For Salvation is Nearer

A sermon for the first Sunday of Advent, November 27, 2022

Trinity Episcopal Church of Morrisania, Bronx, New York

“In days to come the mountain of the Lord’s house shall be established as the highest of the mountains, and shall be raised above the hills; all the nations shall stream to it.”

The Highest of the Mountains

Today is the first Sunday of what?

… It can’t be Christmas shopping season, because that started at least two weeks ago. Today is the first Sunday of Advent, and in Advent the church looks forward to the coming of the Lord… not to the coming of the Christmas tree and presents, and not really to Christmas at all, even the “real Christmas” that some people say is under attack. Advent points to the ultimate coming of the Lord, as the collect for today says:

“That in the last day, when he shall come again in his glorious majesty to judge both the quick and the dead, we may rise to the life immortal…”

We think of that day as Judgment Day, a scary and dark time for anybody who has anything to be afraid of. Of course, most of those who really deserve to be scared think we are talking about somebody else. But this season we look forward to the final reckoning, when God’s justice is established—of course we want some details on that: who, what, where, WHEN?

Of course, religious folk turn to their Bible, and what does Jesus say?

Nobody knows.

“About that day and hour no one knows, neither the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father.”

Matthew 24:36

That’s such a disappointment—because you know, if we just knew exactly what was going to happen, then we would have so much power—we would know when to invest in the stock market, or where to live, or when to take vacation so that there won’t be any storms…

There are plenty of people who think that that is what religious faith is supposed to do—give you magical powers or special knowledge that take you outside of the ordinary problems of being human. And we see Christians all the time completely ignore what Jesus has to say today. They make pronouncements about the future of the world, or the future of the church, or their own personal future, using Scripture to claim that God is going to give them what they want right now, no matter how selfish and self-serving. These days, we often see this in the political arena with people running for office portraying themselves as God’s messengers instead of flawed human beings, like all of us.

Jesus says to be watchful, now and every day—the day of the Lord can be here at any moment. We often think that we know what will happen, or even what is happening. When I was a teenager, I was particularly susceptible to this kind of thinking: a good word from a teacher or a good result in a musical performance and I was going to be a tremendous success—maybe I would be a star at the Metropolitan Opera or President of the U.S. And if something went wrong, my life would be over, everything was a failure. As we grow up and mature, we get a bit of a handle on our expectations, but still the temptation is there to project that recent events will follow in straight lines… /  up  … or \ down . Or we look around us, and assume that possibilities are limited to what was, and things can never change.

But the real world is not like that. When something new and creative happens everyone’s expectations are turned upside down—no one predicted Martin Luther and the Protestant Reformation, neither could anyone envision that the most amazing music of the baroque period would be produced at its very end, by a conservative named Johann Sebastian Bach. The Day of the Lord overturns our expectations, our grandiose self-serving expectations, and our demoralized and discouraged expectations. The Kingdom of God comes, not when we want, or when we think the preparations are done—two women will be grinding meal together, one will be taken and one will be left… a baby is born of a teenage mother, and the universe is changed. When the pride of the powerful is at its height, their plans collapse. And in the midst of collapse and discouragement, love and sharing are set free to change the world.

I believe in the Day of the Lord, which we focus on in this season of Advent. The specifics, I do not know, any more than Jesus did… but that Day brings life and new things because God’s people are prepared in humility and joy to follow him into new possibilities.

In today’s lesson from his letter to the Romans, St. Paul says:

“For salvation is nearer to us now than when we became believers; the night is far gone, the day is near. Let us then lay aside the works of darkness and put on the armor of light.”

Romans 13:11-12

In him all the Fullness of God was pleased to Dwell

A sermon for the Last Sunday after Pentecost, November 20, 2022

Grace Church West Farms, Bronx, New York

“Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.”

It is a pleasure to be invited to be here with you at Grace Church this morning as we celebrate Harvest with you. We join to give thanks to almighty God for the bounty of the earth, for the pause after the seasons of the work of planting, cultivating, and harvesting, for the ability ­to relax and enjoy the fruits of the harvest. As we reflect on God’s generosity, we share those fruits with our fellow human beings, so that all may prosper and rejoice. We all live in the generosity of God—that generosity of his only Son, who came to live among us and gave even his life for our benefit.

Today is the last Sunday of the church year. Next Sunday is the First Sunday of Advent, the beginning of the new year, our expectation of the coming of Christ into the world. This Sunday is often called the Feast of Christ the King and on it we celebrate the kingship of Christ.

What does our Gospel reading say today about Christ the King?

“When they came to the place that is called the Skull, they crucified Jesus there with the criminals.”

That’s a very different kind of coronation than one might get at Westminster Abbey. He was picked up and tied to the cross by soldiers, and was helpless as they lifted him up to die of torture and suffocation. The sign said: “This is the King of the Jews.” I’m sure the Romans got a laugh out of that. And they taunted him, because he did not have the power that they’d normally expect from a king.

Yet Jesus was in control, but his kingship was never like that of earthly kings. He never looked to the power of the sword, or to some divine magic power to overcome the power of the world. The robber said, “Save yourself and us!” For that robber, like for many human beings, it’s all about how we can use power and escape the consequences of how we choose to live our lives.

But what did Jesus do when he was crucified? He prayed: “Father forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.” He died as he lived, bringing the mercy of God to all people. And that included those who use violence to ingratiate themselves with the powerful, thinking that is the way to comfort and security. What those people didn’t see was that they were killing the King of Glory, the true king who can bring true comfort and security. Jesus was praying for the soldiers, the politicians, the religious leaders, the mob, and for the two criminals who died with him, on either side of him.  Even for the one who wallowed in self-pity, the one who lashed out at Jesus, “Are you not the Messiah?” … “Father forgive them.” The king is the king of mercy, whose courage allowed him not to save himself, but to be there to bring God’s mercy.

The other criminal had the courage to face the truth—“Do you not fear God?” “We indeed have been condemned justly, for we are getting what we deserve for our deeds…”  The pain of crucifixion did not make the first one repent, and I doubt that it made the second one either more courageous or honest; yet right there he recognized the blamelessness and truth of Jesus.

Our reading from Colossians says of Jesus: “He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation … for in him all the fullness of God was pleased to reconcile to himself all things…” Reconciliation is often used as a cheap word. As if it simply means being nice and avoiding conflict. Reconciliation requires trust on both sides, and to achieve that requires honesty and humility in all parties. For Jesus, reconciliation is anything but cheap—he faced the violence and the hatred, and he was killed, tortured to death—there is no reconciliation without facing that truth; there is nothing cheap in accepting the truth and courageously owning up to it.

St. Paul continues: “And you who were once estranged and hostile in mind, doing evil deeds, he has now reconciled in his fleshly body through death…”  The mercy of God and reconciliation in Christ are not cheap, both require repentance and courage to accept the truth. And the criminal who had the courage to accept the truth about himself also had the courage to say to the King: “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” Deeply acknowledging our own place in the violence and injustice in this world, as this man did, takes courage; the courage to be humble enough to accept those hard realities about ourselves. But reconciliation requires a further step—the man turned toward Jesus and his Kingdom—the Kingdom of life, of justice, of reconciliation—the Kingdom of the God who resurrected Jesus Christ from the dead.

And Jesus said to that man: “Amen, I tell you. Today you will be with me in Paradise.” In Paradise—the image is of a garden. God’s garden. The garden as it was before the humans seized a fruit before it was ready, thinking that they would have the power of gods, the power that is only God’s. The image of Paradise is an image of life as it should be, as it might be from the point of view of God, in Jesus who was a man from God’s own point of view. Jesus extends a welcome into that garden, to that man beside him on the cross, and to all of us who seek his Kingdom. The cost is high, but it is within the grasp of each of us. The cost is mercy, honesty, repentance, love, and the courage to persist in following Christ when the temptation is strong to join the scoffers.

Jesus is the king we follow in real life. It is fantasy to be like so many who want to follow grandeur and wealth and power. The only truth and the only value in this world worth holding to is the compassion and faithfulness of our king. Being realistic means living for others, especially when it’s difficult and requires sacrifice. We rejoice because God has done that, and is doing that, for us.

He is the head of the body, the church;

he is the beginning, the firstborn from the dead,

so that he might come to have first place in everything.

For in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell,

and through him God was pleased to reconcile to himself all things,

whether on earth or in heaven,

by making peace through the blood of his cross.

Colossians 1:18-20

Not One Stone will be Left

A sermon for the twenty-third Sunday after Pentecost, November 13, 2022

Trinity Episcopal Church of Morrisania, Bronx, New York

“So make up your minds not to prepare your defense in advance; for I will give you words and a wisdom that none of your opponents will be able to withstand or contradict.”

As one who always writes out his sermons in full, this gives me pause.  Is Jesus really saying don’t prepare in advance? And how does that fit together with our collect for today, “Grant us to so read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest [the Holy Scriptures] that we may ever hold fast the blessed hope of everlasting life?”

Stones from the Temple after the Romans destroyed it

First, we should really look at the scriptures, especially the one in which Jesus says this. Jesus is in Jerusalem, talking with his disciples about the destruction of the Temple. The Temple was there—actually pretty new and solid looking—it had been rebuilt by Herod the Great, just a few decades before. Jesus said not even one stone would be left in place—utter destruction.  This section of the Gospel of Luke is a picture of chaos, violence, and fear.

By the time the Gospel of Luke was written down, the scenes in this lesson were actually happening to Christians.

The temple in Jerusalem had been destroyed by the Romans, and Christians were sometimes finding themselves dragged in front of magistrates and others, imprisoned, persecuted or beaten. Even St. Paul, the earliest writer in the New Testament, wrote some of his letters from prison.

So when Jesus says:

“But before this occurs, they will arrest you and persecute you; they will hand you over to congregations and prisons and you will be brought before kings and governors because of my name.”

Luke 21:12

…the readers of the Gospel of Luke knew that it was not just a flight of rhetoric. There were real things to be afraid of.  People who speak the truth in the face of these things can and do face danger—it’s not so different than two thousand years ago.

So Jesus said to the disciples, to the Christians of the late first century who were facing arrest and persecution: “This will give you an opportunity to testify. So make up your minds not to prepare a defense in advance.” Jesus had empathy for all these people, that is, he knew and felt how they felt. He took them seriously. But he wasn’t so sympathetic with their desire to be let off the hook, to escape the reality that was facing them. They were afraid, but Jesus addressed them as his disciples, not just students or followers, but as people formed by the discipline of Christ’s love, of the values of his compassionate courage, as people whose character is growing into the love of God—love not for self, but for all of God’s creation, especially those who are vulnerable.

When he says “don’t prepare your defense in advance,” what I believe Jesus is saying is that this is not about defending yourself at all, it is not about a plausible speech, it is about presenting yourself as Christ presented himself—an offering and sacrifice to God. The truth of God’s compassion does not make us any less vulnerable, it does not make the truth hurt any less. We are accountable for being Christians, for standing for the truth in compassion, for insisting on respect for the dignity of every person. This is in no way partisan. Every Christian is equally required at all times to stand up with compassion for peace and against indignities against anyone, particularly when the tide of group emotions is looking for scapegoats and victims.

In the earlier part of the lesson, Jesus warns the disciples, “Beware that you are not led astray; for many will come in my name and say, ‘I am he!’ and ‘the time is near!’ Do not listen to them.”  It is so easy to grab hold of plausible rhetoric, and people who promise the world, or even eternity, if you only follow them.  We certainly have seen that. As Christians, we follow Jesus, and Jesus alone. Yet how do we know what it really is to follow Jesus—to follow God, rather than just our own whims, or the persuasion of someone who wants us to accept their authority. I suggest that as you pray for the will of God, to pay attention to thoughts and inclinations that are generated by fear—pay attention when someone else is trying to encourage you to be fearful, and set that aside. Ask yourself instead, what would love call you to do? For God is Love.

In the long run, as we grow into Christ, our discernment of where God is calling us to go, and what love is calling us to be will converge into the same thing.  And perfect love casts out fear, as real as the fear may be—but that might take a while. That’s OK—the love of God is bigger than all of us.

So, it says, right here in the Bible: “Nation will rise up against nation, and kingdom against kingdom; there will be great earthquakes, and in various places famines and plagues; and there will be dreadful portents and great signs from heaven. … You will be hated by all because of my name. But not a hair of your head will perish. By your endurance you will gain your souls.”

In conclusion, let’s join once more and read today’s psalm, the First Song of Isaiah together in unison:

Surely, it is God who saves me; *

I will trust in him and not be afraid.

For the Lord is my stronghold and my sure defense, *

and he will be my Savior.

Therefore you shall draw water with rejoicing *

from the springs of salvation.

And on that day you shall say, *

Give thanks to the Lord and call upon his Name;

Make his deeds known among the peoples; *

see that they remember that his Name is exalted.

Sing praises of the Lord, for he has done great things, *

and this is known in all the world.

Cry aloud, inhabitants of Zion, ring out your joy, *

for the great one in the midst of you is the Holy One of Israel.

Canticle 9, Book of Common Prayer p.86

Remembering the Saints

A sermon for All Saints Sunday, November 6, 2022

Trinity Episcopal Church of Morrisania, Bronx, New York

With the eyes of your heart enlightened, you may know what is the hope to which he has called you, what are the riches of his glorious inheritance among the saints.

Today we celebrate the feast of All Saints, the great feast of the Church in which we celebrate what God has done among God’s people. The word saint refers to a holy person of God. The popular view is that only a few really extraordinary people are saints and the rest of us are, well … not. But Christ has made us all holy, not just a few superheroes. We are all the saints of God. Some people have inspiring stories, and are clear examples of how Christians might live. So, we have Saint Francis who loved the poor by being poor himself, or Saint Oscar Romero who cared for the oppressed by facing up to oppressors, or Saint Thomas Aquinas who helped the church think in new ways and adapt to new circumstances both by being the smartest and most careful thinker that there ever was, and by being a devoted and faithful follower of Jesus, writing beautiful hymns and prayers of thanksgiving. There is a lot of benefit in reflecting on the lives of such people, and seeing what a Christian life can look like for a prominent person.

But there are far more saints who are not prominent, who don’t get the Vatican stamp of approval, or get the title “saint” attached to their name. I know many. I’m looking at some of them right now. But I’ll tell you about one you don’t know and will never meet.

When I was out in California a few years ago working as the interim priest in a congregation, there was a woman who had no memory. I’ll refer to her as Jane, though that’s not her name. When I met her, she was in the memory unit of a nursing home. I went there because members of the church knew that she had been an important part of the congregation at one time, but they had lost track of her, because her family no longer had anything to do with the church. Someone in the church encouraged me to find out about her, so I asked her family who encouraged me to visit her.

What I understood about Jane’s life story was this. She was the office manager of a construction company, a single mother, raising two sons. By 1980, the business wasn’t doing well, but Jane somehow took it over and turned it around. By the time she retired and turned it over to her sons, it was one of the most successful paving, curb and gutter companies in Northern California and her family was very prosperous.

In the late 1980s, the Episcopal congregation in that small town had grown enough that they wanted to have their own church building. Jane was on the fundraising committee. And what church members told me, many years later, is that Jane told the church, “The only way we can ever get to our goal to get this building built is to dedicate ten percent of everything we raise to outreach!” And that’s what they did. When I was with them as their interim, they had a lovely, if modest, little campus with a church building, a parish hall building, a house that was converted to offices and classroom space, and a community garden. They loved their building, but their identity was in their outreach to the families who lived in their neighborhood, who were mostly working class, lower income people, often recent immigrants to the region.

When I met her, Jane lived in a darkened room and she literally had no memory. She barely responded to her name. But she could talk and understand spoken language. So, I told her that the congregation remembered her and was praying for her. I said I had been told that she was active in the church when their building was being built. And some of what I was saying seemed to register. And, as I visited Jane over the months that I was there, we would pray together—she would join in the words of the Lord’s Prayer as I said them. Though she couldn’t do it on her own, her faith helped her pray with me. I would talk with her about what was happening in the parish and the various people. Sometimes I asked her to pray for them. When I mentioned certain people, she would respond by saying something very specific about them. “She’s a brick!” she said about someone, who clearly was just that. “She took me to operas all over Europe with her!” I was struck by how, even though Jane had no active, present memory, when she made the association because I brought up a name, what she had to say about these people was filled with gratitude and Christian affection. Living mostly now, completely within herself, she was still praying. And she was still living a life of Christian love in extremely difficult circumstances.

The last time I saw Jane, not long before I left California, I asked her to pray for the vestry which had some difficult decisions to make at their meeting the next day. Jane had been on the vestry and was a very experienced and tough businesswoman. She looked me in the eye and said, “Don’t take any wooden nickels!” I still laugh with joy and gratefulness for Jane’s witness when I think of her.

We are surrounded by a cloud of witnesses. The communion of saints is a network of people of every time and place. We rely on one another and all the saints of every time, to maintain us in difficulty and in plenty. Their counsel may comfort us or call us to repentance. We give thanks to God for all the saints, famous and unknown, older and younger, close to us or far away. It’s in being humble enough to listen to those who are blessed: the poor, the hungry, the sorrowful, the reviled and marginalized, and yes, even our own children and grandchildren, that we ourselves join in the Kingdom of God and the blessedness of his saints.

Listen once more to what the Apostle says in our reading from Ephesians:

I have heard of your faith in the Lord Jesus and your love toward all the saints, and for this reason I do not cease to give thanks for you as I remember you in my prayers. I pray that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of glory, may give you a spirit of wisdom and revelation as you come to know him, so that, with the eyes of your heart enlightened, you may know what is the hope to which he has called you, what are the riches of his glorious inheritance among the saints, and what is the immeasurable greatness of his power for us who believe, according to the working of his great power.

Ephesians 1:15-19