Job 1:1; 2:1-10; Psalm 26; Hebrews 1:1-4; 2:5-12; Mark 10:2-16
Preached at Saint Augustine's Episcopal Church, Augusta GA
Today, October 4th, is the feast day of Saint Francis of Assisi. There are so many wonderful, even fantastic, stories about this much beloved saint, including the stories of his love of animals and nature. In his biography, we hear the story of a wolf who was taking villagers’ sheep. Francis went and scolded the wolf, and promised him that if he would be good, the villagers would feed him. Then Francis went back into the village with the wolf tagging along beside him like a tame puppy. According to the story, the villagers did feed the wolf and he never bothered their livestock again.
Francis wasn’t always a saint. When he was young, he was quite a man-about-town. Then he decided to make a break with his former life and to follow Jesus, and he went to the town square to make public his intentions. It is said that he gave away all that he had, even his clothes, so that he would make a completely new start, in total poverty. According to tradition, at that moment he took off the clothes he was wearing, and then the local bishop wrapped Francis in his cloak, covering his body, literally, and also figuratively taking him under the sponsorship of the church.
As followers started to join him, Francis kept his commitment to complete and radical poverty. He didn’t permit his brothers to own anything at all. When one brother asked for a prayer book, he was told no because then he might become attached to it. When someone referred to the room that Francis slept in as “Francis’s cell”, he never slept there again so that it wouldn’t be called “his”. If the brothers received money, they were instructed to give it all away before sundown.
Today there are Franciscan communities, of men and women, who follow the teachings of St. Francis. They not only serve the poor, but they even live like the poor and among the poor. They also attempt, as much as possible, not to own any possessions. I have a Franciscan friend who gives away the shoes he is wearing anytime he sees a poor person without footwear.
When I became a novice in the Order of Saint Helena, I was able to choose a name in religion, and I chose to add “Francis” to my baptismal name. I chose Francis because I greatly respect him and those who follow his path, even though I know that I’m not called to the Franciscan style of monastic life. What really attracts me to St. Francis, more than anything else, is his consistency in his commitment to following Jesus. If Jesus was poor and homeless, so would Francis be, in every way. If Jesus noted how lovely the lilies of the field could be without worry for tomorrow, so would Francis be too. Francis would rather have been called “a fool for Christ” than make any compromises in his rule of life.
This was a very difficult path for Francis’s followers. Towards the end of his life, Francis saw that the brothers had built a large chapel, and he despaired that his complete commitment to poverty and simplicity would not be upheld. Sometimes it was difficult even for Francis to be “Francis”. One time when he was ill, he ate some chicken, and then repented because he had intended not to eat meat or poultry.
It’s not always easy for us to follow Jesus, either. Sometimes it’s not even easy to understand what a scripture lesson is saying. Then we need to pray and study deeply and try to understand the difficult lesson within the broader sweep of salvation history and the saving grace of Christ.
Sometimes, however, the lesson is abundantly clear, and we’d like very much to be able to explain it away. Take today’s lesson from Mark. The Pharisees ask Jesus whether a man can divorce his wife. (Notice that they only ask about men divorcing their wives, not the other way around!) Although the Law of Moses permitted husbands to divorce their wives, Jesus raised the bar and he addressed both husbands and wives. He says that neither should divorce their spouse, because “What God has joined together, let no one separate”. (Mark 10:9)
The reality of divorce is still with us, on occasion justifiable, sometimes inevitable, and always tragic. The intent, at marriage, is always supposed to be to live together and support each other “as long as you both shall live”, and the words of Jesus are abundantly clear. Yet bad things do happen, even to good people, mistakes are made, and the hard work of living together may go beyond what one or both can bear. Even Francis, who tried to follow Christ as perfectly as possible, still slipped. How much more will the rest of us inevitable slip and fall away from following Jesus’ teachings in certain, difficult things.
Divorce is certainly one of “the bad” things that can happen. It may be very difficult to figure out what is the right thing to do in a bad marital situation: when to stay the course and when the better, saner, healthier thing may be to go separate ways. What often happens, also, is that those who divorce (or who commit any significant sin) may suffer from gut-wrenching pain and guilt for a long, long time.
I believe that God does not dwell on our sins nearly as long as we do! Jesus simply told the woman caught in adultery, “Neither do I condemn you. Go your way, and sin no more”. (John 8:11) After carrying for a time the heavy burden of sin, eventually we may give up trying to forgive ourselves, and through grace, we may become aware of the full power of God’s forgiveness.
Jesus tells us that the most blessed by God are the poor, the mourners, the meek, even the little children, who are the lowest on the social scale in ancient society. Surely also blessed are sinners who repent and who give over the self-destructive feelings of guilt to God’s mercy. Surely we sinners are still among those just a little lower than the angels and are also worthy to receive forgiveness, and to praise and glorify and stand before God.
The Bible tells us of God’s infinite forgiveness and grace. We receive good and bad in our lives; we sometimes succeed in following Jesus and sometimes we fall away. Even Francis fell away too, occasionally. We still can praise God for all the abundant blessings that we do receive and that are poured out upon us through God’s mercy and love. Through the saving grace of Jesus, we are forgiven, healed, and restored to become a people transformed through a free gift of grace, perpetually offered and forever ours when we accept Christ’s presence in our lives and the promise of eternal life in Him.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Pentecost 16 (proper 20), Year B, Sunday Sept 20, 2009
Proverbs 31:10-31; Psalm 1; James 3:13-4:3, 7-8a; Mark 9:30-37
Preached by The Rev. Ellen Francis, OSH at Saint Augustine's Episcopal Church, Augusta GA
There are many wonderful drawings and paintings of Jesus surrounded by children. The children are crowding around him, and some are leaning against him or hugging his knees. They are looking up adoringly at him and listening to his words. Sometimes he is holding a little child in his arms. These are such very tender images and express to us one of the ways in which we imagine Jesus, as gentle and kind and even fatherly/motherly. These images illustrate His teaching that it is especially the meek and lowly who are most blessed and loved by God.
However, the ancient people who were present with Jesus for the event described in our Gospel reading, and the early Christians who heard this story, would have most likely reacted quite differently. To ancient peoples, Jesus’ actions and words on that day would have been shocking and scandalous!
In the ancient Middle East (and even today), homes were constructed with walls around them to separate the household from the outside world and to enclose family space. The areas outside of the walls were the domain of men. Inside the walls, there was often a courtyard where men could meet and discuss their business, and then there were family spaces for the women and children. Children were usually not running about in the courtyard or the men’s meeting areas.
We also know that in the ancient world there was a definite social pecking order. Men and especially wealthy men of status were at the top. Wealthy women and wives of important men might also be near the top. Then there were ordinary men and craftsmen; then ordinary women; then at the bottom of the social scale were slaves, widows, and children.
In today’s reading we hear that Jesus “took a little child”. Most likely he had to go and find one, perhaps even by going near or into the family section of the house. Then the story continues: “He… put it among them”. He would have had to bring this child into an area where children would not normally be, perhaps in the courtyard where the men had gathered.
Then, he did something even more shocking by taking up the child in his arms, raising up the very lowest in the social order, to make his point even more clearly: “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me.” (Mark 9:37)
As we have seen in the modern artistic renditions of this scene, we might interpret this as a lovely moment, with Jesus holding a cuddly, cherubic, gurgling infant. We can imagine a scene of domestic bliss, with the perfect baby and the perfect wife and mother, and the perfect father.
Now imagine, if you will, what this scene more probably looked like. Imagine how most young children would react to being seized from their mother’s arms and taken into a public space with lots of strange faces all around them, and then picked up and held by some strange man. Let’s rephrase Jesus’ statement: “Whoever welcomes this squealing, squirming, squalling baby in my name, welcomes me….” It’s easy to welcome the cute and cuddly, and much, much harder to welcome the messy, complicated, real people whom God actually brings to our door.
At the convent where I live, we sisters gather in our chapel to chant the Daily Office four times a day. Our chant sounds something like the chant that we use in this parish when we chant the psalm. We sisters have chanted together four times a day for so many years that we really get to know each other’s voices and how to stay together (mostly). We sing very quietly so that our voices blend, and we try to make all our voices sound like one. All is well, until we have visitors. We love having visitors at the convent, but sometimes their voices are loud, or flat, or too slow. We try to keep up the pitch and the pace, and sometimes we say in our hearts: we love our visitors, and we love it when they go away again!
Who is usually most welcome in our midst? Certainly those who are most like ourselves, who blend and harmonize most easily, who bring as little change as possible! Who is least welcome? It’s usually the ones who change and challenge us.
There is a church in New York that was not doing very well, either financially or in terms of attendance. As they were searching for a new rector, they told one of the candidates that they wanted to grow and prosper, so he answered them, “If you hire me as your rector, this church will grow. But I want you to understand that you’re not going to like it.” I think he was confronting their very earnest desire to grow, but only to grow in a comfortable way.
At Saint Augustine’s we have expressed a commitment to growing, especially by bringing in younger people. I have to be honest with you about this – at my age, I have been very comfortable here, with all of your help and with the warm welcome that I’ve received. Also, the average age of this congregation about the same as mine! It wasn’t until I saw some results from the parish survey that I realized that we are indeed a mostly aging congregation (as I also am reluctantly but inevitably aging). A substantial influx of new, energetic, enthusiastic, spirit-filled young people would definitely be a change and would definitely bring new life in Christ in our midst. And an influx of new, energetic, enthusiastic, spirit-filled young people would definitely challenge us in every way.
Our mission is to proclaim the Gospel of Christ and to live in love and to welcome all those who come to us for spiritual nourishment and fellowship in Christ. This means accepting some disorientation. Jesus himself was really good at shaking up the traditions and customs of his time. In the midst of change and challenge, the one constant is God, who is eternal and changeless in His grace and mercy. God knows our need, and will give us the strength and skills to persevere.
When we welcome anyone whom God has sent to us and who is drawn to be part of our worship and fellowship, we welcome Jesus in our midst, who was ready to speak with women, eat with tax collectors, and who gave his life for all who strive to follow Him. When we welcome anyone in His name, we welcome Christ into our midst and we are all blessed by the grace of God to heal our differences and open our hearts to work together and to live always in His love.
Preached by The Rev. Ellen Francis, OSH at Saint Augustine's Episcopal Church, Augusta GA
There are many wonderful drawings and paintings of Jesus surrounded by children. The children are crowding around him, and some are leaning against him or hugging his knees. They are looking up adoringly at him and listening to his words. Sometimes he is holding a little child in his arms. These are such very tender images and express to us one of the ways in which we imagine Jesus, as gentle and kind and even fatherly/motherly. These images illustrate His teaching that it is especially the meek and lowly who are most blessed and loved by God.
However, the ancient people who were present with Jesus for the event described in our Gospel reading, and the early Christians who heard this story, would have most likely reacted quite differently. To ancient peoples, Jesus’ actions and words on that day would have been shocking and scandalous!
In the ancient Middle East (and even today), homes were constructed with walls around them to separate the household from the outside world and to enclose family space. The areas outside of the walls were the domain of men. Inside the walls, there was often a courtyard where men could meet and discuss their business, and then there were family spaces for the women and children. Children were usually not running about in the courtyard or the men’s meeting areas.
We also know that in the ancient world there was a definite social pecking order. Men and especially wealthy men of status were at the top. Wealthy women and wives of important men might also be near the top. Then there were ordinary men and craftsmen; then ordinary women; then at the bottom of the social scale were slaves, widows, and children.
In today’s reading we hear that Jesus “took a little child”. Most likely he had to go and find one, perhaps even by going near or into the family section of the house. Then the story continues: “He… put it among them”. He would have had to bring this child into an area where children would not normally be, perhaps in the courtyard where the men had gathered.
Then, he did something even more shocking by taking up the child in his arms, raising up the very lowest in the social order, to make his point even more clearly: “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me.” (Mark 9:37)
As we have seen in the modern artistic renditions of this scene, we might interpret this as a lovely moment, with Jesus holding a cuddly, cherubic, gurgling infant. We can imagine a scene of domestic bliss, with the perfect baby and the perfect wife and mother, and the perfect father.
Now imagine, if you will, what this scene more probably looked like. Imagine how most young children would react to being seized from their mother’s arms and taken into a public space with lots of strange faces all around them, and then picked up and held by some strange man. Let’s rephrase Jesus’ statement: “Whoever welcomes this squealing, squirming, squalling baby in my name, welcomes me….” It’s easy to welcome the cute and cuddly, and much, much harder to welcome the messy, complicated, real people whom God actually brings to our door.
At the convent where I live, we sisters gather in our chapel to chant the Daily Office four times a day. Our chant sounds something like the chant that we use in this parish when we chant the psalm. We sisters have chanted together four times a day for so many years that we really get to know each other’s voices and how to stay together (mostly). We sing very quietly so that our voices blend, and we try to make all our voices sound like one. All is well, until we have visitors. We love having visitors at the convent, but sometimes their voices are loud, or flat, or too slow. We try to keep up the pitch and the pace, and sometimes we say in our hearts: we love our visitors, and we love it when they go away again!
Who is usually most welcome in our midst? Certainly those who are most like ourselves, who blend and harmonize most easily, who bring as little change as possible! Who is least welcome? It’s usually the ones who change and challenge us.
There is a church in New York that was not doing very well, either financially or in terms of attendance. As they were searching for a new rector, they told one of the candidates that they wanted to grow and prosper, so he answered them, “If you hire me as your rector, this church will grow. But I want you to understand that you’re not going to like it.” I think he was confronting their very earnest desire to grow, but only to grow in a comfortable way.
At Saint Augustine’s we have expressed a commitment to growing, especially by bringing in younger people. I have to be honest with you about this – at my age, I have been very comfortable here, with all of your help and with the warm welcome that I’ve received. Also, the average age of this congregation about the same as mine! It wasn’t until I saw some results from the parish survey that I realized that we are indeed a mostly aging congregation (as I also am reluctantly but inevitably aging). A substantial influx of new, energetic, enthusiastic, spirit-filled young people would definitely be a change and would definitely bring new life in Christ in our midst. And an influx of new, energetic, enthusiastic, spirit-filled young people would definitely challenge us in every way.
Our mission is to proclaim the Gospel of Christ and to live in love and to welcome all those who come to us for spiritual nourishment and fellowship in Christ. This means accepting some disorientation. Jesus himself was really good at shaking up the traditions and customs of his time. In the midst of change and challenge, the one constant is God, who is eternal and changeless in His grace and mercy. God knows our need, and will give us the strength and skills to persevere.
When we welcome anyone whom God has sent to us and who is drawn to be part of our worship and fellowship, we welcome Jesus in our midst, who was ready to speak with women, eat with tax collectors, and who gave his life for all who strive to follow Him. When we welcome anyone in His name, we welcome Christ into our midst and we are all blessed by the grace of God to heal our differences and open our hearts to work together and to live always in His love.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Pentecost 15 (proper 19), Year B, Sunday Sept 13, 2009
Proverbs 1:20-33; Wisdom 7:26-8:1; James 3:1-12; Mark 8:27-38
Preached by The Rev. Ellen Francis, OSH at Saint Augustine's Episcopal Church, Augusta GA
In the far distant reaches of human history there was a time when the earliest humans began to look up at the stars and across great vistas of oceans and mountains and plains. They were filled with awe and they started to ponder. They began to reflect on what they saw and felt, and they began to think beyond themselves and beyond the present moment.
It was a most profound moment when people started to ask themselves some new and deeply reflective questions: Who am I? Why am I here? Who are we as a people? How did we get here?
Throughout recorded history, people continued ask these essential questions concerning human existence. Today, we still yearn to understand why we are here, how we can know God, how we can be in relationship with God, and how we can understand where God is calling us.
The Gospels were written with the purpose of addressing these questions by revealing who Jesus was and is. In today’s reading from the Gospel of Mark, we hear Jesus himself ask the key question of his disciples, “Who do people say that I am?” This question underlies all of the Gospel stories, and eventually unfolds as the Good News of Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior.
But here, at this point in the narrative, Jesus’ ministry and identity are still unfolding. Here, Jesus explicitly asks the disciples for an answer. He knows that he causes quite a stir wherever he goes, and in his full humanity he may be asking this question quite honestly: “What do you hear people saying about me?”
The answer is that people really don’t know what to think or what to say about him. Jesus doesn’t quite fit any known pattern. The closest they can come is to describe him as a prophet, such as Elijah, or perhaps even as John the Baptist.
Then Jesus asks, “But who do you say that I am?” We can hear a confident, divine Jesus posing this question to the disciples so that they can learn to know him as the Messiah. I wonder, also, if the fully human Jesus is asking for some reassurance and even for their support. We may be able to hear just a hint of gentle wistfulness in the question: “After all is said and done, who am I to you, my closest companions?”
Good old foot-in-mouth Peter. He gets it just right, and at first he says to Jesus: “You are the Messiah!” So far so good. But then Peter immediately sails off course. He is shocked to hear Jesus describe a very different messiah than he can possibly understand: a suffering servant messiah, who willingly gives himself up to a shameful death and who will “after three days rise again”. Peter’s one moment of deep wisdom, that Jesus is the Messiah, is lost in a heartbeat in his befuddlement and incomprehension of what that will mean for his friend and teacher.
Wisdom is perhaps the most profound form of knowledge, beyond our direct experience and beyond any concrete understanding. Wisdom is the deepest knowledge of God’s will, God’s presence, God’s sanctity and God’s “divine goodness”. Most of us may hold such deep insight for only a fleeting instant, and then lose it in the next moment, as Peter does.
We do well, when we can discern and follow the path of divine Wisdom, which God intends to “pour out” and “make known” to us. Wouldn’t it be nice to have clear sky-writing that tells us exactly what is God’s will for us? Unfortunately, we don’t always understand what God wants to make clear. We may well, as James says, “make mistakes” in judgment and discernment. In our life choices, James describes a “very small rudder” which can change our life directions in major ways. Robert Frost wrote in one of his poems about two paths that diverged in the woods, and how he decided to take the less traveled path, which made “all the difference”. Frost adds, wistfully, that after making his choice, he knows that he will “never come back”.
Whatever our ages, we’ve all made choices and mistakes. I’ve made some real whoppers along the way. All these choices and, yes, even mistakes, become part of who we are and who we are becoming. As I grow older, I’m more and more convinced that mistakes, and side paths, and journeys off-course are never wasted, but they all become part of our stories, part of our spiritual growth, part of our search for God. Who are we? We are the total of all of our stories and our mistakes, our journeys off-course, as well as our successes. We are our happiness and our sorrows, our good as well as less fortunate choices. And we are not isolated, self-sufficient individuals, as we waver on and off-course, but rather we are our relationships with each other and with God.
We do get some sky-writing in this Gospel reading after all. Jesus is very clear in describing who God is calling us to become: a people who can “deny” ourselves, take up our cross every day, and follow him. “Denying” ourselves is not usually meant to be self-destructive, but rather a free choice, without resentment or obligation. It may mean as little as a kind word to a friend; it may very rarely mean as much as a major sacrifice or giving up our lives to save another.
Taking up our cross isn’t about suffering, as in “I guess this illness is my cross to bear”, nor is it about taking up someone else’s cross! Taking up our cross is also a free choice, and a firm, honest, complete dedication to generosity of spirit and to proclaiming the Good News of Jesus in our words and in our lives. It’s not about easy, convenient, half-hearted commitment. It’s not about church-lite. It’s a major life choice and whole-hearted dedication to Christ.
Who am I? Who are we? We are human, created in the image of a loving and merciful God. We are created to wonder and question; to make both wise and foolish choices. We are not alone, or solitary, or isolated. We are who we are in relationship to other people and to God. We are most closely defined by who we say that Jesus is.
As we learn to answer that question, we will also begin know who we are as human beings, as a community of faith, and as Christians who attempt in all things to follow Christ.
Preached by The Rev. Ellen Francis, OSH at Saint Augustine's Episcopal Church, Augusta GA
In the far distant reaches of human history there was a time when the earliest humans began to look up at the stars and across great vistas of oceans and mountains and plains. They were filled with awe and they started to ponder. They began to reflect on what they saw and felt, and they began to think beyond themselves and beyond the present moment.
It was a most profound moment when people started to ask themselves some new and deeply reflective questions: Who am I? Why am I here? Who are we as a people? How did we get here?
Throughout recorded history, people continued ask these essential questions concerning human existence. Today, we still yearn to understand why we are here, how we can know God, how we can be in relationship with God, and how we can understand where God is calling us.
The Gospels were written with the purpose of addressing these questions by revealing who Jesus was and is. In today’s reading from the Gospel of Mark, we hear Jesus himself ask the key question of his disciples, “Who do people say that I am?” This question underlies all of the Gospel stories, and eventually unfolds as the Good News of Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior.
But here, at this point in the narrative, Jesus’ ministry and identity are still unfolding. Here, Jesus explicitly asks the disciples for an answer. He knows that he causes quite a stir wherever he goes, and in his full humanity he may be asking this question quite honestly: “What do you hear people saying about me?”
The answer is that people really don’t know what to think or what to say about him. Jesus doesn’t quite fit any known pattern. The closest they can come is to describe him as a prophet, such as Elijah, or perhaps even as John the Baptist.
Then Jesus asks, “But who do you say that I am?” We can hear a confident, divine Jesus posing this question to the disciples so that they can learn to know him as the Messiah. I wonder, also, if the fully human Jesus is asking for some reassurance and even for their support. We may be able to hear just a hint of gentle wistfulness in the question: “After all is said and done, who am I to you, my closest companions?”
Good old foot-in-mouth Peter. He gets it just right, and at first he says to Jesus: “You are the Messiah!” So far so good. But then Peter immediately sails off course. He is shocked to hear Jesus describe a very different messiah than he can possibly understand: a suffering servant messiah, who willingly gives himself up to a shameful death and who will “after three days rise again”. Peter’s one moment of deep wisdom, that Jesus is the Messiah, is lost in a heartbeat in his befuddlement and incomprehension of what that will mean for his friend and teacher.
Wisdom is perhaps the most profound form of knowledge, beyond our direct experience and beyond any concrete understanding. Wisdom is the deepest knowledge of God’s will, God’s presence, God’s sanctity and God’s “divine goodness”. Most of us may hold such deep insight for only a fleeting instant, and then lose it in the next moment, as Peter does.
We do well, when we can discern and follow the path of divine Wisdom, which God intends to “pour out” and “make known” to us. Wouldn’t it be nice to have clear sky-writing that tells us exactly what is God’s will for us? Unfortunately, we don’t always understand what God wants to make clear. We may well, as James says, “make mistakes” in judgment and discernment. In our life choices, James describes a “very small rudder” which can change our life directions in major ways. Robert Frost wrote in one of his poems about two paths that diverged in the woods, and how he decided to take the less traveled path, which made “all the difference”. Frost adds, wistfully, that after making his choice, he knows that he will “never come back”.
Whatever our ages, we’ve all made choices and mistakes. I’ve made some real whoppers along the way. All these choices and, yes, even mistakes, become part of who we are and who we are becoming. As I grow older, I’m more and more convinced that mistakes, and side paths, and journeys off-course are never wasted, but they all become part of our stories, part of our spiritual growth, part of our search for God. Who are we? We are the total of all of our stories and our mistakes, our journeys off-course, as well as our successes. We are our happiness and our sorrows, our good as well as less fortunate choices. And we are not isolated, self-sufficient individuals, as we waver on and off-course, but rather we are our relationships with each other and with God.
We do get some sky-writing in this Gospel reading after all. Jesus is very clear in describing who God is calling us to become: a people who can “deny” ourselves, take up our cross every day, and follow him. “Denying” ourselves is not usually meant to be self-destructive, but rather a free choice, without resentment or obligation. It may mean as little as a kind word to a friend; it may very rarely mean as much as a major sacrifice or giving up our lives to save another.
Taking up our cross isn’t about suffering, as in “I guess this illness is my cross to bear”, nor is it about taking up someone else’s cross! Taking up our cross is also a free choice, and a firm, honest, complete dedication to generosity of spirit and to proclaiming the Good News of Jesus in our words and in our lives. It’s not about easy, convenient, half-hearted commitment. It’s not about church-lite. It’s a major life choice and whole-hearted dedication to Christ.
Who am I? Who are we? We are human, created in the image of a loving and merciful God. We are created to wonder and question; to make both wise and foolish choices. We are not alone, or solitary, or isolated. We are who we are in relationship to other people and to God. We are most closely defined by who we say that Jesus is.
As we learn to answer that question, we will also begin know who we are as human beings, as a community of faith, and as Christians who attempt in all things to follow Christ.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Pentecost 13 (proper 17), Year B, Sunday August 30, 2009
Song Solomon 2:8-13; Psalm 45:1-2, 7-10; James 1:17-27; Mark 7:1-8, 14-15, 21-23
Preached by The Rev. Ellen Francis, OSH at Saint Augustine's Episcopal Church, Augusta GA
A few of my Jewish friends still keep the traditional kosher dietary laws. One evening, one of my most strictly observant friends joined a group of us at someone’s house for dinner. She brought her own food and utensils, and everything was fine, until we got to desert. There was a lovely cake that someone had brought, and she declared that it was “parve”, so she could have some, but we didn’t have a kosher knife, or a kosher plate, or a kosher fork. We finally coped with the situation by using a napkin and breaking off a piece for her, and she munched her dessert directly from the napkin. Not an elegant solution, but it worked!
There were special accommodations that we needed to make to include her in a way that was respectful of her tradition and beliefs, but still there was a feeling of separation because we couldn’t share our food as well as our fellowship. We realized that it would be complicated to continue to include her in social gatherings.
The purity laws of the ancient Hebrew people started with basic moral laws, such as the Ten Commandments, and gradually also included prudent practices for hygiene (washing hands before eating is always a good idea) and for public health (better not to eat pork if it might carry disease). As these laws evolved and became more firmly established in the Jewish tradition, they began to foster intentional separation between the Jews and all others.
Eventually, the purity laws also separated Jew from Jew. The Pharisees and the Jerusalem Temple authorities kept themselves as much as possible in a state of ritual purity so that they could at any time offer prayers and sacrifices. This was something of a luxury, since the common people would often become ritually impure just in the course of their daily lives.
Jesus had a very different experience of God from the religious authorities and the Pharisees. The Pharisees and religious elite believed that they had a special vocation and position at the Temple in Jerusalem. They believed that they held the key to holiness for all others, and that they were the closest to God.
Jesus had a very different experience of God. In his heart, he knew that he was close to God, even though he was not from a priestly family or a Pharisee. He felt blessed by God even though he was from a small, poor town far from Jerusalem and even though he grew up in a carpenter’s home. It may have been a shock to him, on his first visit to the temple as a child of about 12, to discover that the religious elite held themselves above the common people. He may been repelled by the elitism of the ritual sacrifice. His father, Joseph, would have purchased an animal for sacrifice, but would not have been able to offer the sacrifice himself and perhaps not even put his hand on the animal as a sign that it was his own offering to God.
Jesus had a more open and inclusive experience of God. Jesus felt absolutely convinced that a close and intimate connection to God was possible for all, especially the poor and weak and sick and the marginalized. For Jesus, any barriers to the holiness and sanctity of God would have to be of human and not divine origin. For Jesus, touching a leper was a way of holiness and service rather than an act that would defile and separate him from God. As he preached of the blessedness of the poor, those who mourn, and the meek, so he also did compassionate acts of healing.
To Jesus, God was close enough for him to call him Father. God was close enough to call Jesus “My beloved Son”. To Jesus, God was so close and so loving, that Jesus wanted to teach other Jews that they too could find God in their hearts and in their prayer, and that they need not rely on the religious authorities or special laws of purity to be able to approach God. Jesus did not intend to abolish the law altogether, but to fulfill it in a way that made it possible for all Jews, and Samaritans, and even Gentiles to know God.
No wonder he kept running into difficulty with the religious elite. He was challenging their special privilege and status to the core. He was undermining their position of authority. He was turning their teachings and traditions inside out and upside down. By not doing the ritual washing before meals, Jesus and his followers were demonstrating that holiness is not dependent on external ritual actions, but rather is dependent on the state of the heart.
A priest I know in New York was in charge of a little church that had been founded as a mission many years ago by a much larger church. He was hired to do some innovative things, such as jazz Vespers, and to start outreach programs in the local community. As he started to put new programs and services in place, he found that the clergy at the founding church would show up and take over the services, they would nitpick his work, and be critical, and generally not let him get on with what he felt needed to be done. I met him about two years after he left that little church, and it took him a good half-hour to tell me all that had happened. Then he said that all that resentment and anger were like poison in his heart, and like a kind of defilement. He said that he was learning to let go of the negative thoughts, and learning to forgive.
We all may hold some such defiling thoughts and sometimes we may speak angry, spiteful, and revengeful words. Following in the way of Jesus, however, is the way of forgiveness, even as he was dying on the cross, saying: “Forgive them, Father.” As we are forgiven and as we receive the blessing of grace, so we can learn to fill our hearts with forgiveness and blessing, which will crowd out the thoughts and words that defile and poison our hearts.
When Moses first encountered God, God asked him to take off his shoes while standing on holy ground. Removing his shoes was a ritual act that honored God and led Moses to become aware of the presence of God. There are ritual movements and actions that we still make, such as kneeling at the altar, which draw our focus and attention to the holiness and sanctity of God. There are everyday acts of kindness and forgiveness that are also sacred acts. Such actions express and deepen the holiness of the moment, and help us to fill our hearts with peace. As we approach the holiest moment of each Eucharist, we can bend the knee of our hearts (Prayer of Manasseh 11), and receive the grace of God, the forgiveness of God, and the love of God, which is offered to all who trust and believe. When our hearts are full of love and a desire for peacefulness, there is no room for anything else.
Preached by The Rev. Ellen Francis, OSH at Saint Augustine's Episcopal Church, Augusta GA
A few of my Jewish friends still keep the traditional kosher dietary laws. One evening, one of my most strictly observant friends joined a group of us at someone’s house for dinner. She brought her own food and utensils, and everything was fine, until we got to desert. There was a lovely cake that someone had brought, and she declared that it was “parve”, so she could have some, but we didn’t have a kosher knife, or a kosher plate, or a kosher fork. We finally coped with the situation by using a napkin and breaking off a piece for her, and she munched her dessert directly from the napkin. Not an elegant solution, but it worked!
There were special accommodations that we needed to make to include her in a way that was respectful of her tradition and beliefs, but still there was a feeling of separation because we couldn’t share our food as well as our fellowship. We realized that it would be complicated to continue to include her in social gatherings.
The purity laws of the ancient Hebrew people started with basic moral laws, such as the Ten Commandments, and gradually also included prudent practices for hygiene (washing hands before eating is always a good idea) and for public health (better not to eat pork if it might carry disease). As these laws evolved and became more firmly established in the Jewish tradition, they began to foster intentional separation between the Jews and all others.
Eventually, the purity laws also separated Jew from Jew. The Pharisees and the Jerusalem Temple authorities kept themselves as much as possible in a state of ritual purity so that they could at any time offer prayers and sacrifices. This was something of a luxury, since the common people would often become ritually impure just in the course of their daily lives.
Jesus had a very different experience of God from the religious authorities and the Pharisees. The Pharisees and religious elite believed that they had a special vocation and position at the Temple in Jerusalem. They believed that they held the key to holiness for all others, and that they were the closest to God.
Jesus had a very different experience of God. In his heart, he knew that he was close to God, even though he was not from a priestly family or a Pharisee. He felt blessed by God even though he was from a small, poor town far from Jerusalem and even though he grew up in a carpenter’s home. It may have been a shock to him, on his first visit to the temple as a child of about 12, to discover that the religious elite held themselves above the common people. He may been repelled by the elitism of the ritual sacrifice. His father, Joseph, would have purchased an animal for sacrifice, but would not have been able to offer the sacrifice himself and perhaps not even put his hand on the animal as a sign that it was his own offering to God.
Jesus had a more open and inclusive experience of God. Jesus felt absolutely convinced that a close and intimate connection to God was possible for all, especially the poor and weak and sick and the marginalized. For Jesus, any barriers to the holiness and sanctity of God would have to be of human and not divine origin. For Jesus, touching a leper was a way of holiness and service rather than an act that would defile and separate him from God. As he preached of the blessedness of the poor, those who mourn, and the meek, so he also did compassionate acts of healing.
To Jesus, God was close enough for him to call him Father. God was close enough to call Jesus “My beloved Son”. To Jesus, God was so close and so loving, that Jesus wanted to teach other Jews that they too could find God in their hearts and in their prayer, and that they need not rely on the religious authorities or special laws of purity to be able to approach God. Jesus did not intend to abolish the law altogether, but to fulfill it in a way that made it possible for all Jews, and Samaritans, and even Gentiles to know God.
No wonder he kept running into difficulty with the religious elite. He was challenging their special privilege and status to the core. He was undermining their position of authority. He was turning their teachings and traditions inside out and upside down. By not doing the ritual washing before meals, Jesus and his followers were demonstrating that holiness is not dependent on external ritual actions, but rather is dependent on the state of the heart.
A priest I know in New York was in charge of a little church that had been founded as a mission many years ago by a much larger church. He was hired to do some innovative things, such as jazz Vespers, and to start outreach programs in the local community. As he started to put new programs and services in place, he found that the clergy at the founding church would show up and take over the services, they would nitpick his work, and be critical, and generally not let him get on with what he felt needed to be done. I met him about two years after he left that little church, and it took him a good half-hour to tell me all that had happened. Then he said that all that resentment and anger were like poison in his heart, and like a kind of defilement. He said that he was learning to let go of the negative thoughts, and learning to forgive.
We all may hold some such defiling thoughts and sometimes we may speak angry, spiteful, and revengeful words. Following in the way of Jesus, however, is the way of forgiveness, even as he was dying on the cross, saying: “Forgive them, Father.” As we are forgiven and as we receive the blessing of grace, so we can learn to fill our hearts with forgiveness and blessing, which will crowd out the thoughts and words that defile and poison our hearts.
When Moses first encountered God, God asked him to take off his shoes while standing on holy ground. Removing his shoes was a ritual act that honored God and led Moses to become aware of the presence of God. There are ritual movements and actions that we still make, such as kneeling at the altar, which draw our focus and attention to the holiness and sanctity of God. There are everyday acts of kindness and forgiveness that are also sacred acts. Such actions express and deepen the holiness of the moment, and help us to fill our hearts with peace. As we approach the holiest moment of each Eucharist, we can bend the knee of our hearts (Prayer of Manasseh 11), and receive the grace of God, the forgiveness of God, and the love of God, which is offered to all who trust and believe. When our hearts are full of love and a desire for peacefulness, there is no room for anything else.
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