Sermon (Fr. Cunningham) February 11, 2018

Today is sort of a housekeeping Sunday in terms of our readings.  What I mean by that is we are tying up loose ends so that we can get to the next place in the narrative.  And so what we see, especially with the Gospel, is the emphasis of one main point and that main point has to do with who Jesus is.  The reason for this housekeeping is this; Lent starts on Wednesday and as a result we need to have a good idea of the nature of Jesus before we get to that.  The Church Year and by default the Lectionary (that is the readings we are assigned for a given Sunday) work under the guise of a sort of Holy Amnesia, with us rediscovering the Gospel on a yearly basis.  The Church year begins on the first Sunday of Advent.  So the way that things are supposed to work is that we first learn of the coming of the Messiah back in early December, then we learn of the birth of the Messiah at Christmas.  This is followed by the idea that the Messiah came for the whole earth which we learn during Epiphany and so now in early February right before Lent starts we need to be told just who exactly this person is who will be crucified at the end of Lent on Good Friday.  As a result we get the story of the Transfiguration.  Those who put together the Lectionary did not call me, but I have always guessed that they chose this particular reading for the last Sunday of the season of Epiphany because it very compactly shows Jesus in all of his glory - the whole fully man and fully God business.

    In many ways the Transfiguration is a strange story.  Jesus takes James, Peter and John up to a high mountain.  And when they get up this high mountain, Jesus "was transfigured before them, and his clothes became dazzling white, such as no one on earth could bleach them."  Then, if that was not enough, he is joined by Moses and Elijah, which apart from being pretty neat it is also wrought with symbolism.  Moses is the giver of the Law; Elijah is the prophet who was bodily carried off to heaven before he tasted death.  And so by appearing with these two we see symbolically that Jesus is both the fulfillment and embodiment of the Law and of the Prophets.  And just in case that was not enough for us to figure out the identity of Jesus, God the Father gets involved in a very overt way by announcing, "This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!"  And so unless we are felling particularly thick today we should have a pretty good idea of who Jesus is; not only in his relationship to God the Father but in terms of the narrative of the Old Testament and the Jewish tradition from where the idea of Messiah comes.  And so now the question comes, what are we to do?  How does the full identity of Jesus change our lives? 

    I started off by talking about the divine amnesia that we are supposed to have because of the lectionary readings of the Church Calendar and in many ways I think it would be nice if this were literally true.  If we could have a sense of excitement and wonder as if we were hearing this news of Jesus for the first time; but most likely we have heard it so much that it has become somewhat mundane. And as a result of this familiarity we can act like those that Paul talks about today in 2nd Corinthians when he says, "the god of this world has blinded the minds of the unbelievers, to keep them from seeing the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ, who is the image of God."  In our case it is probably a case of having heard it all before that blinds us, but I think at various times and places we are all blinded to Christ as revealed in the Transfiguration by the various and sundry gods of this world.  And to understand what I mean by this let's start by defining our terms - most specifically what do we mean by god of this world?

    This may be confusing (or it may not) but I think what Paul is getting at in this phrase are not some ancient mythological god like Apollo or Athena but rather he means it in the sense of something accorded supreme importance, and that something which is accorded supreme importance is not God as revealed in the person of Jesus Christ.  A god of this world would be something that we put ahead of the one true God, and it could really be anything.  Putting something ahead of God is a very real danger to all of us and may be even more of problem because of the times in which we live.  Our present times are very noisy times; times in which there are so many things that compete for our attention.  And compete may be too docile of a word because many things scream and yell for our attention.  Most of us here are from the United States, and so here is just a quick example.  You may have noticed that most gas stations back home now believe that we cannot successfully pump our gas without some sort of music playing.  In fact, a number of our gas stations back in Oconomowoc, Wisconsin have upped the ante and have now added TV screens to the gas pump so that we don't have to ever be bothered with a moment of silence for some personal reflection. 

I was reading a study the other day by the psychologist Larry Rosen who has done research on the way our electronic era has refocused our brains.  In one study he found that when people put their phones down their brains actually produce bursts of cortisol, which is the hormone associated with the fight or flight instinct and is released in times of stress.  Which means putting our phones down causes anxiety.  We are worried that we might miss something.  And while I realize this is just one example, there are so many things that fight for our attention and when we ignore them they trigger things in us a feeling that we are missing something important.  How can the one true God compete with things that cause us anxiety and stress when we try to let go of them?

I have sometimes thought that if there were real gods competing for our attention it might actually make things easier.  And by real gods, I don't mean real in the sense that they actually exist, but rather I mean things like golden calves and fertility gods.  I would guess that if you found yourself on Sunday morning sacrificing a goat at the altar of Baal instead of going to Church you would probably have a pretty good idea that you were not Christian anymore.  But that is not how the gods of this world seem to work.  In my life as a parish priest, I have found that the greatest competition to Sunday church attendance is not devotion to another religion but is rather youth sports and nice summer days.  Parishioners will happily tell me that they didn't make it because its baseball season, or it was just too nice of a day to be spent indoors at a church service.  Neither of these are horrible and evil things to do, but they are things that get placed above the worship of the one true God. 

    In 1985 NYU Professor Neil Postman wrote his famous book entitled Amusing Ourselves to Death, in which he argued that our world resembled the world laid out by Huxley in Brave New World where people take a soothing drug known as soma.  Postman argued that television served this function, essentially keeping us fat, dumb and happy.  We replaced the pursuit of great things with a sort of sedentary comfortableness.  Now I don't want to get into full cranky old man mode and say that it is even worse today and we are all numbed to reality by various distractions and amusements, but I will say that we need to be careful.  We need to always guard against things that distracts us from God. 

    Today is a day when we are supposed to be in awe and wonder of the beauty and majesty of God.  And it may be hard to do because of both familiarity and because of other things which distract us from that reality, but this is ultimately the best and most wonderful thing that we can do.  God has never told us not to enjoy the beauty and the wonder of the creation that he has given to us, but has simply told us to love him first.  And this is not because God is a megalomaniac in constant need of affirmation, but it is because God knows that he is the only being in the universe capable of being the first love.  All the rest of creation will ultimately disappoint because it is not God.  Or as Isaiah puts it, "The grass withers, the flower fades; but the word of our God will stand forever."  And so as we prepare to enter the season of Lent we need to remember who Jesus is and that he is to be worshiped and adored above all others so that we may be his both now and forevermore.   

 

Sermon (Fr. Peay) February 18, 2018

“He was in the wilderness forty days, tempted by Satan; and he was with the wild beasts; and the angels waited on him.”

Oddly enough, I think the human condition is to be found in that verse from Mark describing Jesus’ sojourn in the wilderness. We’re somewhere between beasts and angels and are tested (which is another way to render the Greek word translated here as ‘tempted’). Existentialist philosophers will tell us that the essence of our human condition is our search for meaning. This search is echoed in something Richard Holloway, the head of the Episcopal Church in Scotland, said in his interesting book Looking Into the Distance: “We find ourselves as conscious beings in an apparently unconscious universe and wonder what it means. We know quite a lot about how we came about, but there is no satisfactory answer as to why we came about.” [p. 5]   So, the human condition is searching, whether for our proper place in the order of things, for meaning, for whatever. It seems that human beings are always looking.

I think that it goes back to the reality of our creation in the image (eikon) and likeness (omoiosis) of God. As a result we humans received by creation a way of existing resembling that of the persons (hypostases) of the Holy Trinity. Saint Augustine would remind us that we’re walking proof of the Trinity, since we’re tripartite beings made in the image and likeness of  the Triune God, so we’re body, mind and spirit. So, made in this way, we’re also searching for relationship. Because our basic nature desires community, socialization, call it what you will. We search because we need each other. We may have individuality, but that individuality is precisely what also allows us to live in community. The very goal of existence – at least the reason that God created us – is for communion, for relationship. I believe that’s why our human condition is searching and why we’re constantly testing ourselves and others – even God – along the way.

Lent is the season of the Church’s year that calls us to a time of self-examination and realistic assessment. These original forty days of purpose – as I like to call them – allow us to see where we are in our spiritual journeys and to see where we are in our relationships. Once we’ve taken stock, once we’ve centered ourselves, then we can do something about it.

Now, if we’re really honest with ourselves we’ll realize that deep-down inside us we really want to seek our own way. We often build up a belief system that allows us to follow what we want and not worry so much about what God or other people want, which is one of the reasons why it seems so hard to live out the Christian faith. We saw an example this week in the 18th school shooting in this new year down in Florida – someone searching for his own way, his own satisfaction, and with no concern for others.

The contemporary spiritual writer Beatrice Bruteau summarizes some of the beliefs we develop in her article, “Following Jesus into Faith.” She writes, identifying these beliefs: “’Health and beauty, money and power are necessary for happiness.’ ‘I am identified by my body, personality, and possessions.’ ‘My welfare is more important than yours.’ ‘No one willingly gives up power.’ ‘The world is here for us to exploit.’ ‘No one can be trusted.’ ‘There have to be winners and losers.’ ‘They hurt me, so I must get even.’ ‘I can’t feel good about myself unless I’m better than somebody.’ ‘Some people are supposed to dominate other people.’ ‘If everyone were good, life would be boring.’” [The Journal of Christian Healing 1988, p. 24]          

The tragedy of these systems we build is that they are so often unconscious ones. We’re not aware that we’re acting out of those beliefs – and there are others, to be sure – which keep us from living the life God made us to live. That’s why Lent is such an important time, because we’re a bit more mindful, more conscious or aware of the ‘hows’ and ‘whys’ of our behaviors. Classical Christian spirituality involved examining the conscience daily. Stepping back each day and looking at what we’ve done, how we’ve behaved and what our motives were. If we’re careful to do this, very often we can trace back our actions to one of these unconscious beliefs, or motivators. Once we become aware of them, hold them up to the light of the Way that God made us to walk and wants us to walk, we can get back on course. Sort of like that little voice when I use the navigator function on my cell phone, “you are now off-course.”  The informed Christian conscience is supposed to serve that function for us.

God built this conscience, this way of staying on-course into us. As Teilhard de Chardin the controversial Roman Catholic twentieth century paleontologist/theologian said, “We’re not human beings having a spiritual experience. We’re spiritual beings having a human experience.”  God demonstrated God’s willingness to renew the earth and humanity in dealing with Noah. What God extends to Noah is unconditional love and the human conscience is to be formed by and informed by that same kind of love.

The true goal of human life, the remedy for our human condition of seeking is found in that promise and in keeping it. God’s promise – early on – is “I am with you.” The remedy for the human condition is found in that promise of relationship, communion, with God – the Other – and with others. We’re to keep the promise by the way we live toward God and toward one another.

It’s that simple and that complex. It’s been right there in front of us all along, but we go looking, because that’s our condition. There’s a wonderful Hasidic Jewish story that speaks to this.

“There was a poor rabbi who lived in the city of Krakow. He lived on the street of the Lost Angel, in the last hovel on that street, with his wife and his four children. Since he was extremely poor, he dreamed every night of riches. But one night the dream was exceptionally vivid. He dreamt that underneath a bridge in the city of Warsaw there was a treasure. When he awoke in the morning, he excitedly told his wife and his children about his dream. He then packed food and clothes, and set off for the long journey to find that bridge, unearth the treasure, and be rich. He traveled many long days and long nights and finally arrived at Warsaw. It was just as the dream had pictured it, except for one thing. There was a guard on the bridge, a sentinel who paced back and forth. And so the poor rabbi, tired from his journey, fell asleep in the bushes. When he awoke, he rattled the bushes with his arm, and the guard spun on him: ‘You there, come here!’ He was a simple man so he did not run. He sheepishly came forward. The guard said, ‘What are you doing here?’ Being a simple man who would not run, he was a simple man who would not lie. He said, ‘I have dreamed that underneath this bridge there is a treasure, and I have traveled many long miles to find that treasure and be rich.’ The guard said, ‘That is strange! Just last night I, too, have had a dream. I have dreamt that in the city of Krakow, on the street of the Lost Angel, in the last hovel on that street, where lives a rabbi and his wife and their four children there is buried behind the fireplace a treasure. And I leave tonight to find it and be rich.’”

Look close to home to find the remedy to the human condition. Look to your relationship with God and with those around you. We need to remember that God is always close to us, we’re the ones who are far away. God, in Christ, left us the sacraments of Baptism and Eucharist as means of grace, constant reminders of our communion with God. Every time we come to this table, every time we receive these simple elements of bread and cup we’re reincorporated – re-embodied – into communion with the living God through the living Christ. In the sacrament of the table the Lord says to us again and again what Jesus heard, that we are God’s children – God’s son, God’s daughter – and that God is well pleased with us.

We don’t need to search, the answer is there -- the answer is here – in us, as individuals and as community. What Jesus preached on that long-ago day Mark records still holds true: “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news.” How then, dear ones, shall we live?

Sermon (Fr. Peay) Ash Wednesday 2018

“Ring around the rosy, pocket full of posies, ashes, ashes, we all fall down.”

When we hear that simple little rhyme that goes along with a child’s game the last thing that comes into our mind is a devastating plague. But, as we all quickly discover, looks can be deceiving. It is thought that this rhyme dates back to the time of the bubonic plague; the ‘ring around the rosy’ described the bubo, or lesion that developed as a symptom. Ashes spoke of the almost certain death for one so afflicted and the truth that, eventually, “we all fall down.” Morbid? No. It’s an attempt to overcome devastation and panic in the face of something we can’t control. It’s a means, like comedy or any number of things we use, to try to manage our rather unmanageable world.

                Now when I think of that rhyme my mind goes back to September 11, 2001 and the billowing, choking clouds of dust and ash that came from those devastated buildings. Ashes, ashes, all fall down. Annie Dillard captures something of the mood and spirit that sometimes overtakes us when we confront the ashes of our world.

Ashes, ashes, all fall down. How could I have forgotten? Didn’t I see the heavens wiped shut just yesterday, on the road walking? Didn’t I fall from the dark of the stars to these senselit and noisome days? The great ridged granite millstone of time is illusion, for only the good is real; the great ridged granite millstone of space is illusion, for god is spirit and worlds his flimsiest dreams: but the illusions are almost perfect, are apparently perfect for generations on end, and the pain is also, and undeniably, real. The pain within the millstones’ pitiless turning is real, for our love for each other – for the world and all the products of extension – is real, vaulting, insofar as it is love, beyond the plane of the stones’ sickening churn and arcing to the realm of spirit bare. And you can get caught holding one end of a love, when your father drops, and your mother; when a land is lost, or a time, and your friend blotted out, gone, your brother’s body spoiled, and cold, your infant dead, and you dying: you reel out love’s long line alone, stripped like a live wire loosing its sparks to a cloud, like a live wire loosed in space to longing and grief everlasting.

 Dillard’s words are powerful, but as she reels out the line she forgets that the one whose dream is our reality is also the source of love and waits for us. Out of the ashes of sorrow, of disappointment, when things seem gritty and ground to dust, that’s when we send out a line to God who catches it and who knows, because God cared enough to become one of us. Looks can be deceiving and God can come in ways we can’t even begin to imagine.

                Did you know that the World Trade Center held millions of dollars in gold down in its deep vaults? There were also millions of dollars in jewels there as well. In the midst of all those ashes, there was treasure. So it is with our lives. Gold gleams inside us in our will to do the right and to be loving people. The light dances on the jewels of our hopes and dreams. And the gold and jewels within us glitters even when they’re shrouded in ashes.

                Sometimes ashes indicate that something’s been reduced to it essential nature. Perhaps we need the ashes to remind us that things aren’t what they seem, that looks can often be deceiving and that God can do wonders in the midst of the ashes of our lives. Perhaps, too, we need those ashes to remind us of who we are and of what we’re made, so that we can get on with the business of growing into what we’re destined to become – united with God.

                Lent is a season of reflection, reconsideration, stocktaking, and priority making. Use the season to find the treasure of your heart – that is your heart. Use it to discover that things aren’t what they seem and that those ashes might just be concealing a treasure or be fertilizer for the next stage of your growth. Walk with Christ the path of the Passion and see the eternal now become present to you.

            You see, Lent is more than “give ups;” there are take ups, too. Taking up a renewed commitment to live our lives toward God and away from fear, or hurt, or jealousy can make for a holy Lent. For that matter, learning to realize, as Sam Wells has so brilliantly shown in his book GOD’S COMPANIONS, that we are to realize the abundance we have and not be constantly thinking that everything is scarce. Taking up the right attitude, the attitude that looks to God and others, and away from self, can make all of the difference in how we live, but also in how we feel. Taking up the opening of the treasures of our lives to the world around us

            Taking up a spiritual discipline for the 40 days of Lent can tune us up and make our lives more effective witnesses to the love of God, which this whole season is about. Lent calls us to be a bit more systematic in our daily prayer and Bible reading, or in attending services of worship. We have a tremendous heritage in the Anglican tradition, the BOOK OF COMMON PRAYER. We don’t need a lot of special books on reading the Bible and prayer – use the Prayer Book. The offices of Morning and Evening Prayer are designed to plunge us into Scripture. If you do the Psalms as they are set up in the BCP you’ll do all 150 every month. Working through the assigned readings will take you through the Old Testament once and the New Testament twice in the year. All by taking just a few minutes morning and evening to step aside and give some intentional time to God. Add to that doing an intentional “good deed” and we may set the stage for a whole new way of seeing ourselves and those around us. 

Putting our lives into the midst of God’s life is far more important than making a tick next to successfully avoiding chocolate for 40 days. After all, as the great father of the early Church, Irenaeus told us, “God’s glory, human beings fully alive.” Truly, God GLORIES in us, that’s why Jesus came among us. Lenten discipline is designed to make up more fully alive to God. The ashes we will receive are signs of a renewed commitment to be God’s people, and to follow Christ’s way. Out of ashes good things can rise.

                Ashes can be deceiving, indeed. I was in New York and saw a new building that rose where the World Trade Center stood.  A single, taller, tower marks the spot and life continues afresh. “Ring around the rosy, pocket full of posies, ashes, ashes we all fall down.” Ah, but for the Christian we discover that there is a different end to the rhyme. We may fall down, but we get up. We are a Resurrection people. Have a blessed and fruitful Lent.