The Day of Resurrection Year C
April 4, 2010
In her book Practicing Resurrection, Nora Gallagher recalls a conversation with her friend Harriet who told her about sitting in church at the National Cathedral in Washington. During the course of a boring sermon the priest asked the congregation in unctuous tones, "Now what do you really want for Christmas this year?" "I nearly rose from my pew," she told Nora. "I was gathering myself up until I looked over at my sister who was giving me That Look, and I sat back down, but what I wanted to do was stand up and call out, 'I would really like to believe in the resurrection.'"
For many of us, this is also the deepest desire of our hearts, why we are here this morning. We want to believe in the resurrection.
Our gospel reading for today provides us with some help in this. I love all the resurrection stories, but this one may very well be my favorite because it truly captures the widest array of human emotions. First, there’s Mary Magdalene, arriving alone in the dark to discover the open grave. So she runs to the disciples, to Peter and the other, the one whom Jesus loved, and she reports to them what she thinks she has found. Then Peter and the other take off running toward the tomb to see for themselves, and this seems to dissolve into a contest, with the beloved disciple outrunning Peter and arriving first, but then Peter acting with his characteristic boldness and being the first person to actually enter the tomb. They look around and see nothing, except the empty grave clothes, with the head covering rolled neatly by itself (obviously the Risen Christ’s mother taught him well).
With this evidence, the gospeller tells us, the beloved disciple believed, but they did not yet understand. Then, the two men just leave and go home (“Nothin’ to see here, folks; go about your business…. “) leaving Mary Magdalene alone in her grief, weeping outside the tomb. As she happens to peer into the darkness of the tomb with the sun coming up behind her, she sees two angels, bookmarking the empty space, and they ask her why she is weeping. She seems unfazed by the appearance of the messengers of God and replies with a hopelessness and a despair that echo across the centuries, “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.”
After she says this, she turns away from the angels to see the Risen Christ, (who had laid aside his grave clothes and picked up some more clothes somewhere else, perhaps borrowing some from the gardener) and she does not recognize him. When he questions her, she pleads to know where Jesus’s body has been put, and finally, Jesus calls her name and she recognizes him. She goes to embrace him and he will not let her saying that the story is not yet complete and there is work still to be done, and he instructs her to go tell the disciples what she has witnessed. So she goes back to them and announces with joy, “I have seen the Lord,” and she tells them what Jesus has said to her.
This is what strikes me most about this story. There’s a lot of racing around, people trying to figure out what’s going on and what they can do, but in the face of the empty tomb, there is nothing for them to do. Peter goes home; Mary Magdalene stands outside, lost and grieving, sick at heart; and the beloved disciple believes even though he does not yet understand.
In the depths of her grief and desolation, Mary hears the Risen Christ call her name and in that one word that symbolizes their care for each other, the trust and the hope that she had placed in him that she believed was dead with him in the tomb, in hearing him speak her name, her hope is restored, and he returns her joy to her. Her belief in the resurrection is a pure gift of his presence and his call to her. Then he sends her out to tell the story, to spread the good news, for the story is still unfinished; he sends her out to spread the good news and to resurrect hope in the hearts of the disciples and people everywhere, to proclaim that death no longer has the ultimate power over us, that betrayal and murder, despair and desolation will not triumph in the face of the power of God’s love. The beloved disciple walks away from the empty tomb with no more evidence than the absence of a body and the empty grave clothes. And yet, he chooses to believe in the resurrection, even though he does not yet understand. Peter does even have that. He walks away from the empty tomb, and until he actually encounters the risen Christ later in the story, what he has is the belief of others, the faith of the others, the stories of the others. He must trust the choice of the beloved disciple to believe; he must trust the story of Mary Magdalene’s encounter with the risen Christ and her joy at hearing him call her name. Each one of these three disciples has a very different way that they believe in the resurrection.
This is why I believe in the resurrection. Because I choose to believe, to stake my life on it, even though I do not understand; Because I have heard the Risen Lord call my name through the depths of my sorrow and despair, and in his call, I have found my hope returned to me, and because I have witnessed this in the lives of others, again and again and again. Because the stories of our scriptures tell of an almost unbelievable transformation in the lives of Jesus’s disciples after his resurrection; those who were so afraid and misunderstanding become enlivened and emboldened, and they work ceaselessly to spread the good news throughout all the world; and because I have seen others’ whose lives have been radically transformed in a similar fashion: those who were once enslaved by the powers of darkness through greed, drug addiction, self-centeredness, and corruption have been called by name, forgiven and sent out, transformed, to do the work of the Risen Christ in this world.
And at the very heart of what we call belief is really hope: hope that Jesus really is who we’ve been saying he is over the course of all these years, hope that he has in fact proven once and for all that God’s love is stronger than sin and death, that he has, in fact, destroyed death, and that we will be included in that salvation.
I have stood beside the bed of those who were dying, and I watched as they gently entrusted their lives to hope in the resurrection; I have sat across my office from those who are wrestling with painful decisions, and I watched them discover peace through hope in the resurrection. I have been in the depths of despair, and through an unspoken prayer have been regifted with a small light of hope in heart that is hope in the resurrection.
Sometimes it is a gift of the Risen Lord, and sometimes it is a choice, the sheer force of our will, this belief, this hope. Sometimes we must rely on the choice and gift, the belief and the hope of others with whom we walk those whom we trust and love, and that is enough to carry us through. But above all, that is why we are here today. To walk this way with one another, to sing and rejoice together, to believe for and with one another, to jingle our bells, to sing, and to say again and again, in hope: “Alleluia! Christ is risen! The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!”
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Saturday, April 3, 2010
The Great Vigil of Easter 2010
The Rev. Melanie Dickson Lemburg
The Great Vigil of Easter
April 3, 2010
A letter to Alison Louise Yonko on the occasion of her baptism.
Dear Alison,
This is a holy night. “This is the night when [God] brought our fathers, the children of Israel, out of bondage in Egypt and led them through the Red Sea on dry land.” “This is the night, when all who believe in Christ are delivered from the gloom of sin and are restored to grace and holiness of life.” “This is the night when Christ broke the bonds of death and rose victorious from the grave.” This is the night when you are baptized into Christ’s death and resurrection. This is the night when you have become an important part of the body of Christ. This is the night when we all remember who we are, from whence comes our salvation, how we are called to live our lives, and why it all matters.
This holy night is the beginning of a journey for you that you will follow into and through your own death. You will journey through valleys and over mountains; your way will be both smooth and rocky. Some times you will dance and rejoice along the way and at other times you will feel so weary and heartbroken that you don’t know how you can go on. During all of those different parts of your journey, my prayer for you is “may you remember.”
May you remember, during those times in your life, when darkness weighs upon you like a tomb, that the light of Christ shines within you and will light your path into the dark.
May you remember, no matter what happens, that you belong to God; that your baptism is a sign that God loves you, that God cherishes you, and that you are not alone.
May you remember the promises that your parents and godparents have made to you—that we will walk with you as your sisters and brothers as you seek to follow Jesus.
May you remember, every time that you lift your shining face to God with your hands outstretched to receive the bread and the wine, that you are being fed the body and blood of Jesus who loves you, so you may go out into the world to share that love with others.
May you remember that belief is not so much about what you think but belief is about choosing a path and following it; belief is about how you live your life.
May you remember that Christ, our hope, is arisen, and he goes before you on your journey so that you may follow where he leads.
May you remember that you have been buried with Christ in his death and that you share in his resurrection, so you have absolutely nothing to lose. May you live and love with joy and abandon.
May you remember the truth of the Mystery of this holy night: “that God’s love is stronger than death.”
Your sister in Christ, Melanie+
The Great Vigil of Easter
April 3, 2010
A letter to Alison Louise Yonko on the occasion of her baptism.
Dear Alison,
This is a holy night. “This is the night when [God] brought our fathers, the children of Israel, out of bondage in Egypt and led them through the Red Sea on dry land.” “This is the night, when all who believe in Christ are delivered from the gloom of sin and are restored to grace and holiness of life.” “This is the night when Christ broke the bonds of death and rose victorious from the grave.” This is the night when you are baptized into Christ’s death and resurrection. This is the night when you have become an important part of the body of Christ. This is the night when we all remember who we are, from whence comes our salvation, how we are called to live our lives, and why it all matters.
This holy night is the beginning of a journey for you that you will follow into and through your own death. You will journey through valleys and over mountains; your way will be both smooth and rocky. Some times you will dance and rejoice along the way and at other times you will feel so weary and heartbroken that you don’t know how you can go on. During all of those different parts of your journey, my prayer for you is “may you remember.”
May you remember, during those times in your life, when darkness weighs upon you like a tomb, that the light of Christ shines within you and will light your path into the dark.
May you remember, no matter what happens, that you belong to God; that your baptism is a sign that God loves you, that God cherishes you, and that you are not alone.
May you remember the promises that your parents and godparents have made to you—that we will walk with you as your sisters and brothers as you seek to follow Jesus.
May you remember, every time that you lift your shining face to God with your hands outstretched to receive the bread and the wine, that you are being fed the body and blood of Jesus who loves you, so you may go out into the world to share that love with others.
May you remember that belief is not so much about what you think but belief is about choosing a path and following it; belief is about how you live your life.
May you remember that Christ, our hope, is arisen, and he goes before you on your journey so that you may follow where he leads.
May you remember that you have been buried with Christ in his death and that you share in his resurrection, so you have absolutely nothing to lose. May you live and love with joy and abandon.
May you remember the truth of the Mystery of this holy night: “that God’s love is stronger than death.”
Your sister in Christ, Melanie+
Friday, April 2, 2010
Good Friday sermon 2010
Good Friday
April 2, 2010
When I was 3 or 4 years old, I had a conversation with my mother on Good Friday that may be one of my earliest memories. She was trying to explain to me the significance of the day, that it was called Good Friday, and it was the day that we remembered the death of Jesus on the cross. When I heard that the Jesus who I sang about, the Jesus who loves me and who is the lover of all little children, red, and yellow, black, and white, they are precious in his sight, when I heard that Jesus had been killed, I started weeping silently, great, big, tears spilling down my face. When my mother turned from what she was doing and saw how I was grieving, she hugged me and got down to my level, and she tried to explain that yes, it is very sad that Jesus died, but that we call it Good Friday because we believe that the story ends happily with his resurrection from the dead and our inclusion in all of that saving work.
I’m not sure that I got it then, and I’m not sure that I get it even now. I was still sad, and I think it’s appropriate to carry some of that sadness, some of that grief with us into our observance of Good Friday this day.
In our Good Friday observance, we focus on the death of Jesus, how he dies in pain, abandoned by friends, mocked by his enemies, ignored by others, and God does not intervene to fix any of it. We keep vigil with him as he dies; we watch him suffer; we acknowledge how our own actions of “turning to our own way” cause his suffering and the suffering of others in this world. We hear how he affirms the depths of our human existence with his recitation of Psalm 22 from the cross, how his very lips affirm the forsakenness of the moment of his crucifixion and also his complete trust in God, and we recognize in that some of our own human experience, the comparable rhythm of divine absence and presence.
But we also must be mindful of the instruction from the writer of the letter to the Hebrews, who writes, “Let us hold fast to the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who has promised is faithful.” Even as the cross is a symbol of suffering, it is also, for us a symbol of hope. The Anglican priest Kenneth Leech writes, “The uniquely Christian claim is that the cross is the focal point for the knowledge of God. Through the cross, we are integrated into the life of God. We can say that the cross is the self-definition of God, the heart of the mystery of God’s being. It is the center of all faith and all theology.” God revealed in the cross, in the death of Jesus, that God was willing to do whatever it would take to reunite us with God. God would not let our destructive behavior, our self-serving ways, serve as an impediment in our relationship with God. The Eastern Orthodox have a simple phrase that gets to the heart of this when they address Christ and say, “you left nothing undone until you had brought us to heaven.”
Anything that we could ever experience, any desolation, any forsakenness, any sorrow, any hell, Christ has already experienced. He has been through it, in his death, and he has come out the other side in his resurrection, and he willingly brings us with him. Upon this rests our hope.
No matter how bereft we may feel, no matter how forsaken or abandoned, no matter how we may despair, we look to the cross as a tangible reminder that Christ has been there, that he is still there with us, and we cling to that promise of new life and resurrection in faith and in hope.
“Let us hold fast to the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who has promised is faithful.”
April 2, 2010
When I was 3 or 4 years old, I had a conversation with my mother on Good Friday that may be one of my earliest memories. She was trying to explain to me the significance of the day, that it was called Good Friday, and it was the day that we remembered the death of Jesus on the cross. When I heard that the Jesus who I sang about, the Jesus who loves me and who is the lover of all little children, red, and yellow, black, and white, they are precious in his sight, when I heard that Jesus had been killed, I started weeping silently, great, big, tears spilling down my face. When my mother turned from what she was doing and saw how I was grieving, she hugged me and got down to my level, and she tried to explain that yes, it is very sad that Jesus died, but that we call it Good Friday because we believe that the story ends happily with his resurrection from the dead and our inclusion in all of that saving work.
I’m not sure that I got it then, and I’m not sure that I get it even now. I was still sad, and I think it’s appropriate to carry some of that sadness, some of that grief with us into our observance of Good Friday this day.
In our Good Friday observance, we focus on the death of Jesus, how he dies in pain, abandoned by friends, mocked by his enemies, ignored by others, and God does not intervene to fix any of it. We keep vigil with him as he dies; we watch him suffer; we acknowledge how our own actions of “turning to our own way” cause his suffering and the suffering of others in this world. We hear how he affirms the depths of our human existence with his recitation of Psalm 22 from the cross, how his very lips affirm the forsakenness of the moment of his crucifixion and also his complete trust in God, and we recognize in that some of our own human experience, the comparable rhythm of divine absence and presence.
But we also must be mindful of the instruction from the writer of the letter to the Hebrews, who writes, “Let us hold fast to the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who has promised is faithful.” Even as the cross is a symbol of suffering, it is also, for us a symbol of hope. The Anglican priest Kenneth Leech writes, “The uniquely Christian claim is that the cross is the focal point for the knowledge of God. Through the cross, we are integrated into the life of God. We can say that the cross is the self-definition of God, the heart of the mystery of God’s being. It is the center of all faith and all theology.” God revealed in the cross, in the death of Jesus, that God was willing to do whatever it would take to reunite us with God. God would not let our destructive behavior, our self-serving ways, serve as an impediment in our relationship with God. The Eastern Orthodox have a simple phrase that gets to the heart of this when they address Christ and say, “you left nothing undone until you had brought us to heaven.”
Anything that we could ever experience, any desolation, any forsakenness, any sorrow, any hell, Christ has already experienced. He has been through it, in his death, and he has come out the other side in his resurrection, and he willingly brings us with him. Upon this rests our hope.
No matter how bereft we may feel, no matter how forsaken or abandoned, no matter how we may despair, we look to the cross as a tangible reminder that Christ has been there, that he is still there with us, and we cling to that promise of new life and resurrection in faith and in hope.
“Let us hold fast to the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who has promised is faithful.”
Maundy Thursday sermon
Rev. Melanie Dickson Lemburg
Maundy Thursday
April 1, 2010
I wonder, What would you have felt like if I had stopped you at the door on your way into the church tonight and asked each one of you to remove your shoes and go through this church service barefooted? What emotions would you have experienced at my strange request? Would you have felt freedom, as if you had the abandon of childhood or as if you had come home? Or would you feel more negative emotions: Embarrassment? Discomfort? Even fear?
In tonight’s gospel, Jesus kneels before the bare feet of his disciples and he washes them, much as we will do for one another in a matter of moments. And the disciples are horrified. Peter is emphatic, “Lord, you will never wash my feet.” And as Jesus kneels before Peter, he looks up into Peter’s eyes and says, “Unless I wash you, you have no share with me.” Peter, Jesus says, with all compassion. I understand that this makes you feel uncomfortable, but it is because you do not understand. You must let me wash you, just as you must let me love you. You cannot be fully who God has created you to be, until you accept my love for you. You must let me love you.
So we carry out Jesus’ commandment tonight, his mandatum, to love one another as he has loved us. Tonight we come to be washed and we come to be fed. In both actions, we are the recipients of Jesus’s love, the recipients of the outpouring of his very self. But even as we prepare ourselves to receive that love, we may be frightened, embarrassed, uneasy.
Many of us don’t feel particularly comfortable being vulnerable, and that’s what we are-- sitting up in this chair with our bare feet, being open to others in a way that is radically different from what we are used to. Even kneeling at the altar, we are vulnerable. We come forward with our hands open and outstretched in supplication, asking, hoping, waiting to receive the tangible outpouring of Jesus Christ’s love for us. It is not something that we can win for ourselves. It’s not something we can achieve or accomplish. It is God’s free gift to each of us.
But I think it’s appropriate for us to be a little bit frightened, to be a little bit uncertain, to be a little bit humbled in the face of such a gift, such a love…just as long as we don’t let these feelings get in the way of our primary duty tonight—that is letting Jesus love us, each and every one of us. Your primary responsibility tonight is to let Jesus love you.
Even as Jesus calls us to receive his love, he is also calling us to be who we are. He calls us to sit before him and each other unashamedly with our naked feet. He calls us to be ourselves; he calls us to be real, to be authentic. Roman Catholic nun and writer Joan Chittister describes this as “walking through life with a barefooted soul.”
We will be given this chance, literally. In a moment, I will call you forward to wash and, more importantly, to be washed. I always find it much harder to let my feet be washed than to be the one to do the washing, but that is what tonight is all about. Tonight, we are called to follow Jesus’ example, to do as he has done and to love others. But before we can carry this out, on this night, in this moment, we are called to receive; we are called to receive Jesus’ love for us in the washing and in the Eucharist, and we are called to receive our neighbor’s love for us also. So we will take turns washing each other. First you will sit and be washed and then you will wash the next person’s feet. And as we wash each other, we model Christ’s love for each and every one of us.
After we are finished and you have returned to your seat, I offer you an invitation. Leave your shoes off for the rest of the service. See what it feels like to walk on these beautiful, beaten-up bricks, and come barefoot to the altar to receive the body and blood of Jesus Christ. Come with bare feet and a barefooted soul, knowing that Jesus accepts you just are you are, and receive his gift of love.
Maundy Thursday
April 1, 2010
I wonder, What would you have felt like if I had stopped you at the door on your way into the church tonight and asked each one of you to remove your shoes and go through this church service barefooted? What emotions would you have experienced at my strange request? Would you have felt freedom, as if you had the abandon of childhood or as if you had come home? Or would you feel more negative emotions: Embarrassment? Discomfort? Even fear?
In tonight’s gospel, Jesus kneels before the bare feet of his disciples and he washes them, much as we will do for one another in a matter of moments. And the disciples are horrified. Peter is emphatic, “Lord, you will never wash my feet.” And as Jesus kneels before Peter, he looks up into Peter’s eyes and says, “Unless I wash you, you have no share with me.” Peter, Jesus says, with all compassion. I understand that this makes you feel uncomfortable, but it is because you do not understand. You must let me wash you, just as you must let me love you. You cannot be fully who God has created you to be, until you accept my love for you. You must let me love you.
So we carry out Jesus’ commandment tonight, his mandatum, to love one another as he has loved us. Tonight we come to be washed and we come to be fed. In both actions, we are the recipients of Jesus’s love, the recipients of the outpouring of his very self. But even as we prepare ourselves to receive that love, we may be frightened, embarrassed, uneasy.
Many of us don’t feel particularly comfortable being vulnerable, and that’s what we are-- sitting up in this chair with our bare feet, being open to others in a way that is radically different from what we are used to. Even kneeling at the altar, we are vulnerable. We come forward with our hands open and outstretched in supplication, asking, hoping, waiting to receive the tangible outpouring of Jesus Christ’s love for us. It is not something that we can win for ourselves. It’s not something we can achieve or accomplish. It is God’s free gift to each of us.
But I think it’s appropriate for us to be a little bit frightened, to be a little bit uncertain, to be a little bit humbled in the face of such a gift, such a love…just as long as we don’t let these feelings get in the way of our primary duty tonight—that is letting Jesus love us, each and every one of us. Your primary responsibility tonight is to let Jesus love you.
Even as Jesus calls us to receive his love, he is also calling us to be who we are. He calls us to sit before him and each other unashamedly with our naked feet. He calls us to be ourselves; he calls us to be real, to be authentic. Roman Catholic nun and writer Joan Chittister describes this as “walking through life with a barefooted soul.”
We will be given this chance, literally. In a moment, I will call you forward to wash and, more importantly, to be washed. I always find it much harder to let my feet be washed than to be the one to do the washing, but that is what tonight is all about. Tonight, we are called to follow Jesus’ example, to do as he has done and to love others. But before we can carry this out, on this night, in this moment, we are called to receive; we are called to receive Jesus’ love for us in the washing and in the Eucharist, and we are called to receive our neighbor’s love for us also. So we will take turns washing each other. First you will sit and be washed and then you will wash the next person’s feet. And as we wash each other, we model Christ’s love for each and every one of us.
After we are finished and you have returned to your seat, I offer you an invitation. Leave your shoes off for the rest of the service. See what it feels like to walk on these beautiful, beaten-up bricks, and come barefoot to the altar to receive the body and blood of Jesus Christ. Come with bare feet and a barefooted soul, knowing that Jesus accepts you just are you are, and receive his gift of love.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Sermon for the 2nd Sunday in Lent
Lent 2 Year C
Bishop Charles Duvall, retired bishop of our neighbors the Central Gulf Coast spoke at clergy conference one year and he said, “Being made in the image of God is being a partner with God in creation. When the angels ask God if the world was done at creation, God replied: “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask my partner.”
“…The word of the Lord came to Abram in a vision…” At this point in the Genesis story, God and Abram go way back… we might even say they are partners of long standing. Back in Chapter 12, the Lord came to Abram, and we see God’s first call to Abram to leave his country, kindred and father’s house to go to the land God will show him, and in return, God promises Abram descendants, land, and blessing. So Abram goes.
When he gets to Cana, God appears to Abram and says “this is it—the land I will give your offspring. Abram and co then have a brief (and bizarre) stint in Egypt because of famine, and he and his kinsman Lot part ways. Then God reiterates the promise of land and descendants to Abram, and God tells Abram to walk through the whole length and breadth of the promised land. (Scripture doesn’t tell us the outcome of this, but I think it is safe to assume that Abram follows God’s command…) Then Abram has to go rescue Lot, and we pick up our story for today. Thrice before in the preceding chapters, Abram has encountered God. God makes God’s initial promise and confirms Abram has found the promised land when he does what God asks of him; God reaffirms the promise made to Abram, and then our reading picks up for today.
But today’s piece of the story is different. First, it is not just the speaking of God to Abram like the instances before. Today’s reading says, “The word of the Lord came to Abram in a vision.” (It’s a line laced with the Mysterious and not nearly as straightforward as God appearing and/or speaking). And for the first time in Genesis’s story of Abram and God’s ongoing partnership, Abram balks. We actually hear his responses to God when God reiterates the promise of Abram’s reward: Abram says, “Yeah…, about that…..I’ve done what you asked, but still I continue childless. I’m gonna need some proof that your promises are good.” God says, “Ok,” takes him outside and shows him the stars in the heavens, and reiterates the initial promise in more poetic terms: “so shall your descendants be.” And scripture says that “[Abram] believed the Lord; and the Lord reckoned it to him as righteousness.” In believing God’s promise, Abram is true to his obligations and commitments to God (that’s what it means to be righteous).
Then God reminds Abram of their existing relationship, and Abram asks God about God’s promise of land—“how am it to know I shall possess it?”. God instructs Abram to act, and they cut a covenant by which only God is bound (not the usual terms of being in partnership…) And finally Abram seems satisfied that God’s promises can be trusted.
Who knows what makes Abram question God at this point, after all this time? Who knows why he chooses to believe yet another promise of God when asked to number the stars? Did you notice that God still doesn’t offer him the hard, cold proof that he’s asking for? Maybe it was irresistible, being in the presence of God, participating in the vision of God, being invited by God to trust God’s promises and enter into a covenant based on their existing relationship. Maybe there was something especially mysterious and life changing in that deep and dazzling darkness that left Abram with all his doubts resolved, all his questions answered?
Episcopal priest (now actually a bishop) Porter Taylor writes about this incident in the life of our faith story in his book of sermons titled To Dream as God Dreams. Taylor explains Abram’s resolution and writes, “[Abram] believed in the Lord, not in some carefully laid out strategy. [Abram] fell in love with God; [Abram] wanted to align his life with God’s activity in the world.”
Abram experienced the reality of a God who continued to draw near to him, a God who continued to pursue him, to woo him, a God who longed to be in relationship with him. Abram experienced the reality of Jesus’ words about God and God’s deep longing to be a mother to us, even when we are most headstrong and wayward.
Taylor continues, “Like you and me, [Abram] lived in a time when the world seemed to say ‘no’ to all he desired: no kids-no lands-no dreams, and God came and said what God always says, ‘In a time of No I am asking you to say Yes…Faith is saying yes in a world of no.”
Today we gather as one congregation to hear our Vestry’s vision for the ministry of St. Peter’s in the next 3 to 5 years. The Vestry has worked together over the course of many hours with our facilitator, Aletha Burge, to articulate the strengths of St. Peter’s, to give voice to our vision for the church, and to shape a budget that would reflect that vision.
I cannot speak for the members of the vestry, but I know that in that process, I have felt the Word of God drawing near to us again and again. Our work has been done in a spirit of enthusiasm, a spirit of creativity, and a spirit of hope that I believe are evidence of the presence of the Holy Spirit. I believe that each vestry person has been deeply aware of the sacred trust that you have placed in them by electing them to that position of leadership in this church, and all of our work has been done in a spirit of gratitude for the importance of the people and ministries of St. Peter’s in each of our faith journeys.
Our world today is not so different from Abram’s world. All around us people are talking about budget cutbacks, layoffs, challenging economic times. It would seem that the world around us is saying No. Even in the face of what might seem to be an unsurmountable “No” St. Peter’s not only survives but we are thriving! And we believe that is because God has given us so many gifts and has invited us to be God's partners, to participate in the vision of God for St. Peter’s, a vision that compels us to share the spirit of generosity and the sense of warmth and welcome that are the essence of this faith community. We as a Vestry are taking a step forward in faith and saying yes to God in a world of no. And we ask you to say yes too. Search your hearts. Remember the creative partnership to which God has called each of us in our baptism. There is much work still to be done. Dream big dreams with us, and join us in saying yes to God in a world of no.
Bishop Charles Duvall, retired bishop of our neighbors the Central Gulf Coast spoke at clergy conference one year and he said, “Being made in the image of God is being a partner with God in creation. When the angels ask God if the world was done at creation, God replied: “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask my partner.”
“…The word of the Lord came to Abram in a vision…” At this point in the Genesis story, God and Abram go way back… we might even say they are partners of long standing. Back in Chapter 12, the Lord came to Abram, and we see God’s first call to Abram to leave his country, kindred and father’s house to go to the land God will show him, and in return, God promises Abram descendants, land, and blessing. So Abram goes.
When he gets to Cana, God appears to Abram and says “this is it—the land I will give your offspring. Abram and co then have a brief (and bizarre) stint in Egypt because of famine, and he and his kinsman Lot part ways. Then God reiterates the promise of land and descendants to Abram, and God tells Abram to walk through the whole length and breadth of the promised land. (Scripture doesn’t tell us the outcome of this, but I think it is safe to assume that Abram follows God’s command…) Then Abram has to go rescue Lot, and we pick up our story for today. Thrice before in the preceding chapters, Abram has encountered God. God makes God’s initial promise and confirms Abram has found the promised land when he does what God asks of him; God reaffirms the promise made to Abram, and then our reading picks up for today.
But today’s piece of the story is different. First, it is not just the speaking of God to Abram like the instances before. Today’s reading says, “The word of the Lord came to Abram in a vision.” (It’s a line laced with the Mysterious and not nearly as straightforward as God appearing and/or speaking). And for the first time in Genesis’s story of Abram and God’s ongoing partnership, Abram balks. We actually hear his responses to God when God reiterates the promise of Abram’s reward: Abram says, “Yeah…, about that…..I’ve done what you asked, but still I continue childless. I’m gonna need some proof that your promises are good.” God says, “Ok,” takes him outside and shows him the stars in the heavens, and reiterates the initial promise in more poetic terms: “so shall your descendants be.” And scripture says that “[Abram] believed the Lord; and the Lord reckoned it to him as righteousness.” In believing God’s promise, Abram is true to his obligations and commitments to God (that’s what it means to be righteous).
Then God reminds Abram of their existing relationship, and Abram asks God about God’s promise of land—“how am it to know I shall possess it?”. God instructs Abram to act, and they cut a covenant by which only God is bound (not the usual terms of being in partnership…) And finally Abram seems satisfied that God’s promises can be trusted.
Who knows what makes Abram question God at this point, after all this time? Who knows why he chooses to believe yet another promise of God when asked to number the stars? Did you notice that God still doesn’t offer him the hard, cold proof that he’s asking for? Maybe it was irresistible, being in the presence of God, participating in the vision of God, being invited by God to trust God’s promises and enter into a covenant based on their existing relationship. Maybe there was something especially mysterious and life changing in that deep and dazzling darkness that left Abram with all his doubts resolved, all his questions answered?
Episcopal priest (now actually a bishop) Porter Taylor writes about this incident in the life of our faith story in his book of sermons titled To Dream as God Dreams. Taylor explains Abram’s resolution and writes, “[Abram] believed in the Lord, not in some carefully laid out strategy. [Abram] fell in love with God; [Abram] wanted to align his life with God’s activity in the world.”
Abram experienced the reality of a God who continued to draw near to him, a God who continued to pursue him, to woo him, a God who longed to be in relationship with him. Abram experienced the reality of Jesus’ words about God and God’s deep longing to be a mother to us, even when we are most headstrong and wayward.
Taylor continues, “Like you and me, [Abram] lived in a time when the world seemed to say ‘no’ to all he desired: no kids-no lands-no dreams, and God came and said what God always says, ‘In a time of No I am asking you to say Yes…Faith is saying yes in a world of no.”
Today we gather as one congregation to hear our Vestry’s vision for the ministry of St. Peter’s in the next 3 to 5 years. The Vestry has worked together over the course of many hours with our facilitator, Aletha Burge, to articulate the strengths of St. Peter’s, to give voice to our vision for the church, and to shape a budget that would reflect that vision.
I cannot speak for the members of the vestry, but I know that in that process, I have felt the Word of God drawing near to us again and again. Our work has been done in a spirit of enthusiasm, a spirit of creativity, and a spirit of hope that I believe are evidence of the presence of the Holy Spirit. I believe that each vestry person has been deeply aware of the sacred trust that you have placed in them by electing them to that position of leadership in this church, and all of our work has been done in a spirit of gratitude for the importance of the people and ministries of St. Peter’s in each of our faith journeys.
Our world today is not so different from Abram’s world. All around us people are talking about budget cutbacks, layoffs, challenging economic times. It would seem that the world around us is saying No. Even in the face of what might seem to be an unsurmountable “No” St. Peter’s not only survives but we are thriving! And we believe that is because God has given us so many gifts and has invited us to be God's partners, to participate in the vision of God for St. Peter’s, a vision that compels us to share the spirit of generosity and the sense of warmth and welcome that are the essence of this faith community. We as a Vestry are taking a step forward in faith and saying yes to God in a world of no. And we ask you to say yes too. Search your hearts. Remember the creative partnership to which God has called each of us in our baptism. There is much work still to be done. Dream big dreams with us, and join us in saying yes to God in a world of no.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Ash Wednesday 2010
Ash Wednesday 2010 sermon
“Now quit your care and anxious fear and worry; for schemes are vain and fretting brings no gain. Lent calls to prayer, to trust, and dedication; God brings new beauty nigh; reply, reply, reply with love to love most high.” (Percy Dearmer, 1867-1936).
These words by a man named Percy Dearmer, an English priest and liturgist, were written on a friend’s Facebook page this morning, and they are an interesting testament to what we are about this day.
Our primary work this day is to remember: Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return. We are called to remember that God is God and we are not. That our mortal lives have a definite beginning and they will have a definite end. We are called to remember all the ways that we have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God, the times that we have forsaken God and God’s call to love God and love each other and we will confess that sin before God and each other.
Today we are called to remember Jesus’s call: “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal; but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there you heart will be also.”
We are called to look ourselves in the mirror this day and acknowledge that we have spent our lives in pursuit of the treasures of this world, which will fade, and that the deepest treasures of our hearts are the gifts offered to us by God through Jesus Christ which can be received and renewed through prayer, trust, and dedication. Today we are called to recognize that so much of our lives and our energies are spent in care, anxious fear, and worry; in making schedules and lists, in trying to hold the chaos at bay, in trying to prevent the unpreventable: old age and illness, loss, and death.
And the good news is that today we are joyfully stripped of all that. Today we are reminded that it is not up to us, what will happen in our lives, how they will turn out. “All of us go down to the dust”. None of us will escape that, but in that is a freedom. We can be free of the need to try to control, and focus on how we will live, what and who and how we love. We can once again discern, through the influence of the Holy Spirit, what are the truest, deepest treasures of our hearts and how we will go about pursuing those in the ways that we live our lives.
Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return. Remember, as you are marked by your ashes this day, that you have also been marked in the waters of your baptism… “marked as Christ’s own forever.” Remember what has been given to you as you feast at God’s table. Remember the work that you are called to do as you go out those doors and into the world. And remember you gratitude and its source, and give thanks.
“Now quit your care and anxious fear and worry; for schemes are vain and fretting brings no gain. Lent calls to prayer, to trust, and dedication; God brings new beauty nigh; reply, reply, reply with love to love most high.” (Percy Dearmer, 1867-1936).
“Now quit your care and anxious fear and worry; for schemes are vain and fretting brings no gain. Lent calls to prayer, to trust, and dedication; God brings new beauty nigh; reply, reply, reply with love to love most high.” (Percy Dearmer, 1867-1936).
These words by a man named Percy Dearmer, an English priest and liturgist, were written on a friend’s Facebook page this morning, and they are an interesting testament to what we are about this day.
Our primary work this day is to remember: Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return. We are called to remember that God is God and we are not. That our mortal lives have a definite beginning and they will have a definite end. We are called to remember all the ways that we have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God, the times that we have forsaken God and God’s call to love God and love each other and we will confess that sin before God and each other.
Today we are called to remember Jesus’s call: “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal; but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there you heart will be also.”
We are called to look ourselves in the mirror this day and acknowledge that we have spent our lives in pursuit of the treasures of this world, which will fade, and that the deepest treasures of our hearts are the gifts offered to us by God through Jesus Christ which can be received and renewed through prayer, trust, and dedication. Today we are called to recognize that so much of our lives and our energies are spent in care, anxious fear, and worry; in making schedules and lists, in trying to hold the chaos at bay, in trying to prevent the unpreventable: old age and illness, loss, and death.
And the good news is that today we are joyfully stripped of all that. Today we are reminded that it is not up to us, what will happen in our lives, how they will turn out. “All of us go down to the dust”. None of us will escape that, but in that is a freedom. We can be free of the need to try to control, and focus on how we will live, what and who and how we love. We can once again discern, through the influence of the Holy Spirit, what are the truest, deepest treasures of our hearts and how we will go about pursuing those in the ways that we live our lives.
Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return. Remember, as you are marked by your ashes this day, that you have also been marked in the waters of your baptism… “marked as Christ’s own forever.” Remember what has been given to you as you feast at God’s table. Remember the work that you are called to do as you go out those doors and into the world. And remember you gratitude and its source, and give thanks.
“Now quit your care and anxious fear and worry; for schemes are vain and fretting brings no gain. Lent calls to prayer, to trust, and dedication; God brings new beauty nigh; reply, reply, reply with love to love most high.” (Percy Dearmer, 1867-1936).
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Sermon for the Last Sunday after the Epiphany-Year C
The Reverend Melanie Dickson Lemburg
The Last Sunday after the Epiphany—Year C
February 14, 2010
Today is the Last Sunday in our season after Epiphany, a season of light in which we celebrate the revelation of God’s glory to all people. And so today, we stand in the dazzling light of Jesus, transfigured on the mountain, even as we join him in setting our faces toward Jerusalem, setting our faces toward the cross as we prepare to journey into the shadow-land of the season of Lent.
Transfiguration. What exactly is it? What does it mean for us as a church and as individual followers of Jesus Christ? People have written so much about transfiguration that it’s hard to know where to even begin. The Christian theologian Frederick Buechner writes about Christ’s transfiguration and how it relates to us saying, “It was Jesus of Nazareth all right, the man they’d tramped many a dusty mile with, whose mother and brothers they knew, the one they’d seen as hungry, tired, footsore as the rest of them. But it was also the Messiah, the Christ, in his glory. It was the holiness of the man shining through his humanness, his face so afire with it they were almost blinded. Even with us something like that happens once in a while. The face of a man walking his child in the park, of a woman picking peas in the garden, of sometimes even the unlikeliest person listening to a concert, say, or standing barefoot in the sand watching the waves roll in, or just having a beer at a Saturday baseball game in July. Every once and so often, something so touching, so incandescent, so alive transfigures the human face that it’s almost beyond bearing”[1]
“The holiness of the man shining through his humanness…”
Another writer writes of Transfiguration as “living by vision: standing foursquare in the midst of a broken, tortured, oppressed, starving, dehumanizing reality, yet seeing the invisible, calling to it to come, behaving as if it is on the way, sustained by elements of it that have come already, within and among us…”[2]
Transfiguration is showing up when we don’t feel like it, staying awake when our eyes and our hearts are so weary and heavy, but still being there to bear witness to God’s glory when it does appear. Transfiguration is standing with one foot in the shadow and one foot in the light; it is understanding that when the cloud comes and overshadows us that we are not alone and it will not keep us in darkness forever. It encompasses a willingness to dwell within the love of God for a few moments so that we are strengthened and emboldened to carry out what God asks us to do, to be willing to set our faces toward the cross and looking into the face of all the worst of humanity and see it transformed by the power of God’s love into new life that overcomes even the shadow of death. Transfiguration involves a willingness to give ourselves over to where God is calling us to grow and to deepen in our faith in God, in what may seem to be the impossible but in what we will eventually find to be new life, new hope, and a deep source of joy.
So what are the results when people are confronted with Transfiguration?
For those of us who pray the words of our collect today, it is the reminder that if we look upon the shining face of our Lord, then we will be changed into his likeness…from glory to glory. From glory to glory….listen to what that says both about what we already are and what we hope to become.
For Paul it is to remember that: “And all of us, with unveiled faces, seeing the glory of the Lord as though reflected in a mirror, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another; for this comes from the Lord, the Spirit…”
For Peter and John and James it is to taste the glory and the terror, the confusion and the silence.
For the man and his son in Luke (and for the writer of Luke): the immediate results of the Transfiguration or the revelation of God’s glory in Jesus Christ is healing of the child possessed of the unclean spirit. Jesus restores the outcast to his father and to his community. (which then becomes part of the call of the church in Acts). The glory of God comes down from the mountain and shines the light on the darkness of human suffering and displacement and heals and restores.
For those of us who will begin our Lenten pilgrimage this week with Ash Wednesday, it is the reminder that there is glory even in the dust of our human existence.
In each of these places, we are reminded that the glory of God shines most brightly into the places of darkness, places most wounded by sin, by sickness, by misunderstanding, and confusion.
In his transfiguration, our Lord looks into the face of his own suffering; he looks into the face of his own death and still his face is shining with light and, even more importantly, with hope. That is transfiguration. To stand with one foot in shadow and one foot in light and to let our faces and our hearts shine with pure, unbridled hope….hope that one day, the glory of God will shine fully upon us all, and the darkness will be transformed from glory to glory.
[1] Frederick Buechner, Transfiguration. From Imaging the Word. Volume I. Kenneth Lawrence, ed. United Church Press: Cleveland, 1994, p 141.
[2] Walter Wink, Interpretation. From Imaging the Word. Volume I. Kenneth Lawrence, ed. United Church Press: Cleveland, 1994, p 142.
The Last Sunday after the Epiphany—Year C
February 14, 2010
Today is the Last Sunday in our season after Epiphany, a season of light in which we celebrate the revelation of God’s glory to all people. And so today, we stand in the dazzling light of Jesus, transfigured on the mountain, even as we join him in setting our faces toward Jerusalem, setting our faces toward the cross as we prepare to journey into the shadow-land of the season of Lent.
Transfiguration. What exactly is it? What does it mean for us as a church and as individual followers of Jesus Christ? People have written so much about transfiguration that it’s hard to know where to even begin. The Christian theologian Frederick Buechner writes about Christ’s transfiguration and how it relates to us saying, “It was Jesus of Nazareth all right, the man they’d tramped many a dusty mile with, whose mother and brothers they knew, the one they’d seen as hungry, tired, footsore as the rest of them. But it was also the Messiah, the Christ, in his glory. It was the holiness of the man shining through his humanness, his face so afire with it they were almost blinded. Even with us something like that happens once in a while. The face of a man walking his child in the park, of a woman picking peas in the garden, of sometimes even the unlikeliest person listening to a concert, say, or standing barefoot in the sand watching the waves roll in, or just having a beer at a Saturday baseball game in July. Every once and so often, something so touching, so incandescent, so alive transfigures the human face that it’s almost beyond bearing”[1]
“The holiness of the man shining through his humanness…”
Another writer writes of Transfiguration as “living by vision: standing foursquare in the midst of a broken, tortured, oppressed, starving, dehumanizing reality, yet seeing the invisible, calling to it to come, behaving as if it is on the way, sustained by elements of it that have come already, within and among us…”[2]
Transfiguration is showing up when we don’t feel like it, staying awake when our eyes and our hearts are so weary and heavy, but still being there to bear witness to God’s glory when it does appear. Transfiguration is standing with one foot in the shadow and one foot in the light; it is understanding that when the cloud comes and overshadows us that we are not alone and it will not keep us in darkness forever. It encompasses a willingness to dwell within the love of God for a few moments so that we are strengthened and emboldened to carry out what God asks us to do, to be willing to set our faces toward the cross and looking into the face of all the worst of humanity and see it transformed by the power of God’s love into new life that overcomes even the shadow of death. Transfiguration involves a willingness to give ourselves over to where God is calling us to grow and to deepen in our faith in God, in what may seem to be the impossible but in what we will eventually find to be new life, new hope, and a deep source of joy.
So what are the results when people are confronted with Transfiguration?
For those of us who pray the words of our collect today, it is the reminder that if we look upon the shining face of our Lord, then we will be changed into his likeness…from glory to glory. From glory to glory….listen to what that says both about what we already are and what we hope to become.
For Paul it is to remember that: “And all of us, with unveiled faces, seeing the glory of the Lord as though reflected in a mirror, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another; for this comes from the Lord, the Spirit…”
For Peter and John and James it is to taste the glory and the terror, the confusion and the silence.
For the man and his son in Luke (and for the writer of Luke): the immediate results of the Transfiguration or the revelation of God’s glory in Jesus Christ is healing of the child possessed of the unclean spirit. Jesus restores the outcast to his father and to his community. (which then becomes part of the call of the church in Acts). The glory of God comes down from the mountain and shines the light on the darkness of human suffering and displacement and heals and restores.
For those of us who will begin our Lenten pilgrimage this week with Ash Wednesday, it is the reminder that there is glory even in the dust of our human existence.
In each of these places, we are reminded that the glory of God shines most brightly into the places of darkness, places most wounded by sin, by sickness, by misunderstanding, and confusion.
In his transfiguration, our Lord looks into the face of his own suffering; he looks into the face of his own death and still his face is shining with light and, even more importantly, with hope. That is transfiguration. To stand with one foot in shadow and one foot in light and to let our faces and our hearts shine with pure, unbridled hope….hope that one day, the glory of God will shine fully upon us all, and the darkness will be transformed from glory to glory.
[1] Frederick Buechner, Transfiguration. From Imaging the Word. Volume I. Kenneth Lawrence, ed. United Church Press: Cleveland, 1994, p 141.
[2] Walter Wink, Interpretation. From Imaging the Word. Volume I. Kenneth Lawrence, ed. United Church Press: Cleveland, 1994, p 142.
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