Author: St. John's Episcopal Church

4/10/20

            There was a movie that came out in 1980 called “The Long Good Friday”.  It was about British gangsters, and was a wonderful film; but it comes to my mind on this day not because of anything that happens in the film, but simply because of the title.  Our community, our country, and our world are living through a time of fear, and anxiety, and a sense of helplessness, and we can’t see the end of it.  It feels like a long Good Friday.

            Well, it’s not that.  Let’s get our bearings: let’s remember who we are, and what we’re doing here.  The coronavirus pandemic is a terrible affliction on us all, it’s causing massive suffering around the world – especially among the poor and the powerless), and it’s going to last what seems like a long time.  

But it will pass.  And this day – Good Friday – is something else; it’s a day on which, as people of faith, we give our attention to something infinitely greater.   This is the day on which we behold what, for us Christians, is the great mystery of human existence.  Today we behold the one who came to tell us that the kingdom of God – the world that proceeds directly from God’s being, a world of love and peace and joy and justice and hope – today we behold the one who came to tells that that world can be here, now, among us.  Today we behold the one who came here to tell us that and to show us how to live that way: how to open ourselves to God’s kingdom that is right here waiting to happen. Today we behold that one whose life, whose whole being, was dedicated to that purpose; and to doing it purely out of love of God, and love for us.  Today we behold that one whom this world chose to reward for all of that with death on the cross.  Today we stand at the foot of the cross; we behold, and we mourn.  And we mourn that the world does it over and over and over again.

            And when we say that about “the world”, we should be careful not to kid ourselves about something.  I was sorry to miss our regular Palm Sunday this year (I doubt there’s been another Palm Sunday in the last 237 years when there wasn’t a congregation worshipping in this building.)  I was sorry for all the reasons we’re coming to know all too well about how we miss doing church with each other; but I was especially sorry because that particular service contains what for me is one of the single most powerful moments in the church year.  It’s the moment when, in the reading of the passion story, in which a number of us speak individual parts, when Pilate asks the crowd what he should do with Jesus, it’s the entire congregation – clergy included, all of us – who shouts, “Crucify him!”

            It’s so powerful to me because, in that moment, we own the fact that we do it.  Not somebody else – not “they” – it is we who condemn Jesus to death on the cross.  And if that sounds too extreme, if we think we wouldn’t have done that 2000 years ago, we should think again.  We should think of all the times in our lives when the new life of God’s kingdom has been on our threshold, staring us in the face, waiting to be let in, and we’ve either ignored it, or actively shut the door: out of ignorance, or unwillingness to be inconvenienced, or simply because it was new, and unfamiliar, and therefore wrong. Sometimes these moments are big, and sometimes they’re so small they’re barely noticeable: but we all know that, no matter how tiny the seed that God plants, it can grow infinitely, and when we flick it aside, we can’t know what it is we’re condemning to death.

            We stand here, at the foot of the cross, beholding our denial of the living presence of God among us: a denial which, for some unfathomable reason, we cannot help but collude in.  That’s the great mystery that we behold today: we stand here, and we mourn; and we ask for God’s help, not knowing what God could possibly do about it.  Amen.

4/5/20

(Isaiah 50:4-9a; Ps. 31:9-16; Philippians 2:5-11; Matthew 26:14-27:66)

            Palm Sunday is a strange, unique day in the life of the church.   In our worship we go from the triumphal entry of Jesus into Jerusalem – from his exaltation as the living, breathing witness of God’s saving power among us – to his crucified, dead body being shut up in a tomb: to utter despair; that exaltation turned into ashes, declared meaningless, a sham.  Today – Palm Sunday – we lift that up as the end of the story.

            In a way, the circumstances in which we find ourselves today – in the middle of the coronavirus pandemic – are uniquely appropriate for the observance of Palm Sunday.  We know we’re going to get through this, but we don’t know how long it’s going to take, and we don’t know how bad it’s going to get, though we certainly know it’s going to get worse.  So there’s fear, and anxiety; and our lives have been turned upside down.

            So how are we called to live as Christians, in this world that we’re in right now?   What does our Christian faith have to say to us in our present context?

             There’s a very powerful word to us in today’s reading from Paul’s letter to the Philippians. This letter was written in circumstances with strong parallels to ours today.  Paul wrote it from jail – sheltering-in-place – awaiting a trial which could sentence him to death.   He was writing to the Christians in Philippi, who as a community of faith were facing strong opposition.  In this letter Paul shows the Philippian church that he and they are in essentially the same situation, and he talks about how, in their Christian faith, they are all to address it.

            That’s why he wrote the letter – what as Christians are we to do in the face of this threat to our lives? – and he returns to that theme throughout; but I think the reading we heard today holds the essence of his answer.  It’s a well-known passage, most of which is actually an early Christian hymn which Paul quotes.  This hymn is kind of a capsule version of the story of Jesus Christ.  It tells us that “he was in the form of God” – was part of God’s very being, from before the creation of the universe -“but emptied himself” and was “born in human likeness”, and “humbled himself” – in his humanity – “and became obedient to the point of death – even death on a cross. Therefore” – because of that obedience, because of his self-sacrificial love for humanity –“[t]herefore God highly exalted him and gave him the name that is above every other name….”  With this hymn Paul is reminding the church in Philippi of who Jesus Christ really is: that he came from God, in eternity; was born into this world, and lived as a human obedient to God – which is to say, he stayed true to who he knew he really was – even though that caused him to die on a cross; and he returned to God in eternity, as the one whom we proclaim to be our Lord and our God.  

            This the basic foundation of Christian faith, which Paul reminds us of: this is the big picture, which this hymn states, in brief terms.  But the very first verse of today’s reading, before the hymn, are Paul’s own words. And they are his instruction to us regarding what we are to do with what we’re about to hear.  He tells us, “Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus.”  He’s saying, God has made you an essential part of the big picture which I’m now going to remind you of.  Live in this knowledge: you come from God in eternity.  You live in this world as a child of God.  You will return to God.  God’s spirit is what gives you life, throughout  all of that.  Live in the same love that Jesus Christ has for you, and for every one of us. Be true, therefore, to who you really are, wherever your life here takes you.  And be assured that, this world being what it is, at some point that’s going to mean some kind of sacrifice.  But be assured also that that’s not the end of the story.  Because somehow, in the mystery of creation, in that sacrifice is love’s infinite power; and its final victory.

            That’s the mind that was in Christ Jesus. That’s the mind Paul tells us we are to let be in us.  That’s what we are to do, as Christians, in these hard times.  What is the love of God in Christ calling me to do, today? And so, of course, we see that these hard days are no different than any other.  They’re just talking louder.  Amen.

March 29, 2020

Sermon by Carolyn King

(Ezek. 37:1-14; Ps. 130; Romans 8:6-11; John 11:1-45)

May the words of my mouth and the meditation of our hearts be acceptable to God. 

We’ve come to the last Sunday in lent. I hope that throughout this Lent, because of the worries about the Corona virus, or in spite of them, you were able to take time to pray, and meditate, to listen, and reconnect with God. This is something we all need to do, over and over again. Remember: it’s never too late – not with God.

Today’s readings all have to do with new life, RE-newed life.  Ezekiel is shown to a valley filled with bones. Old, dry, brittle bones.  God asks ‘can these bones live’, Ezekiel answers ‘you know’.  Then God tells him to prophesy to the bones, so he does, and then watches as God brings flesh upon them and breath into them. But God tells him, “These bones are the whole house of Israel” and it is they to whom Ezekiel must prophesy, so that they will return to God and live again.

Paul tells us, in the letter to the Romans, Do not set your mind upon the flesh, for that is a kind of death. But rather, to set our mind upon the Spirit of Christ and live. We are children of the Spirit, for the Spirit of God lives in us. 

The raising of Lazarus is a familiar Gospel story.  Jesus is called to come to Lazarus’ sick bed by Martha and Mary.  But Jesus does not go at once, but waits, so that ‘ the Son of God may be glorified’.  When Jesus finally arrives, knowing that Lazarus has already died, the women gently rebuke him: “He would not have died if you had been here.”   But their faith is stronger than that, they take Jesus to the tomb. When he tells them to remove the stone, they make only token objections.  Then they do take the stone away, opening the tomb, as Jesus has asked.  Jesus calls Lazarus forth. And he comes alive again, whole again, to God’s glory, and to glorify his Son. 

We are the dry bones. Caught up in the worries of the flesh, we become lost because we turn away from God’s Spirit.  We are Lazarus in the tomb, dead in sin.  But the Spirit of the Lord is in us, and Jesus calls us forth: Carolyn Come Forth! John Come Forth! Mary Come Forth!  Jesus calls each of us, by name, to come out of our tomb, out of the death and darkness of sin and fear, to walk into Christ’s glorious resurrection light, to dwell in His Spirit, and live, truly live. 

Amen

3/22/20

(1 Samuel 16:1-13; Ps. 23; Ephesians 5:8-14; John 9:1-41)

            These are difficult times, aren’t they?

            Sisters and brothers in Christ, it’s good to be with you.  And we can be together in spirit, in this way: hearing scripture, saying the prayers, together sharing what is in our hearts with God.   Someone once told me that one of his favorite things about the Lord’s Prayer was knowing that that prayer was being said somewhere on earth every second of every day; and in his imagination all those prayers sailed up to their own special level of the atmosphere, miles up, circling the globe, wrapping it in that prayer, all the time; and whenever he said the Lord’s Prayer he was joining with everyone else in doing their own tiny little bit to replenish it.

            So we can be together, as a church.  We are together.  And we need to be together, and not just for ourselves, especially now. These are difficult times for the whole world.  There’s anxiety, because of fear of the coronavirus, and because of the massive disruption of all our lives, all ratcheted up by the uncertainty: how long is this going to last?  How bad is it going to get?  Are we doing enough to be safe?  Is it possible to be safe?  And it’s a matter of life and death.

            God calls us, as the Body of Christ, to address that anxiety, that fear, in concrete ways, not only in our own lives, but those of everyone around us.  So we need to be together especially these days: to refresh our faith, to draw strength from each other, from our fellowship in Christ.

            By the grace of God, there are a couple of things we heard in the readings today that speak to all this.  The first is something that reminds us of the big picture: something that governs all the circumstances of our lives, good and bad.

            There are no more comforting words in the Bible than the 23^rdPsalm (which we just heard, certainly one of the most universally familiar pieces of scripture of them all.)  And by comfort I don’t mean a pat on the head.  True comfort – comfort that heals pain and suffering – true comfort is in hearing the truth: God’s truth, which brings hope. This is the 23^rdPsalm. That’s why it never gets old.

            And there’s something at the heart of this psalm – something at the literal center – that is the source of its unique power. In the first three verses, the psalmist describes for us who God is, and what God does.  God is his shepherd: the one who cares for him, and guides him, and keeps him from harm.  God takes him to green pastures, and still waters: to where there is abundant life, and to what is essential to life.  And God guides him along right pathways: provides sustenance for his soul, for what makes him truly human; because that’s just who God is.  He’s talking about God in his own life, but we know, hearing it, that’s who God is for each of us. 

            But then, in the fourth verse, the psalmist suddenly turns from telling us about God – speaking about God in the third person – to speaking directly to God, speaking in the second person, in the middle of the sentence: “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil; for you are with me….”: he seems literally to turn to God with those last four words.  In the original Hebrew, there are 26 words that precede these four, and 26 after them. So these four words are the heart of the what the psalmist is trying to get across: God is right here, with me; and with you.

            This is Square One, for us as people of faith. You and I are in the same position – all the time – as the person who sings this song, this psalm: God is with us, here, now.  That’s the truth, and therefore that’s the comfort.  And he puts it in the same circumstances we’re in right now: “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil; for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.”  God’s truth is always there.  God’s love for us is always there.  God’s mercy is always there.  God’s power is always there.

            And all that gives us life: new life; rich life: when we least expect it.  “You spread a table before me in the presence of those who trouble me.”  You set abundant nourishment before me, when what threatens me directly – what I should fear – is staring me in the face.

            Well, here we are. 

            I’m going to quote now from a daily email blast sent out by the bishop of Atlanta, Rob Wright.  This past Friday he wrote about what this verse says to us today, and I’m going to close with what he said, because I can’t put it better:

“The presence of an enemy is not the absence of God or God’s blessing, for us, just the opposite.  God does God’s best work with the faith we offer in the face of the enemy.  Covid-19 is here and its consequences will be present for some time.  Still, Psalm 23 puts us on high alert for God’s blessings!  Now is the time to lean into our God and our faith at our kitchen tables with family devotions.  Now is the time to look for the grace in this disruption.  Now is the time to see the foolishness in our partisanship and find the unity possible as we face a common enemy.  Now is the time to appreciate with new gratitude the portion of health we do enjoy.  Now is the time to defy the enemies of compassion and peace and to be other-centered; to strengthen the weak, console the fearful and encourage the sick and lonely. No enemy in two thousand years has been able to cancel the church.  In every age, all the enemy has ever accomplished is the rekindling of our commitment to the genius and indestructibility of the power of love as taught and lived by Jesus of Nazareth.”

                                                                                                Amen.