"In the ninth month, the angel Gabriel was sent from God." "Gabriel" means "God's Strength." In the Hebrew tradition, Gabriel is one of four archangels. Since he appears to both Zechariah and Mary, we can include both stories of the announcements of the birth of Jesus and that of John the Baptist, in one reading, since they are related, and each story illuminates the other. The two stories parallel each other, establishing from the beginning the close relationship between Jesus and John, who are cousins, as we know.
It is interesting that God chooses to communicate with Zechariah and Mary, by an archangel. There is a suggestion here of the ancient idea that God, like a king, is too lofty, too special, too important, to communicate with ordinary humans directly. So God sends his messengers for him. Scripture has many accounts of God appearing in dreams, or visions, or through the voices of prophets and angels. Fear would be a natural response to such an appearance. So, Gabriel says to Zechariah and Mary, "Do not be afraid!"
It is worth noting that in the annunciation to Zechariah in the first part of Luke, chapter 1, the archangel speaks to Zechariah alone, who in turn communicates the news to his wife Elizabeth. Why the archangel couldn't have gone to Elizabeth directly is not clear, but presumably the writer of the Gospel wanted to emphasize the uniqueness of Mary's role. Gabriel, after all, doesn't address Zechariah with any title, but he does address Mary as "favored one," in our translation, or "full of grace," as we say in the Angelus. The Greek for this phrase is one word: "kecharitomene," which we can render as "graced" or "gifted" or "favored." It is a title unique in all the Scriptures, as far as I know.
Today's Gospel gives us some clues as to what Mary's uniqueness consists of. While, according to our translation, Zechariah is "terrified," Mary is merely "much perplexed." These descriptions are not casual or accidental. They show Mary to be in a more advanced, more mature spiritual state than Zechariah. Scripture says, in Proverbs, chapter 9, that "the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom," but fear is not the whole of wisdom, and fear must be passed through on the way to the state of receptivity, of openness to God's will, that Mary exemplifies. Mary's perplexity does not interfere with her ability to hear Gabriel's message; Mary's perplexity does not lead to disbelief, as apparently Zechariah's confusion does, since Gabriel upbraids Zechariah for not believing him. I think that there is an insight here, concerning a relationship between fear and unbelief, about which more could be said.
Gabriel says to Mary, "you have found favor with God." Again, this distinguishes Mary from Zechariah; it seems to me that Mary's fearlessness is, dare I say it, a precondition of God's favor. It is also the case, of course, that God's favor makes her fearlessness possible. One way or the other, God is preparing Mary for the great work he has for her. And Mary's response to this is not perplexity, but a question: "How can this be?" The archangel answers her, and Mary's reply is the simple statement, "Here am I, the servant of the Lord." This simplicity is another indication of Mary's uniqueness.
So, we have in today's Gospel reading, what amounts to a list of attributes that are typical Christian responses to the Nativity.
We are, or could be, always in expectation of the coming of the Lord, always in a God-centered state of mind, which, if I may put it this way, makes it possible for us to anticipate his coming, which is always in the future and always present as well.
God does not overwhelm us with his presence and power, but approaches us, as he approached Zechariah and Mary, in such a way as to make it possible for us to hear him. We need not necessarily feel fear, as Zechariah did, although perplexity is understandable, as it was with Mary. Our readiness to hear the message is the relevant attribute here.
The uniqueness of Mary is something we must always keep in mind. Her uniqueness is like our own. We are each bringing to birth continuously in ourselves the unique work that God is giving us to do. We are each graced, or gifted, or favored, and the Lord is with each one of us uniquely. He may not send an archangel to talk to us, but we remember that Gabriel's name means "God's Strength." God's strength is there for us one way or another, even when we don't recognize or perceive it.
Perplexity, confusion, questioning, are allowed. God does not expect us to go over like felled trees when he sends his archangel, in whatever form, to talk to us, to shake us out of our ordinary state of mind. The receptiveness, the openness of Mary to the message of God is not a weak passivity. Rather, she is strong enough to let the archangel see her confusion, and she is strong enough to question him. So should we be.
Mary exemplifies openness to God's word; she is able to hear the message of the archangel: "The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you." This is a promise, not just to Mary, but to all of us. The Holy Spirit makes it possible for all of us to bring God to birth in ourselves. The Holy Spirit makes it possible for each of us to continue God's work in the world, which is making present and real the Incarnation, in other words, making real the Nativity.
Note Mary's simplicity, the simplicity of Mary's response. "Here am I, the servant of the Lord." Really, this is the response of each of us, in the end. After all the perplexity, and confusion, and questions that we experience in the demands of life, and in hearing the word of God, in the end we reduce them all to the one thing, "Here am I." When we get to that point, then God, then the archangel, can really talk to us, then we really experience the message, then we bring to birth in ourselves that presence of God, that Incarnation, that Nativity, that he wills for each of us, and for the world.
"But she was much perplexed by his words, and pondered what sort of greeting this might be."
Amen.
Monday, December 19, 2011
The Announcements to Mary and Zechariah (Luke 1)
"But [Mary] was much perplexed by his words, and pondered what manner of greeting this might be."
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Christ the King (Matthew 25)
A homily on Matthew 25: 31 - 46. The Judgment of the Nations.
In the name of God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
Today's Gospel is as stern and clear in its meaning, as any text in the Scriptures. There is no way that we can interpret our way out of its plain teaching. There is no room for negotiation, no possibility of misunderstanding what our Lord is saying here. It is obvious what any people, any community or nation, who call themselves Christian, must do, in response to this teaching. This Gospel reveals what the kingship of Christ really means. And today, on the Feast of Christ the King, we have an opportunity to hear again from Christ our King, and to think again how we may respond to his word.
We notice that Jesus proclaims himself to be king and judge. Up until very recent times in Europe, kings and their people took it for granted that a king was both ruler and judge. And in some countries even today, the same understanding survives. Our Lord is making it plain that he is both ruler and judge, and his judgment, as today's Gospel tells us, is final.
"All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate people one from another, as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats." All the nations. Notice that there is no religious test here. Jesus expresses no interest in religion or theological opinions. Our Lord is not distinguishing believers from unbelievers, or one religion from another, or Jews from Gentiles. Instead, he distinguishes only between those at his right hand and those at his left. Those on the right hand "inherit the kingdom," and those on the left hand "depart...into the eternal fire." And the basis of our Lord's choice between the right and the left hand is a very earthly one: real-world responses to real, on-the-ground, this-world needs. "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." This list is repeated, and varied, four times in today's reading, first in the form of direct statements by our Lord, then in the form of questions by the righteous, then in negative form to the accursed, and then, lastly, as an abbreviated question by the accursed themselves. The repetitions and rephrasing emphasize just how important this teaching is. We are meant to remember the hungry, the thirsty, the stranger, the naked, the sick, and those in prison --not only are we to remember them, we are to take care of them.
The question of the accursed themselves is worth considering. "Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry or thirsty [and so on] and did not take care of you?" And Jesus says, "Just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me." Jesus is reminding us that he identifies with those in need, and he expects us to do the same. We can't naively expect to pay lip service to our Lord, to express all the proper religious and theological opinions, to take a minimalist approach to good works, and imagine that we have done all that our Lord requires of us. We remember that "all the nations will be gathered before him." Jesus does not expect his followers to favor him above all others, but to favor all those with whom he identifies.
How unlike earthly kingship, and earthly judgement, this is. Quite a lot of history is the story of rulers and practically everyone else doing the opposite of the behaviors described in today's Gospel. Even today over large tracts of the earth, the hungry are not fed, the thirsty are not given something to drink, the strangers are not welcomed, the naked are not clothed, the sick are not cared for, and prisoners are not visited. What passes for public policy in some parts of this purportedly Christian nation looks like an organized, systematic effort not to do any of this, unless ways can be found for various private interests to make money from it. Such efforts fall very short of what our Lord really requires of us.
What are we to make of "the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels" into which we are sent if we do not take care of people the way our Lord commands? At the very least, it is a clear statement of the uncompromising nature of the ethical code which our Lord is putting before us. Jesus does not allow exceptions, or any kind of distinction between one kind of person and another, or between one kind of need or another. There is no hint here of any kind of social Darwinism, an attitude which is becoming more common in our time, according to which the weak and needy are left behind, so that those who survive may benefit more. There is no suggestion here that some people are more equal than others, more deserving than others, more worthy of our attention than others. "All the nations" are equal before God. The "eternal fire" awaits those who deny this equality.
The "eternal fire" is a kind of negative reminder of what our true nature is. We are actually made for "the kingdom prepared for [us] from the foundation of the world." Our failure to live like citizens of that kingdom puts us at risk of being left out of it, of leaving ourselves out of the new heaven and the new earth. The "eternal fire" is, so to speak, the reverse of life in the Kingdom. If we wish to find ourselves in that Kingdom, we must keep our Lord's words clearly in mind, in which he identifies with the hungry, the thirsty, and so on. "Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these...you did it to me."
In the name of God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen. (24.XI.11. Adv., 25-6.XI.17.Adv.)
In the name of God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
Today's Gospel is as stern and clear in its meaning, as any text in the Scriptures. There is no way that we can interpret our way out of its plain teaching. There is no room for negotiation, no possibility of misunderstanding what our Lord is saying here. It is obvious what any people, any community or nation, who call themselves Christian, must do, in response to this teaching. This Gospel reveals what the kingship of Christ really means. And today, on the Feast of Christ the King, we have an opportunity to hear again from Christ our King, and to think again how we may respond to his word.
We notice that Jesus proclaims himself to be king and judge. Up until very recent times in Europe, kings and their people took it for granted that a king was both ruler and judge. And in some countries even today, the same understanding survives. Our Lord is making it plain that he is both ruler and judge, and his judgment, as today's Gospel tells us, is final.
"All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate people one from another, as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats." All the nations. Notice that there is no religious test here. Jesus expresses no interest in religion or theological opinions. Our Lord is not distinguishing believers from unbelievers, or one religion from another, or Jews from Gentiles. Instead, he distinguishes only between those at his right hand and those at his left. Those on the right hand "inherit the kingdom," and those on the left hand "depart...into the eternal fire." And the basis of our Lord's choice between the right and the left hand is a very earthly one: real-world responses to real, on-the-ground, this-world needs. "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." This list is repeated, and varied, four times in today's reading, first in the form of direct statements by our Lord, then in the form of questions by the righteous, then in negative form to the accursed, and then, lastly, as an abbreviated question by the accursed themselves. The repetitions and rephrasing emphasize just how important this teaching is. We are meant to remember the hungry, the thirsty, the stranger, the naked, the sick, and those in prison --not only are we to remember them, we are to take care of them.
The question of the accursed themselves is worth considering. "Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry or thirsty [and so on] and did not take care of you?" And Jesus says, "Just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me." Jesus is reminding us that he identifies with those in need, and he expects us to do the same. We can't naively expect to pay lip service to our Lord, to express all the proper religious and theological opinions, to take a minimalist approach to good works, and imagine that we have done all that our Lord requires of us. We remember that "all the nations will be gathered before him." Jesus does not expect his followers to favor him above all others, but to favor all those with whom he identifies.
How unlike earthly kingship, and earthly judgement, this is. Quite a lot of history is the story of rulers and practically everyone else doing the opposite of the behaviors described in today's Gospel. Even today over large tracts of the earth, the hungry are not fed, the thirsty are not given something to drink, the strangers are not welcomed, the naked are not clothed, the sick are not cared for, and prisoners are not visited. What passes for public policy in some parts of this purportedly Christian nation looks like an organized, systematic effort not to do any of this, unless ways can be found for various private interests to make money from it. Such efforts fall very short of what our Lord really requires of us.
What are we to make of "the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels" into which we are sent if we do not take care of people the way our Lord commands? At the very least, it is a clear statement of the uncompromising nature of the ethical code which our Lord is putting before us. Jesus does not allow exceptions, or any kind of distinction between one kind of person and another, or between one kind of need or another. There is no hint here of any kind of social Darwinism, an attitude which is becoming more common in our time, according to which the weak and needy are left behind, so that those who survive may benefit more. There is no suggestion here that some people are more equal than others, more deserving than others, more worthy of our attention than others. "All the nations" are equal before God. The "eternal fire" awaits those who deny this equality.
The "eternal fire" is a kind of negative reminder of what our true nature is. We are actually made for "the kingdom prepared for [us] from the foundation of the world." Our failure to live like citizens of that kingdom puts us at risk of being left out of it, of leaving ourselves out of the new heaven and the new earth. The "eternal fire" is, so to speak, the reverse of life in the Kingdom. If we wish to find ourselves in that Kingdom, we must keep our Lord's words clearly in mind, in which he identifies with the hungry, the thirsty, and so on. "Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these...you did it to me."
In the name of God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen. (24.XI.11. Adv., 25-6.XI.17.Adv.)
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Paying taxes to Caesar (Matthew 22)
A homily on Matthew 22 : 15 - 22.
In the Name etc..
"Then the Pharisees went and plotted to entrap him in what he said." Today's story is placed between the Parable of the Wedding Banquet, and the Question about the Resurrection from the Sadducees. Jesus has been speaking to large groups, made up of various elements of the population: chief priests, Pharisees, Sadducees, and a larger group simply described as "the crowds." Jesus's disciples appear as well. The Pharisees, the priests, and the Sadducees react with astonishment or resentment to Jesus's answers. The crowds apparently alarm the priests, "because," as it says in chapter 21 of Matthew's Gospel, "they [the crowds] regarded him as a prophet." The implication is that the "crowds" approve of what Jesus is saying, as apparently the priests and others do not. We remember that at this point in the Gospel, Jesus is in Jerusalem, and is approaching his trial and Passion. The "crowd" at this point is still with Jesus, but we know that soon, before Pilate, the chief priests will persuade them to turn against Jesus.
"Then the Pharisees went out and plotted to entrap him in what he said." Entrapment. We hear about entrapment of one sort or another all the time. Police officers pose as customers to entrap drug dealers and pimps. Journalists prod public figures into making indiscreet remarks -- a kind of entrapment, it seems to me. Criminals and con artists entrap victims in fraudulent schemes. Entrapment is a common technique of many people, no matter what side of the law they are on. And, often, it reveals behavior which deserves to be exposed.
The Pharisees clearly regard themselves as on the right side of the law, and Jesus on the wrong side of it, and they have made up their minds that they are going to collect the evidence. As far as they are concerned, Jesus is going to give them the evidence, out of his own mouth.
And so they approach Jesus. "Teacher, we know that you are sincere..." Do they? If they know that Jesus is sincere, then they must also think that he is guileless, that he could not possibly be aware of their own insincerity. The Pharisees actually describe Jesus accurately: "You teach the was of God in accordance with truth, and show deference to no one, for you do not regard people with partiality." If they are accurate in their description, there is actually no need to say so, since Jesus knows this already. So the Pharisees are trying to lower Jesus's guard, by approaching him in this apparently friendly, respectful way. But our Lord is not fooled by this, as he soon makes clear. He is ready for them.
The Pharisees ask, "Is it lawful to pay taxes to the emperor, or not?" Jesus replies, in true rabbinical fashion, with another question. "Why are you putting me to the test, you hypocrites?" Exactly the right question, of course. If Jesus is the person whom the Pharisees have just described him to be, there is no need to test him with such a question. They would expect, and get, a true answer. But of course, it is not a true answer that they want. They want an incriminating answer, which will spring a trap on Jesus.
"And they brought him a denarius. Then he said to them [again in true rabbinical fashion], 'Whose head is this, and whose title?' They answered, 'the emperor's.' Then he said to them, 'Give therefore to the emperor the things that are the emperor's, and to God the things that are God's.' "
Notice what is happening here. Jesus is not exactly answering the Pharisees' question -- "Is it lawful to pay taxes to the emperor?" The Pharisees expect a Yes or No answer, and they don't get one. Jesus, true teacher that he is, is not limited by his questioners' limitations, is not bound by their narrow view of what law may or may not be. The question also betrays a certain anxiety. If Jesus answers wrongfully about the emperor, it would not only put him in a difficult position, but them too. After all, what are they doing, asking a prominent teacher a question which could be interpreted as sedition, as indicating a possibility of disloyalty by anyone in the society?
So Jesus, aware of all this, is not drawn into their trap. "Give therefore to the emperor the things that are the emperor's, and to God the things that are God's." This distinction never occurred to the Pharisees, preoccupied as they likely are with staying on the right side of the emperor.
Is it a distinction which occurs to us? Or do we find ourselves, inadvertently I'm sure, like the Pharisees, putting our Lord to the test? Perhaps, sometimes, we do not want to give to God what is his? Or are we like the crowd, enjoying the spectacle of Jesus taking on the establishment, but, when the real choice comes, siding with the establishment in the end? Or do we get a certain enjoyment from watching a prominent teacher risking being entrapped by the law, without taking such a risk ourselves? Questions like these, and more, come to mind when I hear today's Gospel. It tests our own sincerity, our own openness to the teaching of Jesus. Are we merely to be amazed, like the Pharisees were, who "left him, and went away?"
In the Name etc..
Monday, September 5, 2011
Binding and Loosing (Ezekiel 33, Matthew 18)
A homily, on Ezekiel 33. 7 - 11, and Matthew 18. 15 - 20.
In the name of God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
"Truly, I tell you, whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven...if two of you agree on earth about anything you ask, it will be done for you by my Father in heaven. For where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them." Matthew 18, 18 - 20.
The whole of the eighteenth chapter of Matthew's Gospel is a collection of Jesus's teachings to his disciples. The chapter begins with the disciples' question to Jesus, "Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?" Jesus immediately makes it clear that greatness in the kingdom is nothing like greatness in the world that we know. And through the rest of the chapter, Jesus presents parables which lay out a way of life not at all typical of worldly greatness.
There are three themes in today's Gospel. The first them is indicated by the title that our translation gives this reading: "Reproving another who sins." The second theme may be called, perhaps, one of individuality. That is to say, the person being reproved is dealt with as an individual. And the third theme is that of the power of binding and loosing.
First, reproving another who sins. In the Gospel, we have come a long way from the understanding of sin that we hear about in the reading from Ezekiel. The Lord says to Ezekiel, "If I say to the wicked, 'O wicked ones, you shall surely die,' and you do not speak to warn the wicked to turn from their ways, the wicked shall die in their iniquity, but their blood I will require at your hand." In other words, if you don't warn the wicked, I'll let them have it, and you too! Then, the Lord goes on to say to Ezekiel, "If you warn the wicked to turn from their ways, and they do not turn from their ways, the wicked shall die in their iniquity, but you will have saved your life." In other words, warn the wicked and I'll still let them have it, but you will escape their fate. Here the wicked are addressed as a group, with no regard for them as individuals, and there are no second chances either. God here is announcing his warnings from on high, through a prophet, who, it appears, may or may not do exactly as God commands, so God threatens him too. Behind this story is an understanding of people only as members of a group, and of God speaking to them from a distance, as it were, through prophets, and none too gently either. We remember that this reading comes from a period many centuries before the time of Jesus.
But in today's Gospel, no one is warning the wicked from on high, from a distance, through the mouth of a prophet. Rather, one member of the community points out a fault to another. If that doesn't induce a change, two or three more come into the discussion. And if that doesn't help, the discussion moves to the whole community, to the church. And if that doesn't help, only then is the offender dealt with, by giving him the status of a Gentile, or, worse, a tax collector. Exclusion, not blood and death, is the punishment here. The tone is one of gentleness, patience, step-by-step efforts to root out an offence. Here the reproof is on an individual basis, and has nothing in common with the wholesale condemnation of a group, such as we hear about in the reading from Ezekiel. And in keeping with the second theme, that of individuality, it is remarkable, in a time noted for its tribal consciousness, that Jesus emphasizes the correct way to relate to a single individual, who is not identified with any group or type. Only after the community has exhausted all attempts at correction, is the offender identified with a group, and an outside group at that: Gentiles or tax collectors.
This aspect of the story can have meaning for us. We constantly hear about groups of one kind or another: ethnic, religious, interest groups, afflicted minorities of all sorts. Our Lord is reminding us that in the end it is the individual that counts, more than any general category to which he may belong. This must apply especially in the Church.
This brings us to our third theme: the power of binding and loosing. As the Gospel says, "Truly I tell you, whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven." Traditionally, this text is quoted in support of the power, received by the priesthood from the apostles and their descendants the bishops, to absolve sin. The text can also be understood as support for the sacramental authority of the priesthood generally. But there is a lot more to this text than this formal, somewhat narrow interpretation. We remember that Jesus goes on to say, "For where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them." The plain implication is that Jesus is not limiting his presence, and so by extension his authority, to the disciples in front of him, and to their successors the bishops. He is addressing the whole Christian community, in all times and places. He is also saying, it seems to me, that beyond the narrow authority to forgive sins, there is another teaching here. "Whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven," can be taken to mean that all our actions, all our choices, all our bindings and loosings, not just the formal sacramental ones, have consequences in this life and in eternity, and so we must take care what we bind and loose. Every action, choice, thought, deed, omission, have consequences for us and for those around us. Our Lord is giving his community enormous authority to influence the well-being of everyone in it, and beyond. Jesus has revealed the real freedom that we have, as individuals and as a group, to influence, almost to create, dare I say it, our eternal destiny.
"Truly I tell you, whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven."
In the name of God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
In the name of God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
"Truly, I tell you, whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven...if two of you agree on earth about anything you ask, it will be done for you by my Father in heaven. For where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them." Matthew 18, 18 - 20.
The whole of the eighteenth chapter of Matthew's Gospel is a collection of Jesus's teachings to his disciples. The chapter begins with the disciples' question to Jesus, "Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?" Jesus immediately makes it clear that greatness in the kingdom is nothing like greatness in the world that we know. And through the rest of the chapter, Jesus presents parables which lay out a way of life not at all typical of worldly greatness.
There are three themes in today's Gospel. The first them is indicated by the title that our translation gives this reading: "Reproving another who sins." The second theme may be called, perhaps, one of individuality. That is to say, the person being reproved is dealt with as an individual. And the third theme is that of the power of binding and loosing.
First, reproving another who sins. In the Gospel, we have come a long way from the understanding of sin that we hear about in the reading from Ezekiel. The Lord says to Ezekiel, "If I say to the wicked, 'O wicked ones, you shall surely die,' and you do not speak to warn the wicked to turn from their ways, the wicked shall die in their iniquity, but their blood I will require at your hand." In other words, if you don't warn the wicked, I'll let them have it, and you too! Then, the Lord goes on to say to Ezekiel, "If you warn the wicked to turn from their ways, and they do not turn from their ways, the wicked shall die in their iniquity, but you will have saved your life." In other words, warn the wicked and I'll still let them have it, but you will escape their fate. Here the wicked are addressed as a group, with no regard for them as individuals, and there are no second chances either. God here is announcing his warnings from on high, through a prophet, who, it appears, may or may not do exactly as God commands, so God threatens him too. Behind this story is an understanding of people only as members of a group, and of God speaking to them from a distance, as it were, through prophets, and none too gently either. We remember that this reading comes from a period many centuries before the time of Jesus.
But in today's Gospel, no one is warning the wicked from on high, from a distance, through the mouth of a prophet. Rather, one member of the community points out a fault to another. If that doesn't induce a change, two or three more come into the discussion. And if that doesn't help, the discussion moves to the whole community, to the church. And if that doesn't help, only then is the offender dealt with, by giving him the status of a Gentile, or, worse, a tax collector. Exclusion, not blood and death, is the punishment here. The tone is one of gentleness, patience, step-by-step efforts to root out an offence. Here the reproof is on an individual basis, and has nothing in common with the wholesale condemnation of a group, such as we hear about in the reading from Ezekiel. And in keeping with the second theme, that of individuality, it is remarkable, in a time noted for its tribal consciousness, that Jesus emphasizes the correct way to relate to a single individual, who is not identified with any group or type. Only after the community has exhausted all attempts at correction, is the offender identified with a group, and an outside group at that: Gentiles or tax collectors.
This aspect of the story can have meaning for us. We constantly hear about groups of one kind or another: ethnic, religious, interest groups, afflicted minorities of all sorts. Our Lord is reminding us that in the end it is the individual that counts, more than any general category to which he may belong. This must apply especially in the Church.
This brings us to our third theme: the power of binding and loosing. As the Gospel says, "Truly I tell you, whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven." Traditionally, this text is quoted in support of the power, received by the priesthood from the apostles and their descendants the bishops, to absolve sin. The text can also be understood as support for the sacramental authority of the priesthood generally. But there is a lot more to this text than this formal, somewhat narrow interpretation. We remember that Jesus goes on to say, "For where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them." The plain implication is that Jesus is not limiting his presence, and so by extension his authority, to the disciples in front of him, and to their successors the bishops. He is addressing the whole Christian community, in all times and places. He is also saying, it seems to me, that beyond the narrow authority to forgive sins, there is another teaching here. "Whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven," can be taken to mean that all our actions, all our choices, all our bindings and loosings, not just the formal sacramental ones, have consequences in this life and in eternity, and so we must take care what we bind and loose. Every action, choice, thought, deed, omission, have consequences for us and for those around us. Our Lord is giving his community enormous authority to influence the well-being of everyone in it, and beyond. Jesus has revealed the real freedom that we have, as individuals and as a group, to influence, almost to create, dare I say it, our eternal destiny.
"Truly I tell you, whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven."
In the name of God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Divine retribution (Jeremiah 15, Romans 12, Matthew 16)
A homily on Jeremiah, chapter 15, the Letter to the Romans, chapter 12, and the Gospel of Matthew, chapter 16.
In the name of God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
Today's readings from the prophet Jeremiah, Matthew's Gospel, and the letter of Paul to the Romans, present different ways of understanding God's supposed retribution for the failings of the human race. We can read the three passages as a progression from the confused and very human frustrations of the prophet Jeremiah, to the Gospel passage, in which our Lord calms and redirects the equally human responses of Peter. And the twelfth chapter of Paul's letter to the Romans lays out what the new life, of which our Lord is the foundation, looks like. And Paul reminds us against reverting to the kind of confusion and frustration to which Jeremiah gives voice in today's first reading.
We remember that Jeremiah says at the very beginning of the reading: "O Lord, you know; remember me and visit me, and bring retribution for me on my persecutors." Jeremiah wants to get even, because no one is paying any attention to him, believing, as he does, that no one is heeding the message which he believes he has from God. This reaction of Jeremiah's is understandable and natural. We all, I'm sure, allow this desire for revenge, for retribution, to come to the surface of our minds from time to time. And every day we hear news of one kind or another of violent retribution.
Jeremiah goes on to justify his demand, as though he is entitled to God's fulfilment of his request. E.g, "Your words become to me a joy....I did not sit in the company of merrymakers....for you had filled me with indignation." Note that Jeremiah thinks that his own indignation comes from God --- this kind of thinking is a constant temptation for religious people. Jeremiah here is a model of a kind of puritanical temperament, which imagines that to give up merrymaking and to adopt a grim religious outlook on life, particularly toward the merrymaking of others, is somehow to be doing the work of God. And Jeremiah wants this God to take revenge on the people that Jeremiah disapproves of.
But, notice what the Lord says here. "If you turn back --- if you, Jeremiah, turn back --- I will take you back, and you shall stand before me. If you utter what is precious, and not what is worthless, you shall serve as my mouth." In other words, it seems to me, God is turning Jeremiah away from his desire for retribution, back to Jeremiah's true calling: to utter what is precious. God promised only that the wicked and the ruthless will not prevail. God is turning Jeremiah away from his grim, vengeful attitude, back to his true calling: to be a prophet to the nations, as it says in the first chapter of the book of Jeremiah.
The theme of retribution comes up again in today's Gospel Our Lord says, "For the Son of Man is to come with his angels in the glory of his Father, and then he will repay everyone for what has been done." To understand this remark, we must look at the rest of the passage, which presents some interesting contrasts to the reading from Jeremiah.
Like Jeremiah, Jesus experiences suffering at the hands of others. But Jesus prophesies that this suffering will lead to his rising on the third day, and he does not demand retribution for it. Peter, in the very human state of mind which he exhibits so often, objects to this announcement. And Jesus tells Peter that he is setting his mind "not on divine things but on human things."
According to our Lord, to set our minds on divine things is the deny ourselves, to save ourselves by losing ourselves. We deny ourselves when we decide to follow Jesus where he leads us. It is in this paradoxical context of saving ourselves by losing ourselves, that we are to understand Jesus's remark about his Father repaying everyone for what has been done. We naturally, in our normal state of mind set on human things, think of repaying evil for evil. But there is far more than that going on here. The Book of the Revelation to John may be read as a fuller description of the coming of the Son of Man with his angels. And it culminates, as we know, in the coming of the New Heaven and the New Earth. Of course, this is far beyond the simple retribution which Jeremiah imagined.
Today's reading from Paul's letter to the Romans, the twelfth chapter, gives us another insight into what the Christian attitude to retribution really is. Paul writes, "Do no repay anyone evil for evil, but take thought for what is noble in the sight of all." Furthermore, Paul writes, "Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave room for the wrath of God, for it is written, Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord." In other words, we must not imagine, as perhaps Jeremiah did, that our indignation is God's indignation, and we must not act on it. God alone is judge of all, and he alone knows how to repay evil. Paul writes, "Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good." That is what God does, that is what God's retribution amounts to, and it is what he requires us to do.
Our translation titles this section of Paul's letter, "Marks of the true Christian." Indeed, it is a remarkable list of attributes. I spent some time recently attempting to compare my own behavior to this list. I think I almost achieved a few of them. My awareness of my own shortcomings reminds me not to be too quick to point out, even only to myself, the supposed shortcomings of others. All all three readings today remind us, one way or another, of what God is calling us to do an be. They remind us not to be too quick to call down God's wrath, when we have yet to attain the goals he has set for us.
In the name of God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
In the name of God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
Today's readings from the prophet Jeremiah, Matthew's Gospel, and the letter of Paul to the Romans, present different ways of understanding God's supposed retribution for the failings of the human race. We can read the three passages as a progression from the confused and very human frustrations of the prophet Jeremiah, to the Gospel passage, in which our Lord calms and redirects the equally human responses of Peter. And the twelfth chapter of Paul's letter to the Romans lays out what the new life, of which our Lord is the foundation, looks like. And Paul reminds us against reverting to the kind of confusion and frustration to which Jeremiah gives voice in today's first reading.
We remember that Jeremiah says at the very beginning of the reading: "O Lord, you know; remember me and visit me, and bring retribution for me on my persecutors." Jeremiah wants to get even, because no one is paying any attention to him, believing, as he does, that no one is heeding the message which he believes he has from God. This reaction of Jeremiah's is understandable and natural. We all, I'm sure, allow this desire for revenge, for retribution, to come to the surface of our minds from time to time. And every day we hear news of one kind or another of violent retribution.
Jeremiah goes on to justify his demand, as though he is entitled to God's fulfilment of his request. E.g, "Your words become to me a joy....I did not sit in the company of merrymakers....for you had filled me with indignation." Note that Jeremiah thinks that his own indignation comes from God --- this kind of thinking is a constant temptation for religious people. Jeremiah here is a model of a kind of puritanical temperament, which imagines that to give up merrymaking and to adopt a grim religious outlook on life, particularly toward the merrymaking of others, is somehow to be doing the work of God. And Jeremiah wants this God to take revenge on the people that Jeremiah disapproves of.
But, notice what the Lord says here. "If you turn back --- if you, Jeremiah, turn back --- I will take you back, and you shall stand before me. If you utter what is precious, and not what is worthless, you shall serve as my mouth." In other words, it seems to me, God is turning Jeremiah away from his desire for retribution, back to Jeremiah's true calling: to utter what is precious. God promised only that the wicked and the ruthless will not prevail. God is turning Jeremiah away from his grim, vengeful attitude, back to his true calling: to be a prophet to the nations, as it says in the first chapter of the book of Jeremiah.
The theme of retribution comes up again in today's Gospel Our Lord says, "For the Son of Man is to come with his angels in the glory of his Father, and then he will repay everyone for what has been done." To understand this remark, we must look at the rest of the passage, which presents some interesting contrasts to the reading from Jeremiah.
Like Jeremiah, Jesus experiences suffering at the hands of others. But Jesus prophesies that this suffering will lead to his rising on the third day, and he does not demand retribution for it. Peter, in the very human state of mind which he exhibits so often, objects to this announcement. And Jesus tells Peter that he is setting his mind "not on divine things but on human things."
According to our Lord, to set our minds on divine things is the deny ourselves, to save ourselves by losing ourselves. We deny ourselves when we decide to follow Jesus where he leads us. It is in this paradoxical context of saving ourselves by losing ourselves, that we are to understand Jesus's remark about his Father repaying everyone for what has been done. We naturally, in our normal state of mind set on human things, think of repaying evil for evil. But there is far more than that going on here. The Book of the Revelation to John may be read as a fuller description of the coming of the Son of Man with his angels. And it culminates, as we know, in the coming of the New Heaven and the New Earth. Of course, this is far beyond the simple retribution which Jeremiah imagined.
Today's reading from Paul's letter to the Romans, the twelfth chapter, gives us another insight into what the Christian attitude to retribution really is. Paul writes, "Do no repay anyone evil for evil, but take thought for what is noble in the sight of all." Furthermore, Paul writes, "Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave room for the wrath of God, for it is written, Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord." In other words, we must not imagine, as perhaps Jeremiah did, that our indignation is God's indignation, and we must not act on it. God alone is judge of all, and he alone knows how to repay evil. Paul writes, "Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good." That is what God does, that is what God's retribution amounts to, and it is what he requires us to do.
Our translation titles this section of Paul's letter, "Marks of the true Christian." Indeed, it is a remarkable list of attributes. I spent some time recently attempting to compare my own behavior to this list. I think I almost achieved a few of them. My awareness of my own shortcomings reminds me not to be too quick to point out, even only to myself, the supposed shortcomings of others. All all three readings today remind us, one way or another, of what God is calling us to do an be. They remind us not to be too quick to call down God's wrath, when we have yet to attain the goals he has set for us.
In the name of God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Multiplication of the loaves and fishes (Matthew 14)
A homily on Matthew 14: 13 -21.
In the name of God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
Today's Gospel story, also called the Feeding of the Five Thousand (although the crowd is larger, consisting of 5000 men, plus women and children) follows the story of the beheading of John the Baptist, and precedes the story of Jesus walking on water. We can understand this story as Jesus's response to the death of John the Baptist. His response reveals the nature and purpose of his ministry.
"Now when Jesus heard [of the death of John], he withdrew from there in a boat to a deserted place by himself." We may understand this, first, as a natural human reaction to a shocking event -- in this case, the death of his cousin, and, I think, his close friend John. We all have experienced this, wanting to be alone for a while to absorb news of a great loss, giving ourselves time to grieve, and readying ourselves to re-enter the world. Jesus, being as human as the rest of us, responds as anyone would to this loss. The story does not say how long Jesus is on his own, or where he went exactly, or even whether he actually went ashore somewhere. It seems that he is not on his own for very long. As the story says, without a break, "But when the crowds heard it, they followed him on foot from the towns." So the crowd is not letting Jesus out of their sight. Perhaps they don't want to lose him, since it is clear from the text that they have heard of the death of John the Baptist, and they know of the close relationship between him and Jesus.
There is another way of understanding Jesus's withdrawal in the boat. We remember that Jesus called his first disciples, who were fishermen, from their boats on the Sea of Galilee. There is a suggestion here of a return to the source, to the beginning of his ministry, to a refreshed and strengthened awareness of his ministry, where it began beside, and even on, the Sea of Galilee. There is a suggestion here of Jesus's returning to the source, to recover from the shock of John's death, before he continues his own work.
In any case, it is apparently not long before Jesus is back among the crowd that is following him. Our text says, "When he went ashore, he saw a great crowd; and he had compassion for them and cured their sick." Whatever Jesus says to them, if he says anything at all, is not recorded. But he has compassion, and cures the sick. His first response, in other words, after he absorbs the death of John, is to respond with compassion to the needs of others.
Compassion, real, practical, on-the-spot compassion, is the mark of every genuine spiritual teacher. Jesus's teaching, in this case, is demonstrated by his action. His compassion is manifested by his healing of the sick.
"When it was evening, the disciples came to him." The crowd has been with Jesus for some time. Sometimes Jesus relates directly to the crowd; sometimes he communicates through the disciples, and perhaps in this case the crowd is communicating with Jesus through them as well. It is interesting that, as far as we know, the crowd has not thought about food, until the disciples bring up the subject. What kind of gathering must this be, that people are neglecting food, just to be with Jesus? This is a reminder of how charismatic Jesus is, how attractive and engaging he is.
The disciples are taking thought for the welfare of the people around them. But their concern, at this moment anyway, does not extend beyond suggesting that the crowd be sent away, basically to fend for themselves. But Jesus is about to reveal to them and to the crowd what the relationship between Jesus and his disciples, and the disciples and the crowd, really is. The real relationship is something beyond mere crowd control, something well beyond making sure that the crowd, like a crowd at a sporting event, has time to get to the fast food concessions. No, something far different is happening in our story. The gathering is more than a crowd which has only to feed itself to be kept happy and calm. It is, instead, a harbinger, a sign of a new kind of community, which Jesus is bringing into being.
Jesus does not desert his people in their moment of need, and he is teaching his disciples not to desert them either. Jesus does not let his recent shock over the death of John get in the way of the situation in front of him. He is teaching his disciples to do the same. "Jesus said to them, 'They need not go away; you give them something to eat.'" Well, we can imagine the consternation of the disciples, when they say, "we have nothing here but five loaves and two fish." Still, the disciples are in the common-sense state of mind, which tells them that there isn't enough to go around, so nothing is to be done. Jesus is about to break through this ordinary mentality, and introduce a new way of thinking, and a new community, into the world.
"Bring them here to me," says Jesus to the disciples, and they bring him the bread and fish. And after Jesus blessed them, "all ate and were filled, and they took up what was left of the broken pieces, twelve baskets full."
It seems to me that we must accept this story at face value. Its plain meaning is inescapable, odd as it may sound to contemporary ears. Something completely unexpected has occurred, and it is our task to determine its meaning. What has occurred is that a new kind of community has come into being. Our Lord has made it possible for a large crowd to receive the sustenance that they need, and he is the source of it. "All ate and were filled, and they took up what was left over of the broken pieces, twelve baskets full." In other words, the event doesn't stop with the crowd in front of Jesus at the time. There is no limit to what is left over. The "twelve baskets full" are meant to refer to all the tribes of Israel. We may take this to mean all people, the whole human race, to whom Jesus is revealing himself. There is no limit to his generosity, there is no limit to his provision to all who come to him, there is no limit to his ability and willingness to respond, no matter what the circumstances.
So, healing the sick, and providing for the needs of all, are the main features of this story. They are typical of the ministry of Jesus, and they show us what is to be typical of the ministry of the Church. The new community which comes into being in this story is not one in which people are left to fend for themselves, but one in which the leaders take responsibility for those around them. Increasingly, somewhat, in our society, we see a tendency, a temptation, to abandon those in need, in favor of "every person for himself." Our Lord explicitly rejects this, when he refuses to let the disciples dismiss the crowd, to fend for themselves. This is not the way of our Lord, and it must not be the way of any society that wishes to call itself Christian.
We are called by our Lord, when the sick and the hungry are before us, to say, "they need not go away; we will give them something to eat." Our Lord will help us do this, if we let him. And if we do, there will be more food left over, as our story promises us.
In the name of God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
In the name of God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
Today's Gospel story, also called the Feeding of the Five Thousand (although the crowd is larger, consisting of 5000 men, plus women and children) follows the story of the beheading of John the Baptist, and precedes the story of Jesus walking on water. We can understand this story as Jesus's response to the death of John the Baptist. His response reveals the nature and purpose of his ministry.
"Now when Jesus heard [of the death of John], he withdrew from there in a boat to a deserted place by himself." We may understand this, first, as a natural human reaction to a shocking event -- in this case, the death of his cousin, and, I think, his close friend John. We all have experienced this, wanting to be alone for a while to absorb news of a great loss, giving ourselves time to grieve, and readying ourselves to re-enter the world. Jesus, being as human as the rest of us, responds as anyone would to this loss. The story does not say how long Jesus is on his own, or where he went exactly, or even whether he actually went ashore somewhere. It seems that he is not on his own for very long. As the story says, without a break, "But when the crowds heard it, they followed him on foot from the towns." So the crowd is not letting Jesus out of their sight. Perhaps they don't want to lose him, since it is clear from the text that they have heard of the death of John the Baptist, and they know of the close relationship between him and Jesus.
There is another way of understanding Jesus's withdrawal in the boat. We remember that Jesus called his first disciples, who were fishermen, from their boats on the Sea of Galilee. There is a suggestion here of a return to the source, to the beginning of his ministry, to a refreshed and strengthened awareness of his ministry, where it began beside, and even on, the Sea of Galilee. There is a suggestion here of Jesus's returning to the source, to recover from the shock of John's death, before he continues his own work.
In any case, it is apparently not long before Jesus is back among the crowd that is following him. Our text says, "When he went ashore, he saw a great crowd; and he had compassion for them and cured their sick." Whatever Jesus says to them, if he says anything at all, is not recorded. But he has compassion, and cures the sick. His first response, in other words, after he absorbs the death of John, is to respond with compassion to the needs of others.
Compassion, real, practical, on-the-spot compassion, is the mark of every genuine spiritual teacher. Jesus's teaching, in this case, is demonstrated by his action. His compassion is manifested by his healing of the sick.
"When it was evening, the disciples came to him." The crowd has been with Jesus for some time. Sometimes Jesus relates directly to the crowd; sometimes he communicates through the disciples, and perhaps in this case the crowd is communicating with Jesus through them as well. It is interesting that, as far as we know, the crowd has not thought about food, until the disciples bring up the subject. What kind of gathering must this be, that people are neglecting food, just to be with Jesus? This is a reminder of how charismatic Jesus is, how attractive and engaging he is.
The disciples are taking thought for the welfare of the people around them. But their concern, at this moment anyway, does not extend beyond suggesting that the crowd be sent away, basically to fend for themselves. But Jesus is about to reveal to them and to the crowd what the relationship between Jesus and his disciples, and the disciples and the crowd, really is. The real relationship is something beyond mere crowd control, something well beyond making sure that the crowd, like a crowd at a sporting event, has time to get to the fast food concessions. No, something far different is happening in our story. The gathering is more than a crowd which has only to feed itself to be kept happy and calm. It is, instead, a harbinger, a sign of a new kind of community, which Jesus is bringing into being.
Jesus does not desert his people in their moment of need, and he is teaching his disciples not to desert them either. Jesus does not let his recent shock over the death of John get in the way of the situation in front of him. He is teaching his disciples to do the same. "Jesus said to them, 'They need not go away; you give them something to eat.'" Well, we can imagine the consternation of the disciples, when they say, "we have nothing here but five loaves and two fish." Still, the disciples are in the common-sense state of mind, which tells them that there isn't enough to go around, so nothing is to be done. Jesus is about to break through this ordinary mentality, and introduce a new way of thinking, and a new community, into the world.
"Bring them here to me," says Jesus to the disciples, and they bring him the bread and fish. And after Jesus blessed them, "all ate and were filled, and they took up what was left of the broken pieces, twelve baskets full."
It seems to me that we must accept this story at face value. Its plain meaning is inescapable, odd as it may sound to contemporary ears. Something completely unexpected has occurred, and it is our task to determine its meaning. What has occurred is that a new kind of community has come into being. Our Lord has made it possible for a large crowd to receive the sustenance that they need, and he is the source of it. "All ate and were filled, and they took up what was left over of the broken pieces, twelve baskets full." In other words, the event doesn't stop with the crowd in front of Jesus at the time. There is no limit to what is left over. The "twelve baskets full" are meant to refer to all the tribes of Israel. We may take this to mean all people, the whole human race, to whom Jesus is revealing himself. There is no limit to his generosity, there is no limit to his provision to all who come to him, there is no limit to his ability and willingness to respond, no matter what the circumstances.
So, healing the sick, and providing for the needs of all, are the main features of this story. They are typical of the ministry of Jesus, and they show us what is to be typical of the ministry of the Church. The new community which comes into being in this story is not one in which people are left to fend for themselves, but one in which the leaders take responsibility for those around them. Increasingly, somewhat, in our society, we see a tendency, a temptation, to abandon those in need, in favor of "every person for himself." Our Lord explicitly rejects this, when he refuses to let the disciples dismiss the crowd, to fend for themselves. This is not the way of our Lord, and it must not be the way of any society that wishes to call itself Christian.
We are called by our Lord, when the sick and the hungry are before us, to say, "they need not go away; we will give them something to eat." Our Lord will help us do this, if we let him. And if we do, there will be more food left over, as our story promises us.
In the name of God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
The Wheat and the Tares (Matthew 13)
A homily on Matthew 13: 24 - 30; 36 - 43.
In the name of God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
It seems, almost, that there is no need to preach on today's Gospel, called, in the old translation, the Parable of the Wheat and the Tares. Our Lord teaches the parable, and interprets it as well, making its meaning hard to mistake. It is perhaps a little arrogant to add my own interpretation to that of our Lord. But it is still possible to comment on our Lord's words, and perhaps expand on a few of them.
First, a word about what a parable is. The word comes from the Greek 'parabole,' meaning 'comparison, illustration, analogy.' The verb 'paraballein' is put together from two words, 'para' and 'ballein,' which combined mean 'to throw alongside.' So our story compares two things, an agricultural illustration, and its interpretation as an analogy of the coming judgment at the end of the age.
Our reading begins, "He put before them another parable." The "them" in this case is a large crowd on a beach, to whom Jesus is speaking from a boat on the Sea of Galilee. The whole thirteenth chapter of Matthew's Gospel is what scholars call 'Matthew's Third Discourse' of our Lord, and it is made up entirely of parables. The Parable of the Wheat and the Tares is roughly in the middle of the chapter, and because it is in the middle, or central, position in the narrative, it is the key to understanding the whole discourse.
"The kingdom of heaven may be compared to someone who sowed good seed in his field." The "someone" of course, is the Son of Man, planting good seed in the farm, the garden, the world, the universe that God has created. This recalls the Garden of Eden, in Genesis chapter 1, where, according to verse 31, "God saw everything that he had made, and indeed, it was very good." The notion that all created things are good, and that God is planting and tending them, helping them to become what he intends them to be, is the idea behind our Lord's remark.
"An enemy came and sowed weeds among the wheat." There is an echo here of an old idea, that there are two forces in the world, one good and one evil, and that they work independently of each other. Our Lord does not mean this, of course. Christians know that evil is always subordinate to good, and that evil loses in the end. Today's parable proclaims this in verse 41, in which Jesus says that "the Son of Man will send his angels, and they will collect out of his kingdom all causes of sin and all evildoers." So evil is not independent of good, even though the enemy in the story may appear to be at the beginning.
"Master, did you not sow good seed in your field? Where, then, did these weeds come from?" He answered, "An enemy has done this." This is another way of asking the age-old question: How can there be evil in a creation which God himself has said is good? Our Lord says nothing more than, "an enemy has done this," and does not allow speculation or argument about it, but moves on immediately to the practical matter of working out the consequences of the enemy's activity.
And what does our Lord tell the slaves to do? Nothing! Nothing at all, but wait until the harvest. Wait until every plant is grown up. And then the reapers, not the slaves, will do what is required. So the slaves drop out of the story at this point. In fact, their only function has been to ask questions and to listen to the Lord's answers. They listen, as the disciples also listen, when it comes time for the Lord to interpret his own teaching. The point here is that questions and answers are necessary, since there is more to the story than the apparent surface meaning suggests.
Wheat and weeds, or wheat and tares, as the old translation has it, grow up together. It may not be obvious as they are growing, which is which. It is interesting that the household slaves claim to know the difference, and point it out to the householder. They are eager to gather up the weeds. But the householder, the Son of Man, prevents them. The message here is clear: do not be too quick to distinguish wheat from weeds, good from evil. Things may not be as clear as they appear to be, and the time may not yet be ripe, to be able to know the difference. We remember that the parable says that the reapers, not the slaves, will collect the weeds. The reapers will distinguish wheat from weeds, good from evil, when the appointed time comes, and not before. The reapers will make the correct distinctions.
We may equate ourselves with the slaves of the story. We may be eager to collect the weeds, certain that we can always distinguish weeds from wheat, evil from good. But our Lord is telling us that we are not qualified to make that distinction. Only the reapers are qualified, and they will act at the appropriate time.
"Then he left the crowds and went into the house." Up to this point, the crowd included the disciples, and they all have heard the same story. Now it seems to me that the meaning of the story is rather clear. There is no indication that the crowd did not get the point, and so our Lord does not find it necessary to explain the comparison, the allegory, to them. But the disciples need an explanation! This does not have to mean that the disciples are slow to get the point, but it does mean that the point needs reinforcing, and some details need looking at. The disciples, the Twelve, will preserve their Lord's teaching, and pass it on to the larger community.
"The one who sows the good seed is the Son of Man; the field is the world, and the good seed are the children of the kingdom; the weeds are the children of the evil one." It is easy to think that the good seed and bad seed are humans, and we would not be wrong to think so. But that is not all that they are. They can include angels and other spiritual beings, and all that holds the creation in bondage to decay, which Paul refers to in the Letter to the Romans. They can include all influences and phenomena that help make the world a better place, and all the things that work against it. There is no need, in other words, to suppose that the story is all about us, although we are certainly part of it. The reapers, the angels, at the end of the age, will collect "all causes of sin and all evildoers," which include, not just evil people, but "all causes of sin," whatever they may be, and which are not limited to humans only.
Overall, of course, our Lord's interpretation of the parable is a rather stern one. Good and evil coexist in our world, but this situation will not continue indefinitely. There will come an end, a judgment, the "angels...will collect out of his kingdom all causes of sin and all evildoers, and they will throw them into the furnace of fire, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth." Now, we have to be realistic about our Lord's words here. It is difficult for us to hear them, and more difficult for us to interpret our way out of them. At the very least, these words mean that "causes of sin" and "evildoers" have consequences in our world which cannot be ignored, and they have consequences in eternity as well. Our choices, our actions, do matter, to us and to others, and to God. We must do our best to ensure that our choices, our actions, help us and others, to become like "the righteous [who] will shine like the sun in the kingdom of their Father." This is a promise, remember. The righteous will shine like the sun! And it is a promise intended to benefit us and all who hear it. As our Lord says, "let anyone with ears, listen!"
In the name of God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
In the name of God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
It seems, almost, that there is no need to preach on today's Gospel, called, in the old translation, the Parable of the Wheat and the Tares. Our Lord teaches the parable, and interprets it as well, making its meaning hard to mistake. It is perhaps a little arrogant to add my own interpretation to that of our Lord. But it is still possible to comment on our Lord's words, and perhaps expand on a few of them.
First, a word about what a parable is. The word comes from the Greek 'parabole,' meaning 'comparison, illustration, analogy.' The verb 'paraballein' is put together from two words, 'para' and 'ballein,' which combined mean 'to throw alongside.' So our story compares two things, an agricultural illustration, and its interpretation as an analogy of the coming judgment at the end of the age.
Our reading begins, "He put before them another parable." The "them" in this case is a large crowd on a beach, to whom Jesus is speaking from a boat on the Sea of Galilee. The whole thirteenth chapter of Matthew's Gospel is what scholars call 'Matthew's Third Discourse' of our Lord, and it is made up entirely of parables. The Parable of the Wheat and the Tares is roughly in the middle of the chapter, and because it is in the middle, or central, position in the narrative, it is the key to understanding the whole discourse.
"The kingdom of heaven may be compared to someone who sowed good seed in his field." The "someone" of course, is the Son of Man, planting good seed in the farm, the garden, the world, the universe that God has created. This recalls the Garden of Eden, in Genesis chapter 1, where, according to verse 31, "God saw everything that he had made, and indeed, it was very good." The notion that all created things are good, and that God is planting and tending them, helping them to become what he intends them to be, is the idea behind our Lord's remark.
"An enemy came and sowed weeds among the wheat." There is an echo here of an old idea, that there are two forces in the world, one good and one evil, and that they work independently of each other. Our Lord does not mean this, of course. Christians know that evil is always subordinate to good, and that evil loses in the end. Today's parable proclaims this in verse 41, in which Jesus says that "the Son of Man will send his angels, and they will collect out of his kingdom all causes of sin and all evildoers." So evil is not independent of good, even though the enemy in the story may appear to be at the beginning.
"Master, did you not sow good seed in your field? Where, then, did these weeds come from?" He answered, "An enemy has done this." This is another way of asking the age-old question: How can there be evil in a creation which God himself has said is good? Our Lord says nothing more than, "an enemy has done this," and does not allow speculation or argument about it, but moves on immediately to the practical matter of working out the consequences of the enemy's activity.
And what does our Lord tell the slaves to do? Nothing! Nothing at all, but wait until the harvest. Wait until every plant is grown up. And then the reapers, not the slaves, will do what is required. So the slaves drop out of the story at this point. In fact, their only function has been to ask questions and to listen to the Lord's answers. They listen, as the disciples also listen, when it comes time for the Lord to interpret his own teaching. The point here is that questions and answers are necessary, since there is more to the story than the apparent surface meaning suggests.
Wheat and weeds, or wheat and tares, as the old translation has it, grow up together. It may not be obvious as they are growing, which is which. It is interesting that the household slaves claim to know the difference, and point it out to the householder. They are eager to gather up the weeds. But the householder, the Son of Man, prevents them. The message here is clear: do not be too quick to distinguish wheat from weeds, good from evil. Things may not be as clear as they appear to be, and the time may not yet be ripe, to be able to know the difference. We remember that the parable says that the reapers, not the slaves, will collect the weeds. The reapers will distinguish wheat from weeds, good from evil, when the appointed time comes, and not before. The reapers will make the correct distinctions.
We may equate ourselves with the slaves of the story. We may be eager to collect the weeds, certain that we can always distinguish weeds from wheat, evil from good. But our Lord is telling us that we are not qualified to make that distinction. Only the reapers are qualified, and they will act at the appropriate time.
"Then he left the crowds and went into the house." Up to this point, the crowd included the disciples, and they all have heard the same story. Now it seems to me that the meaning of the story is rather clear. There is no indication that the crowd did not get the point, and so our Lord does not find it necessary to explain the comparison, the allegory, to them. But the disciples need an explanation! This does not have to mean that the disciples are slow to get the point, but it does mean that the point needs reinforcing, and some details need looking at. The disciples, the Twelve, will preserve their Lord's teaching, and pass it on to the larger community.
"The one who sows the good seed is the Son of Man; the field is the world, and the good seed are the children of the kingdom; the weeds are the children of the evil one." It is easy to think that the good seed and bad seed are humans, and we would not be wrong to think so. But that is not all that they are. They can include angels and other spiritual beings, and all that holds the creation in bondage to decay, which Paul refers to in the Letter to the Romans. They can include all influences and phenomena that help make the world a better place, and all the things that work against it. There is no need, in other words, to suppose that the story is all about us, although we are certainly part of it. The reapers, the angels, at the end of the age, will collect "all causes of sin and all evildoers," which include, not just evil people, but "all causes of sin," whatever they may be, and which are not limited to humans only.
Overall, of course, our Lord's interpretation of the parable is a rather stern one. Good and evil coexist in our world, but this situation will not continue indefinitely. There will come an end, a judgment, the "angels...will collect out of his kingdom all causes of sin and all evildoers, and they will throw them into the furnace of fire, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth." Now, we have to be realistic about our Lord's words here. It is difficult for us to hear them, and more difficult for us to interpret our way out of them. At the very least, these words mean that "causes of sin" and "evildoers" have consequences in our world which cannot be ignored, and they have consequences in eternity as well. Our choices, our actions, do matter, to us and to others, and to God. We must do our best to ensure that our choices, our actions, help us and others, to become like "the righteous [who] will shine like the sun in the kingdom of their Father." This is a promise, remember. The righteous will shine like the sun! And it is a promise intended to benefit us and all who hear it. As our Lord says, "let anyone with ears, listen!"
In the name of God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
God as Trinity
In the name of God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
We have arrived at Trinity Sunday, commonly called, these days, the First Sunday after Pentecost. We call it Trinity Sunday, and we recall the old custom of numbering the Sundays after Trinity, for good and essential reasons: God is Trinitarian; the uniqueness of our religion is found in our faith in God as Trinity; our Christian lives are essentially and actually Trinitarian. We need to keep all this in mind, in our very challenging period, when our society and ecology are going through great changes, and when the traditional faith perhaps seems difficult to maintain. It is our faith in the Trinity which will see us through to our destiny of life in God, and which will help us cope with the changes overtaking us.
In my talk this morning I'm relying heavily on the great Orthodox scholar and bishop and apologist, Kallistos Ware, a convert to Orthodoxy from Anglicanism. In his writings on the Church and the Christian faith, he presents the Trinity and the teachings of the Church in a lucid, engaging, and very friendly ecumenical way, and so his remarks on the Trinity are, and should be, very congenial to Episcopalians.
First, a remark or two about the word itself. The word "trinity" was invented by Tertullian, in the early third century. It conveys the "three-ness" and "one-ness" of God in one word, "tri-unity." I can't think of any other word which so efficiently unites the two concepts of three-ness and one-ness, and at once expresses the new concept of the Trinity.
As Kallistos Ware says, "God is not a single person, loving himself alone...he is triunity, three equal persons, each one dwelling in the other by virtue of an unceasing movement of mutual love." Our destiny in relation to this mutual love in God is that we should become part of this relationship, this mutual love. One English word to describe this mutuality in God is: co-inherence. There is a Greek word which expresses the same idea, only more beautifully: perichoresis.
We believe in the Trinity because we believe that God is personal and that God is love. Each person, each of us, like the persons of the Trinity, becomes a real person only in relationship with other persons. We don't become fully personal, fully ourselves, in isolation. Love is not isolated either, but requires others, of course, to be love.
Kallistos Ware says, " God is far better than the best that we can know in ourselves." Consequently, and I summarize, if our best is the mutual love of one person for another, then we can attribute the same mutual love to God himself, who is the source of all that is best in us. God knows himself in a three-fold way, and we know ourselves, also in a three-fold way, in our personal relationships and in love.
The persons of the Trinity are not static categories, but living realities. We hear this in our first reading this morning, Genesis chapter 1, which presents God as making and speaking, about his Spirit moving on the waters, as speaking to humans. Thus God shows us, from the beginning, that his nature is in relationship with ours. So, in the analogies of God's activity in the physical world, and in our experience of love and relationship, we have our first glimpses into the nature of God as Trinity.
Jesus says, in John's Gospel, "I and the Father are one." In our Creed we say that Jesus is "true God from true God," "one in essence" or "of one being" with the Father. This is a way of saying that Jesus is equal to the Father, that he is God as the Father is God. The Church and the Creed and the Scriptures speak similarly of the Spirit, who is also God. Each is eternally a person, " a distinct center of conscious selfhood," as Kallistos Ware says. They are differentiated in their personhood and united in their being. The persons are distinct but not separate. They have only one will -- none of the three persons acts separately from the other two. And, in relation to the human race, they have only one will: the salvation of the human race and its perfection in the new heaven and the new earth.
The first person of the Trinity, God the Father, is the source, as it were, of the other two persons. The Father is the bond of unity of all three persons. We say that God is one because there is one Father. As we say in the Creed, the Son is begotten of the Father, and the Spirit proceeds from the Father.
The second person of the Trinity is the Son of God, the Word, the Logos. To express the nature of God as Father and Son is to express the love between them. It is through the Son that the Father is revealed to us. As Jesus says in John's Gospel, "No one comes to the Father, except through me." And we know from the Prologue to John's Gospel that the Creation came into being through the Son, and that the life and light of all creation comes through him.
The third person of the Trinity is the Holy Spirit, who shows us the Son, as the Son has shown us the Father. We know this from John's Gospel, in the story of Jesus's baptism by John. John the Baptist says, "He on whom you see the Spirit descend and remain is the one who baptizes with the Holy Spirit. And I myself have seen and testified that this is the Son of God."
Where is the Trinity in our lives? To begin with, the Trinity lives in prayer. We pray constantly in the name of the Trinity; we worship the Father through the Son in the Spirit; we call down the Holy Spirit on the bread and wine on the altar; and we call down the blessing of the Holy Trinity at the end of the eucharistic liturgy. The threefold "holy, holy, holy" is addressed to the three-in-one God. The Trinity prompts our prayer, aids our prayer, and is, so to speak, the object of our prayer.
In the Orthodox liturgy, before the clergy and people recite the Creed, they say or sing these words: "Let us love one another so that we may with one mind confess Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, the Trinity one in essence and undivided." "So that!!" The people show love towards each other, and then confess their faith. Mutual love is the requirement for, the basis of, our faith in the Trinity, and our faith in the Trinity gives strength and meaning to our mutual love.
So, as Kallistos Ware says, "human beings are called to reproduce on earth the mystery of mutual love that the Trinity lives in heaven...Each social unity -- family, school, work[place], parish, the [whole] Church -- is to be made an icon of the Trinity...each of us is committed to living sacrificially in and for the other; each is committed irrevocably to a life of practical service, of active compassion. Our faith in the Trinity [means] struggle at every level...against all forms of oppression, injustice, and exploitation. In our combat for...human rights, we are acting...in the name of the Holy Trinity." The Trinitarian life includes taking full responsibility for our society, economy, and ecology, so that we can make it possible for all to live in the world as God intends us to live. This is what the doctrine of the Trinity means. The Trinity is not merely a doctrinal statement to be believed in, in a formal sense, but is a reality to be fully lived in the world, according to our Trinitarian nature.
In name of God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
(2011 Adv.. 11.VI.17 TSP)
We have arrived at Trinity Sunday, commonly called, these days, the First Sunday after Pentecost. We call it Trinity Sunday, and we recall the old custom of numbering the Sundays after Trinity, for good and essential reasons: God is Trinitarian; the uniqueness of our religion is found in our faith in God as Trinity; our Christian lives are essentially and actually Trinitarian. We need to keep all this in mind, in our very challenging period, when our society and ecology are going through great changes, and when the traditional faith perhaps seems difficult to maintain. It is our faith in the Trinity which will see us through to our destiny of life in God, and which will help us cope with the changes overtaking us.
In my talk this morning I'm relying heavily on the great Orthodox scholar and bishop and apologist, Kallistos Ware, a convert to Orthodoxy from Anglicanism. In his writings on the Church and the Christian faith, he presents the Trinity and the teachings of the Church in a lucid, engaging, and very friendly ecumenical way, and so his remarks on the Trinity are, and should be, very congenial to Episcopalians.
First, a remark or two about the word itself. The word "trinity" was invented by Tertullian, in the early third century. It conveys the "three-ness" and "one-ness" of God in one word, "tri-unity." I can't think of any other word which so efficiently unites the two concepts of three-ness and one-ness, and at once expresses the new concept of the Trinity.
As Kallistos Ware says, "God is not a single person, loving himself alone...he is triunity, three equal persons, each one dwelling in the other by virtue of an unceasing movement of mutual love." Our destiny in relation to this mutual love in God is that we should become part of this relationship, this mutual love. One English word to describe this mutuality in God is: co-inherence. There is a Greek word which expresses the same idea, only more beautifully: perichoresis.
We believe in the Trinity because we believe that God is personal and that God is love. Each person, each of us, like the persons of the Trinity, becomes a real person only in relationship with other persons. We don't become fully personal, fully ourselves, in isolation. Love is not isolated either, but requires others, of course, to be love.
Kallistos Ware says, " God is far better than the best that we can know in ourselves." Consequently, and I summarize, if our best is the mutual love of one person for another, then we can attribute the same mutual love to God himself, who is the source of all that is best in us. God knows himself in a three-fold way, and we know ourselves, also in a three-fold way, in our personal relationships and in love.
The persons of the Trinity are not static categories, but living realities. We hear this in our first reading this morning, Genesis chapter 1, which presents God as making and speaking, about his Spirit moving on the waters, as speaking to humans. Thus God shows us, from the beginning, that his nature is in relationship with ours. So, in the analogies of God's activity in the physical world, and in our experience of love and relationship, we have our first glimpses into the nature of God as Trinity.
Jesus says, in John's Gospel, "I and the Father are one." In our Creed we say that Jesus is "true God from true God," "one in essence" or "of one being" with the Father. This is a way of saying that Jesus is equal to the Father, that he is God as the Father is God. The Church and the Creed and the Scriptures speak similarly of the Spirit, who is also God. Each is eternally a person, " a distinct center of conscious selfhood," as Kallistos Ware says. They are differentiated in their personhood and united in their being. The persons are distinct but not separate. They have only one will -- none of the three persons acts separately from the other two. And, in relation to the human race, they have only one will: the salvation of the human race and its perfection in the new heaven and the new earth.
The first person of the Trinity, God the Father, is the source, as it were, of the other two persons. The Father is the bond of unity of all three persons. We say that God is one because there is one Father. As we say in the Creed, the Son is begotten of the Father, and the Spirit proceeds from the Father.
The second person of the Trinity is the Son of God, the Word, the Logos. To express the nature of God as Father and Son is to express the love between them. It is through the Son that the Father is revealed to us. As Jesus says in John's Gospel, "No one comes to the Father, except through me." And we know from the Prologue to John's Gospel that the Creation came into being through the Son, and that the life and light of all creation comes through him.
The third person of the Trinity is the Holy Spirit, who shows us the Son, as the Son has shown us the Father. We know this from John's Gospel, in the story of Jesus's baptism by John. John the Baptist says, "He on whom you see the Spirit descend and remain is the one who baptizes with the Holy Spirit. And I myself have seen and testified that this is the Son of God."
Where is the Trinity in our lives? To begin with, the Trinity lives in prayer. We pray constantly in the name of the Trinity; we worship the Father through the Son in the Spirit; we call down the Holy Spirit on the bread and wine on the altar; and we call down the blessing of the Holy Trinity at the end of the eucharistic liturgy. The threefold "holy, holy, holy" is addressed to the three-in-one God. The Trinity prompts our prayer, aids our prayer, and is, so to speak, the object of our prayer.
In the Orthodox liturgy, before the clergy and people recite the Creed, they say or sing these words: "Let us love one another so that we may with one mind confess Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, the Trinity one in essence and undivided." "So that!!" The people show love towards each other, and then confess their faith. Mutual love is the requirement for, the basis of, our faith in the Trinity, and our faith in the Trinity gives strength and meaning to our mutual love.
So, as Kallistos Ware says, "human beings are called to reproduce on earth the mystery of mutual love that the Trinity lives in heaven...Each social unity -- family, school, work[place], parish, the [whole] Church -- is to be made an icon of the Trinity...each of us is committed to living sacrificially in and for the other; each is committed irrevocably to a life of practical service, of active compassion. Our faith in the Trinity [means] struggle at every level...against all forms of oppression, injustice, and exploitation. In our combat for...human rights, we are acting...in the name of the Holy Trinity." The Trinitarian life includes taking full responsibility for our society, economy, and ecology, so that we can make it possible for all to live in the world as God intends us to live. This is what the doctrine of the Trinity means. The Trinity is not merely a doctrinal statement to be believed in, in a formal sense, but is a reality to be fully lived in the world, according to our Trinitarian nature.
In name of God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
(2011 Adv.. 11.VI.17 TSP)
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
The Way, the Truth, and the Life (John 14)
A homily on John 14. 1 - 14. The Way, the Truth, and the Life.
In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.
The Gospel reading begins, "Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God, believe also in me." Recently, a friend related his religious history to me, describing how he became a Christian. "I realized one day," he said, "that I did not have to not-believe." These days, when Church and society are going through great changes, there is a lot of pressure on believers to renounce their faith, to suppose that their faith is an irrelevant leftover from a dead past, a survival of an ancient way of thinking what has nothing to offer us in the very challenging time in which we live. The hearts of believers, in other words, are troubled by unbelief, by doubt, and our Lord shows us how to overcome this trouble, this uncertainty. We do not have to not-believe.
The first thing our Lord says is, "Believe in God, believe also in me." We remember that Jesus is speaking here in what we call the Last Supper Discourses of John's Gospel. Jesus is speaking to the Twelve, and, through them, to us. The context is one in which the Twelve will no longer have the physical presence of their Lord to rely on, so he is preparing them for the new condition in which they will find themselves when he is no longer with them in the flesh.
"Believe in God, believe also in me." Jesus is asserting an identity between himself and the Father, and is equating belief in him to belief in God. There is, therefore, no separation between Jesus and God, and so no separation between the Twelve (and us) and God. This is a radical claim, and is what the Christian religion is about, what the Christian religion is for: to assert, encourage, maintain the connection between God and humanity, between the divine and human natures, which are united in Jesus. All through the reading, Jesus asserts his identity with the Father, and reminds the Twelve forcefully that they already know this, although they question it. And the reading reminds us that our destiny as well is to be with them, in the place that Jesus is preparing.
"In my Father's house there are many dwelling places." The surface meaning of this passage is that there are places for Jesus and his followers. The implied meaning is that there is room for everyone, not just those to whom Jesus is speaking, or those who hear about Jesus's teaching. There are many dwelling places; there is no restriction on the meaning of this passage. Jesus goes on to say, "I go to prepare a place for you...so that where I am, you may be also." This is not merely a spatial metaphor, about removing the Twelve from one place on earth to another place in heaven, where, presumably, Jesus has prepared the guest rooms in advance. "Where I am, there you may be also," means that the oneness, the intimacy that the Son has with the Father, will be shared with the Twelve, and, in fact, with the whole human race. Jesus alludes to this earlier in John's Gospel, chapter 10, verse 16, where he says, "I have other sheep that do not belong to this fold. I must bring them also, and they will listen to my voice." Jesus is telling the Twelve, and us, that his promises are not restricted to his hearers and his followers who know him, but they include others, all others, as well.
"Thomas said to him, 'Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?" This is Doubting Thomas, remember. Doubting Thomas, or 'questioning Thomas' in this case, is every one of us of good will who do not know what is going on. So Jesus answers his question directly, since he knows the real character of his questioner and makes allowance for him. Jesus can hear his sincerity, his doubt, his uncertainty, and answers Thomas as clearly and directly as he can: "I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life. No one comes to the Father except through me. If you know me, you will know my Father also."
Jesus makes less allowance for Philip, however. Philip announces that he has totally missed the point. He says, "Lord, show us the Father, and we will be satisfied." And Jesus expresses some irritation and impatience, it seems to me. "Have I been with you all this time, Philip, and you still do not know me?" This question is a warning to us -- have we been with Jesus for a long time, and we still do not know him? Are we letting ourselves miss the point? Are we finding ways to distract ourselves from the real nature and purpose of Jesus, which is to bring us to the Father? Jesus reminds Philip, and us, that he and the Father are one, and that Jesus's words and works confirm it. In our world, with all its challenges and distractions, we can allow ourselves to miss the point, as Philip does. But our Lord calls us back by reminding us that his words and works confirm the truth of what he is saying, and he promises that we will experience the fulfilment of it when we go to the place that he has prepared for us.
'The Way, the Truth, and the Life' are personal, human, incarnational. The Way is not a set of laws, principles, rules, guidelines, nor any kind of generalized theological abstraction. The Way, the Truth, and the Life are meant to be lived, and in the living of them we know Jesus, and the Father, as our Lord says. In our encounters with Jesus in the Scriptures, in the Church , in our interactions with one another, we are meeting, and knowing, the Father.
There is a temptation for Christians to think that these promises apply only to them, and, indeed, Jesus's language can be exclusive at times. But we must remember that, as Paul says in the Letter to the Romans, "God shows no partiality." To know the Father in Jesus is not the same thing as expressing pious opinions in religious language about the Father and the Son. We remember that God wills the salvation, the resurrection, the life in a new heaven and a new earth, for the whole human race. We Christians, when we allow that reality to shine through us, will light the way for all others to follow. Jesus invites us to do this when he says, "I will do whatever you ask in my name, so that the Father may be glorified in the Son. If in my name you ask for anything, I will do it." There is no restriction here on what we may ask. We are being called, empowered even, to ask him to help us to make him, and through him the Father, known to the whole world.
In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.
In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.
The Gospel reading begins, "Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God, believe also in me." Recently, a friend related his religious history to me, describing how he became a Christian. "I realized one day," he said, "that I did not have to not-believe." These days, when Church and society are going through great changes, there is a lot of pressure on believers to renounce their faith, to suppose that their faith is an irrelevant leftover from a dead past, a survival of an ancient way of thinking what has nothing to offer us in the very challenging time in which we live. The hearts of believers, in other words, are troubled by unbelief, by doubt, and our Lord shows us how to overcome this trouble, this uncertainty. We do not have to not-believe.
The first thing our Lord says is, "Believe in God, believe also in me." We remember that Jesus is speaking here in what we call the Last Supper Discourses of John's Gospel. Jesus is speaking to the Twelve, and, through them, to us. The context is one in which the Twelve will no longer have the physical presence of their Lord to rely on, so he is preparing them for the new condition in which they will find themselves when he is no longer with them in the flesh.
"Believe in God, believe also in me." Jesus is asserting an identity between himself and the Father, and is equating belief in him to belief in God. There is, therefore, no separation between Jesus and God, and so no separation between the Twelve (and us) and God. This is a radical claim, and is what the Christian religion is about, what the Christian religion is for: to assert, encourage, maintain the connection between God and humanity, between the divine and human natures, which are united in Jesus. All through the reading, Jesus asserts his identity with the Father, and reminds the Twelve forcefully that they already know this, although they question it. And the reading reminds us that our destiny as well is to be with them, in the place that Jesus is preparing.
"In my Father's house there are many dwelling places." The surface meaning of this passage is that there are places for Jesus and his followers. The implied meaning is that there is room for everyone, not just those to whom Jesus is speaking, or those who hear about Jesus's teaching. There are many dwelling places; there is no restriction on the meaning of this passage. Jesus goes on to say, "I go to prepare a place for you...so that where I am, you may be also." This is not merely a spatial metaphor, about removing the Twelve from one place on earth to another place in heaven, where, presumably, Jesus has prepared the guest rooms in advance. "Where I am, there you may be also," means that the oneness, the intimacy that the Son has with the Father, will be shared with the Twelve, and, in fact, with the whole human race. Jesus alludes to this earlier in John's Gospel, chapter 10, verse 16, where he says, "I have other sheep that do not belong to this fold. I must bring them also, and they will listen to my voice." Jesus is telling the Twelve, and us, that his promises are not restricted to his hearers and his followers who know him, but they include others, all others, as well.
"Thomas said to him, 'Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?" This is Doubting Thomas, remember. Doubting Thomas, or 'questioning Thomas' in this case, is every one of us of good will who do not know what is going on. So Jesus answers his question directly, since he knows the real character of his questioner and makes allowance for him. Jesus can hear his sincerity, his doubt, his uncertainty, and answers Thomas as clearly and directly as he can: "I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life. No one comes to the Father except through me. If you know me, you will know my Father also."
Jesus makes less allowance for Philip, however. Philip announces that he has totally missed the point. He says, "Lord, show us the Father, and we will be satisfied." And Jesus expresses some irritation and impatience, it seems to me. "Have I been with you all this time, Philip, and you still do not know me?" This question is a warning to us -- have we been with Jesus for a long time, and we still do not know him? Are we letting ourselves miss the point? Are we finding ways to distract ourselves from the real nature and purpose of Jesus, which is to bring us to the Father? Jesus reminds Philip, and us, that he and the Father are one, and that Jesus's words and works confirm it. In our world, with all its challenges and distractions, we can allow ourselves to miss the point, as Philip does. But our Lord calls us back by reminding us that his words and works confirm the truth of what he is saying, and he promises that we will experience the fulfilment of it when we go to the place that he has prepared for us.
'The Way, the Truth, and the Life' are personal, human, incarnational. The Way is not a set of laws, principles, rules, guidelines, nor any kind of generalized theological abstraction. The Way, the Truth, and the Life are meant to be lived, and in the living of them we know Jesus, and the Father, as our Lord says. In our encounters with Jesus in the Scriptures, in the Church , in our interactions with one another, we are meeting, and knowing, the Father.
There is a temptation for Christians to think that these promises apply only to them, and, indeed, Jesus's language can be exclusive at times. But we must remember that, as Paul says in the Letter to the Romans, "God shows no partiality." To know the Father in Jesus is not the same thing as expressing pious opinions in religious language about the Father and the Son. We remember that God wills the salvation, the resurrection, the life in a new heaven and a new earth, for the whole human race. We Christians, when we allow that reality to shine through us, will light the way for all others to follow. Jesus invites us to do this when he says, "I will do whatever you ask in my name, so that the Father may be glorified in the Son. If in my name you ask for anything, I will do it." There is no restriction here on what we may ask. We are being called, empowered even, to ask him to help us to make him, and through him the Father, known to the whole world.
In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
The Light of the World (John 9)
A homily on John 9: 1 - 41. Jesus gives sight to a man born blind.
In the name of God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
"As long as I am in the world, I am the light of the world." Jesus says, "I am the light of the world." This, as we know, repeats one of the great "I am" sayings of John's Gospel, in the previous chapter, chapter 8, where Jesus says, "I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness but will have the light of life." All of the "I am" sayings recall, and are meant to recall, the words of God to Moses in the burning bush, "I am who I am." The Septuagint, the Greek Old Testament, says, "ego eimi ho on," -- "I am he who is." And Jesus, in John's Gospel, begins his "I am" sayings in the same way: "ego eimi," "I am." The parallel, the equation in fact, couldn't be more clear. We are meant to understand that the Jesus of John's Gospel is "He who is" of the burning bush. And as the light of the burning bush enlightens Moses as to the name and the purpose of God, so Jesus, the light of the world, enlightens his disciples, and us, as to the name and the purpose of God in him.
The disciples ask Jesus, "Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?" The idea behind this question is very ancient: that illness, or affliction, or some other suffering out of the ordinary, is punishment for some crime or sin, known or hidden, of the sufferer, or even of others. This idea survives today, and even now there are people who believe this. But this idea is contradicted by the plain words of our Lord, in his immediate answer to his disciples, when he says, "Neither this man nor his parents sinned; he was born blind so that God's words might be revealed in him." In other words, affliction is not punishment, but opportunity for good --- opportunity, in this case, for Jesus to heal the blind man and to reveal more of himself. And affliction in general, if I may put it this way, is also an opportunity for us to do the work that God requires of us, whatever the situation may be. Jesus's words here remind us never to think of affliction as punishment, but require us to act as he did. As Jesus says, " We --- we --- must work the works of him who sent me, while it is day." While, in other words, we have opportunity.
Jesus "spat on the ground and made mud with the saliva, and spread the mud on the man's eyes." This detailed description of Jesus's technique, and of the next step, washing in the pool of Siloam, which was the actual moment the blind man received his sight, are reminders of the incarnational reality of the Lord. He, in his divine and human nature, works in and with the material world to achieve his ends. This event is no faith-healing, no exercise of mental technique, and is well beyond the power of suggestion. It is an event grounded in soil and water and human bodies, through which God works to reveal himself to us and to unite us to him.
Most of today's Gospel reading is taken up with an interrogation narrative. Question after question: Isn't this the beggar? Just how were your eyes opened? Who is Jesus? What do you say about him? How can Jesus do this on the Sabbath? Questions to the parents of the newly sighted man. The blind man questions his interrogators: Why do you want to hear it again? Do you want to become his disciples?
The mere fact that there are so many questions is itself part of the message of the story. Something new has come into the world, and people naturally question it. The given order, the situation that everyone is used to, is upended. But there are two kinds of questions. The first kind we may think of as clarification. Questions like this are to be expected, and are not wrong or bad questions, but help to bring Jesus and his work into clearer view. The second kind, from the Pharisees, are looking only for reasons to keep this new situation from becoming known, the better to preserve the old, comfortable order, and their power. They can see the threat in Jesus to their understanding of how things are supposed to be. And as we know, these questions lead to the expulsion of the newly sighted man from the synagogue. Questions, in other words, can lead us toward, or away from, the truth, toward the light, or away from it.
The two lines of questioning lead necessarily to Jesus's remark at the end of the reading, "I came into this world for judgment, so that those who do not see may see, and those who do see may become blind." The second half of this saying may sound harsh to us, but let us think about it, to discover what our Lord is getting at.
"Those who do see" are those who think that they already know who's who and what's what, that they have nothing new to learn about God's nature and purpose, that there is no need to experience anything new and so perhaps learn something new. Not even a miracle, one in which sight is given to a man born blind, is enough to open their eyes to God's work in Jesus. So, they think that they see, but they bring judgment on themselves, that is, they deprive themselves of the light that lightens every person, and that shines on in the darkness. They make themselves blind.
The blind man's role is a model for us. We can accept the free gift of new sight, of life in the light of God, without having to ask for it. We need to be prepared for the consequences of this, good and bad. And we can be certain that Jesus will be there at the end, when we leave behind what we think we see, and learn to see anew in the light which he is holding before us. "As long as I am in the world, I am the light of the world."
In the name of God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
In the name of God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
"As long as I am in the world, I am the light of the world." Jesus says, "I am the light of the world." This, as we know, repeats one of the great "I am" sayings of John's Gospel, in the previous chapter, chapter 8, where Jesus says, "I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness but will have the light of life." All of the "I am" sayings recall, and are meant to recall, the words of God to Moses in the burning bush, "I am who I am." The Septuagint, the Greek Old Testament, says, "ego eimi ho on," -- "I am he who is." And Jesus, in John's Gospel, begins his "I am" sayings in the same way: "ego eimi," "I am." The parallel, the equation in fact, couldn't be more clear. We are meant to understand that the Jesus of John's Gospel is "He who is" of the burning bush. And as the light of the burning bush enlightens Moses as to the name and the purpose of God, so Jesus, the light of the world, enlightens his disciples, and us, as to the name and the purpose of God in him.
The disciples ask Jesus, "Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?" The idea behind this question is very ancient: that illness, or affliction, or some other suffering out of the ordinary, is punishment for some crime or sin, known or hidden, of the sufferer, or even of others. This idea survives today, and even now there are people who believe this. But this idea is contradicted by the plain words of our Lord, in his immediate answer to his disciples, when he says, "Neither this man nor his parents sinned; he was born blind so that God's words might be revealed in him." In other words, affliction is not punishment, but opportunity for good --- opportunity, in this case, for Jesus to heal the blind man and to reveal more of himself. And affliction in general, if I may put it this way, is also an opportunity for us to do the work that God requires of us, whatever the situation may be. Jesus's words here remind us never to think of affliction as punishment, but require us to act as he did. As Jesus says, " We --- we --- must work the works of him who sent me, while it is day." While, in other words, we have opportunity.
Jesus "spat on the ground and made mud with the saliva, and spread the mud on the man's eyes." This detailed description of Jesus's technique, and of the next step, washing in the pool of Siloam, which was the actual moment the blind man received his sight, are reminders of the incarnational reality of the Lord. He, in his divine and human nature, works in and with the material world to achieve his ends. This event is no faith-healing, no exercise of mental technique, and is well beyond the power of suggestion. It is an event grounded in soil and water and human bodies, through which God works to reveal himself to us and to unite us to him.
Most of today's Gospel reading is taken up with an interrogation narrative. Question after question: Isn't this the beggar? Just how were your eyes opened? Who is Jesus? What do you say about him? How can Jesus do this on the Sabbath? Questions to the parents of the newly sighted man. The blind man questions his interrogators: Why do you want to hear it again? Do you want to become his disciples?
The mere fact that there are so many questions is itself part of the message of the story. Something new has come into the world, and people naturally question it. The given order, the situation that everyone is used to, is upended. But there are two kinds of questions. The first kind we may think of as clarification. Questions like this are to be expected, and are not wrong or bad questions, but help to bring Jesus and his work into clearer view. The second kind, from the Pharisees, are looking only for reasons to keep this new situation from becoming known, the better to preserve the old, comfortable order, and their power. They can see the threat in Jesus to their understanding of how things are supposed to be. And as we know, these questions lead to the expulsion of the newly sighted man from the synagogue. Questions, in other words, can lead us toward, or away from, the truth, toward the light, or away from it.
The two lines of questioning lead necessarily to Jesus's remark at the end of the reading, "I came into this world for judgment, so that those who do not see may see, and those who do see may become blind." The second half of this saying may sound harsh to us, but let us think about it, to discover what our Lord is getting at.
"Those who do see" are those who think that they already know who's who and what's what, that they have nothing new to learn about God's nature and purpose, that there is no need to experience anything new and so perhaps learn something new. Not even a miracle, one in which sight is given to a man born blind, is enough to open their eyes to God's work in Jesus. So, they think that they see, but they bring judgment on themselves, that is, they deprive themselves of the light that lightens every person, and that shines on in the darkness. They make themselves blind.
The blind man's role is a model for us. We can accept the free gift of new sight, of life in the light of God, without having to ask for it. We need to be prepared for the consequences of this, good and bad. And we can be certain that Jesus will be there at the end, when we leave behind what we think we see, and learn to see anew in the light which he is holding before us. "As long as I am in the world, I am the light of the world."
In the name of God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Transfiguration (Matthew 17)
In Nomine etc..
We celebrate the Transfiguration twice each year: on the last Sunday of Epiphany, and again on August 6. By a long process the Church arrived at August 6 as the date for the feast. Much later, Lutherans and others, from whom we adopted the practice, commemorated the event on the last Sunday of Epiphany. The two commemorations divide the year, and allow us to look at the whole year in their light.
We are on the brink of Lent, the period of preparation for the celebration of our Lord's Resurrection. It is as though we are standing on the mountain of the Transfiguration, gazing over a deep, somewhat shadowy, valley, and we catch a glimpse of a height on the other side of the valley, where we see the light of the Resurrection itself. The transfigured body of the Lord precedes the resurrection body of the Lord. It is, as it were, a "fore-lighting" of the Resurrection, and so it is appropriate that we commemorate it in this season, before Pascha. The Orthodox refer to the Transfiguration as "Small Epiphany," and so it is equally fitting that we bring the season of Epiphany to a close in this way, to remind us of what God has revealed to us at Epiphany, or Theophany, the "God-showing" of our Lord.
Let us look closely at today's Gospel reading. It begins, "six days later." This is not a casual, transitional phrase, a mere bridge passage in a long narrative. It is rather a clear reference to the Creation story in Genesis. It links Jesus and his Transfiguration to the Creation itself. It reminds us what the Creation is for: to reveal God in his glory, and to reveal our true nature in that Creation. We remember that on Day Six in the Genesis account, God created the living creatures --- the creatures on land, that is --- and the human race. So we are meant to understand the Transfiguration of Jesus as the appearance of the new humanity, paralleling the original appearance of humanity in Genesis.
"Jesus led them up a high mountain, by themselves." This is a reference to the mountain on which Moses received the Commandments. And as we hear, Moses appears on a mountain with Jesus, as does Elijah. Matthew is placing Jesus firmly in the tradition of the prophets. It is not the same mountain as that of the Commandments, but it is a place, a high place, where traditionally God and humans have met. To this day there are sacred high places, where people worship God. When I was in Athens, on my way to visit the monasteries of Mount Athos, the Holy Mountain, I visited the Acropolis. On my way up, I passed a church named for the Transfiguration, appropriately located on a mountain where divinity has been worshiped for thousands of years. And of course, the Mother of God is supposed to have visited Athos, the Holy Mountain, and in spiritual terms, she has.
"He led them up a high mountain, by themselves." By themselves. This event was not a mass spectacle, but a revelation of Jesus's glory to his closest disciples. The event become known to others only after the Resurrection, since Jesus told them not to tell anyone until that time. Jesus reveals his glory to his closest friends, who in turn reveal it to others. This is one of many patterns of Christian life. Jesus reveals himself to his first followers, who pass his revelation on to others, and so on down to us. And we in turn pass it on to those who come after us. This reminds us that Christian life is incarnational. God works in and through men and women to make himself known.
"And he was transfigured before them, and his face shone like the sun, and his clothes became dazzling white." This shining, this brightness, is not reflected light. It came from within Jesus, as sunlight comes from within the sun. Jesus in fact is this light, as the Gospel of John says, "I am the light of the world." Our Creed describes Jesus as "God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God." The light of the Transfiguration is what the Orthodox call the "Light of Mount Tabor," or, the "uncreated light." It is the light that Paul saw on the road to Damascus. It is the light which is God himself.
"A bright cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud a voice said, 'This is my Son, the Beloved!' " Commentators have typically regarded the 'bright cloud' as the presence of the Holy Spirit. Since the Father is present in the voice, and the Spirit in the cloud, and the Son is present in person, we may think of the Transfiguration as a revelation of the Trinity, locating the Trinity not in the speculations of later centuries, but in the lived experience and understanding of Jesus and the people around him. The Trinity was a living reality for them, and in celebrating the Transfiguration, we help to make it a living reality for ourselves and others.
Liturgy, it seems to me, is a kind of Transfiguration. We hear the Father's Word in Scripture, we believe that where two or three are gathered in Jesus's name, he is present, and we call down the Holy Spirit on ourselves and upon the gifts on the altar, to effect the transformation that we are called to make real in our lives. Symbolically speaking, the vestments of the clergy are the dazzling garments of Jesus on the mountain, the incense is the cloud from which God speaks, and we are the disciples on the mountain experiencing the marvelous vision.
I don't know whether we are "overcome by fear" as the disciples were, but I do know that the disciples are not allowed to remain in fear for long, as our text says, "Jesus came and touched them, saying, 'Get up, and do not be afraid.'"
I don't know whether we are "overcome by fear" as the disciples were, but I do know that the disciples are not allowed to remain in fear for long, as our text says, "Jesus came and touched them, saying, 'Get up, and do not be afraid.'"
And likewise we are not allowed to remain in fear, and all it takes is the touch of our Lord to release us. The fear that we are talking about here is not dark terror, but rather awe, wonder, astonishment, and the realization that something far greater than the disciples, than us, is present. Such an experience can be so wonderful that we want to stay in it. But our Lord does not allow that to happen. The mere touch of Jesus snaps the disciples out of it. And the touch of Jesus in Holy Communion snaps us out of it, to bring us back to the daily world in which we live and work. We don't bask in the light, but we take it with us out into the world, as the disciples did, after the Resurrection as Jesus commanded them.
So we return to where we began, on the brink of Lent. May the light of the transfigured Christ guide us through this season, that we may more readily perceive, and joyfully celebrate, the light of the resurrected Christ.
In Nomine etc..
In Nomine etc..
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