentecost

I attend a large, affluent, successful church in a very wealthy community in northeast Florida (Christ Church, Ponte Vedra). Each Sunday, the pews are full. The sermons are first rate and the choir sings beautifully. If I did not know better, I would be tempted to believe that every Episcopal church experienced the same dynamism, enjoyed similar opportunities, and had similar resources at its disposal. Unfortunately (or fortunately, as the case may be), I know better.

For thirteen years I worshiped in an Episcopal Church in the Diocese of Rhode Island that to this day fights for its very survival. In Rhode Island, a disproportionate number of parishes cannot pay their bills, spend down their endowments at an alarming rate, and face declining membership. This is not necessarily the fault of any one person or of the leadership of any particular parish. It is a sign of systemic cultural transformation. To put it mildly, the world in which our churches live has changed dramatically. Many church leaders in Rhode Island, for instance, have inherited aging, historic buildings, many of which are on the National Register, and all of which are incredibly expensive to maintain and whose architecture is anachronistic. The church unwittingly has found itself in the business of historic preservation rather than gospel proclamation. The church has become moribund at best, and leaders are virtually powerless to affect changes that will bring about necessary transformation.

I make this point in the context of the Day of Pentecost when we celebrate the “birthday” of the church. On this day, we read how the Spirit of God descended on the followers of Jesus, giving them power to proclaim God’s love and to continue the work of Jesus in our world. However, before we read about the Spirit, we read those famous words from Ezekiel about the dry bones.

Ezekiel was one of the great prophets of the exile. After the capture and destruction of Jerusalem in 587 B.C.E., Ezekiel’s ministry changed dramatically from offering oracles of warning to proclaiming prophetic words of hope. As a prophet of the exile, Ezekiel proffered the assurance of God’s faithfulness to people who experienced a disorienting and bewildering world. In the midst of hopelessness, Ezekiel offered the hope of restoration to homeland and temple.

Today, we read Ezekiel’s vision of the valley of dry bones (Ezekiel. 37. 1-14). The Lord places Ezekiel in the middle of a valley that was full of dry bones – many dry bones. The Lord asks him, “Mortal, can these bones live?” Ezekiel wisely responds, “O Lord God, you know” (Probably a good idea to defer to God on this one). In fact, God does know, for the bones come together. Out of death comes new life – once dead bones resuscitated by the breath from the four winds.

This of course is a type of resurrection story. The dry bones are the exiles of Israel who had no hope of new life. They had no greater chance or restoration than the skeletons in the valley had hope of resuscitation. However, the trajectory of God’s work throughout the biblical record is from death to live. God always takes what is moribund and imbues it with new life and hope. The good news is that God moves God’s people in the direction of reconciliation, from hopelessness to hope, from division to unity, from discord to peace.

In fact, the people of Israel did enjoy restoration. The exile ended and some chose to return to a somewhat restored Jerusalem. However, it is fair to say that even restoration brought change. The old adage, “You can’t go home again” is true because while we were gone “home” changed. Therefore, anyone looking for God to restore things to “the way things were” will be sadly disappointed. That is just not the way things work.

Many churches in our Episcopal communion are moribund. They are on life support. They are spending down endowments, selling off property, transitioning from full-time to part-time clergy, cutting programs, circling the wagons – in short, doing anything to postpone the inevitable. They have become like the dry bones in Ezekiel’s valley. Can the dry, bare bones of the church live? The hard truth is that many of them cannot live in their current state.

When I served on the Congregational Development Commission of the Diocese of Rhode Island, we talked often about the need for transformation and consolidation. When something no longer works, it is time for bold, faithful action. It is time to celebrate the past and to embrace future opportunity. In many cases, future opportunity will not come until death is complete. However, we are a stubborn species. Often, we hold on until the very end, often allowing our affection for a familiar and perhaps even beautiful building, our love of tradition, or simply our comfort with the familiar, to supercede our desire to serve Jesus and to proclaim the Gospel. The work of the Commission, therefore, was virtually impossible because the churches that were closest to death were the most likely to hold on the tightest and to be the least effective.

I believe in transformation. I believe that the same God who restored the people of ancient Israel continues to work miracles of love in our world. I also believe, however, that the very institutions created to serve as vessels of God’s love have become the walls that prevent us from exercising the power that we proclaim at Pentecost. The dry bones can indeed live. God will see to that. However, we must be willing to let go, to allow some pieces of our institutions to die. Leaders will need to make difficult choices, to run the risk of offending, to speak the truth regardless of the consequences. We need to worry less about preserving institutions and more about loving people. We need to concern ourselves less with historic preservation and more with momentous transformation. God is with us, asking us, “Will these bones live?” They will indeed live – if we get out of the way!

Hurry Up And Wait - A Reflection for the Seventh Sunday of Easter

Icon of the Ascension by Andrej Rublëv. Image via Wikipedia

Hurry up and wait - an overused cliché to be sure. However, it fits the spiritual life so well Life often is so busy that “hurry up and wait” seems like an apt description of what we do everyday. Teenagers hurry to grow up, only to find that growing up requires a lot of waiting. We race down the road so that we can make a meeting, only to have to wait in a traffic jam. We hurry to make it to the doctor’s office on time, because we would never want to be late for a doctor’s appointment, only to wait for what seems like an eternity when we get there. Waiting is what we do. In our immediate, I want it now, lives, waiting is just no fun. Therefore, we try to find ways to find instant gratification, like microwavable meals, fast food, and all sorts of promises to make life what we want it to be – right now.

It does not take too long before we recognize that life just does not work that way. Hurrying may be an unavoidable part of our lives, but waiting is perhaps more important. In our sacred story, there is lots of waiting. During Advent, we wait for what lies in the seemingly distant future. During the hours between Good Friday and Easter, we await the resurrection, enduring the emotional trauma of crucifixion, wanting to fast-forward to the good news.

Today, we await something else. Thursday was the Feast of the Ascension, the day that we tell the story of the resurrected Jesus’ last day on earth. What were his last words? In Acts, just before the ascension, Jesus says, “Wait in Jerusalem for the promise from the Father.” In Luke’s Gospel, Jesus says, “stay here in the city until you have received power from on high.” Two words that we have a hard time hearing – wait and stay!

As we live out the story through our liturgy, we sit today in the waiting phase, waiting for the power from on high, waiting for the promise of God to become reality in our lives. Liturgically, we will experience the fulfillment of that promise next Sunday on the Feast of Pentecost. It is then that we celebrate the beginning of the era of the church, the era of the Holy Spirit, the era when God’s people possess the power to change the world. We will get to that next week.

However, this week we contemplate what it means to wait, what it means to anticipate God’s action in our lives in ways that we cannot imagine. We contemplate the exercise of spiritual waiting. The Lutheran author, Holly Whitcomb recently wrote a book entitled, “Seven Spiritual Gifts of Waiting.” She says that she wrote the book for those of us who have been brainwashed by the media to think that we have to have our desires fulfilled instantly. Waiting, she says, is a spiritual teacher that tutors us in patience, loss of control, living in the present, compassion, gratitude, humility and trust in God. She uses the metaphor of a river, suggesting that we spend our time pushing against the river, trying to redirect it to suit our needs and desires rather than learning to let go and to let the river take us where it will. Whitcomb quotes the Jesuit Pierre Teilhard de Chardin who advised: “Trust the slow work of God.”

Consider the ancient Israelites. After God liberated them from slavery in Egypt, they did not march directly to the Promised Land. They spent forty years waiting in the desert, no doubt frustrated, confused, and even angry as they wondered what God was doing with them. Even Jesus spent forty days waiting in the wilderness before he began his ministry – waiting, learning, struggling, questioning, allowing God to form him. These days were not wasted. They were days of formation, days when God prepared Jesus, taught him, gave him the told necessary for the days to come.

All of this waiting! Living with the slow work of God. It is enough to drive even the most patient among us a little stir crazy! In what parts of your life are you waiting? Are you able to trust in the slow work of God? Are you able to put aside your own agenda, your own timetable, and to let God lead you in ways that are best for you? Whitcomb challenges us to quit worrying and to relax into the grace of God. Of course, that is much easier to talk about than to live out in our lives. It is a great challenge to let go, to let the river of life take us where it will instead of fighting to go somewhere else. It takes great trust that God loves us, that God knows what is best for us, and that we live most completely when we place our lives in the hands of God.

Like any spiritual discipline, spiritual waiting requires that we be intentional about what we do. The best way to exercise this discipline is to take moments throughout the day simply to be in God’s presence, stilling the mind and the soul, letting go of our frantic quest to get somewhere. Letting go means training our mind to relax, practicing moving from busyness to stillness, learning simply to be in God’s presence.

We have a hard time with this – even in church. We move from one prayer to another, one piece of music to another. We become uncomfortable with silence. We want things to keep moving. And that is how we live our lives. On a personal note, I have been waiting a long time for the next chapter in my call to discipleship to unfold. It has been frustrating, agonizing at times, as I have tried to force my agenda, my goals, and my dreams. However, it has not worked. It is time for me to be still, to trust the slow work of God, to know that in this in-between time God is shaping me, healing me, equipping me for what is to come. I admit that it is painfully difficult. Yet, it is necessary work, work that entails letting life’s river take me where it will, work that requires me to stop paddling frantically upstream, work that necessitates that I trust that the God who has been with me so far will not forsake or abandon me.

If, like me, you are frustrated and wondering what on earth God is doing in your life, I encourage you to sit, to wait, to allow God to reveal God’s path in God’s time. Allow the slow hand of God to guide you where God would have you to go. Embrace the opportunity to wait, to rest, to regroup, and to refresh before God sends you back into the world to proclaim God’s love. Amen.

Consider the Lilies

Today’s Daily Office Gospel reading presents us with Jesus’ teaching about anxiety (Luke 12. 22-31). It opens with these words, “Therefore, I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat, or about your body, what you will wear.” Jesus encourages us to consider the ravens that God feeds, and the lilies that God clothes. Jesus teaches us not to strive for what we will eat or drink because God knows what we need. Instead, Jesus says, we should “strive for his kingdom, and these things will be given you as well.”

The Collect for the Sixth Sunday of Easter prays, “ . . . you have prepared for those who love you such good things as surpass our understanding . . .” Finally, the Prayer for our Country, found in the Book of Common Prayer, says, “In the time of prosperity, fill our hearts with thankfulness, and in the day of trouble, suffer not our trust in you to fail.”

Jesus’ words and these prayers speak about trust. Our job is to walk God’s path. God’s job is to provide what we need. Sounds great! However, I live in the real world – a world where manna does not rain down from heaven and water does not pour forth from a rock. I live in a world where worrying about just surviving is the reality for many people. So, how do we proclaim this gospel of hope and trust in the real world?

It is hard to trust. I will be the first to admit it. It is hard. When your back is against the wall, when you wonder how you are going to live, it is tempting to give up hope, to fall into the pit of despair. It is easy to become angry, to deny God’s existence, to believe that no one really cares. In moments like that, how do we proclaim the gospel of hope? Well, the only way to do it with any integrity is to speak from personal experience. Sure, we can speak of the biblical record, of how time and again God stepped in to rescue God’s people, to lead them to a new place, to provide for them. We can speak of the fact that God did not remove the difficulties, but rather provided a way through them. God provided the strength to endure, to survive, and even to thrive in the midst of the struggles. That is why the story is so compelling and endures to this day. It provides hope.

Ultimately, though, that hope needs to move from words we read in the Bible to expectation that we experience in the present. We have to believe that the same God who rescued the ancient Israelites will rescue us as well. We have to believe that Jesus is right – that the same God who provides for the raven and the lily will provide for us as well. But, who can proclaim that message unless they have experienced that reality for themselves? Who can ask someone else to trust who hasn’t themselves trusted? Authentic proclamation comes when we speak from our own experience, when we can say that we have stared anxiety in the face and, despite the temptation, have not lost hope, have not lost trust, have not lost the believe that regardless of what happens, God is with us.

Jesus’ message is simple. Keep your focus on living according to the values that Jesus has taught us. Keep believing that love is the most powerful force that exists, that compassion is the principle that will see us through, that justice is the guide that will shape our life decisions. When we live lives of love, compassion, and justice, life may not take the shape that we anticipated. However, a life lived in pursuit of the kingdom of God, of God’s values, will be a life worth living, a life where what we have is enough.

Living the Life

Image via Wikipedia

Today's Propers for the Daily Office include readings from Jeremiah, Romans and the Gospel of John. Each reminds us that God always stands ready to receive us, to reconcile us to God's self, and to bring us into right relationship with God. In Romans, Paul says, "Do you not realize that God's kindness is meant to lead you to repentance" (3.4b). In John, Jesus heals a man who had been ill for thirty-eight years - a true act of generosity and kindness. This kindness led Jesus to attend to the man's spiritual well-being as well, offering him the gift of right relationship with God (5.14).

In Jeremiah, the prophet laments that both Israel and Judah have strayed and lived "faithlessly." Both have "played the whore." God sends Jeremiah to say to the people of Israel, "I will not look on you in anger, for I am merciful" (3.12). Then, in a prose addition that is probably later, Jeremiah has God say, "I will give you shepherds after my own heart, who will feed you with knowledge and understanding" (3.15).

Jumping a couple of chapters, we read a challenge proclaimed by Jeremiah in a sermon at the temple: "For if you truly amend your ways and your doings, if you truly act justly with one another, if you do not oppress the alien, the orphan, and the widow, or shed innocent blood in this place, and if you do not go after other gods to your own hurt, then I will dwell with you in this place, in the land that I gave of old to your ancestors forever and ever" (7.5-7).

These texts each remind us that living as God's disciples requires commitment, a conscious choice, and a willingness to repent and reorient when we go astray. Discipleship requires that we create for ourselves and our spiritual communities a rule of life that shapes our thoughts, our decisions, our interactions with other people and the world around us, and that makes provision for return when necessary.

Episcopalians find this rule embodied in the words of our liturgy. We celebrate the presence of God in our lives as we hear the good news of the Gospel, pray for ourselves and others, ask for forgiveness and receive absolution, and then break the bread of God's presence as a community of redeemed people. As we live out that liturgical drama during the week by functioning in the world, we recognize that God continues to call and guide us and to push/pull us towards the reconciled relationship that God has for us.

There are many rules of life, of course. Some take the liturgical ebb and flow and apply it to our daily living. Others modify existing trditional rules in creative ways. John McQuiston has written a little book called, Always We Begin Again: The Benedictine Way of Living, in which he takes the Rule of St. Benedict and applies it to the busy modern world. You can read this little book at Google Book Search.

McQuiston states his first rule: "Live this life and do whatever is done in a spirit of thanksgiving. Abandon attempts to achieve security, they are futile. Give up the search for wealth, it is demeaning. Quit the search for salvation, it is selfish. And come to comfortable rest in the certainty that those who participate in this life with an attitude of Thanksgiving will receive its full promise" (17-18). Tough, counter-cultural, perhaps counter-intuitive words - but words to consider carefully as we travel the spiritual path!

Another rule was written by the folks at Episcopalians for Global Reconciliation, and can be found here. This rule incorporates careful attention, through prayer, study, and action, to the Millennium Development Goals as part of a broader spiritual discipline that will help us to live faithfully according to God's purposes and desires. It fits particularly well with the words of Jeremiah 7 quoted above.

To summarize, regardless of our shortfalls, our fits and starts, our turning away, God responds with kindness, reaching out with God's unconditional and gratuitous love with the singular intention of restoring us to right relationship with God. As we exercise the discipline of discipleship, we find that we turn from whatever distracts or pulls us away and move back onto the path that God has set for us. How blessed we are that God is with us regardless of the challenges that we face, regardless of the stubbornness of the human heart, regardless of our spiritual blindness. God opens our eyes to God's truth, to love, to compassion, to generosity!

People of the Light - A Reflection for Epiphany I on Genesis 1:1-5 and Mark 1: 4-11

Image via Wikipedia“People of the Light”
A reflection for the First Sunday after the Epiphany
Genesis 1.1-5 and Mark 1.4-11

“In the beginning, darkness covered the face of the deep. Then God said, ‘Let there be light.’” So goes the first part of the Genesis creation story.

Light is a powerful symbol and has great significance for our faith. In the creation story, God created the light and then separated the light from the darkness. In Isaiah 60, the prophet says to the people of Israel, “Darkness shall cover the earth.” He also says, “Arise, shine, for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you.” The great symbol of the season of Epiphany is the star, the light that led the magi to Jesus. Light leads us into the very presence of God.

We are people of the light. What does that mean to us? We find clues in Mark’s account of the baptism of Jesus. John the baptizer proclaimed a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. He said, “The one who is more powerful than I is coming after me. I have baptized you with water; but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.” John had it all wrong. John thought that Jesus was about power. John and his followers anticipated a Messiah of power, one who could stand up to the Roman Empire, one who could meet force with force, one who could establish peace by means of the sword. John looked for a Messiah who would stand against the forces of evil and oppression.

Isn’t that what we do? We define ourselves by that which we are against. We are against terrorists. We are against those who would jeopardize our freedom or our way of life. We are against dictators and communists, against our enemies and those we fear. The problem with defining ourselves by what we are against is that we end up looking in the mirror only to recognize that we have become the enemy. We become so against someone or something that we demonize it so that we can destroy it. Once we decide to destroy it or them, we have become children not of light but of darkness.

In contradistinction to our way of being, Jesus does not stand against John the Baptist. He submits and receives the baptism of John. After this, Mark tells us that the heavens were torn apart and that a voice came from heaven saying, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” This is an important detail for several reasons, not least of which is that the Greek word translated “torn apart” is used only twice by Mark - here, and at the crucifixion, when the curtain of the temple is torn in two. Mark connects Jesus’ baptism to his death. Just as Jesus stood for the people rather than against them at his baptism, so he stands for them rather than against them at his death.

John told us that Jesus was powerful. However, when his enemies came to destroy him, he did not define himself by what he was against. He did not say, “I am against violence or terrorism and therefore I will resist it even if it means becoming violent myself.” Instead, Jesus said, “I am for peace. I am for love. And regardless of what happens to me, regardless of what you do to me, what I am for will govern my response and my behavior. And, under no circumstances will I demonize the enemy and resort to violence, thereby using what I am against in order to protect what I am for.”

On the first Sunday after the Epiphany, many churches will celebrate the sacrament of baptism. As we have said, baptism and crucifixion go together. We are not baptized into a culture that uses violence to combat violence or destruction to wipe away all threats. We are not baptized into a way of life that exercises power to control or protect. We are baptized into a way of living that uses love and peace as the means to bring about God’s vision for our world. Great spiritual leaders, from Gandhi to Martin Luther King, Jr. recognized that love is the force that ultimately will defeat the forces of chaos. Love is the light created by God in the beginning, given by God to God’s chosen people, and shared with us so that those who live in darkness can see the truth.

Imagine with me for a minute what our world would look like if millions of people in America and around the world said that they were no longer willing to fight violence with violence. What if millions said that they were no longer willing to stand against their enemies but rather would stand for love and peace. Would it work? Frankly, I do not know what would happen. However, I do know that the way of violence and hatred does not work, that responding to worldly power with worldly power does not disarm the evil that is around us, and that God calls us to a different way.

Speaking of millions of people admittedly is a little far fetched. So, let’s think instead about the dozens or even hundreds of people that comprise our spiritual communities. Or, let us start by talking about each one of us, about ourselves. What are you against? What gets you blood boiling. What creates passion such that you want to stand up and say, “No, I won’t stand for it”? Now think about what you are for. Are you for love? Are you for generosity? Are you for peace, justice, and those other things that we affirm in the baptismal covenant? If so, how can you use what you are for to make a difference with what you are against? How can you allow what you are for determine how you will respond to those whom you are against?

This does not have to be complicated. Are you against the colleague who gets under your skin? Are you against the mother in law who can be so annoying? Are you against the terrorists who threaten your way of life? Being against people can tear us apart, rob us of our joy, and take away our ability to live with the freedom of soul. Instead, try being for loving the colleague. Try being for loving the mother in law, try being for loving the terrorist. Let love determine your response. Be a person of light, of love, of conviction not against but for. Then, you and I will not become the enemy. We will not compromise what we are for so that we can fight for what we are for. That does not make sense. Jesus offers a different way. Jesus did not stand against those who crucified him. Rather, he was for love, for forgiveness, for peace. May all who are baptized into the light and love of Christ do likewise! Amen.

My Christmas Meditation - Luke 2:1-14

To the right is a picture of the Stalingrad Madonna, which features Madonna and child and the words: “Licht, Leben, Liebe” – “light, life, love.” Lieutenant Kurt Reuber, a German staff physician and Protestant pastor, drew the Stalingrad Madonna in December 1942 in charcoal on the back of a military map. He did so during the Battle of Stalingrad, perhaps the longest and bloodiest battle of the Second World War that cost the lives of hundreds of thousands of soldiers and civilians.
In a letter that accompanied the picture, Reuber wrote the following:

The picture looks like this: the mother's head and the child's lean toward each other, and a large cloak enfolds them both. It is intended to symbolize 'security' and 'mother love.’ I remembered the words of St. John: light, life, and love. What more can I add? I wanted to suggest these three things in the homely and common vision of a mother with her child and the security that they represent. When we opened the 'Christmas Door', as we used to do on other Christmases (only now it was the wooden door of our dug-out), my comrades stood spellbound and reverent, silent before the picture that hung on the clay wall. A lamp was burning on a board stuck into the clay beneath the picture. Our celebrations in the shelter were dominated by this picture, and it was with full hearts that my comrades read the words: light, life, and love."

In the midst of unspeakable horror, countless deaths, and suffering beyond anything that I can imagine, the Christ Child appeared to these German soldiers, offering them light, life, and love in the midst of darkness, death, and hatred. So to, the Christ Child appears to you and me at Christmas in the midst of whatever consumes us, whatever causes us pain, and whatever robs us of the joy and peace that God offers to us.

What sort of God is it that we meet at the manger? The image is a peaceful one: of well-behaved animals, of warmth and comfort, of shepherds guided by a star, of Mary and Joseph filled with hope and joy.

However, as peaceful as our composite sketch of the nativity might be, the story is not as neat and tidy as we might like. Mary was poor. In all likelihood, she was socially ostracized for becoming pregnant when she was not yet married. If you have ever worked on a farm you know that the manger, filled with barnyard animals must have been very smelly and dirty. The shepherds were at the bottom of the social ladder. Despite our attempts to sanitize and romanticize it, there is nothing powerful or prestigious or even clean about the nativity scene, nothing that would hint at the world-changing story that unfolded that night.

These details are important as we seek to answer the question: What sort of God is it that we meet at the manger? One answer came to me this past Sunday as I sat in the rector's forum at the church that I now attend. We were talking about Joseph and Mary. Someone said that God must have known that they would respond positively to God's call. I responded by disagreeing, saying that perhaps God did not know, that instead God chose to take a risk, to put God's plan in the hands of two unlikely people - not knowing how they would respond or how badly they might mess it up. That is the God that we worship and serve - a God who takes risks by calling us to do God's work in our world. Sometimes that risk pays off. Sometimes we mess it up. But God's grace is sufficient that even when we make a true mess, God continues to call us, to trust us, to take a risk on us. That is what happened on that Christmas so many years ago. God took a risk. God chose to enter human history in a unique and wonderful way by taking on human flesh. And that is precisely what God continues to do in our lives today!

At Christmas, we celebrate the mystery of incarnation, of God becoming one of us through the child Jesus, of God living among us, of God ultimately suffering and dying as one of us. We celebrate life, light, and love, knowing that the Christ comes into our world to penetrate the darkness, to bring life where there is death, and to love every one of us. That is worth celebrating!

Pointing with John the Baptist - Mark 1:1-8

To the right, you will find the image of Matthias Grünewald’s dramatic and disturbing altarpiece entitled, “The Crucifixion.” That may seem an odd choice for this second Sunday in the season of Advent. However, I chose it because of Grünewald’s very powerful depiction of John the Baptist who, with his long finger outstretched, points to the crucified Christ. Written in Latin above the Baptist’s arm are the words, “He must increase, but I must decrease.”

Mark’s Gospel begins, “The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.” For Mark, there is no infancy narrative. He jumps right into the drama of Jesus’ life, beginning with John the Baptist, the one appointed by God to point or prepare the way for the Messiah and the one who baptizes him. As Grünewald makes clear, John the Baptist does not point to a cute baby in a manger. Rather he points to the crucified Christ, the one who calls us, through his vulnerability and suffering, to lives of love and compassion.

At this time of year, we so easily find ourselves distracted by the sentimental, Hallmark nature of what we generically now call the holiday season. We become seduced, even manipulated, by its trappings. However, in the church, we hear the constant reminder that our observance is about much more than what the marketers feed us.

You may think that this makes the church the ultimate killjoy, forcing on us this season of Advent to rob us of our fun and games. That is not what Advent is all about. Advent is about hope. However, as the preacher Leonard Vander Zee once said, Advent hope “isn’t some pleasant narcotic that sets us nodding off in our Christian cocoon” (quoted in Lectionary Homiletics, Volume XVII, Number 1, 11). Instead, Advent hope points us to something far beyond ourselves. Advent hope provides us with a vision of what God’s world can and will be like. Advent hope is a big deal – it is about earth-shattering, life-changing transformation that has very little to do with what passes for the holiday season and everything to do with God’s vision for the future.

During Advent, John the Baptist serves as our agent provocateur, the one who comes to stir things up, to shake us out of our complacency, and to urge us to search our hearts. John the Baptist asks us whether we really want to accept what Christ offers, whether we really want to take on what Christ requires. To accept Christ means that we live by the commandment to love God and our neighbors. It means that we filter everything that we do through that double commandment. It means embracing Jesus’ call to love our enemies, to seek the transformation of evil not through violence and retaliation but through love and compassion. It means living in a qualitatively different way, convinced that the road to peace and fulfillment in this life is none other than the way of Christ.

If you want something deeper this year, something that goes beyond the parties and the presents, consider what it means to be a true disciple of Jesus, someone completely committed to embodying his teachings, someone determined to live according to our baptismal covenant that calls us to strive for justice and peace and to respect the dignity of every human being. Christian faith - Advent faith – is faith lived out in the world around us. It is not reserved for quiet Sunday mornings or for Christmas Eve worship. It pervades every part of our lives. It informs the shopping decisions that we make, the way that we treat other people, even the choices that we make about our time and our money. Why? Because we have looked ahead toward God’s future and we cannot sit satisfied with the present when we can contribute to the coming reign of God.

Martin Luther King, Jr. expressed his Advent hope in a speech that shook our nation some forty years ago. He said that he had been to the mountaintop and that he had seen the other side. He had a vision - a vision that compelled him to put every ounce of energy he had into its fulfillment.
When we catch the Advent vision of God’s future, we cannot accept the world as it is. We cannot sit back in self-satisfied comfort while so many in Africa die from HIV/AIDS, while so many live in extreme poverty, while our nation is at war, while so many experience homelessness and hunger. We must sit up and take notice of what is happening around us. That is why events like World AIDS Day, which took place on December 1, are important. It is why the UN's Doha Follow-Up Conference on Financing for Development that took place this week is so important. What the world’s leaders decide makes a tremendous difference in the lives of millions of people.

Every time we speak out against violence, every time we provide food for the hungry, every time we hug someone who weeps, every time we work for reconciliation, we move toward the Advent vision, the Advent hope of a world transformed.

Many of us attend church to find comfort, to be spiritually renewed, to gain strength to face the days ahead. We all have our struggles, our pains, and our wounds that need the comforting balm of God’s love. We are right to seek that comfort in the church, to know that God loves us and to worship within the context of a loving community. I am convinced that one of the primary ways that we receive healing and comfort is to look outward, to focus on the needs of the people around us, to believe that there is something at play in this world that is much larger than we are, that there is something for which it is worth giving, worth sacrificing, worth hoping, perhaps even worth dying. That is the Advent hope.

Just as Grünewald’s John the Baptist pointed definitively to Jesus, so too God calls us to point the way, to be the prophets of God’s love. As God called Isaiah and John the Baptist and countless others throughout history to point to the truth, so God calls us during this season of anticipation to point to the truth, not just with our lips but also with our lives. John the Baptist said that the way to prepare is to repent. Repenting sounds like an ominous thing. However, it really is quite simple. To repent simply means to turn around and walk in a different direction. To repent requires that we recognize our sins, that we ask forgiveness and make recompense, and then, that we change our direction so that we can walk towards the vision rather than away from it.

What might it look like for us to turn so that we can head more completely in the right direction? What in our lives would change if we were to walk in a new direction? John the Baptist points the way. Are we willing to follow? Amen.

Image: The Crucifixion, central panel of the Isenheim Altarpiece (from Wikipedia).

Christ the King Sunday - A Reflection on Matthew 25:31-46

Image via WikipediaSunday, November 23, is the last day of the liturgical year - Christ the King Sunday. Our Gospel describes the gathering of the nations at the end of time. The Son of Man separates one group from another, some to his right and the rest to his left. To those at his right he says: “Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.”

I can just imagine the confusion of these people. “What is he talking about? We did not do anything for him. We just went about our business, helping those around us, doing what we could to make the world a better place.” Therefore, they ask Jesus, “When did we do these things?” Jesus replies, “Just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.” Jesus continues by turning to those on his left. “Just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.”

Let us put all of this in perspective. Christ the King Sunday is the culmination of all that we have heard and learned about Jesus’ life and ministry. We expect triumph, a victory march, the final defeat of the forces of evil. What do we hear instead? We hear about Jesus’ compassion and his concern for the poor. We hear, unexpectedly, about how to participate in the Kingdom of God. Our passage says nothing about believing the right things, worshiping the correct way, or belonging to the right religion. Instead, it says that those qualified to participate are those who feed the poor, clothe the stranger, and care for the sick. How often we in the church find ourselves caught up in things of penultimate importance when God’s call is so clear.

The question is, how? How do we take care of the poor, the elderly, and the sick? We can serve meals at a soup kitchen, we can give turkeys for Thanksgiving baskets, and we can participate in mission trips – all very worthwhile ministries. We need to continue to do these things. There are other ways that we can take action as well, ways that will contribute to lasting, systemic change in our world.

As many of you know, in the year 2000 all 191 United Nations members pledged to meet the Millennium Development Goals by 2015. The first of these eight goals is to eradicate world hunger and extreme poverty by reducing in half the number of people living on less than one dollar a day and by reducing in half the proportion of people who suffer from hunger. Another goal is to halt and begin to reverse the spread of HIV/AIDS, malaria, and other major diseases.

What happens at the United Nations may seem very distant from Newport, RI. However, we will never meet these goals unless we see them as our goals, unless we see them as a clarion call to action. Working to meet these goals is one of the ways that we can participate in God’s work, in feeding Jesus by feeding those whom he loves. It is one way to fulfill the promise that we make in the baptismal covenant to respect the dignity of every human being and to strive for justice and peace among all people.

Even with endless news coverage of global events, it is still difficult to think beyond our own lives, beyond our own little part of the world. Yet, if we are to take seriously the words of today’s Gospel, if we are to take seriously the baptismal promises that form the foundation of our faith commitment, then we cannot be satisfied as long as millions of people live in extreme poverty. Let me suggest some ways that you and I can act to make the Millennium Development Goals a reality.

First, explore and support the work of Episcopal Relief and Development. In their words, they “address the United Nation's Millennium Development Goals through (their) food security and primary health programs, and (they) offer long-term solutions to help people sustain safer, healthier, and more productive lives.” This great organization belongs to us. It represents us throughout the world. Supporting it is one way that we can feed Jesus by feeding the poor.

Second, join the Episcopal Public Policy Network. The Network “represents to our nations lawmakers the social policies of the church established by the General Convention and Executive Council, including issues of international peace and justice, human rights, immigration, welfare, poverty, hunger, health care, violence, civil rights, the environment, racism and issues involving women and children.” If you join the network, you can participate in advocacy work, communicating with congressional representatives who you elected to make decisions that directly affect the plight of the poor in our country.

Three, check out ONE: The Campaign to Make Poverty History. ONE is an effort of Americans to rally Americans – ONE by ONE – to fight the emergency of global AIDS and extreme poverty. ONE calls on Americans to alleviate the suffering of more than one billion people throughout the world who struggle to survive on less than $1 a day. I invite you to consider doing what over two million Americans have already done – sign the ONE declaration: “WE BELIEVE that in the best American tradition of helping others help themselves, now is the time to join with other countries in a historic pact for compassion and justice to help the poorest people of the world overcome AIDS and extreme poverty. WE RECOGNIZE that a pact including such measures as fair trade, debt relief, fighting corruption, and directing an additional one percent of the U.S. budget toward meeting basic needs - education, health, clean water, food, and care for orphans - would transform the futures and hopes of an entire generation in the poorest countries. WE COMMIT ourselves - one person, one voice, one vote at a time - to make a better, safer world for all."

Finally, consider supporting Bread for the World (or any of the other organizations listened in the “Favorite Links” section of this blog), one of the founding organizations of ONE. Bread for the World is a nationwide Christian movement seeking justice for the world's hungry people by lobbying our nation's decision makers. I have met several times with representatives of Bread for the World. They are looking for members churches to work on their behalf. I hope that at some point we will become one! It is just one more way that we as individuals and as a faith community can make a difference in our world.

We often take poverty for granted. We have become jaded, believing that we cannot change anything. Yet, we can. Not only can we, but I believe that it is an essential and necessary aspect of our commitment to live as disciples of Jesus. It is a Gospel imperative. On Christ the King Sunday, we celebrate the power of God to change lives, and the power of the human imagination that, inspired by God, can make a profound difference in the lives of people who suffer. I invite you to join me in doing your part, in doing our part, to make extreme poverty and suffering a relic of the past so that the words of today’s Gospel will come to fruition in our lives. Amen.

Self-Forgiveness Begets Compassion

Image by Tonyç via FlickrIn order to free us for compassion toward others, Jesus calls us to accept his compassion in our own lives, to become gentle, caring, compassionate, and forgiving toward ourselves in our failure and need.
- Brennan Manning