The Second Sunday After Christmas Jeremiah 31: 7 – 14
Sunday, January 2, 2011 Ephesians 1: 3 – 6, 15 – 19a
The Rev. Bambi Willis Matthew 2: 1- 12
“In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem,”
Matthew 2: 1
At the age of thirty-nine, just two months after he was baptized into the Anglican church, the twentieth century poet, T. S. Eliot penned the poem “The Journey of the Magi.” The poem is spoken by one of the magi and opens with the lines:
“A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For the journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.’
The journey of the magi, the poem tells us, was harsh and difficult, leading the magi through “cities hostile and towns unfriendly” all the while wondering if the journey was nothing but folly.
Eventually the magi arrive in a “temperate valley” and see “three trees on the low sky.” Stopping at a tavern for directions, the magi find folk “dicing for pieces of silver” and “kicking the empty wine skins” and who have no information to give. And so the magi continue, arriving “At evening, not a moment too soon.”
In the poem “The Journey of the Magi” the magi come to the place of Christ’s birth after a long and arduous journey and only after stopping at a tavern in a temperate valley which echoes with the story of the passion when Judas sells out Jesus for a few pieces of silver. The magi do indeed come to the place of new birth but the smell of death is in air.
As the poem ends, the magi muse: “Were we led all that way for Birth or Death?”
The journey of the magi, celebrated so often in art and literature and the annual Christmas pageant finds a rare interpreter in Eliot. Eliot never mentions the star in his poem nor the gifts that the wise men bring to the Christ child. The journey that the magi make in Eliot’s poem when Jesus is born anticipates Jesus’ death, when this child will be crucified. And the world through which these men journey in “the very dead of winter” is cold, hostile and unfriendly. What the magi discover as they journey toward Bethlehem is a world gone wrong, a world so broken that it will kill the one person who could fix it.
Our evangelist Matthew would agree. Hovering over our story of the magi this morning is Herod, appointed King of the Jews in 40 B.C. When the magi come to Jerusalem and ask: “Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews?” Herod becomes frightened, aware for the first time that he has a rival. When the magi return home “by another way,” Herod takes matters into his own hands and slaughters all the children in Bethlehem under the age of two. Rivals to the throne will not be tolerated and Herod acts with astonishing brutality.
An angel visits Joseph in a dream and Joseph flees with his family into Egypt. For the moment, Jesus is safe, but the smell of death is in the air. Jesus is a threat.
Our evangelist Matthew sets the story of the journey of the magi within a world covered by the blood of children and wailing mothers. The star which illuminates the manger also illuminates a murderous world, a world bent upon its own destruction and into which the world’s savior is born. From the day of his birth, Matthew wants to tell us, the world was bent on destroying the very child God sent to save the world.
T.S. Eliot closes his poem “The Journey of the Magi” with the magi returning to their country, writing:
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
The magi, for Eliot, now see the world in a new light and are no longer comfortable in the world in which they live, the world of the “old dispensation,” a world that privileges a whole host of gods, none of which who seem to be making a difference. The magi have been disquieted by their journey which has revealed to them the kingdoms of this world, kingdoms maintained often by the violence of a King Herod who refused to let go of his god, the god of power.
Disquiet is probably not a word we associate with Christmas and the birth of Christ. Angels and shepherds and kings bearing gifts are images of peace and joy, not disquiet. That the birth of Christ unleashes a terrible violence as Herod seeks to maintain his throne is far from our hearts and minds in this season of “good will.”
Yet, the story of the magi reminds us that this world is not a world of “good will,” but a violent world, a world that clutches after other gods – the god of power or strength or wealth or security or fame or social status – refusing to let go. This is the world in which we live and in which Christ was crucified.
We live and move and have our being in a fallen world, a world gone wrong, and the wrongness of the world goes right through each of us. We are, as our collect says this morning, wonderfully created, but in need of restoration. Perhaps the greatest disquiet that the birth of Christ makes is the disquiet in our own souls when we recognize that we are not who God created us to be, and are fundamentally lost, willing to follow most any star if that star enhances our comfort and our sense of security in a world that is not of our own making and which eludes our control. That God in Christ took on our human nature, revealing to us the image of God we were created to be but are not, is the wonder of this season. As we pray in our Eucharistic Prayer, only through Christ are we worthy to stand before God.
T.S. Eliot gives us a different perspective on the journey of the magi, not one we usually encounter. The significance of the journey for Eliot was the revelation of a deeply troubled and troubling world, a world that lies in darkness, as the gospel of John says. The light from the star that these wise men followed led them to Christ through an unfriendly and hostile world, a wonderfully created but tragically fallen world that clutches after gods, a world of which we are a part.
Out of love, God came into this world and lived as one of us. As we follow this God who did not abandon us but came and dwelt among us, we too are called not to abandon this world but to be instruments of God’s grace and goodness in this world, to serve the world in Christ’s name. As we make our journey towards this child in a manger, we, like the magi in Eliot’s poem, will meet the disagreeable and the difficult, the proud, the powerful, the ugly and the needy and any manner of hard-to-get-along-with people. When you do, remember that God did not come into a world of nice people who always saw things God’s way, but into a world that sought his death from the moment of his birth, a world peopled with folk like us, a people who look for gods in all the wrong places. In this new year, may we each be guided by the light of Christ, not away from the world but into the world, and not for our sakes but for the sake of Christ’s love.
Sunday, January 2, 2011 Ephesians 1: 3 – 6, 15 – 19a
The Rev. Bambi Willis Matthew 2: 1- 12
“In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem,”
Matthew 2: 1
At the age of thirty-nine, just two months after he was baptized into the Anglican church, the twentieth century poet, T. S. Eliot penned the poem “The Journey of the Magi.” The poem is spoken by one of the magi and opens with the lines:
“A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For the journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.’
The journey of the magi, the poem tells us, was harsh and difficult, leading the magi through “cities hostile and towns unfriendly” all the while wondering if the journey was nothing but folly.
Eventually the magi arrive in a “temperate valley” and see “three trees on the low sky.” Stopping at a tavern for directions, the magi find folk “dicing for pieces of silver” and “kicking the empty wine skins” and who have no information to give. And so the magi continue, arriving “At evening, not a moment too soon.”
In the poem “The Journey of the Magi” the magi come to the place of Christ’s birth after a long and arduous journey and only after stopping at a tavern in a temperate valley which echoes with the story of the passion when Judas sells out Jesus for a few pieces of silver. The magi do indeed come to the place of new birth but the smell of death is in air.
As the poem ends, the magi muse: “Were we led all that way for Birth or Death?”
The journey of the magi, celebrated so often in art and literature and the annual Christmas pageant finds a rare interpreter in Eliot. Eliot never mentions the star in his poem nor the gifts that the wise men bring to the Christ child. The journey that the magi make in Eliot’s poem when Jesus is born anticipates Jesus’ death, when this child will be crucified. And the world through which these men journey in “the very dead of winter” is cold, hostile and unfriendly. What the magi discover as they journey toward Bethlehem is a world gone wrong, a world so broken that it will kill the one person who could fix it.
Our evangelist Matthew would agree. Hovering over our story of the magi this morning is Herod, appointed King of the Jews in 40 B.C. When the magi come to Jerusalem and ask: “Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews?” Herod becomes frightened, aware for the first time that he has a rival. When the magi return home “by another way,” Herod takes matters into his own hands and slaughters all the children in Bethlehem under the age of two. Rivals to the throne will not be tolerated and Herod acts with astonishing brutality.
An angel visits Joseph in a dream and Joseph flees with his family into Egypt. For the moment, Jesus is safe, but the smell of death is in the air. Jesus is a threat.
Our evangelist Matthew sets the story of the journey of the magi within a world covered by the blood of children and wailing mothers. The star which illuminates the manger also illuminates a murderous world, a world bent upon its own destruction and into which the world’s savior is born. From the day of his birth, Matthew wants to tell us, the world was bent on destroying the very child God sent to save the world.
T.S. Eliot closes his poem “The Journey of the Magi” with the magi returning to their country, writing:
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
The magi, for Eliot, now see the world in a new light and are no longer comfortable in the world in which they live, the world of the “old dispensation,” a world that privileges a whole host of gods, none of which who seem to be making a difference. The magi have been disquieted by their journey which has revealed to them the kingdoms of this world, kingdoms maintained often by the violence of a King Herod who refused to let go of his god, the god of power.
Disquiet is probably not a word we associate with Christmas and the birth of Christ. Angels and shepherds and kings bearing gifts are images of peace and joy, not disquiet. That the birth of Christ unleashes a terrible violence as Herod seeks to maintain his throne is far from our hearts and minds in this season of “good will.”
Yet, the story of the magi reminds us that this world is not a world of “good will,” but a violent world, a world that clutches after other gods – the god of power or strength or wealth or security or fame or social status – refusing to let go. This is the world in which we live and in which Christ was crucified.
We live and move and have our being in a fallen world, a world gone wrong, and the wrongness of the world goes right through each of us. We are, as our collect says this morning, wonderfully created, but in need of restoration. Perhaps the greatest disquiet that the birth of Christ makes is the disquiet in our own souls when we recognize that we are not who God created us to be, and are fundamentally lost, willing to follow most any star if that star enhances our comfort and our sense of security in a world that is not of our own making and which eludes our control. That God in Christ took on our human nature, revealing to us the image of God we were created to be but are not, is the wonder of this season. As we pray in our Eucharistic Prayer, only through Christ are we worthy to stand before God.
T.S. Eliot gives us a different perspective on the journey of the magi, not one we usually encounter. The significance of the journey for Eliot was the revelation of a deeply troubled and troubling world, a world that lies in darkness, as the gospel of John says. The light from the star that these wise men followed led them to Christ through an unfriendly and hostile world, a wonderfully created but tragically fallen world that clutches after gods, a world of which we are a part.
Out of love, God came into this world and lived as one of us. As we follow this God who did not abandon us but came and dwelt among us, we too are called not to abandon this world but to be instruments of God’s grace and goodness in this world, to serve the world in Christ’s name. As we make our journey towards this child in a manger, we, like the magi in Eliot’s poem, will meet the disagreeable and the difficult, the proud, the powerful, the ugly and the needy and any manner of hard-to-get-along-with people. When you do, remember that God did not come into a world of nice people who always saw things God’s way, but into a world that sought his death from the moment of his birth, a world peopled with folk like us, a people who look for gods in all the wrong places. In this new year, may we each be guided by the light of Christ, not away from the world but into the world, and not for our sakes but for the sake of Christ’s love.
The First Sunday After Epiphany: The Baptism of Our Lord saiah 42: 1 – 9
Sunday, January 9, 2011 Acts 10: 34 – 43
The Rev. Bambi Willis Matthew 3: 13 - 17
“And when Jesus had been baptized, just as he came up from the water, suddenly the heavens were opened to him and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and alighting on him.”
Matthew 3: 16
The heavens are opened in our reading this morning from the gospel of Matthew. The veil between heaven and earth is lifted, and the very Spirit of God is given to Jesus. Jesus comes to be baptized by John and is revealed to be God’s Beloved Son, the bearer of the Spirit of God in the world.
Matthew tells us this Spirit was like a dove, an image we often see in art as we do on our mosaic here at St. Asaph’s. The dove suggests for some commentators, that what our evangelist Matthew had in mind as he narrates the story of Jesus’ baptism is the story of creation. “In the beginning,” we read in Genesis, “the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while the spirit of God brooded over the face of the waters.” Now as Jesus comes up from the water of baptism, he sees the Spirit of God like a dove coming to rest on him. The same Spirit of God that gave life to all that is, now gives life to a new creation, to Jesus, the beloved Son of God.
If the story of creation is what our evangelist has in mind we would be well to return to that story. In that story, after God creates the heavens and the earth, the seas and the dry land and all that lives within the sea and on the land, God creates human being forming man from the dust of the ground and then blowing into his nostrils the breath of life. This “mud man” is brought to life by the breath or the wind or the Spirit of God, which are all appropriate translations. The same Spirit of God which brooded over the formless void “in the beginning” is now breathed into man, bringing man to life.
We are given two accounts of the creation of humankind in Genesis and in the other account God simply says: “Let us make humankind in our image” and so does. In both accounts, humankind is the climax of creation, a unique creation made in the image of God, brought to life with God’s very own breath.
In the beginning, Genesis tells us God created a beautiful and diverse world filled with all kinds of living things. As the climax of creation, God brought forth human beings and gave them dominion over everything else God had created. The world was good and human beings were given the task of keeping the world good and the means to do so. Human beings were the most noble of all of God’s creature for they alone were made in God’s image. The opening chapters of Genesis exalt human being above everything else in creation, and give human beings the responsibility to care for everything else God has created. Go back and re-read the story of creation lest you begin to think we are “merely human.” To human being was given the very glory of God.
And that glory is what we lost in the fall when human beings preferred the lie of a snake to the wisdom of God. Now, our evangelist Matthew tells us, at Jesus’ baptism, God is creating anew, re-creating human being in the person of Jesus, restoring in Jesus the image of God which we were given but which we gave away. Jesus is the image of God humankind was meant to be. Matthew is making a radical claim. Jesus is the one true human being and only through Jesus can we become truly human.
On this the first Sunday in Epiphany, the season of revelation, what is revealed to us is who we were created to be, creatures made in the image of God, beings brought to life by the very breath of God and made to live as Jesus lived, in harmony with God, ourselves and one another. To confess Jesus as Lord is a confession about ourselves, a confession that while we may believe we are human, we are but a very pale reflection of what God created us to be. To be human is to be like Christ, the bearer of the Spirit of God.
In Christ, the glory of true human being, human being made in the image of God is revealed to us and for us. In Christ, we are brought to life, the life God intended us to have “in the beginning.” This life, truly human life, is God’s gift to us, a blessing, not a curse.
Unfortunately, we live in a world where being human means you are not an animal, vegetable or mineral. What constitutes us as human beings for some is our brain, for others our capacity for language. Few would argue that what makes us human is our unique relationship to God. The story of creation says otherwise. Commenting on that story, Old Testament scholar Walter Brueggemann writes:
The creature is seen as the one who is entrusted with power and the authority to rule. The text is revolutionary. It presents an inverted view of God, not as the one who reigns by fiat and remoteness, but as the one who governs by gracious self-giving. It also presents an inverted view of humanness. This man and this woman are not the chattel and servants of God, but the agents of God to whom much is given and much is expected.
We were created to be the agents of God. We were created to be like Christ. “In Jesus Christ,” Brueggemann continues, “we are offered a new discernment of who God is and of who humankind is called to be. The striking feature of Jesus is that he did not look after his own interests but always after the interests of others. That is an echo of God’s act of creation. Creation is God’s decision not to look after himself but to focus his energies and purposes on the creation.”
Looking after ourselves is what we do best. To do otherwise is simply “unnatural.” Which is why, from very early on, the church confessed a belief in the Holy Spirit, “God at work in the world,” in the words of the catechism. By the power of the Holy Spirit we are drawn away from ourselves, our needs, our fears, our pre-occupations and into a relationship with God and with others. Alan Jones, former dean of Grace Cathedral in San Francisco once wrote that the work of the Holy Spirit was all about falling in love, and not with ourselves, but rather with a God who created us to be human, as human as was Christ.
Now, I suppose the thought that we are created to be like Christ is a bit unsettling. It is for me. I am and you are, are we not, “merely” human, not at all like Christ who was fully human and fully divine. But as I re-read the story of creation, I marvel at who we were created to be and what God tasked us to do. I come away wondering if God really believed we mere mortals could shepherd God’s creation. And then I look at Christ and know, whereas I might give up my life for someone I love, I would never give up my life for someone who despised me and that is what Christ did.
Oh, Epiphany! This is the season of revelation and the revelations are, shall we say, revealing. The heavens are opened today and we know a good bit more about God and a good bit more about who we are supposed to be. We, human beings that we are, are far more glorious than we believe, and far more ignoble than we care to think. To us is given the image of God to be for the world God’s agents. And now to us is given the image we were meant to be and he dies a cruel and painful death. Epiphany is the season of revelation and these revelations are hard to bear. May the God of creation who has created us to be God’s agents in the world and given to us the model of true human being give us courage and strength in this season of surprise.
Sunday, January 9, 2011 Acts 10: 34 – 43
The Rev. Bambi Willis Matthew 3: 13 - 17
“And when Jesus had been baptized, just as he came up from the water, suddenly the heavens were opened to him and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and alighting on him.”
Matthew 3: 16
The heavens are opened in our reading this morning from the gospel of Matthew. The veil between heaven and earth is lifted, and the very Spirit of God is given to Jesus. Jesus comes to be baptized by John and is revealed to be God’s Beloved Son, the bearer of the Spirit of God in the world.
Matthew tells us this Spirit was like a dove, an image we often see in art as we do on our mosaic here at St. Asaph’s. The dove suggests for some commentators, that what our evangelist Matthew had in mind as he narrates the story of Jesus’ baptism is the story of creation. “In the beginning,” we read in Genesis, “the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while the spirit of God brooded over the face of the waters.” Now as Jesus comes up from the water of baptism, he sees the Spirit of God like a dove coming to rest on him. The same Spirit of God that gave life to all that is, now gives life to a new creation, to Jesus, the beloved Son of God.
If the story of creation is what our evangelist has in mind we would be well to return to that story. In that story, after God creates the heavens and the earth, the seas and the dry land and all that lives within the sea and on the land, God creates human being forming man from the dust of the ground and then blowing into his nostrils the breath of life. This “mud man” is brought to life by the breath or the wind or the Spirit of God, which are all appropriate translations. The same Spirit of God which brooded over the formless void “in the beginning” is now breathed into man, bringing man to life.
We are given two accounts of the creation of humankind in Genesis and in the other account God simply says: “Let us make humankind in our image” and so does. In both accounts, humankind is the climax of creation, a unique creation made in the image of God, brought to life with God’s very own breath.
In the beginning, Genesis tells us God created a beautiful and diverse world filled with all kinds of living things. As the climax of creation, God brought forth human beings and gave them dominion over everything else God had created. The world was good and human beings were given the task of keeping the world good and the means to do so. Human beings were the most noble of all of God’s creature for they alone were made in God’s image. The opening chapters of Genesis exalt human being above everything else in creation, and give human beings the responsibility to care for everything else God has created. Go back and re-read the story of creation lest you begin to think we are “merely human.” To human being was given the very glory of God.
And that glory is what we lost in the fall when human beings preferred the lie of a snake to the wisdom of God. Now, our evangelist Matthew tells us, at Jesus’ baptism, God is creating anew, re-creating human being in the person of Jesus, restoring in Jesus the image of God which we were given but which we gave away. Jesus is the image of God humankind was meant to be. Matthew is making a radical claim. Jesus is the one true human being and only through Jesus can we become truly human.
On this the first Sunday in Epiphany, the season of revelation, what is revealed to us is who we were created to be, creatures made in the image of God, beings brought to life by the very breath of God and made to live as Jesus lived, in harmony with God, ourselves and one another. To confess Jesus as Lord is a confession about ourselves, a confession that while we may believe we are human, we are but a very pale reflection of what God created us to be. To be human is to be like Christ, the bearer of the Spirit of God.
In Christ, the glory of true human being, human being made in the image of God is revealed to us and for us. In Christ, we are brought to life, the life God intended us to have “in the beginning.” This life, truly human life, is God’s gift to us, a blessing, not a curse.
Unfortunately, we live in a world where being human means you are not an animal, vegetable or mineral. What constitutes us as human beings for some is our brain, for others our capacity for language. Few would argue that what makes us human is our unique relationship to God. The story of creation says otherwise. Commenting on that story, Old Testament scholar Walter Brueggemann writes:
The creature is seen as the one who is entrusted with power and the authority to rule. The text is revolutionary. It presents an inverted view of God, not as the one who reigns by fiat and remoteness, but as the one who governs by gracious self-giving. It also presents an inverted view of humanness. This man and this woman are not the chattel and servants of God, but the agents of God to whom much is given and much is expected.
We were created to be the agents of God. We were created to be like Christ. “In Jesus Christ,” Brueggemann continues, “we are offered a new discernment of who God is and of who humankind is called to be. The striking feature of Jesus is that he did not look after his own interests but always after the interests of others. That is an echo of God’s act of creation. Creation is God’s decision not to look after himself but to focus his energies and purposes on the creation.”
Looking after ourselves is what we do best. To do otherwise is simply “unnatural.” Which is why, from very early on, the church confessed a belief in the Holy Spirit, “God at work in the world,” in the words of the catechism. By the power of the Holy Spirit we are drawn away from ourselves, our needs, our fears, our pre-occupations and into a relationship with God and with others. Alan Jones, former dean of Grace Cathedral in San Francisco once wrote that the work of the Holy Spirit was all about falling in love, and not with ourselves, but rather with a God who created us to be human, as human as was Christ.
Now, I suppose the thought that we are created to be like Christ is a bit unsettling. It is for me. I am and you are, are we not, “merely” human, not at all like Christ who was fully human and fully divine. But as I re-read the story of creation, I marvel at who we were created to be and what God tasked us to do. I come away wondering if God really believed we mere mortals could shepherd God’s creation. And then I look at Christ and know, whereas I might give up my life for someone I love, I would never give up my life for someone who despised me and that is what Christ did.
Oh, Epiphany! This is the season of revelation and the revelations are, shall we say, revealing. The heavens are opened today and we know a good bit more about God and a good bit more about who we are supposed to be. We, human beings that we are, are far more glorious than we believe, and far more ignoble than we care to think. To us is given the image of God to be for the world God’s agents. And now to us is given the image we were meant to be and he dies a cruel and painful death. Epiphany is the season of revelation and these revelations are hard to bear. May the God of creation who has created us to be God’s agents in the world and given to us the model of true human being give us courage and strength in this season of surprise.
The Second Sunday After the Epiphany Isaiah 49: 1 – 7
Sunday, January 16, 2010 I Corinthians 1: 1 – 9
The Rev. Bambi Willis John 1: 29 – 42
John saw Jesus coming toward him and declared, “Here is the lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world!”
John 1: 29
“Here is the lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world,” John the Baptist announces this morning in our reading from the gospel of John. These are familiar words for us, words which we sing every Sunday in the Gloria: “Lord Jesus Christ, only Son of the Father, Lord God, Lamb of God, you take away the sin of the world: have mercy on us;” Jesus, John the Baptist declares, is the lamb of God.
If you came to the our text this morning with only a knowledge of the Old Testament, the image of a lamb would echo with many stories and multiple meanings. In the Old Testament, lambs were often used as sacrificial offerings by the Hebrews, offerings made in the Temple to atone for sins. The sacrificial slaughter of animals, detailed in the book of Leviticus, was the means by which the relationship between God and God’s people was restored when that relationship had been broken by sin.
The lamb would also bring back the memory of the story of Abraham and his son Isaac, when Abraham took his only son, in obedience to God’s command, up to a mountaintop where God had told Abraham to sacrifice his son, the child of the promise. In that story, aware that his father is going to offer a sacrifice, but not aware that he Isaac was to be the sacrifice, the young Isaac asks: “The fire and the wood are here, but where is the lamb for the burnt offering?” Abraham responds: “God himself will provide the lamb,” which God does but not before Abraham raises his knife to sacrifice his only son.
But one story in the Old Testament in particular was fueling our evangelist John’s imagination as he sought to proclaim who Christ was and what Christ did and that was the story of the Passover. In that story, Moses had implored the pharaoh of Egypt to set the Hebrew slaves free and Pharaoh has refused. After God visits nine plagues on the land of Egypt, Pharoah still is unwilling to let his precious slaves go.
So, “The Lord said to Moses, ‘I will bring one more plague upon Pharoah and upon Egypt; afterwards he will let you go from here; indeed, when he lets you go, he will drive you away.” And God told Moses God was about to strike down all the first born of Egypt. The Hebrews were to take a lamb and kill it, and spread the blood of the lamb on their doors and God would “passover” all the homes whose doors were marked by the blood of a lamb. In the morning, God parted the Red Sea and the Hebrews left Egypt.
For our evangelist John, Jesus is the Passover lamb, the lamb that was slain so that we might be set free, free to love and serve the Lord.
For Jews, Passover is a celebration of freedom, the freedom the Hebrew people were given by God when God, “with a mighty hand and an outstretched hand” led them out of Egypt and then told the Hebrews: “I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery; you shall have no other gods before me.” And every year, faithful Jews re-tell the story of their journey into freedom observing the Passover in their homes with a Seder supper, and with unleaven bread, bitter herbs and wine, remembering the story of their exodus from slavery into freedom.
In and through the event of the Exodus, the Hebrews came to know God in a new way. The God who had acted so decisively on their behalf freeing them from the tyranny of Pharoah, was the same God who had promised Abraham that through Abraham all the nations of the earth would be blessed. Abraham became the father of Isaac who in turn became the father of Jacob who in turn became the father of Joseph who saved his family from starvation by bringing them to Egypt. And when Abraham’s family was taken into slavery by Pharoah, God called forth Moses to lead Abraham’s family out of slavery and into freedom. In the event of the Exodus, God was keeping God’s promise to Abraham, the promise that through Abraham God would indeed bless the world.
The paschal lamb of the Exodus was a sign of God’s faithfulness. And now, our evangelist John tells us, God is fulfilling God’s ancient promise to Abraham in Jesus.
“Here is the lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world,” are familiar words to us but often are words, in the words of one of our Eucharistic prayers “of solace only, and not for strength; for pardon only, and not for renewal.” We are forgiven for a purpose, rescued for a reason, and like our ancestors in the faith, brought out of slavery into freedom because through us God is making all things new. Every Sunday we make our confession and receive absolution so that we can “Go in peace to love and serve the Lord.” God clears the way, so to speak, for us to be the people God has called us to be, the people through whom the glory of God may be made known in all the world.
Some years ago, I participated in a group for adolescents struggling with substance abuse. The kids in this group were hugely gifted adolescents who did not know that they were and who had chosen to cope with the world in which we live with drugs. These were kids who had a peculiar sensitivity to suffering and readily picked up on the suffering of others. These adolescents had a gift, so to speak, for recognizing the not-so-rightness-of-the-world and sought to befriend others who, like them, were suffering. But in order to cope with this troubled world they got high. When they got high they no longer could be what they most wanted to be – helpmates to others who suffer. Freedom from drugs meant these kids could be what they so often said they wanted to be, free to be there for their friends who were also struggling.
God redeems us, “takes away the sin of the world” through Christ, not to return us to a state of innocence - something like what Adam and Eve enjoyed before Eve took a bite from an apple - but rather to free us to be the people through whom God is bringing to completion God’s purposes for the world. God freed those slaves in Egypt from the oppression of Pharoah so that those people could be the people through whom God would bring the world round right. Our redemption, in other words, is not for our sakes but for the sake of the world.
For our ancestors in the faith, sin threatened the community. The various prohibitions of which we read in Leviticus were meant to preserve the community, not “save” individuals. God had formed a people, the people Israel, and sin would tear this people apart. Our ancestors in the faith never saw themselves as solitary individuals but always as a part of a community. The blood of the paschal lamb did not save individuals; the blood of the lamb created a people, the people Israel, the people God destined from long before to be the light of the world.
Every Sunday as we confess our sins and receive absolution, God is working to create a community of folk through whom God might make known God’s purpose for God’s very good creation. And God’s purpose in creating is that all that God created might enjoy simply being, being with God and being with one another.
As a wise seminary professor once told me as I wrestled with the significance of my ordination: “This isn’t about you.” What we are about and why we come together is all about God, the God who made a promise to Abraham and who in the Exodus kept God’s promise and who in Christ, overcame death itself. God gathers us together not to make us new but to make the whole world new. May you this day know that you are forgiven of all your sins and be strengthened in all goodness not for your sake but for the sake of the world.
Sunday, January 16, 2010 I Corinthians 1: 1 – 9
The Rev. Bambi Willis John 1: 29 – 42
John saw Jesus coming toward him and declared, “Here is the lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world!”
John 1: 29
“Here is the lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world,” John the Baptist announces this morning in our reading from the gospel of John. These are familiar words for us, words which we sing every Sunday in the Gloria: “Lord Jesus Christ, only Son of the Father, Lord God, Lamb of God, you take away the sin of the world: have mercy on us;” Jesus, John the Baptist declares, is the lamb of God.
If you came to the our text this morning with only a knowledge of the Old Testament, the image of a lamb would echo with many stories and multiple meanings. In the Old Testament, lambs were often used as sacrificial offerings by the Hebrews, offerings made in the Temple to atone for sins. The sacrificial slaughter of animals, detailed in the book of Leviticus, was the means by which the relationship between God and God’s people was restored when that relationship had been broken by sin.
The lamb would also bring back the memory of the story of Abraham and his son Isaac, when Abraham took his only son, in obedience to God’s command, up to a mountaintop where God had told Abraham to sacrifice his son, the child of the promise. In that story, aware that his father is going to offer a sacrifice, but not aware that he Isaac was to be the sacrifice, the young Isaac asks: “The fire and the wood are here, but where is the lamb for the burnt offering?” Abraham responds: “God himself will provide the lamb,” which God does but not before Abraham raises his knife to sacrifice his only son.
But one story in the Old Testament in particular was fueling our evangelist John’s imagination as he sought to proclaim who Christ was and what Christ did and that was the story of the Passover. In that story, Moses had implored the pharaoh of Egypt to set the Hebrew slaves free and Pharaoh has refused. After God visits nine plagues on the land of Egypt, Pharoah still is unwilling to let his precious slaves go.
So, “The Lord said to Moses, ‘I will bring one more plague upon Pharoah and upon Egypt; afterwards he will let you go from here; indeed, when he lets you go, he will drive you away.” And God told Moses God was about to strike down all the first born of Egypt. The Hebrews were to take a lamb and kill it, and spread the blood of the lamb on their doors and God would “passover” all the homes whose doors were marked by the blood of a lamb. In the morning, God parted the Red Sea and the Hebrews left Egypt.
For our evangelist John, Jesus is the Passover lamb, the lamb that was slain so that we might be set free, free to love and serve the Lord.
For Jews, Passover is a celebration of freedom, the freedom the Hebrew people were given by God when God, “with a mighty hand and an outstretched hand” led them out of Egypt and then told the Hebrews: “I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery; you shall have no other gods before me.” And every year, faithful Jews re-tell the story of their journey into freedom observing the Passover in their homes with a Seder supper, and with unleaven bread, bitter herbs and wine, remembering the story of their exodus from slavery into freedom.
In and through the event of the Exodus, the Hebrews came to know God in a new way. The God who had acted so decisively on their behalf freeing them from the tyranny of Pharoah, was the same God who had promised Abraham that through Abraham all the nations of the earth would be blessed. Abraham became the father of Isaac who in turn became the father of Jacob who in turn became the father of Joseph who saved his family from starvation by bringing them to Egypt. And when Abraham’s family was taken into slavery by Pharoah, God called forth Moses to lead Abraham’s family out of slavery and into freedom. In the event of the Exodus, God was keeping God’s promise to Abraham, the promise that through Abraham God would indeed bless the world.
The paschal lamb of the Exodus was a sign of God’s faithfulness. And now, our evangelist John tells us, God is fulfilling God’s ancient promise to Abraham in Jesus.
“Here is the lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world,” are familiar words to us but often are words, in the words of one of our Eucharistic prayers “of solace only, and not for strength; for pardon only, and not for renewal.” We are forgiven for a purpose, rescued for a reason, and like our ancestors in the faith, brought out of slavery into freedom because through us God is making all things new. Every Sunday we make our confession and receive absolution so that we can “Go in peace to love and serve the Lord.” God clears the way, so to speak, for us to be the people God has called us to be, the people through whom the glory of God may be made known in all the world.
Some years ago, I participated in a group for adolescents struggling with substance abuse. The kids in this group were hugely gifted adolescents who did not know that they were and who had chosen to cope with the world in which we live with drugs. These were kids who had a peculiar sensitivity to suffering and readily picked up on the suffering of others. These adolescents had a gift, so to speak, for recognizing the not-so-rightness-of-the-world and sought to befriend others who, like them, were suffering. But in order to cope with this troubled world they got high. When they got high they no longer could be what they most wanted to be – helpmates to others who suffer. Freedom from drugs meant these kids could be what they so often said they wanted to be, free to be there for their friends who were also struggling.
God redeems us, “takes away the sin of the world” through Christ, not to return us to a state of innocence - something like what Adam and Eve enjoyed before Eve took a bite from an apple - but rather to free us to be the people through whom God is bringing to completion God’s purposes for the world. God freed those slaves in Egypt from the oppression of Pharoah so that those people could be the people through whom God would bring the world round right. Our redemption, in other words, is not for our sakes but for the sake of the world.
For our ancestors in the faith, sin threatened the community. The various prohibitions of which we read in Leviticus were meant to preserve the community, not “save” individuals. God had formed a people, the people Israel, and sin would tear this people apart. Our ancestors in the faith never saw themselves as solitary individuals but always as a part of a community. The blood of the paschal lamb did not save individuals; the blood of the lamb created a people, the people Israel, the people God destined from long before to be the light of the world.
Every Sunday as we confess our sins and receive absolution, God is working to create a community of folk through whom God might make known God’s purpose for God’s very good creation. And God’s purpose in creating is that all that God created might enjoy simply being, being with God and being with one another.
As a wise seminary professor once told me as I wrestled with the significance of my ordination: “This isn’t about you.” What we are about and why we come together is all about God, the God who made a promise to Abraham and who in the Exodus kept God’s promise and who in Christ, overcame death itself. God gathers us together not to make us new but to make the whole world new. May you this day know that you are forgiven of all your sins and be strengthened in all goodness not for your sake but for the sake of the world.
The Third Sunday After the Epiphany Isaiah 9: 1 – 4
Sunday, January 23, 2011 I Corinthians 1: 10 – 18
The Rev. Bambi Willis Matthew 4: 12 – 23
From that time Jesus began to proclaim, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.”
Matthew 4: 17
“What excites me about Christianity is its surprise factor. Risky, challenging, revelatory, it bubbles with new ideas and pictures, uncovering God where you least expect, and questioning many of your spiritual and social and political assumptions.” Brian Mountford, Vicar of the University Church in Oxford, England wrote those words in 1997. On this the Third Sunday of Epiphany, the season of revelation, Vicar Mountford’s words seem especially appropriate. God does us take by surprise, meeting us often unexpectedly, strangely “showing up” in the midst of the mundane stuff of ordinary life in this world.
We hear Jesus proclaim this morning in the gospel of Matthew: “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.” With these words, Jesus begins his public ministry in the gospel of Matthew. And in these words we hear the central message of the whole of the New Testament: in Jesus, the kingdom of heaven has come near. All of the gospels, all of Paul’s letters, the letter to the Hebrews and the writings of John all bear witness in their own ways to that one affirmation: the kingdom of God has dawned on earth in the person of Jesus.
When the heavens were opened at Jesus’ baptism and God’s spirit descended upon Jesus, God came into the world, into our world. God came into our world of matter and time, a world in which we enter as children hoping someone will feed us when we are hungry and comfort us when we are afraid. This is the world in which we will go to school, fall in love, maybe raise a family and buy a house. This is also the world in which each of us will meet others who will hurt us, in which we realize somewhere along the way that the people we love die and we can be brought to great grief. This is the world in which no matter what we do, we all come to realize that we are born only to die.
Into this world God came.
Perhaps the most beautiful description of God’s kingdom or God’s world, is the one we find in the book of Revelation where we read:
“See, the home of God is among mortals. He will dwell with them as their God; they will be his peoples, and God himself will be with them; he will wipe every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away.”
In God’s kingdom, justice is done, the sick are healed, the meek are raised up and the sorrowful brought to joy. In the kingdom of God, God is with us and we are with God. And death will be no more. Such is the kingdom that has come near to us in Jesus.
This is the kingdom for which our ancestors in the faith longed for, prayed for, hoped for and died for. And it is the vision of this kingdom that is so compelling that four fishermen in our reading this morning leave their nets, their livelihood and their families to follow.
“Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.” As Peter, Andrew, James and John, drop their fishing nets to follow Jesus, as they turn away from their settled life along the shore of the Sea of Galilee to follow this itinerant preacher, we are given a picture of repentance not as a guilt trip God imposes on us for messing up, but rather a turning toward a vision of life in this world that makes everything else pale in comparison. The word “repent” in Greek means literally “to have a change of heart” and in this instance, the heart of these four fishermen was no longer in fishing, but rather was suddenly turned toward Jesus and his proclamation that the kingdom of God was near.
That in Jesus the kingdom of God has come near to us is good news, news of great joy. Too often the church has turned this good news into bad news, news that reminds us only of what we should have done but failed to do and not what God did and continues to do, drawing near to us by the power of the Holy Spirit.
Former dean of Grace Cathedral in San Francisco Alan Jones once wrote: “One rarely hears of the God who is breathtakingly attractive – the one who desires and finds us desirable. In the monastic setting where I was trained as a priest, we were told that God is madly in love with us that the life of faith is indeed risky, challenging, revelatory. The sheer beauty of it all swept us away.” Are we at risk of losing that sense of God’s amazing irresistible desirability? In our reading this morning, these four fishermen were anything but notorious sinners, in need of a conversion experience. Rather, they seem to be doing what most of us do in this world, earning a living and taking care of their families. Yet, when Jesus says: “Follow me,” they leave behind their settled life to begin life anew with Jesus.
The proclamation of the advent of the kingdom of God was news that changed the lives of these four men in ways they never could have known. Are we, two thousand years later, at risk of not hearing this proclamation as “news,” let alone “good news,” news that grabs our attention every bit as much as the headlines of the daily newspaper? We have good news to share, news far more exciting than the Dow Jones stock average.
Our life of faith is rooted in our worship of this God whose kingdom has come near to us in Christ. And Sunday after Sunday, we bear witness to the nearness of God’s kingdom in the Eucharist as we receive the body and blood of Christ. With bread and with wine we are “nourished by riches of God’s grace,” the grace of God who reveals Godself to us in the beauty of a sunrise, the face of a friend, and the laughter of a child.
Our lives are haunted, if you will, by a mystery we can barely understand but which the New Testament writers called “love.” Love was what bound Jesus to his Father in heaven and love is what bound Jesus to his disciples whom he called friends. This love was so irresistible that Jesus literally gave up his life for the sake of that love, abandoning his very life out of love for his Father in heaven.
God’s love for us breaks into our world in countless ways, inviting us to see God’s “hand at work in the world about us” in the words of one of our Eucharistic prayers. That God is at work in this world by the power of the Holy Spirit is good news, news that is almost too good to be true.
Our annual diocesan council was this weekend and over six hundred clergy and laity gathered to take up the business of the church, at the Hyatt in Reston. As we gathered together to hear reports, vote on resolutions and pass a budget, I watched as our alternate Dale Brittle quietly slipped out of the meetings to go help out at the ECW booth. I laughed when I learned that Will Gravatt never travels, even to the Hyatt, without a set of tools. And when members of council were invited to a party on Friday night, I watched a friend gently guide a blind delegate onto the dance floor so that she too could enjoy dancing. Later, Sherry caught Bishop Shannon on video during the limbo.
Not one of those moments was on anybody’s agenda and no resolution will ever bring those moments to pass. But in those moments, God has come near to us, so near that all we can do is give thanks. I marvel during our community suppers at the way strangers our welcomed into our midst, delight watching the kids crowded around a small table during coffee hour eating cupcakes, wonder where Sherry is going to put another choir member, and struggle to keep up with all the questions that come up at adult ed.
Behold the love of God all around us this day and give thanks.
Sunday, January 23, 2011 I Corinthians 1: 10 – 18
The Rev. Bambi Willis Matthew 4: 12 – 23
From that time Jesus began to proclaim, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.”
Matthew 4: 17
“What excites me about Christianity is its surprise factor. Risky, challenging, revelatory, it bubbles with new ideas and pictures, uncovering God where you least expect, and questioning many of your spiritual and social and political assumptions.” Brian Mountford, Vicar of the University Church in Oxford, England wrote those words in 1997. On this the Third Sunday of Epiphany, the season of revelation, Vicar Mountford’s words seem especially appropriate. God does us take by surprise, meeting us often unexpectedly, strangely “showing up” in the midst of the mundane stuff of ordinary life in this world.
We hear Jesus proclaim this morning in the gospel of Matthew: “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.” With these words, Jesus begins his public ministry in the gospel of Matthew. And in these words we hear the central message of the whole of the New Testament: in Jesus, the kingdom of heaven has come near. All of the gospels, all of Paul’s letters, the letter to the Hebrews and the writings of John all bear witness in their own ways to that one affirmation: the kingdom of God has dawned on earth in the person of Jesus.
When the heavens were opened at Jesus’ baptism and God’s spirit descended upon Jesus, God came into the world, into our world. God came into our world of matter and time, a world in which we enter as children hoping someone will feed us when we are hungry and comfort us when we are afraid. This is the world in which we will go to school, fall in love, maybe raise a family and buy a house. This is also the world in which each of us will meet others who will hurt us, in which we realize somewhere along the way that the people we love die and we can be brought to great grief. This is the world in which no matter what we do, we all come to realize that we are born only to die.
Into this world God came.
Perhaps the most beautiful description of God’s kingdom or God’s world, is the one we find in the book of Revelation where we read:
“See, the home of God is among mortals. He will dwell with them as their God; they will be his peoples, and God himself will be with them; he will wipe every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away.”
In God’s kingdom, justice is done, the sick are healed, the meek are raised up and the sorrowful brought to joy. In the kingdom of God, God is with us and we are with God. And death will be no more. Such is the kingdom that has come near to us in Jesus.
This is the kingdom for which our ancestors in the faith longed for, prayed for, hoped for and died for. And it is the vision of this kingdom that is so compelling that four fishermen in our reading this morning leave their nets, their livelihood and their families to follow.
“Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.” As Peter, Andrew, James and John, drop their fishing nets to follow Jesus, as they turn away from their settled life along the shore of the Sea of Galilee to follow this itinerant preacher, we are given a picture of repentance not as a guilt trip God imposes on us for messing up, but rather a turning toward a vision of life in this world that makes everything else pale in comparison. The word “repent” in Greek means literally “to have a change of heart” and in this instance, the heart of these four fishermen was no longer in fishing, but rather was suddenly turned toward Jesus and his proclamation that the kingdom of God was near.
That in Jesus the kingdom of God has come near to us is good news, news of great joy. Too often the church has turned this good news into bad news, news that reminds us only of what we should have done but failed to do and not what God did and continues to do, drawing near to us by the power of the Holy Spirit.
Former dean of Grace Cathedral in San Francisco Alan Jones once wrote: “One rarely hears of the God who is breathtakingly attractive – the one who desires and finds us desirable. In the monastic setting where I was trained as a priest, we were told that God is madly in love with us that the life of faith is indeed risky, challenging, revelatory. The sheer beauty of it all swept us away.” Are we at risk of losing that sense of God’s amazing irresistible desirability? In our reading this morning, these four fishermen were anything but notorious sinners, in need of a conversion experience. Rather, they seem to be doing what most of us do in this world, earning a living and taking care of their families. Yet, when Jesus says: “Follow me,” they leave behind their settled life to begin life anew with Jesus.
The proclamation of the advent of the kingdom of God was news that changed the lives of these four men in ways they never could have known. Are we, two thousand years later, at risk of not hearing this proclamation as “news,” let alone “good news,” news that grabs our attention every bit as much as the headlines of the daily newspaper? We have good news to share, news far more exciting than the Dow Jones stock average.
Our life of faith is rooted in our worship of this God whose kingdom has come near to us in Christ. And Sunday after Sunday, we bear witness to the nearness of God’s kingdom in the Eucharist as we receive the body and blood of Christ. With bread and with wine we are “nourished by riches of God’s grace,” the grace of God who reveals Godself to us in the beauty of a sunrise, the face of a friend, and the laughter of a child.
Our lives are haunted, if you will, by a mystery we can barely understand but which the New Testament writers called “love.” Love was what bound Jesus to his Father in heaven and love is what bound Jesus to his disciples whom he called friends. This love was so irresistible that Jesus literally gave up his life for the sake of that love, abandoning his very life out of love for his Father in heaven.
God’s love for us breaks into our world in countless ways, inviting us to see God’s “hand at work in the world about us” in the words of one of our Eucharistic prayers. That God is at work in this world by the power of the Holy Spirit is good news, news that is almost too good to be true.
Our annual diocesan council was this weekend and over six hundred clergy and laity gathered to take up the business of the church, at the Hyatt in Reston. As we gathered together to hear reports, vote on resolutions and pass a budget, I watched as our alternate Dale Brittle quietly slipped out of the meetings to go help out at the ECW booth. I laughed when I learned that Will Gravatt never travels, even to the Hyatt, without a set of tools. And when members of council were invited to a party on Friday night, I watched a friend gently guide a blind delegate onto the dance floor so that she too could enjoy dancing. Later, Sherry caught Bishop Shannon on video during the limbo.
Not one of those moments was on anybody’s agenda and no resolution will ever bring those moments to pass. But in those moments, God has come near to us, so near that all we can do is give thanks. I marvel during our community suppers at the way strangers our welcomed into our midst, delight watching the kids crowded around a small table during coffee hour eating cupcakes, wonder where Sherry is going to put another choir member, and struggle to keep up with all the questions that come up at adult ed.
Behold the love of God all around us this day and give thanks.
