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THE EPIPHANY AND BAPTISM OF OUR LORD — January 9, 2005
SECOND
SUNDAY AFTER CHRISTMASS — January 2, 2005
DAY OF SAINT
STEPHEN, DEACON AND MARTYR, FIRST SUNDAY AFTER CHRISTMASS — December 26, 2004
THE NATIVITY
OF OUR LORD — CHRISTMAS DAY — DECEMBER 25, 2004
THE NATIVITY
OF OUR LORD — Christmass Eve— December 24, 2004
EVE OF
CHRISTMASS — Service of Lessons and Carols — December 24, 2004
FOURTH
SUNDAY IN ADVENT — December 19, 2004
THE THIRD
SUNDAY IN ADVENT — December 12, 2004
ORDENACIÓN DE EDUARDO FABIÁN ARIAS —11 de
diciembre de 2004
ORDINATION
OF EDUARDO FABIÁN ARIAS — December 11, 2004
SECOND
SUNDAY IN ADVENT — December 5, 2004
THE FIRST
SUNDAY IN ADVENT — November 28, 2004
CHRIST THE
KING — LAST SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST — November 21, 2004
MASS OF THE
RESURRECTION — SUSAN LAURA NEIBACHER — November 18, 2004
TWENTY-FOURTH
SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST — November 14, 2004
THE EPIPHANY AND BAPTISM OF OUR LORD — January 9, 2005
The sermon on this day was a
dramatic presentation:
This morning the students of the Sunday school and Creative
Proclamations present The Wise Seek Him
Still. This play borrows portions
from Arnoul Greban’s 15th century mystery play The Play of the Three Kings as translated by Shelley Sewall. This was just one part of his vast cyclic drama
in verse, The Mystery of the Passion
— a play that calls for hundreds of characters and requires several days for a
production that covers the period from Creation through the Resurrection. Against this traditional Epiphany story, we
present a modern take.
SECOND SUNDAY AFTER CHRISTMASS — January 2, 2005
Jeremiah
31:7-14; Psalm 147:13-21; Ephesians 1:3-14; Saint John 1:1-14
In nomine Jesu!
I’m not certain when it happened,
how it happened or even if it happened gradually or suddenly –– at the turn of
the Millennium? In the early 90’s? With the advent of the computer, the
Internet, or with their ubiquitous use, or even before? It is a global, or at least a first and
second world, phenomenon, evident in our media, entertainment, and literature,
and profoundly changing every literary form, from “intelligence reports” (like
those from the CIA) to best-selling novels (like “The Da Vinci Code”). It is all pervasive, in our politics, in our
everyday personal and communal life, and, according to the most recent editions
of our major news magazines, even helps shape religious life in virtually every
tradition. “It” is this: That the only
information worth knowing is in verifiable, evidentiary fact. As Joe Friday used to say, “Just the facts,
ma’am.” It has blurred the distinction
between fact and fiction.
It has allowed for the widespread acceptance of “the spin,” and has
completely redefined what we once easily identified as “the lie.” Its advent has left us so subjective, so
skeptical, and so cynical that we are convinced we are powerless and live
without hope. And it has left us with
one major casualty: Truth. “Truth stumbles in the public square,” Isaiah
writes. Sadly, “truth” seems also to
lie, recumbent and nearly comatose, in our hearts and souls as well.
This is precisely the predicament ––
this encompassing darkness –– that makes Christmass Good News for us, if we
truly hear this day and faithfully respond to it in our daily lives: Good News for our families, our city, our
nation and our world. And here is that
Good News simply put by Saint John the Evangelist: “The light shines in the darkness, and the
darkness did not overcome it.”
Sisters and brothers, in this time
of darkness, we need this Light!
In this time of darkness, we have
something to learn, and a perspective to regain, from Saint John’s Gospel. For unlike us, John is not the least bit
constrained or concerned about verifiable evidence. He is only interested in something more
important, the Truth. And so John gives
us no birth details, not parents nor stable nor manger nor shepherds nor
star. And this is the Truth John
proclaims to us: “The Word became flesh and dwelled among us, and we beheld his
glory, full of grace and truth.” With those
two little words, “we” and “us,” John conveys the important difference between
facts and Truth: Facts are exclusive,
often time and place specific, and unaffected by “us.” Truth is inclusive of God’s “servants of
every time and every place.”
The Truth of Christmas is not that
Christ was born in Bethlehem of Judea 2000 years ago, even though that may be
the fact. The Truth of Christmass is
that Christ was born and is here for us now. The Truth of Christmass is that Christ is
en-fleshed, incarnate, and truly present in Word and Water and Bread and Wine
now as surely as he was en-fleshed, incarnate and truly present with Mary and
Joseph and the shepherds and magi and angels on that night so long ago. It is that Truth, sung by John the
Evangelist, proclaimed “in many and various ways to God’s people of old by the
prophets,” and lived through the lives of the saints today and in all days
past, that can make a difference in our world.
It is that Truth which will lift us out of the darkness of our dark,
fact-spun, hope-lost world.
In the Rubaiyat, Omar Khayyam says
it this way:
Ah Love! Could you and I with Him conspire
To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire,
Would not we shatter it to bits –– and then
Re-mold it nearer to the Heart’s Desire!
Because the Word becomes flesh and
dwells among us, here and now, we are united with him, “the glory of an only
Son coming from the Father, full of grace and truth.” Because the Word becomes flesh and dwells
among us, here and now, we are united with him, as he stands, bloodied and
throne crowned, in silent answer to Pilate’s ageless question, “What is
truth?” Because the Word becomes flesh
and dwells among us, here and now, we are united with him, as at his –– and our
–– empty tomb we “know the truth and the truth [sets] us free.” Not facts to exclude, or be spun, inverted or
twisted, but Truth to be experienced and lived in and through each one of us
and in and through us praying and working together as the here and now present
Body of the little Lord Jesus who is our crucified and risen Christ.
Because the Word becomes flesh and
dwells among us, here and now, we can and we must, “grasp this sorry Scheme of
Things entire” and “Re-mold it nearer to the Heart’s Desire.”
We who gather at the crèche and the
cross, and around book and water, bread and wine know with all our being that
this truly is a “sorry Scheme of Things” and, because, in the crèche and the
cross, the word and the sacraments, “we have seen his glory,” we know what is
“the Heart’s Desire.” And therefore this
Christmass must not only be an act of churchly worship. It must also be a call to holy living, truth
telling, and sorry scheme re-molding.
Only then will our Christmass fulfill its angelic mandate of peace on
earth good will to all.
Amandus J. Derr
Saint Peter’s Church
In the City of New York
DAY OF SAINT STEPHEN, DEACON AND MARTYR, FIRST SUNDAY AFTER CHRISTMASS — December 26, 2004
2 Chronicles 24:17-22, Psalm 17:1-9, 16; Acts 6:8 – 7:2a, 51-60; Saint
Matthew 23: 34-39
In nomine Jesu!
I believe I speak for the choir,
Sister Melinda, our liturgical leaders, and every clergy person on earth when I
say that the only thing worse than having Christmas Day on Saturday is having
Christmas Eve on Sunday. In both cases,
there is a virtually seamless parade of liturgies, one after the other in
seemingly endless procession. I dislike
this schedule so much that I’ve even calculated the number of times I must go
through it before I retire. The answer,
by the way, is twice, in 2006, when Christmas Eve is on Sunday; and in 2010,
when we repeat this year’s Friday, Saturday, Sunday cycle again. The next time this happens, in 2016, I plan
on being retired.
The problem with this schedule is
that there is no break. Yet for those of us who take the liturgical calendar
seriously, there is no break anyway.
Every year with all those “whose forms are bending low” we take these
days of Christmass to “rest beside the weary road to hear the angels sing” only
to plunge — almost immediately — right back into the real-life,
rough-and-tumble reality of Stephen the martyr, the Holy Innocents and
dying-in-exile John. It’s even worse
when we add in our companions from the Anglican Communion. For they give us, on December 29, a 13th
Century martyr, Archbishop Thomas a Becket!
Thus sacrifice, senseless slaughter, exile, murder and political
intrigue all stalk us even by the side of our newborn and mangered Savior. And
so today, cloaked in martyr’s red, we plunge right back into our very real and
very dangerous world. Taking that plunge
with us is none other than the Babe of Bethlehem, whose birth we celebrated
just the other night. On this day, “Sleep in heavenly peace,” seems like a far
distant lullaby.
Yet “heavenly peace” is exactly what
ties the newborn Christ, these saints and us together. Here at Saint Peter’s that ought not surprise
us, since for forty months at every liturgy we have affirmed that “it is
[God’s] will to hold heaven and earth in a single peace.” Today, however, the Christchild and Saint
Stephen remind us “the waste of our wraths and sorrows” is very real and has
serious consequences.
In imitation of the Christ who came
“not to be served, but to serve,” Stephen, like all of us, was called to a
“service sector” vocation. Initially,
and with finely detailed specificity, Stephen becomes a deacon “serving
tables,” taking care, with six other “Hellenists,” of the needs of the
marginalized (formally Gentile) members of the burgeoning new post-Pentecost
Christian community. Food distribution,
clothing distribution — these deacons bore responsibility for making sure that
no one whose life was touched by Jesus Christ would be in any need.
It is fashionable these days to
think of this kind of public serving as the work of unreconstructed do-gooder
liberals. Stephen and his fellow
believers saw it differently. They
understood that care for the neediest members of the community flowed directly
from the life of Jesus Christ into which they were baptized and called, and for
which they were gathered and nourished.
It is that understanding, that care for the neediest is a necessary
first step in bearing public witness to Jesus Christ that moved Stephen along
in his vocation. Care for the
community’s neediest led to public witness to the community’s Lord.
The Book of Acts records Stephen’s
transformation from God-fearer to Christ-bearer to caregiver to public
proclaimer of the all-embracing love of God in Jesus Christ. Although it is a “first,” it is not a unique
transformation. It happens to many of
us. Moved by the Spirit to care for one
another and for those in greatest need, we discover that living the Good News in deed demands to be accompanied by telling the Good News in word, and we
become public witnesses of the love and power of Jesus Christ. Over the past twenty years and even to today,
Saint Peter’s Church has produced a number of candidates for the public
ministry. It is amazing how many of them
started out serving in our Breakfast or Momentum AIDS programs. The implication is, you can’t do one,
proclamation in deed, without the other, proclamation in word, and vice versa.
And you don’t have to be a martyr
like Stephen to be a witness. Quite the
contrary, Stephen’s vision of “open heavens with the Son of Man standing at the
right hand of God” is a perfect description of what we experience at every
Eucharist: In the mass, the heavens open
and we are invited within the courts of the righteous. In the mass, we see Jesus at the right hand
of God.
“At the right hand of God,” is first
century code for “mighty” and “all powerful” and “in control.”
“Mighty,” “all powerful,” “in
control.” It is well that we hold that
image in tension with the “little Babe so few days old,” in Bethlehem. It is well that we hold that image in tension
with the Christ we meet here in word and bread and wine. For if we would be witnesses, in deed and in
word, we need to follow the example of the One who came among us and who still
comes among us to exercise power and control in our lives through weakness,
vulnerability and humble service.
Today through the calendar and the
liturgy, we are plunged right back into the real-life, rough-and-tumble reality
of our world, but our plunging is with a calling: To “creatively shape the city,” and the
world. How shall we accomplish
this: Our Prayer of the Day expresses
the program “to love our enemies and seek forgiveness for those who desire our
hurt.” The world calls this, folly, but
in Jesus Christ, mangered child and crucified Lord, we are given our example,
and, more importantly, the energy to do what we are called to do in the midst
of a power-hungry society and a love-starved world.
Amandus J. Derr
Saint Peter’s Church
In the City of New York
THE NATIVITY OF OUR LORD — CHRISTMAS DAY — DECEMBER 25, 2004
Isaiah 52:7-10; Psalm 98; Hebrews 1:1-12;
Saint John 1: 1-14
In nomine Jesu!
In his remarkable book, The Heart of Christianity, New
Testament scholar Marcus Borg writes:
One of the defining characteristics of Christianity is that we find the
revelation of God primarily in a person, an affirmation unique among the
major religions of the world. For
Judaism and Islam, though Moses and Muhammad are receivers of revelation, God
is not revealed in them as persons, but in the words of Torah and Qur’an. So also in Buddhism: the Buddha as a person
is not the revelation of God; rather, the Buddha’s teachings disclose the path
to enlightenment and compassion.
But Christianity finds the primary revelation of God in a person. . . . This is the central meaning of
incarnation: Jesus is what can be seen of God embodied in human life. He is the revelation, the incarnation, of
God’s character and passion — of what God is like and of what God is most
passionate about. He shows us the heart
of God.
Those are seven remarkable sentences.
Less poetic, to be sure, than the beginning of Saint John’s Gospel;
longer, to be sure, than those remarkable opening words from Hebrews, “In many
and various ways God spoke of old to our ancestors by the prophets, but now in
these last days he has spoken to us by the Son;” yet, for our time and our
situation, a nearly perfect confession of who we say Jesus Christ is and what
we say Jesus Christ does, namely, he embodies the character and passion of God.
It seems to me that we Christians have forgotten that, especially in
these latter days. We have focused more often on what the Bible said and
asked more often “what would Jesus do” than we have focused ourselves on
who Jesus is. Yet, who Jesus is
and how Jesus interacted with those around him is much closer to the center of
our faith than any of those other questions. Think about it another way: What the Bible said is educational. Who Jesus is is incarnational. The first invites us to “read, mark and
inwardly digest.” The second invites us
to trust, to worship and to love.
The earliest Christians understood that. There is no clear consensus as to which day
they celebrated as Jesus’ birthday — December 25, January 6 and even beyond
these dates to February 2, the day we call “Candlemas” have all served to
commemorate Christ’s birth. But there is
consensus on this: for the earliest Christians, Jesus was not a figure of
history, but a presence in life; a “real presence” by which they experienced
the character and passion of God. We
have this enshrined in the most ancient of chants for this day, Hodie,
Christus natus est. Christ is born hodie. Christ is born today.
To be sure, we cannot experience Jesus without hearing what the
Bible says about him. Yet there is a
fundamental difference expressed by putting it that way. Martin Luther said it best, using Christmas
imagery to make the same point. “The
Scriptures,” Luther wrote, “are the manger in which the Christ Child
lies.” Understanding that, experiencing
that, extricates us from the duels of proof-texting that so completely
dominates all religious intercourse today, especially with regard to the way
people within the church experience one another. Put another way, whenever the Bible and Jesus
disagree, Jesus always wins. Jesus, not
the Bible, is the Word made flesh.
Again, to use the words of Marcus Borg, “Jesus is the decisive
revelation of what a life full of God looks like.”
What the world needs now, more than anything, is not lives filled with
answers, but lives filled with God. What
the world needs now is not better information, but better relationships. What the people of the world need now, almost
more than ever before, are means for experiencing acceptance, inclusion,
healing, nourishment, inspiration, and forgiveness. These are matters of experience, not
education. These are matters of
incarnation, not indoctrination.
And so “the Word becomes flesh and dwells among us” — hodie –
today, here and now. The Word becomes
flesh and accepts, includes, heals, nourishes, inspires and forgives us — hodie
— today, here and now, in word and bread and wine and in the un-barriered
global community we call the church on earth as it is in heaven. The Word becomes flesh and dwells in us — hodie
– today, here and now — and we carry that Word in our own corruptible bodies
into that world so that all may experience what life full of God can be.
The world, you see, does not need more information. What the world needs now is heart. And Jesus, the Word made flesh in us, is the
heart of God.
Amandus J. Derr
Saint Peter’s Church
In the City of New York
THE NATIVITY OF OUR LORD — Christmass Eve— December 24, 2004
Isaiah 9:2-7; Psalm 96; Titus 2:11-14; Saint
Luke 2:1-20
In nomine Jesu!
“Behold, I bring you tidings of
great joy.”
I was at my desk when it
happened. The lights flickered; then
went out. The telephone lit up; then
went dead. And the computer — the infallible,
indispensable computer on which I was working — went dark. Within seconds, the buildings emptied — 8,000
from this building, 2,000 from that one, 4,000 from another — and the sidewalks
filled with huddled groups of bright and earnest young women and men, punching
cells, poking Palm Pilots, searching for some kind of news. What’s going on?
I went outside where the very air
bristled with tension. Time passed;
tensions rose. And then there came a
voice. “Pastor, didja hear the
news?” It was John, one of our homeless
members — John, who even in mid-August looks suspiciously like Santa
Claus. “Pastor, didja hear the news?” He
steered me over to Bill, another one of our homeless friends. Bill had a transistor radio. He let me listen. “It’s not a terrorist attack! It’s a line failure in Canada, or maybe
Ohio.” Good news from an unlikely
source!
I announced it. Making my way around
the block, I announced it, and the atmosphere changed. All those bright and earnest, cell-punching,
Palm Pilot-poking young women and men relaxed — and then they threw a gigantic,
giddy, street-blocking party: The Great
Blackout Blowout of 2003.
Good News from an unlikely source —
that’s what we celebrate tonight!
We are fragile people. That is
nothing new. But we know it more personally, we feel it more intimately, and we
react to it more frantically.
We are fragile people, citizens of a
fractured nation, living in a shattered world.
And everything everywhere affects
us.
·
We
believe we are indestructible, then that lump, or that blockage, or that
“shadow” appears.
·
A
bomb explodes in Kuwait and we pay more for our fuel at the pump.
·
We
celebrate “Mission Accomplished,” but the body bags keep rolling in.
·
Our
friend shows signs of progress, then “that call” comes late in the night.
·
A
plant in Great Britain taints its product, and we panic because of the
flu.
·
A
reviewer applauds our performance, then they cut back or merge or they
outsource your job.
·
We
are sure our priorities are the Nation’s, and are shocked on how they are not
shared.
We are fragile people, and we are
not alone. The whole world shares our
fragility and knows it. Uncertainty, insecurity, and instability bind us all as
one.
Tonight we celebrate that God comes
to deliver us as a helpless Child who grows into a wayfaring preacher, who
teaches the way of service, who dies a betrayed and despised criminal, and who
lives among us again in Word and water and bread and wine and fragile, unstable
us.
Fragile, uncertain, insecure and
unstable people are not really expecting that kind of deliverance. They are looking for a God, who comes out
swinging, righting wrongs by eliminating wrong-doers. You see, fragile people, living in an
uncertain, insecure and unstable world and
knowing it, share more than their fragility. They share a common desire for a Deliverer
who will wipe others out.
This is the phenomenon of this age:
Muslims want a god who will wipe out the infidel; Hindus want a god who will
drive out the Muslims; Jews want a god who will restore the fortunes of Zion;
Christians want a god who will wipe out the Muslims, cleanse the church of the
liberals, and convert the Jews; and all of the above want a god who will drive
out the secularists, except the secularists who are content to do that deed
themselves. Fragile, insecure people
living in unstable and uncertain times like these will listen to scholars who
by cobbling together the most minor of “holy texts” tell them they shall
succeed. And fragile, insecure people
living in unstable and uncertain times like these will flock to those leaders
who tell them god’s will is that they triumph over “them” who must perish.
Fragile, insecure people living in
unstable and uncertain times like these seek a god who, with great power and
absolute authority, will bring and end to all suffering by force, but the God
we get is fragile — an infant in a manger, a man on a cross, a living presence
through word and water, bread and wine, and us.
Dear friends: Christmass — God’s incarnation, God becoming
fragile just like us — is not just a pretext
for Christ’s second coming, no matter how many times we skip from Christ’s
birth to the “Hallelujah Chorus” in Handel’s Messiah. Birthing, suffering and
dying are the text, everything else
is a footnote. Christmass is not about triumph, it is about engagement. Christianity is not about winning, it is
about serving — serving as the one who “came, not to be served, but to serve,
and to give his life as a ransom for many.”
Christmass Christians are not called to rest in the wake of victory; they
are challenged, as we are in Titus, “to be zealous for every good deed.”
The uncertain, unstable, insecure
world into which Jesus was born had been pacified — made safe for commerce and
for the exchange of new ideas — by the power and might and the blood of
Rome. Yet, not only did these Roman few
call this peace, they worshiped the one who by force had brought it,
Augustus, god’s son of the house and
lineage of the god Julius. Yet few
dared call this “peace.”
The birth of Jesus is judgment on
this “peace by domination” system. More to the point, it is judgment on everyone — Christian or Jew, Muslim or
Hindu, Republican or Democratic, left or right — who deify power — military
power, economic power, terrorist or even electoral power — as the way to certainty,
security, stability and peace. The birth
of Jesus whispers “no” to the god of retributive justice and sings “yes” to the
God of mercy, service and love. It
plucks God off our backs and plucks us off each other. It replaces rules and restrictions with mercy
and free access. It replaces domination
and obedience with service and love. In
every aspect of our lives, it is Good News!
Good News — from an unlikely source.
Peace, security and freedom not from some “power on high,” but from the lowest
of the low — an infant in a manger, a man on a cross, a living presence among
us through word and water, bread and wine, and us.
Tonight it is my privilege to
announce that Good News to you, and on the basis of that Good News to urge you
not to give up, but to be bold to serve, to be zealous in every good work.
But don’t do that tonight. Tonight, fellow fragile ones, amidst all the
uncertainty, all the instability, and all the insecurity of these troubled
times, take the advice of the poet and “rest beside the weary road and hear the
angels sing!”
For unto you is born this day in the
City of David, in bread and wine, and in your heart, a Savior who is Christ the
Lord!
Amandus J. Derr
Saint Peter’s Church
In the City of New York
EVE OF CHRISTMASS — Service of Lessons and Carols — December 24, 2004
Genesis 3:8-15; Genesis 22:1-19; Isaiah 9:2, 6-7;
Isaiah 11:1-9; Saint Luke
1:26-38; Saint Luke 2:1-7;
Saint Luke 2:8-16; Saint Matthew
2:1-12; Saint John 1:1-14
In the name
of the Father and of the † Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen
Hark, the Herald Angels Sing, Glory
to the Newborn King…
Once again, we gather on this most
special night to celebrate for a moment, to take time away from our hustling
and bustling of labor-intensive cooking and cleaning, of frantic decorating, of
last-minute combative shopping, and of hand-cramping writing, addressing,
mailing, and e-mailing of our Christmas greetings. And so we come together here in this place to
quiet our hearts and minds, to sit in the sacredness of this night, to sing
well-known, uplifting carols, and indeed to hear yet again those powerful Words
from God’s Scripture that tell us why we do gather here tonight. We gather to remember that greatest of gift
to all humanity for all the ages: God’s Son, Jesus, who came down to dwell
among us as a tiny, helpless, fragile baby boy, but a tiny, helpless, fragile
baby who would be for us the bringer of peace to our peace-less world, the
bearer of light to our darkened hearts, and the Savior and Deliverer from our
oppression to sin. Yes, on that night
God did the unthinkable, the unbelievable, the unimaginable
in that little town of Bethlehem: God became flesh, God became like you
and me to share in all that you and I experience daily – the suffering, the
pain, the laughter, the tears, and the joy of living. In the fullness of time, God took it upon
God’s self to unite the creation with the Creator in this most intimate way in
this profound solidarity as one of us!
And why? Why choose such a way to reveal God’s self to
us? Why not use another vision or more
prophets or some other method to show God’s activity and presence in this
world? It worked before, didn’t it? Often it did, but this time – two millennia
ago – God chose this unthinkable, unbelievable, unimaginable
event called a birth to break into our human history to show that God cares for
you and for me intimately. God became Immanuel not by name or definition
only, but by incarnation: God with us in the flesh!
The people who walked in darkness…a
people dwelling in the land of the shadow of death…a people – you and me – who
need to hear again the amazing story of that night when God’s Eternal Light
came down to us to shine upon us, to give us life in the hope that God is here for
us. God is here among us. God is here within us. God has claimed us as God’s own to give us
comfort in our times of affliction and loneliness and suffering. Indeed, in our suffering, God is our comfort. In our anxiety, God is our peace. In our despair, God is our hope. And in our darkness, God is our Light! For
all time!
Perhaps no carol best
captures our human condition even in 2004, pointing to why this night is so
important, than the great hymn written by Charles Wesley: “Hark, the Herald
Angels Sing, glory to the newborn King, peace on earth and mercy mild, God and
sinners reconciled.” We were separated
from God and indeed that is what this night is all about: God breaking into our
world in a place we wouldn’t expect to find God – in a baby. God came into our world to bring us – you and
me – into that relationship, telling us that we are special to God, and to calm
our anxiety that that which divides us from God – our sin – has now been bridged
by Jesus the Christ coming down to us.
God is active and alive and
present still in the Word…God is active and alive and present still in this
assembly…God is active and alive and present still in each one of us as we
proclaim with the shepherds, “Let us now go even unto Bethlehem, and see this
thing which is come to pass, which the Lord hath made known unto us.” Let us share today that message of hope to
one another as we take that message of living now in the Light with us beyond
these doors into a world of darkness.
And become the bearers of that light of Christ.
Why do we celebrate?
We celebrate the amazing
gift to all of humanity…the gift of God to each of us in that tiny baby. But we celebrate even more when we recall
that God has not forgotten us for year in and year out these stories – these
Words – visit us; these songs resonate in our ears that God still continues to
be with us and that God promises to do amazing things in, through, and around
us because, dear friends, we are called into this relationship with God by
God’s grace. Let us then celebrate for
unto us is born…a Savior….Jesus!
In the name
of the Father and of the † Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen
Darryl W. Kozak, Vicar
Saint Peter’s Church
In the City of New York
FOURTH SUNDAY IN ADVENT — December 19, 2004
Isaiah 7:10-16; Psalm 80:1-7, 16-18; Romans 1:1-7; Saint
Matthew 1:18-25
In
nomine Jesu!
Two perennial problems are often reinforced during Advent.
The first, that God is a procrastinator, especially when it comes to establishing
justice, equity and peace on earth. The
second, that on these same subjects, it’s ok for us to be procrastinators,
too. Pious procrastinators to be sure,
patiently praying, “Your kingdom come quickly” and patiently repenting,
especially of our personal peccadilloes.
Pro-active procrastinators, to be sure, patiently plastering patches
onto the torn fabric of our lives by feeding the homeless, clothing the poor,
weeping for the victims of hatred, violence and warfare. But procrastinators,
nevertheless, patiently waiting, along with all who are victimized by injustice
and inequity and live without peace, for our procrastinating God to show up and
deal, not just with the symptoms, but with the systems that produce such an
ungodly situation.
Today’s readings present procrastination’s poster child,
Ahaz of Judah. And in the one little
word God speaks to him, purges us of procrastination’s power. For Ahaz, that one word is Emmanuel, but it’s
three words for us, God with us.
Here. Now.
When we first meet King Ahaz in the Book of Isaiah, he is in
such a tight spot — invading armies are on his soil — that he offers his son as
a living sacrifice in a pagan ritual at Hinnom, hoping to assuage the divine
wrath that had come to his city. Today
we find him, petrified, pacing the parapets, as Isaiah the prophet greets
him. It’s somewhere around 730 BCE, and
Ahaz is looking for fast, fast, fast relief.
And Isaiah is prepared to tell him that help is on the way. “Ask a
sign,” Isaiah commands.
Now here’s where the myth of procrastination has its
root. Isaiah announces the sign with
these words, “Behold, a young woman is with child and shall bear a son, and
shall name him Emmanuel. And before the
child knows how to refuse evil and choose the good, the land before whose two
kings you are in terror will be deserted.”
How does procrastination fit in here?
Well, we are convinced that Isaiah can only be speaking of Jesus! In effect then, we understand Isaiah’s words
to Ahaz to be something like this. “Listen, Ahaz old boy, I know we’re
surrounded. I know we’re running out of
water and food. Just be patient. 750 years from now Jesus will be born and
then God will deliver you!”
Makes no sense, does it?
We can blame all this on a bad translation, from the original
Hebrew to common, or koine Greek, about 600 years later. That translation, known as the Septuagint,
uses the Greek word for “virgin” to translate the Hebrew word which means
“young woman.” The Evangelist Saint
Matthew, in turn, uses that translation in his Gospel as predicting the birth
of Jesus from the Virgin Mary.
Contrary to what usually happens when these translations are
questioned, this is not about Mary’s virginity.
This is about God’s, Isaiah’s, Ahaz’ and our responsibility. This is about whether or not God is useful
to people waiting for deliverance in King Ahaz’ time, in Jesus’ time and in our
own. This is about whether God is with
us when we need God, or off procrastinating while we face the consequences
alone.
God is with us now, Isaiah proclaims, as does Matthew in his
Gospel, as does the Church in this and every place as we celebrate the
sacraments. God is with us now, and that
is Good News!
It is also a challenge, a challenge to our procrastination
because it asserts that God is with us here and now and therefore justice,
equity and peace are not to be delayed!
That was Good News for King Ahaz and his people for — within
two years of the birth of this royal child before he knew how to refuse evil
and choose good — Ahaz’ invading enemies had been destroyed.
And that was Good News for Mary in her time, because it
meant that her dreaming fiancé Joseph, ever eager to do the right thing, did
not have to “dismiss her quietly.”
And this is Good News for us in our time of personal, civic,
national and global crises — cancer, bankruptcy, unemployment, terrorism,
nationalism, AIDS — because it means we do not have to face any of these crises
alone. God is with us.
But it is a challenge.
God is with us, here and now. God
does not procrastinate. Neither should we.
Justice, equity, peace — these are not merely God’s desires for us and
for our world in some long-distant future.
These are God’s expectations of us and of our world right now. God, with us in Jesus Christ, challenges us,
not just to wait, but to act; not just to pray, but to work; not just to feed,
clothe and house the hungry and the homeless, but to change the systems that
allow hunger, homelessness and poverty to continue. God — with us in Jesus Christ — challenges us,
not just to weep for the victims of war, but to challenge the systems that make
war possible.
We celebrate Christmass this year with plenty of evidence
that God’s desire for justice, equity and peace is still delayed. Isaiah stands among us today, as we pace the
parapets of our personal and collective lives.
“Ask a sign,” he says. “Ask a sign of the Lord your God.”
God does not wait for our response. In the faces of the poor among us; in the
embrace — and in the needs — of one another; in word, water, bread, wine, and
in the community of the faithful, God gives us a sign. God gives us Jesus — Emmanuel, God with
us: A scandal, a vision, a hope, a
comfort, and a challenge. God gives us
Jesus, God’s sign to the world that neither he nor we nor they should wait any
more.
Amandus J. Derr
Saint Peters Church
In the City of New York
THE THIRD SUNDAY IN ADVENT — December 12, 2004
Isaiah 35:1-10; Psalm 146:4-9; James 5:7-10; Matthew 11:2-11
In
the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen
One
of the more recent Christmastime movies is called “Family Man” starring Nicolas
Cage as Jack - a guy who works on Wall Street and “has it all.” The story
begins on Christmas Eve in New York. As a result of doing a good deed, an angel
gives Jack a glimpse of how his life would have been different had he made
other choices. Jack wakes up on Christmas Day and finds himself in a strange
bed with a wife (his old girlfriend Kate), two kids and a dog, living in a 4-bedroom
house in New Jersey. Later on he discovers that he is a tire salesman,
basically running his father-in-law’s business – Big Ed’s Tires. At first he is
totally disgusted by this new life, but gradually he begins to see how his
other life was morally, spiritually, and emotionally bankrupt! Sure, he had
everything money could buy and more, but he had no love in his life. At the end
of the movie the angel takes Jack back to his “real” life a changed man. His
eyes have been opened; he was blind but now he sees the world in a new way –
and a better way. Jack now has a chance for a better life; a happier life; a
life that is more in harmony with the kind of life that God wants for him.
Then
the eyes of the blind shall be opened…(Isaiah 35)
The
Lord opens the eyes of the blind…(Psalm 146)
GO
and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight…(Matthew 11)
Sometimes
I wonder if we all need what Jack was given. We need a glimpse of how things
could be different. A glimpse that would open our eyes to new possibilities –
to a different reality – a reality in which Jesus truly reigns and God’s will
is done by each and every person. Many of us, me included, certainly think that
we know how things ought to be – if only others would see things as I do. Trouble
is no one does. None of us see things in the same way, maybe a little bit here
or there but never entirely or thoroughly the same. I guess this is both a
curse and a blessing. We seek out sameness because it makes us more
comfortable, but wouldn’t life be boring if we all saw things the same way?
What would we talk about?
I
am suggesting to you today that we are all blind and we all need to have our
eyes opened so that we can see our world in a new way – a better way, and so
that we too can have a chance for a better life; a happier life; a life that is
more in harmony with the kind of life that God wants for us.
Aristotle
believed that the fundamental virtue is prudence. By prudence I don’t mean
practicality or frugality. By prudence I mean the ability to see reality
clearly. Another word for prudence in this classical sense is wisdom. Aristotle
believed that if you didn’t practice the virtue of prudence you could not truly
practice any of the other virtues. So courage without prudence would either be
foolhardiness or the bravery of a terrorist who has no thought for his victims,
who hardly even sees them and is blind to their humanity. Justice without
prudence could become tyranny – herding people around as if they were animals,
failing to see their dignity. Self-control without prudence can become the kind
of mindless exhaustion of a workaholic who may be very disciplined but has lost
sight of what is really important in life. That was Jack’s problem in “Family
Man.”
The
question is; how do we get prudence? How do we become able to see reality
clearly? For us, as Christians, our reality has to do with Jesus of Nazareth
born of Mary, the one whom he called Father and their Holy Spirit. To learn
what is really real we need to look to Jesus whose life has a distinctive and
particular character. He is the one who gives the blind their sight, makes the
lame to walk, cleanses lepers, makes the deaf hear, raises the dead, and brings
good news to the poor. The testimony of Jesus’ followers teaches us that if he
is about anything at all he is about love.
That
distinctive and particular character of Jesus’ life is that it is lived and
given and sacrificed wholly out of love for you and me and for our whole world.
Therefore for us, the more fundamental virtue is not prudence but is love. Or,
to put it more positively, the path to prudence is love – we get prudence by
practicing love. Our eyes become more open and we see things in new ways as we
turn in love toward others.
But
what do I mean by love? First of all, I don’t mean an emotion. Certainly
emotions are involved in love and indeed in everything we do. Certainly there
were times recorded in the gospels when Jesus was moved to compassion for
others. But the kind of love that Jesus exemplifies is not primarily an emotion
but a practice – a discipline. This love is the willingness to behave toward
other people as if they were precious. This is exactly what Jesus did – this is
what Jesus chose to do – he chose to conduct himself toward you and me and the
entire world as if we were precious, which we are in God’s sight. That is to
say, he loved us, and he loves us still.
Through
baptism God calls us to practice this same virtue of love toward others, indeed
toward the whole world! Love as I am
speaking of it yields wisdom. The fruit of love is the opening of our eyes so
that we begin to see things that we had missed before. It enables us to see
reality more clearly, which we must do if we are to strive to practice courage,
justice and self-control. The problem is it’s hard to do. It’s hard to let go
of the carefully constructed, seemingly safe reality that we build around
ourselves in order to let a new and different reality in. We are afraid of
people who look, think, vote, and live differently from us. If we really enter
into the worlds of those who by their differences challenge us – if we take a
walk in their shoes – we might discover that we are the ones who are wrong, or
at least not entirely right! If our eyes are opened to the way others see
things we might have to rethink all the things we hold onto for our sense of
identity and security! And yet, this is the only way forward in this fragmented
and divided world. We need each other; we especially need those who are
different from us to help us see ourselves more clearly and to help us see our
world more clearly. And we all need to conduct ourselves with love or we will
continue in our blindness.
As
more and more we become a global community we come up against those who are
different from us. We are confronted by those who are at odds with us. We
disagree amongst ourselves about what to do and how to respond. We think we are
right and “they,” whoever they are, are wrong. What we need is a glimpse, I
say, a glimpse of the reality Jesus brings; a world in which each and every one
of us behaves toward all people as if they are absolutely precious to us.
Through his life, death and resurrection our Lord Jesus reveals that we are
precious in his sight. Let us then engage in holy imitation, conducting
ourselves toward others as Jesus would. Let us follow him in this path of love
striving to see everyone through his eyes – as precious – indeed, as worth
dying for! In the process we will see this world a bit better; we will be a
blessing to others, and we will bring honor to him whose name we bear.
On
this Third Sunday in Advent we look toward the coming again of the One who said, “Go and tell John what you hear
and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed,
the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to
them.” With Isaiah we wait with eager longing for the whole creation to burst
forth in lush abundance with joy and singing. Our desolate hearts wait for the
day when Jesus will come again and finally satisfy our deepest longings – for
love and peace, for justice and mercy, for a better world for all. Even now he
comes to us giving us a glimpse of that better world as we gather around his
holy presence in word and bread and wine. Even now he comes to embrace us and
to tell us once again that we are and always will be precious in his sight.
To
this coming Lord Jesus belongs all the glory and honor, with the Father and the
Holy Spirit, now and forever. Amen
Rev.
Assistant
Pastor
Saint
Peter’s Church
ORDENACIÓN DE
EDUARDO FABIÁN ARIAS —11 de diciembre de 2004
Tengo ya bastante experiencia dando sermones de ordenación. Todavía tengo
muy presente la imagen de cada uno de esos candidatos a la ordenación y sigo
orando por ellos con regularidad, pero esta es la primera vez que en verdad
creo que las palabras de la primera lectura son absolutamente ciertas en el
caso de la persona que se ordena. Sí, pues habiendo llegado a conocerte bien en
los últimos años, estoy convencido de que las palabras de Dios a Jeremías se
aplican perfectamente a ti. “Antes de formarte en el seno de tu madre, ya te
conocía; antes de que tú nacieras, yo te consagré y te destiné a ser profeta.”
No me cabe la menor duda, Eduardo: naciste para ser pastor en la Iglesia de
Jesucristo. También estoy convencido de otra cosa: eres el más talentoso, el
mejor dotado y el más apropiado candidato para ejercer el Santo Ministerio que
haya conocido. Has recibido cada uno de los dones prometidos por Dios: la sabiduría
y la comprensión, la capacidad de aconsejar y la fortaleza, el conocimiento y
el temor del Señor, la capacidad de regocijarte en la presencia de Dios y otro
don que nos falta a muchos de nosotros, tus próximos colegas: el don de la
humildad. La mayoría de nosotros hemos dejado incluso de fingir tener, o
incluso querer tener, ese don. Pero tú lo tienes, con encanto y autenticidad,
en abundancia. Esas dos verdades que caracterizan tu vida, el llamado de Dios
desde siempre y la exuberancia de dones que Dios te dio, hacen que esta ocasión
sea un honor y un privilegio únicos para mí, y te agradezco de todo corazón
haber tenido este privilegio.
También has tenido la habilidad de elegir para tu ordenación las lecturas
bíblicas que se refieren a la verdadera esencia de lo que significa ser un
pastor en la Iglesia de Cristo. Con esta selección de lecturas no solamente
estás demostrando claridad e inspiración bíblica, sino que también estás
defendiendo una visión de la integridad pastoral y eclesiástica que en cierto
modo se opone a la manera de concebir la Iglesia y su ministerio público que
predomina hoy en día. Con estas lecturas no sólo estás afirmando lo que, por la
gracia de Dios, tú y la Iglesia de Dios están llamados a hacer en el siglo XXI;
también estás afirmando lo que tú y la Iglesia de Cristo están llamados a no
hacer. Esta afirmación no es poca cosa. Con estas lecturas nos estás recordando
que no eres un terapeuta, y que la Iglesia no es un grupo de terapia. Con estas
lecturas Dios nos está recordando que no eres el gerente de una sucursal, y que
la parroquia no es la tienda de religión del barrio que está siempre abierta.
En estas lecturas, Jesucristo nos recuerda que su Iglesia no es un club
exclusivo para socios, sino la misión de Cristo; y que sus ministros – tanto
los laicos como los que han sido ordenados – no se ocupan meramente de reclutar
nuevos miembros y retener a los miembros antiguos, sino que tienen una tarea
específica centrada en Cristo. En estas lecturas, Dios –Padre, Hijo y Espíritu
Santo- obliga a la Iglesia y a todos sus ministros a recordar que nuestra principal misión en este
mundo del siglo XXI – un mundo que lucha, está lleno de miedos y fragmentado, y
que agrede intensamente y al mismo tiempo se defiende- es la reconciliación, de
manera que el mundo, este mismo mundo del siglo XXI – que lucha, está lleno de
miedos y fragmentado, y que agrede intensamente y al mismo tiempo se defiende-
“pueda conocer” el amor de Dios que llega a todas sus criaturas. El
ministerio de la reconciliación, lograr que todos seamos uno, para que el mundo
pueda conocer: esta es nuestra misión. Es la misión de la Iglesia, que es
una, santa, católica y apostólica. Es la misión de la comunión luterana en todo
el mundo, la misión de la Iglesia Luterana Evangélica en los EE. UU. (ELCA), la
misión de este sínodo, la misión de la Iglesia de Sión, la misión de la Iglesia
de San Pedro y de cada una de las parroquias entrelazadas. Es para cumplir esta
misión, Eduardo, para lo que se te ha escogido y para lo que hoy recibes la
ordenación. Para cumplir ese ministerio – el ministerio de la reconciliación-
has recibido los dones necesarios y estarás siempre bien preparado.
Hoy celebramos juntos que Dios te haya llamado y preparado y que te haya
mandado salir. Nos alegra la humildad, la inspiración teológica y los demás
dones y talentos que tienes, y aplaudiremos con sincera emoción cuando el
obispo proclame que “Eduardo Fabián Arias está ordenado... [ y ] tiene la
autoridad que da Cristo para predicar la Palabra y administrar los
Sacramentos.” Pero, también debo advertirte que ni Dios ni nosotros te estamos
haciendo ningún favor con lo que hacemos hoy. La reconciliación – que tan bien has reconocido como la parte
esencial del ministerio y la misión de Cristo- es cada vez menos popular en el
mundo del siglo XXI. Hoy, el Jesús que ora mientras aguarda sufrir en carne
propia las consecuencias de su ministerio de reconciliación, nos recuerda: “El
mundo [puede odiarte].” Eso puede llegar a ser cada vez más cierto también en
nuestra iglesia.
¿Pues de qué manera reaccionamos – desde las personas hasta las grandes
naciones- ante este siglo XXI que lucha, está lleno de miedos y fragmentado, y
que agrede intensamente y al mismo tiempo se defiende? Principalmente,
idealizando la lucha, haciendo escalar irreversiblemente el miedo y
volviéndonos más y más agresivos y defensivos. Aunque no es de sorprender, cada
vez más, la iglesia que lucha, junto con otras comunidades de fe que también
luchan, está siguiendo esta misma tendencia, reemplazando la táctica de Jesús
de servir con vulnerabilidad, dando todo de sí y con espíritu de reconciliación
por una táctica cuyo objeto es “dejar en claro” nuestra identidad colectiva,
“cuantificar” el éxito y aumentar nuestra “cuota del mercado”. ¡Qué diferente
es todo eso de lo que escuchamos hoy: “el amor de Cristo nos urge a fin de que
los que viven no vivan ya para sí mismos, sino para él, que por ellos murió y
resucitó .”
Eduardo, tú entiendes esas palabras de San Pablo. No sólo las entiendes, sino
que las puedes expresar, y lo que es más importante aún, has recibido un don
del Espíritu para vivir lo que entrañan
esas palabras. Y Cristo te impulsa a ser y a proclamar “una creación nueva”, y
mediante tu vida y tu ministerio a llevarnos a nosotros y a todas las personas
en cuyas vidas dejas una huella a “reconciliarnos con Dios”, a ser uno, para
que el mundo pueda conocer la reconciliación y la paz.
Cristo nos ha dado a nosotros, la Iglesia, ese ministerio de la
reconciliación y nos ha autorizado a usar medios específicos para llevarlo a
cabo. Son medios simples, que compartimos todos: la palabra, el agua, el pan y
el vino. A voces proclaman su vulnerabilidad: limpiar, comer, oír, morir. Por
ser precisamente tan comunes a todos y tan vulnerables, esos medios pueden
ofrecer alimento, renovación, reconciliación y una vida nueva. Con estos medios, puestos en tus manos
vulnerables, comunes y humildes, Cristo entrega el Espíritu Santo para
reconciliar al mundo con Dios y con cada ser humano, para que el mundo pueda
saber lo que es la reconciliación y, reconciliado, pueda experimentar la paz.
Para lograr eso, Jesús ora por ti en este día como oró por su Iglesia la
noche antes de morir. Ora por ti incluso ahora para que estés protegido y
santificado, ahora cuando él te da los medios y te envía a salir.
Con alegría y dando gracias, con esperanza y con exaltación, unimos
nuestras oraciones a las de nuestro gran sumo sacerdote, a las de ustedes, y
unidos también a la Iglesia de todo el mundo y con todos los santos, clamamos:
“protégelo y santifícalo”.
El Señor escucha nuestras oraciones, y esta es su respuesta:
“Irás adondequiera que te
envíe.
Proclamarás todo lo que yo
te mande.
No les tengas miedo,
porque estaré contigo para protegerte.”
Entonces Dios derrama el Espíritu Santo para que surja la creación nueva
que traiga la reconciliación y la unidad a todos, de manera que el mundo pueda
conocer la paz del Señor.
Amandus J. Derr
Iglesia de San Pedro
En la ciudad de Nueva Cork
ORDINATION OF EDUARDO
FABIÁN ARIAS — December 11, 2004
SATURDAY IN THE SECOND WEEK OF ADVENT
Jeremiah 1:4-10; Psalm 116:1-4, 12-17; 2 Corinthians 5: 14-20; Saint
John 17:9-23
In nomine Jesu!
My
dear Eduardo:
I
have preached my fair share of ordination sermons — I can still picture every
one of those ordinands and I continue to pray for them regularly — but this is
the very first time I have actually believed that the words of our first
reading are absolutely true for the person being ordained. For, having come to know you well over these
last few years, I am convinced that God’s words to Jeremiah absolutely apply to
you: “Before I formed you in the womb, I
knew you, and before you were born I consecrated and appointed you.” There is no doubt in my mind, Eduardo: You were born to be a pastor in the Church of
Jesus Christ. I am also convinced of
something else about you: You are the
most gifted, the best equipped, and most appropriate candidate for the Holy
Ministry that I have ever known. You
have been given every one of God’s promised gifts — wisdom and understanding,
counsel and might, knowledge and the fear of the Lord, joy in God’s presence —
and one other gift that is missing from all too many of us, your soon-to-be
colleagues: You have the gift of
humility. Most of us have stopped even
pretending to have, or even wanting to have, that gift. But you have it,
winsomely and genuinely, in abundance.
Those two truths about your life — God’s lifelong calling of you and
God’s extravagant gifting of you — makes this a unique honor and privilege for
me, and I thank you for this privilege with all my heart.
You
have also managed to choose scriptural readings for your ordination which go to
the very heart of what it means to be a pastor in Christ’s Church. Through
these choices you not only display clarity and biblical insight, but you also
lay claim to a vision of pastoral and ecclesiastical integrity that is somewhat
counter to the prevailing understanding of the Church and its public ministry
today. Through these readings you are
not only asserting what, by the grace of God, you and Christ’s Church are
called to do in the Twenty-First Century; you are also asserting what you and
Christ’s Church are called not to do.
That is no small declaration.
Through these readings you are reminding us that you are not a
therapist, and that the Church is not a “t” group. By these readings God is reminding us that
you are not a branch manager and the parish is not a local religious
convenience store. Through these readings Jesus Christ reminds us that his
Church is not a members’ only club but Christ’s mission; and that his ministers
— lay as well as ordained — are not merely new member recruiters and long-time
member retainers, but have a specific Christ-centered task. In these readings God — Father, Son, and Holy
Spirit — forcefully reminds the Church and all its ministers that our primary
mission in this, struggling, fear-filled, fragmented, actively aggressive,
reflexively defensive Twenty-First Century world is reconciliation “so that the
world” — this same, struggling, fear-filled, fragmented, actively aggressive,
reflexively defensive Twenty-First Century world — “may know” the all-embracing
love of God.” The ministry of
reconciliation, that all may be one, so that the world may know — that is our
mission. It is the mission of the one,
holy, catholic and apostolic Church. It
is the mission of the Lutheran communion throughout the world, the mission of
the ELCA, the mission of this synod, the mission of Zion, Saint Peter’s and
every one of our intertwined parishes.
For that mission, Eduardo, you are being set apart and ordained
today. For that ministry — the ministry
of reconciliation — you have been and you are continually being equipped.
Together
today we celebrate God’s calling, gifting, equipping and sending of you; we
rejoice in your humility, theological insight and other gifts and talents, and
we will add our heartfelt applause to the bishop’s acclamation that “
For
how do we — from individuals to great nations — deal with this struggling,
fear-filled, fragmented, actively aggressive, reflexively defensive
Twenty-First Century? Chiefly, by
glamorizing the struggle, ratcheting-up the fear, and becoming more and more
aggressive and defensive. Increasingly
but not surprisingly, the struggling church along with other struggling
communities of faith, are adopting this same pattern, replacing Jesus’ tactics
of vulnerable, all-embracing, self-giving and reconciling service with tactics
meant to “clarify” our corporate identity, “quantify” our success and increase
our “market share.” How different this
is from those words we heard today: The
love of Christ urges us on . . . so that those who live might live no longer
for themselves, but for him who died and was raised for them.”
Eduardo,
you understand those words of Saint Paul.
Not only do you understand them, but you can articulate them, and more
importantly, you have been given the Spirit’s gift to live those words. And Christ urges you on to be and to proclaim
“a new creation;” and by your life and ministry to entreat us and all whose
lives you touch to “be reconciled to God,” to be one, so that the world may
know reconciliation and peace.
Christ
has given us, the Church, that ministry of reconciliation and authorized us to
use specific tools for that reconciling.
They are simple tools. They speak
commonality — word, water, bread, wine.
They shout vulnerability — cleansing, eating, hearing, dying. It is that very commonality and
vulnerability that enables them to convey refreshment, renewal, reconciliation
and new life. Through these means,
placed in your vulnerable, common and humble hands, Christ gives the Holy
Spirit to reconcile the world to God and to one another so that the world may
know reconciliation and, being reconciled, experience peace.
To
that end, Jesus prays for you today as he prayed for his Church on the night
before his dying. He prays for you even
now that you be protected and sanctified even as he equips you and sends you
out.
With
joy and thanksgiving and with hope and trepidation, we join our prayers with
our great high priest, with yours, with the Church throughout the world, and
with all the saints. “Protect and
sanctify him,” we cry.
The
Lord hears our prayers, and this is God’s response:
You shall go to all to whom I send
you.
You shall speak whatever I command.
Do not be afraid. I am with you to deliver you.
Then
God pours out the Holy Spirit to make new creation to bring reconciliation and
unity to all so that the world may know God’s peace.
Amandus
J. Derr
Saint
Peter’s Church
In
the City of New York
SECOND SUNDAY IN ADVENT — December 5, 2004
Isaiah 11:1-10; Psalm 72:1-7, 18-19; Romans 15:4-13; Saint Matthew
3:1-12
In nomine Jesu!
Last week it was “spears into pruning hooks and swords into
plowshares.” This week, it’s wolves
dwelling with lambs. Advent 2004 began
last week and begins again with a prophetic vision of peace. Let’s just take a moment to savor the
vision. Lovely, isn’t it?
Okay, now we need a strategy, plans and tactics to reach that vision, a
“roadmap” for peace. Let’s think about
how we might do this! I got it! As I see it, we have three options for
wolf-lamb peace:
Option one: Arm the lambs.
Option two: De-fang to wolves.
Option three: Find the lambs a larger-than-wolf champion.
While we’re still laughing, let’s at least agree: From well before the days of Isaiah until
these latter days — until this very minute — these are conventional wisdom’s
options. Everyone from Asshurbanipal to
Augustus, Queen Victoria to George Bush, Rudy Giuliani to me have used
them with astonishing, often benign, but always temporary effect. We’re depending on those strategies and
tactics right now! Yet none of us would
call what we have peace. Today, as we anticipate Christ’s coming, God —
through Isaiah the prophet, Paul the Apostle, and John the Baptizer — would
show us a more excellent way. It also
has three components. It begins with fidelity, it continues along the
way of justice, and it finds its fulfillment peace.
All we believe about God; everything the scriptures teach; the sum
total of our creeds and confessions; both of the sacraments; all
of the liturgy; every psalm, hymn, and prayer; the law, the prophets,
the writings, the Gospels, Paul’s letters; everything included when we
speak of “the Judeo-Christian tradition” can be summed up in one word: fidelity.
God is faithful, dependable, trustworthy, steadfast, devoted, staunch,
and unwavering. God summons us and enables us to respond — to God and to one
another — accordingly. God’s unwavering
fidelity defines the Gospel. God’s
resolute faithfulness is the essence of our hope. Fidelity, faithfulness
to our faithful God’s and to each other is the essential if there is to be any
way of justice.
But we must be clear about the object of God’s, and our,
faithfulness, lest we find ourselves numbered, not with the wolves and the
lambs, but with the “brood of vipers” who are fleeing “the wrath to come.” Here’s the point. The God whom Isaiah, Paul and John proclaim
is not faithful to rules, causes, principles or structures. Rather, God is faithful to people: to individuals, like Abraham and
Sarah, Ruth and Boaz, you and me; and to communities — slaves in Egypt,
exiles in Babylon, Gentile and Jew, male and female, slave and free. God is
faithful to people, not principles. God
is faithful to communities, not structures.
That faithfulness is always expressed in tangible, touchable relationships. Today, through water and the Word God
publicly establishes that kind of tangible, indelible, faithful relationship
with Kristen Heather. And because God is
faithful, dependable, and trustworthy, Kristen’s tangible, indelible, faithful
baptismal relationship with God will never end.
God is faithful, dependable, and trustworthy. God is steadfastly,
staunchly, and unwaveringly devoted to us. And, because God is faithful, God is
just. That’s the Good News. The bad news
is that we — more often than not — are not.
And when we are not there are consequences. When we are not, there is no justice. When we are not, there is no peace. Fidelity creates justice and
establishes peace. That, in a nutshell, is the vocation and message of
the prophets. That, in a nutshell is the
vocation and message of John the Baptizer.
Their cries are timely cries, ringing out in the absence of peace,
ringing out along the way of injustice, ringing out in times like these. They call us to turn around on that road —
that’s what repentance means — and look back, not at the laws we have broken,
not at the principles we have betrayed, not at the structures we think will
protect us, but at the God who remains faithful to us. They summon us to renew
our faithfulness to our faithful God, and then to renew the faithfulness with
one another in the concentric circles we call our “community.”
Look again at what Isaiah proclaims precedes his vision of a
peaceable kingdom. Not “shock and awe;”
not arms or victory, but a spirit filled person with “wisdom and understanding,
counseling and might, knowledge and the fear of the Lord” who does not judge by
what his eyes see but treats “the poor and the meek of the earth with equity.” To be sure, Isaiah is speaking about a
messianic ruler. But, by virtue of our
baptism with those same spiritual gifts, he is also talking about you and me.
There was no peace in Jerusalem in the late eighth century BCE when the
prophet Isaiah proclaimed this vision. His was the same as our context of fear
and war and terrorism. His
contemporaries were convinced that, as one wag puts it, “the only way for a
wolf to lie down peacefully with a lamb is if there is an unending supply of
lambs.” Israel had been devoured.
Jerusalem and Judea were under siege.
And the people clung, not to their God, but to three “God-given”
principles. They were “chosen nation”
with an “eternal kingship” of David, with a “divinely instituted” economic,
social, political and religious hierarchy.
Ruling party, priests and pundits repeatedly pointed to these “eternal
truths,” all the while breaking faith with God and one another. They used the
temple ritual to appease God. They used the kingship to benefit themselves and
marginalize “the poor and the meek of the earth” and they used their judicial,
religious and economic structures against the very people they were established
to protect. No fidelity. No justice.
No peace.
Fast forward 750 years to the Jordanian desert. The problem is the
same. “We have Abraham as our ancestor,”
John’s would-be wrath-flee-ers respond.
“We have a God-given structure. We
have a divinely inspired tradition. We
follow God’s rules and therefore God is on our side!” Need I make the 2004 connection?
“Repent,” John echoes Isaiah. God is not faithful to structures, rules,
and principles. God is faithful to you. Turn around! Tread the road of justice! Find peace.
There is so much that needs to be said about all this, but for today,
let’s remember that this all begins with fidelity — God’s faithfulness to us,
and our faithfulness to one another.
But here’s the rub. For many
twenty-first century Americans, faithfulness is still about rules, causes, and
structures and not about relationships. And the problem cuts two ways. Some believe that by affirming every jot and
tittle of the creeds, by assenting to every doctrine of the church, by
asserting “biblical truths” over science, geography and history, and by strict
adherence to an unfortunately selective set of biblical law, they are
being faithful, no matter what they do in their daily relationships. And there are others, diametrically opposite,
who, because they cannot affirm, assert and assent to these things either
reject the faith, rationalize it or compartmentalize the way they live it. Either way, God’s indelible faithfulness is
forgotten, “the faith” becomes distorted, practical and ultimately useless,
justice is abandoned, and peace becomes, not merely unreachable, but undesirable,
laughable, a joke.
But God is faithful, persistent, and steadfast. In times like these, God does not wait behind
us, waiting for us to turn around; nor does God get ahead of us, waiting for us
to catch up, judging us when we meet Christ at last. Rather, God meets us, here and now, while
we’re on our way. Not with rules or
principles or structures, but as a person — the One Isaiah calls “a shoot from
the stump of Jesse” and in tangible, indelible, and faithful relationship we
call the holy communion. He does “not
judge by what his eyes see,” nor “decide by what his ears hear,” he embraces
us, forgives us, cleanses, nourishes and unites us. And then he remains with us, stays to walk
with us in the way of justice. We call
his name Jesus and he is our peace.
Amandus J. Derr
Saint Peter’s
Church
In the City of New
York
THE FIRST SUNDAY IN ADVENT — November 28, 2004
Isaiah
2:1-5; Psalm 122; Romans 13:11-14; Saint Matthew 24:36-44
In nomine Jesu!
In today’s readings both Saint Paul
and our Lord make it quite clear that, in these latter days, we have our work
cut out for us. As fellow-workers in the
kingdom of God, we have a baptismal mandate for how we should live in these troubled
times: “…to proclaim the praise of God,
and bear God’s creative and redeeming Word to all the world” (LBW p.124). In his letter to the Roman Christians, Saint
Paul adds a strong note of urgency to our baptismal mandate. For him, the minute hand was almost at the
midnight hour.
Frankly, I don’t spend any of the
precious time I still have trying to predict the zero instant of Christ’s
return as judge and redeemer. When it
comes to determining the day or the hour of that climactic event, I take a very
literal approach to Jesus’ words at the beginning of today’s Gospel: “But of that day and hour no one knows, not
even the angels in heaven, nor the Son…” (36).
That does it for me. If our
blessed Lord did not know, who am I to play one-up-man-ship with him?
As you well know, a significant
number of our fellow Christians in America would take me to task for that
attitude. In these latter days, they are
employing every available medium to proclaim the imminent approach of that zero
hour and doing whatever they can to hasten it.
Well, what do we do with Scripture’s
apocalyptic advent alarms? How do we
understand Saint Paul when he says: “You know what time it is…”? I think he’s reinforcing Jesus’ word about Noah,
and the folks in the field and the householder.
We must watch – remain awake – for we do not know on what day or hour
the Lord is coming. He’s telling us we
don’t have time to be couch potatoes when it comes to the work of the kingdom
of God. We have things to do before
Christ returns to bring the work of creation to fulfillment.
Like our ancestors in the faith, we
are living in-between-times, between Christ’s first coming in humility and his
final coming in glory. That realization
gives our praying the second and third petitions of the Our Father greater
urgency: Your kingdom come – your will
be done, on earth as in heaven. Here on
earth we have our work to do.
So how shall we live these 28 days
of Advent and all the days still allotted to us? When you are my age, the urgency to use
wisely whatever time and talent I am given is very strong. This is how I plan to spend the wake-full
hours of this season. It’s a pattern for
my personal living. I offer it to you as
just that and nothing more. Use what you
can, as the Spirit directs you.
I plan to do three things: Look in; Look around; Look up.
First, I look in. My reason for doing that first is prompted by
Saint Paul’s words: “Let us cast off the works of darkness – let us conduct
ourselves becomingly.” This Advent call
to wakefulness asks me to examine my behavior. Probably, reveling and drunkenness and
licentiousness will not make my hit parade, but I do have to recognize the
legitimate obstacles that keep me from doing God’s will enthusiastically and
working effectively with my clerical peers and all of you dear fellow workers
at Saint Peter’s as together we struggle to creatively shape life in our city
and beyond.
Above all, the Advent call to
wakefulness asks me to remember Bethlehem.
For in a manger came one who could do for me what I could not and cannot
do for myself. He came to take away the
burden of my works of darkness. And he
sends his Spirit who makes it possible for me, with repentance and humility, to
joyfully accept his continuing ChristMass gift of forgiveness. And when I do that, like Saint Paul, I am
putting on the “armor of light” (12).
With God’s forgiveness, I receive a power, a dynamic, that makes it
possible for me to be wide awake and live “becomingly as in the day.”
Having looked in to identify my
works of darkness, now I must look around.
And when I do, I am startled by the amount of deep darkness in today’s
world, the world Christ came to redeem.
If this year’s national election did nothing else for me, it certainly
heightened my awareness of that darkness and our national inability to see just
how pervasive that darkness is.
For me, much of the election
rhetoric obscured the darkness of the whole forest by focusing attention on
certain trees in the forest. I’ve lived
in the Buckle of the Bible Belt (Newsweek, 01 Nov. 04) long enough to see how
those trees, those so-called “hot button issues” can skew the larger vision and
unduly influence and shape local and national priorities.
I am grateful for the letter our
presiding bishop sent to both candidates prior to the election urging them not
to reduce the cries of suffering humanity to any single issue. Now that we have a president-elect that
advice is still valid. Had Bishop Hanson
been a New Yorker, he might have used the old Chock-Full-of-Nuts slogan: Keep your eye on the donut and not on the
hole!
A few minutes ago, we began a new
year of grace praying The Litany in procession – a litany that dramatically
lays bare just how pervasive and inclusive the darkness of this world is and my
own inability to love my disenfranchised sisters and brothers, in whom Christ
dwells, as much as I love myself (Saint Matthew 22:37).
As I light my Advent candles this
year, I will call to mind how on that first ChristMass, Christ came to bring
light into the darkness of this world, and he is still here – now – in me. I take to heart Isaiah’s invitation: “…come, let us walk in the light of the
Lord!” For in the divine plan, Christ’s light
must now shine through me. The marvel of
it all is that Christ doesn’t give up on me.
He still wants me to be his co-worker.
So the fact that he has not yet returned in glory is good news for
me. Christ is giving me time to put my
trust more completely in his promise to renew the earth. He is giving me time to continue to work with
you in praising God and bearing his creative and redeeming Word in whatever
ways I can.
Now that I’ve looked in and looked
around, it’s time for me to look up. I
do it with hope because my faith is anchored in the salvation story of Jesus
Christ. I not only know how that story
began with a baby in swaddling clothes, but I know how that story works itself
out now as my resurrected Lord comes to me when I hold out my hands to receive
him in Holy Communion, how he comes to me when I do the work of his kingdom of
justice and peace for the healing of the earth, as I open my arms to the least
of his sisters and brothers.
Because I know that much of Christ’s
story, it is not too difficult for me to affirm with all of you the promises
that Christ will come again. The
presence here today of the earthly remains of my kingdom co-worker, Fred Erson,
gives a particular and double-edged significance to that promise. What his family and loved ones do today as
they reverently bear Fred’s ashes to the Columbarium reminds me that I do not
know when the Lord of Life may call me out of this space-time-bound-world, but
I do know that: “Here we have no
continuing city, but we are looking for the city that is to come” (Hebrews
13:14).
Until that day, I shall cherish the
example Fred gave me with his passion for the wholeness of human life. In Fred’s life I see how I must try to live
the new life God gave me and to do it as fruitfully and as effectively as I
can. I know that while in Jerusalem
above is my true home, as a dear colleague once put it: Earth is the colonial outpost where heaven’s
King ordained that I should work. When I
look up to Christ the King, crucified and risen for me, is there any reason why
I cannot trust his promise to come again to me and ultimately, as Saint Paul
puts it: “…to hand over the kingdom to
God the Father”? (1 Corinthians 15:24).
No, indeed? God willing, by that time I probably shall
have joined Fred and all the blessed dead and, I sincerely hope, through a
magnificent cloud of incense, shall experience the happy consummation of the
kingdom. So, whether I am in heaven or
on earth, I shall hold Christ to his promise given in the very last words of
the New Testament: “The one who testifies
to these things says, ‘Surely I am coming soon.’” And with John the Revelator, this John the
redeemed sinner, and with Fred the now triumphant saint, we will pray: “Amen.
Come. Lord Jesus!”
John S. Damm
Senior Pastor Emeritus
Saint Peter’s Church
In the City of New York
CHRIST THE KING — LAST SUNDAY AFTER
PENTECOST — November 21, 2004
Proper
29: Jeremiah 23:1-6; Psalm 46; Colossians 1:11-20; Saint Luke 23:33-43
In nomine Jesu!
This is the final
judgment, and you don’t have to be a thief, dying on a cross, to hear it: “Today you will be with me in Paradise.” In Luke’s Gospel, the dying thief is the
surely most lost, the very least and the absolute last person to be embraced by
Jesus. This alone is assurance enough
for us. Whether we die alone or
surrounded by loved ones; whether we die at home, or at work, or on a
battlefield, or on a cross; whether we die slowly or suddenly; whether we are
“with it” at the end or “out of it,” of this I am certain: The last words every child of God hears are
Jesus’ words, “Today you will be with me in Paradise.” These are the last words Fred Erson heard
last Sunday morning. These are the last
words Susan Neibacher heard on November fifth.
These are the last words I will hear, and you will hear, when our last
breathe shall come. This is the final
judgment. If you doubt this, remember
your baptism, your dying and rising in this same Jesus Christ.
Today is the last
Sunday of the Church Year, which means absolutely nothing except that we are
concluding, until December 3, 2007, our nearly-every-Sunday reading of the
Gospel according to Saint Luke. There’s
good and bad news here. The good news is
that you won’t have to listen to my Lukan catch phrase, “the least, the last,
and the lost” for a while. The bad news
is that, when Luke comes up again, we’ll once again be in a Presidential
campaign, which means that we will once again have these marginalized ones,
their welfare, Christ’s unwavering embrace of them and the way we respond to
them as God’s evaluation of those who seek high office.
Saint Luke however,
has gone to great lengths to remind us that it’s more than “the least, the last
and the lost” whom Jesus embraces and enfolds into his “glorious and gentle
rule.” Over the last twelve months we
have seen Jesus gather a somewhat motley crew together, from “shepherds,
abiding in the fields” to the repentant thief dying on the cross. This morning I want to remind you of them
because, as Jesus gathers them, embraces them and enfolds them into his
community, he has much to teach us — this “communion of diverse people and
communities” as we revel in our diversity and our Church — the Evangelical
Lutheran Church in America — as it seeks to be more inclusive. Basically, the message is this: In Christ’s
“glorious and gentle rule" there is more to diversity than mere inclusion.
Remember, for a
moment, those whom Luke has told us are embraced by Jesus and enfolded into
Christ’s community: There’s Levi, the
collaborating tax collector, called to be a disciple right alongside Simon, the
Roman-despising, collaborator-hating zealot. Imagine that brunch conversation.
Immediately after that, Jesus heals a Roman centurion’s slave and, immediately
after that, raises a devout woman’s dead son.
Then follows the parables with their off-beat characters: the Good Samaritan, the prodigals – son,
father and elder brother; the nagging widow, the unjust judge, the Pharisee,
the publican — to name but a few. And
then there are the dinner parties, the first with the proud, conservative and
easily-scandalized Simon the Pharisee and the almost-last with his diametric
opposite, a vertically-challenged, tree-hugging tax collector named
Zacchaeus. Round this out with several
blind beggars, the ten lepers, only one of which, the Samaritan (again) who is
thankful, the thief on the cross, and, finally Joseph of Arimathea, a member of
the nominally-ruling religious congress, the Sanhedrin, and you have a diverse
and dissonant community that looks and sounds exactly like us!
Now, we could stop here and celebrate Luke’s obvious
point, namely that Jesus’ “glorious and gentle rule” is meant to include all
sorts of people. But if we did that, we
would miss an even more important application.
Jesus, you see, doesn’t merely gather people together. According to Luke, Jesus deliberately points
out the most unlikely of the bunch, makes them examples of faithfulness, and
celebrates their special gifts! The
Roman centurion whose slave Jesus’ healed, for instance, representing the
oppressor, occupying Jesus’ home town of Capernaum, is held up as the
paragon of faithfulness! “I tell you,”
says Jesus, “not even in Israel have I found such faith.” Zacchaeus, selfish and opportunistic
scoundrel though he is, becomes the paragon of social responsibility giving
“half my possessions to the poor” and paying back those he cheated at 400%
interest! And then there are the
Samaritans — anti-temple, minimalist, non-messianic heretics that they are —
one in a healing story, the other in a parable — whose behaviors are labeled
“good” and exemplary for others to follow.
That brings us, finally, to the “good” dying thief who only appears
“good” in Luke’s Gospel. What makes him
“good”? Not just his faith (“Jesus
remember me”), but, when virtually all others had betrayed, denied or abused
him, his defense of Jesus.
Luke reminds us with all these unique characters that
Jesus not only embraces and includes diverse and disparate peoples, he also
celebrates and holds up their unique perspectives as examples for us to follow
and as actions worthy emulating. A
community gathered in Jesus “glorious and gentle rule” is not only diverse; it
is also respectful of those on the edges and celebrates the gifts evident on
the margins. Society, then and now,
works in exactly the opposite way.
On Christ the King Sunday, we celebrate a concept —
the Lordship of Christ — that we and our culture find most uncomfortable. That’s because our normal thought processes
contrasts Jesus’ lordship with our personal freedom. That is certainly not the way Saint Luke sees
it. Luke consistently reminds us that,
when we confess that “Jesus is Lord,” or “Christ is the King,” we are making,
not a personal, but a social, political and economic statement: “Jesus is Lord,” not Caesar, not nation, not
wealth, not personal advancement over the bodies of others. Luke understands
that, in the world we live in, everyone
lives under the enforced control of another with consequences for those who
live otherwise. For twelve months Luke
has been telling us that “it shall not be so among you.” For Jesus’ community,
the lordship of Christ which embraces diversity and celebrates the marginalized
is contrasted with the rule of the world that creates uniformity and celebrates
the powerful. To say “Jesus is Lord” is
to live as if real authority is derived from stooping and serving, not
insisting and demanding; and that real leadership is exercised from the nadir
of weakness — the cross — and not from the acme of power. To say “Jesus is Lord” is to adopt and to live
this kind of upside-down, counter-cultural lifestyle and to apply it to every
one of our communal relationships.
A diverse and disparate gathering of people,
celebrating the gifts of the marginalized, living within the glorious and
gentle rule of Jesus Christ, and seeking to lead by stooping to serve — that is
what — for a whole year — Luke has told us we are each time we publicly gather
to receive God’s nourishment. Listen,
once more as Christ feeds us! Listen once
more as Christ gathers us close to himself and to one another! Can you hear what Christ says in the
Eucharist? Can you hear what Christ says
to you — and to your neighbor?
Listen! Listen! It is the last word you’ll ever need to hear
him say. “Today, you are with me in
Paradise.”
In the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the
Holy Spirit. Amen
Amandus J. Derr
Saint Peter’s Church
In the City of New York
MASS
OF THE RESURRECTION — SUSAN LAURA NEIBACHER — November
18, 2004
Isaiah 58:6-9, 12;
Psalm 130; Revelation 21:1-7; Saint Luke 16:19-30
In nomine Jesu!
I am not sure how it
happened or who was responsible. Whether
it came from growing up on gritty West 46th Street, or from her
father’s practical, down-to-earth preaching, or her mother’s open door, open
table living-over-the-church hospitality?
Was it her liberal education at Friends or at graduate school? Was it her mentors or her friendships or was
it her own private passion? I don’t know
how it happened, but somehow, by the grace of God, Susan Neibacher became in her very being what she
believed she was called to do as a
Christian. Her vocation became her persona, her identity. And what was that vocation? Susan Neibacher was a homemaker, not in the 1950’s sense of that word — usually preceded
by the modifier “happy, little,” (of which she was neither) — but in the
biblical sense of that word, the sense we heard in the readings for this
night: God making God’s home among
mortals. God wiping tears from every
eye. God enfolding poor, neglected, ignored Lazarus “into the bosom of
Abraham.” This was the God Susan
Neibacher worshiped. This was the God
into whose life she was baptized, and from whose life she was nourished each
Sunday. This was the God Susan
experienced in the communities of faith, both Christian and Jewish, from which
she drew her closest companions. This was the God Susan knew in Jesus Christ,
and this was the God Susan Neibacher heard calling her to a life of imitation
as a homemaker for the poor, the hungry, the homeless and, truth be told, for every
one of us. Whatever else brought us all
together tonight, one thing is certain:
Susan Neibacher made all of us “at home.”
Susan’s passion for
homemaking became obvious to me the moment my family and I first set foot in
this place. Susan was one of the very
first to schedule a meeting with me so that we could talk about
hospitality. We talked about
brunch. We talked about greeting
visitors. We talked about integrating
new members. Most of all, we talked
about making sure everyone was included in the liveliness of this community,
and that Saint Peter’s Church would be “home,” especially for the homeless,
those living with HIV/AIDS, and to children.
She was especially concerned that we re-connect with those who couldn’t
come to 54th and Lexington anymore — the sick and the shut-ins. And she was especially insistent about the
way we ought to treat the members of our staff.
To be sure, she thought that some of them should be fired — it took me
some time to agree with her on the candidates — but she was more concerned that
those who worked well here be treated as family and not simply as
employees. Susan did not simply say all
this to me, make it my problem, and then leave.
Susan went to work as a co-worker in this, her passion, always going out
of her way to make take newcomers, staff members, and especially our children
under her wing. Much of what she did
centered on a meal — Sunday brunch, the Epiphany Party, Mardi Gras, La Noche Latina, and so forth, but meals
were only symbols, celebrations and embodiments of a far more embracing
hospitality. Susan’s goal was to gather
together people of every kind, build relationships among them, nourish them,
inspire them, and enlist them in doing that same community-building task. More significantly, she believed that was the
principle duty of the Church. Most
significantly, she believed that was the primary activity, passion, and
commitment of her God.
And, although she
worked so that Saint Peter’s Church would embody that, and she rejoiced every
time that we did, Susan’s real passion was lived out in the public sphere; in
her work with other passionate homemakers and home-making agencies; in her
commitment to everyone — from the
frail elderly to the uncompromising activist to rambunctious toddlers — and
especially in her work in founding, leading and staffing “her” agency, Care
for the Homeless. Care for the
Homeless was never just a job or a social service agency for Susan. Care for the Homeless was never just
about providing basic necessities and services to the homeless. Care for the Homeless was never just a
board, and a staff and clients and a job to be done. Care for the Homeless was about
building a community that was equally accessible, equally useful, equally
nourishing, equally supportive and equally embracing of everyone who was a part
of it, board members, financial backers, city bureaucrats, related agencies,
staff members, clients and all. Susan
believed Care for the Homeless was about making a home for all of you —
all of us. She thought of every one of
you as family, as her sisters and brothers, mother and father — no different
from the way Jesus understood those he gathered; and she thought of the agency
as a home for all. A family and a home for
her and for you, not in place of her biological family, her church family and
her family, church and own home, but, in every way equal to and consistent with
those other concentric communities. For
Susan Neibacher, you see, homemaking was not about a part of her life, it was
about all of her life, personal and familial, churchly and civic. Because of this passion, this vocation, Susan
loved everyone — from the parking lot attendant to her board chair. And everyone loved Susan. Everyone, that is, except one. Susan did not
love herself, and that is the tragedy of this day.
I don’t know why that
was true, but it was and we must admit it.
But this much must be said to every person gathered here today. It wasn’t because you didn’t love her! And it wasn’t because she didn’t know that,
feel that, and believe that about all of you!
When Susan was at her best, she articulated how much she knew and
appreciated and thrived on our love for her.
Even at her worst, she never once doubted it. But she didn’t love herself, and no one — not
her friends, not her co-workers, not her fellow Saint Peterites; not her
pastor, not her best friend, not her brother or mother, not even her Lord —
could change that. Whatever guilt anyone
of us feels here tonight, get over it.
We could not have changed it, even though many of us tried. Susan was a strong and strong-willed woman,
passionate about her calling. She
neither a “happy” nor a “little” homemaker.
She may not have loved herself, but she loved what she did and she loved
those with whom she did it. Sadly, her
life is unfinished, but it was supremely gratifying to her and by any one’s
account, successful. We need to give
thanks for her, not merely lament her, tonight.
On Friday, the fifth
of November, this passionate, just, loving homemaker for us all died, and the
angels came and carried her, like they carried poor Lazarus, home. Everything she believed about her calling and
about her God is now fulfilled for her.
Susan Neibacher, God’s homemaker, is now herself at home. In these past
few weeks she has called out of the depths to God and now God, in ways we
cannot agree with or understand has responded.
On November fifth, she began to see with her own eyes and hear with her
own ears what Jesus means when he says, “I make all things new.” Now she is whole and well and happy.
She has enriched all
our lives. More importantly, she has
left us an overwhelmingly positive, but also negative, example for living. Most importantly, she has left this city and
agency, a community, and a church with a vocation and a calling, to be
homemakers for each other, and especially for the poor, the hungry, the
marginalized and the homeless so that all of us with all of them can know what
it means to have a family and a home.
She has embodied the
Gospel. She has given us an
example. And, though she cannot return
to us, we can still be with her at this table where we eat and drink and are
“at home” with Susan and with all the saints in light. Here at the table, Susan the homemaker has
always been at home, and still is at home.
And so are we. And so are we.
Amandus J. Derr
Saint Peter’s Church
In the City of New
York
TWENTY-FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST — November 14, 2004
Malachi 4:1-2a; Psalm 98; 2 Thessalonians 3:6-13; Luke 21:5-19
In the Name of the Father and of the
Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen
As we draw closer to the end of the church year, our
readings turn our attention to another much greater end for which we pray every
time we say “Your Kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in
heaven.” We are reminded that things
will not always be as they are at present, but that one day, Jesus “will come
again to judge the living and the dead, and his kingdom will have no end.” It’s what Christians everywhere look forward
to. Getting there – perhaps that’s the
scary part! It may be frightening if we think we are on our own, but we are not
on our own. Last week we heard about the
communion of saints who have gone before us and now constitute that great cloud
of witnesses cheering us on. Today I
want us to focus on this present community gathered around Christ. We are a great company to whom much is given
and also from whom much is required.
Let’s look at what our readings have to say.
Malachi, the messenger of God, proclaims that for all those
who revere God’s name the sun of righteousness shall rise with healing in its
wings. The Day of the Lord is
coming. According to the testimony of
the Bible that day will be awesome and even frightening! But not for those who love God and honor his
name. For them the sun of righteousness
will shine with healing power. If we are
part of that company who “revere” God’s name we need not be afraid for the sun
of righteousness shines upon us.
In Luke’s gospel we hear Jesus warning his followers of
troubles to come. Distractions, false
teachers, wars and insurrections, strife between nations, earthquakes, famines,
plagues, dreadful portents and signs from heaven. In addition – persecution, betrayals, even by
family members and friends, and death – we will be hated because of our
association with Jesus. However, Jesus
promises, not a hair of our heads will perish!
By endurance we will gain our souls.
Though all these terrible things befall us, we are safe in the company
of Jesus.
Paul’s second letter to the Thessalonians tells us that this
assurance of our safety must not lead us into quietism – whether it is a
withdrawal from the world and its problems for the sake of a passive
contemplation of God – or a calmness arising out of noninvolvement. This is certainly a temptation in our day,
especially if we are inclined to withdraw from our world because of a sense of
powerlessness or hopelessness. But Paul
is direct and plain-speaking – whoever does not work should not eat! This too has to do with the community
gathered around Jesus.
Do we believe in the Day of Judgment? Do we take it seriously? The Bible does not vacillate on the
matter. There will be a Day of Judgment. We don’t know when it will come and so we need
to be prepared for it always – to live as though each day is our last day on
this earth and at any moment we might find ourselves standing before the throne
of Christ! Perhaps the Prayer of the Day
sums it up best:
Lord God, so rule and govern our hearts and minds by your
Holy Spirit that, always keeping in mind the end of all things and the day of
judgment, we may be stirred up to holiness of life here and may live with you
forever in the world to come, through your Son, Jesus Christ our Lord.
We do well to keep in mind that one day Jesus will come
again and, as the psalmist writes, “In righteousness shall he judge the world;
and the peoples with equity.” This is
where all of human history is heading – this is where you and I are
heading. This is our end – our telos –
our goal, our destiny, this is the ultimate fulfillment of God’s creation.
It is clear from Holy Scripture that we will one day be
judged – we will be held accountable for the lives we have lived. No one can tell me that the Bible does not
say this. It is also clear that the one
who is our final judge is Jesus – the One who gave his life for us that we
might have eternal life with abundance.
Scripture and the teaching of the church throughout the ages also tells
us that in Baptism we are so thoroughly and completely united with Jesus that
whatever belongs to him is now ours – including resurrection to eternal life
and the inheritance of his kingdom. This
was an especially important point for Luther and he was willing to stake his life
on it!
(Praise be
to God, today we have had the opportunity to reconnect with the covenantal
promises that God has made to us through baptism as we have participated in the
baptism of little Sheridan Grace who is now incorporated into Christ’s great company
of saints. Those promises that God made
to Sheridan Grace are the same promises God has made to all the baptized,
including you and me.)
Keeping all
this in mind we are to be stirred up to holiness of life here on earth. The bottom line is that God cares how we
conduct our lives. It matters to our
Lord that we strive to do whatever is good and right and holy. We have been called into Jesus’ company for a
reason – to work hard for the expansion of God’s reign by raising up faith here
on earth – to be witnesses of God’s love for the world – to be instruments of
God’s divine grace. However you put it,
the conduct of our lives matters – what we do with ourselves and the choices we
make matter to God.
This is
what Paul is getting at when he says, “Those who do not work shall not
eat!” This may sound harsh, especially
if we have in mind the homeless and the unemployed. But we must remember that Paul is talking
about the Christian community.
Apparently there were some who thought that since the return of Christ
was imminent there was no need to work.
It wouldn’t be long until this world was just over and the new world of
God’s Kingdom would take its place. But
Paul could see how destructive this attitude was to the community. If some are not willing to pull their weight,
the burden on others is increased. We
know very well that this causes all kinds of trouble – resentment, anger,
division, burnout, etc. It is harmful to
the community. We know from Paul’s
letters that the Christian community is of highest importance.
To the
Ephesians he writes, “I therefore, a prisoner for the Lord, beg you to lead a
life worthy of the calling to which you have been called, with all lowliness
and meekness, with patience, forbearing one another in love, eager to maintain
the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace.”
The community reflects Christ.
Therefore peace, unity and love are to be fostered by all whereas
conflict, division, and indifference within the community reveals a lack of
Christ’s Spirit among us.
To the
Corinthians he writes:
For just as the body is one and has
many members, and all the members of the body, though many, are one body, so it
is with Christ. For by one Spirit we
were all baptized into one body – Jews or Greeks, slaves or free – and all were
made to drink of one Spirit. For the
body does not consist of one member but of many. If the foot should say, "Because I am
not a hand, I do not belong to the body," that would not make it any less
a part of the body. And if the ear
should say, "Because I am not an eye, I do not belong to the body,"
that would not make it any less a part of the body. If the whole body were an eye, where would be
the hearing? If the whole body were an
ear, where would be the sense of smell?
But as it is, God arranged the organs in the body, each one of them, as
he chose. If all were a single organ,
where would the body be? As it is, there
are many parts, yet one body. The eye
cannot say to the hand, "I have no need of you," nor again the head
to the feet, "I have no need of you."
On the contrary, the parts of the body which seem to be weaker are
indispensable, and those parts of the body which we think less honorable we
invest with the greater honor, and our unpresentable parts are treated with
greater modesty, which our more presentable parts do not require. But God has so composed the body, giving the
greater honor to the inferior part, that there may be no discord in the body,
but that the members may have the same care for one another. If one member suffers,
all suffer together; if one member is honored, all rejoice together.
(1Corinthians 12:12-26)
“Holiness
of life” is not just about one’s personal relationship with God. Love of God and love of the neighbor are two
sides of the same coin – you can’t have one without the other. Holiness of life includes how we conduct
ourselves within the community that gathers around Jesus, the one whom he
called Father and their Holy Spirit. It
is into this gathered community that we baptize – it is to this gathered
community that God makes his covenantal promises. It is this community that is set apart by God
to be his Holy people – the witnesses of Divine love for all people. We are all in this together – all of us –
whether we like it or not. The
exhortation to Holiness of life means that we must strive to live together in
peace as one people. It doesn’t mean we
always have to agree on everything, but we should never dismiss someone because
of their opinions. It doesn’t mean that
we have to like everyone either, but we must always treat one another with
respect. Holiness of life here in the
community means sharing our burdens in common as best we can, each pulling
their own weight, and valuing each member – each man, woman and child – for the
dignity that each one bears as a beloved child of God.
We are a
pilgrim band, marching together to the Promised Land. We will endure together, holding one another
up when times are hard. The way may be
dark and cheerless; we may at times be frightened or lose our way. But we are never, never alone. Together, as one company – the company in
Christ and with Christ as our head – we will overcome whatever trials and
tribulations come our way. Bring ‘em on,
I say! We have Jesus on our side! And we are all one great company, united
forever in the One whose Name we adore, Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.