Epiphany 2020: What is the strong reconciling work God calls us to do?

I wonder if you know the Persian story of the three Magi. It is not so different from ours and begins with Marco Polo. Marco Polo began traveling the seas between Europe and Asia in the 13th century. He spent time at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem. There, Polo was shown a lamp that had burned continuously for 1200 years. Later, he passed through Persia and was shown the ornate burial sites of the Three Magi. And, as Marco Polo traveled through Persia, he was told the story of their visit to the Christ-child. His story contains as much detail as we can imagine about the Magi. I learned the story through a children’s book called “The Stone.”

The names of the Magi, in Polo’s story, are Jasper, Melchoir, and Balthasar. They live in a tower full of strange instruments, charts, and flasks of potions. From their tower, they study the star studded sky. 

You know how some of this story goes: they see a star; their studies tell them the star announces a baby; a baby that will become a peacemaker king who rules with justice and healing. The Magi travel through the desert to find this king bringing gifts of gold, incense, and myrrh. 

Then, the legend says, something happened. They arrive at the place of the star. Each Magi enters the home alone and each witnesses a different king resembling his age: a young man, then middle-aged, and, finally, old like Balthasar. Yet, when they enter the home together, they find a young Christ child. They lay their gifts before him; and, the boy holds out a small sealed box, a gift for the Magi.

For some reason, and I’ve always wondered about this, they do not open the box. Instead, Jasper places it in his saddlebag. He, the youngest of the three, is anxious to open it while Balthasar encourages patience. Per usual, restlessness and nerves get the best of Jasper and he opens the box. Inside is a stone. 

Jasper is irate: what can they do with a stone?!? and he throws the stone into a well. As the stone reaches the bottom of the well, it explodes into flames of fire. This, this fire, is their gift: what can they possibly do with fire?!? Then the merchants begin to light their lamps from this fire, this gift from the boy.

I wish you could see this fire, the one in the book. The fire is a deep, orange-red. It is scary and inviting. The large, full flames reach in every direction. I’m not sure I would curl up in front of this fire; yet, it is inviting and warm. It is beautiful.

There’s a lot to wonder about in this story. We could wonder about the star. We could wonder about the wise men themselves or the gifts they bring. We might wonder what this story, the Persian legend and our Gospel, tell us about who and whose we are?
This week I learned that the Persians believe these Magi to be Zoroastrians. I don’t know much, if anything, about Zoroastrianism. What little I know fits in well with these Magi: religious practice that studies the universe to prepare for the world’s final judgment. In my research, I also learned that these particular Magi are believed to worship fire. 

Doesn’t that sound strange: to worship fire. Yet, we must remember that this is a strange story. There’s astrology and mysterious strangers traversing the desert to worship a baby.  What?!? Imagine listeners from the first century; Israelites rooted in the Torah. Their initial bias toward astrology would not welcome the wise men. Indeed, they might imagine them as evil as Herod. How do these wise men become the first to worship Christ in the Gospel of our Lord?: very strange indeed!

And I must confess to you that tonight feels strange. Today, we live in a moment in our country’s history unlike any I have ever witnessed. I am frustrated and frightened by the divisiveness of our politics. Meanwhile, we are living amidst a pandemic. Hospitals are rationing care and people are dying at dramatic rates. Oh how I wish we were gathered to burn greens or have an Epiphany pageant! My heart yearns to witness three children wearing robes and crowns too big, carrying boxes down the aisle, as we sing “We Three Kings of Orient are…” Instead, I preach to a screen hoping to connect with you as we share this feast. These are strange times indeed.

And so, the strangeness of the Gospel feels good, comforting, tonight. There is a gentle reminder here, in the story of these Magi, that we are not alone. Wise men traveled from foreign countries into scary deserts and visited evil kings. They also witnessed the revelation of God’s self to creation. The wise men invite us to share their story. We, too, can travel through dark places, crying for justice, healing and peace. 

Listen to Balthazar when he sees the fire leap from the well: 

“It is our gift,” he announces, “from the child…A gift that will bring justice and healing and peace into the world. Our belief in this must be as strong as the stone and burn in us like fire. Come! Come and share this. The gift is for everyone!” 

For years I have read Balthazar’s words from a Western Christian bias: the fire a metaphor for the Gospel. Now, I read these words differently. The stone and fire are not a metaphor; the Magi recognize them as the gift of God’s self. Like bread and wine given to us as Christ’s own self, here is fire and stone: signs of God’s strong reconciling work in creation that burns in the hearts of these men.

What is the strong reconciling work God calls us to do? What has Christ burned into our hearts for the sake of the Gospel? Is it to heal the divisions among us and bring peace to our community? Is it to demand justice for the vulnerable and oppressed among us? Is it to be vehicles of healing, wearing our masks and staying socially distanced to protect one another?

The call to follow Christ is a strange adventure. At times, there are gifts of frankincense, gold, and myrrh. Other times, we must take up our cross. The good news of the Gospel is that, if we follow, Jesus will lead us. He will give us another path home. It is not easy, often winding through dark places. And yet, the journey always leads to Christ. We do not have to follow our ways of division and fear; we do not have to depend on our systems of power and oppression. We can follow Christ down a different path: his way of peace, justice, and healing. It begins with a baby born in poverty, visited by wise men, and heralded by prophets. It includes a cross and death. And it leads to a garden with an empty tomb, the promise of new life for ALL of creation.

May our belief in Christ be as strong as the star that led the wise men. May it be a light for all people. May we follow Christ all the way home until we are face to face with his glory. Amen.

Christmas Eve: The Greatest Gift: The Mystery of the Divine

It was the week before Christmas and I was in the county jail. My friends, William and Mike, had invited me and a few colleagues to join them. William had a bag for each inmate with socks and snacks. Mike had his guitar. We were there to sing some songs and say some prayers. 

The room was concrete blocks with no windows. The women (and later men) filed in one at a time and sat in rows. Mike asked for song requests and we sang a few carols. Then, it was my turn to speak. I looked out at the rows of women in orange jumpsuits and wondered: what did I possibly have to say to them and would they believe me?

When I was a child, I spent my summers with my grandparents. My maternal grandmother would work all day: cooking, cleaning, and entertaining me. At the end of the day, she would get me a glass bottle coke from the fridge (she got a gin and tonic). Then, we would settle in the living room to play cards and watch tv. If there was nothing good on the tv, we would watch an old movie. We watched all the old movies, especially musicals: South Pacific, The Sound of Music, and State Fair. Our two favorites were White Christmas and Meet Me in St. Louis. A bit odd to associate these two movies with the summer, still we loved them. This is how “Have yourself a merry little Christmas” became one of my favorite carols.

Have yourself a merry little Christmas

let your heart be light

next year all our troubles will be out of sight

Have yourself a merry little Christmas

make the yuletide gay

next year all our troubles will be miles away

Once again as in olden days

Happy golden days of yore

Faithful friends who were dear to us

will be near to us once more

Someday soon we all will be together

if the fates allow

until then we’ll have to muddle through somehow

Have yourself a merry little Christmas now

Written in 1944 for the movie, it is not a light or happy song. Indeed, when Sinatra sang it in 1957, it was revised or “jollied up” as Sinatra put it. Sinatra’s version is a celebration of present happiness. Garland’s version, though, is hopeful. She anticipates a better future. 

Imagine Mary, a young woman, pregnant and unmarried. She sees the world around her: how her people are oppressed and hungry. She knows the promises given to her ancestors and to her. The angel comes to her, “Do not be afraid. God is act work in and through you.” Mary believes and she knows the nature and character of God. She knows how God works in the world. She unites her life, her child’s life, to God’s Word, and anticipates a better future.

Imagine the shepherds, keeping watch over the flocks. The economic need for sheep keeps them loosely connected to the community. They are, mostly, detached and isolated. What difference does a king or messiah make in their lives? The angel comes to them, “Do not be afraid. God is at work right now - FOR ALL THE PEOPLE. Go and see.” They believe. They go and find everything exactly as the angel said. Here is their God: the divine revealed in a poor, vulnerable child. They know the nature and character of God. They know how God works in the world. They unite themselves to God’s Word, glorifying and praising God, anticipating a better future.

Imagine women of every age gathered in a concrete room. They have little hope. Who cares for them? Standing before them is a young priest and her friend with a guitar. Do not be afraid, they hear. God is with you, at work in the world - for all people. This Christmas is not the end of your story, the priest says. There is more than enough mercy and grace for all of us. We know this because God sent God’s self to us. A small child is born. And this child will grow into a young man declaring forgiveness, healing, and new life for all of creation. We have hope: God’s future, written for each of us. And then, the women, Mike and I sing, “Have yourself a merry little Christmas; let your heart be light; next year all our troubles will be out of sight.” And one young woman asks for a prayer: help me to believe, she says.

Fast forward one year. About 10 of us are gathered for Holy Eucharist on Christmas Day. I’m in the middle of my homily. And the scene takes on a movie quality: a young couple quietly open the church door and slip in the back pew. One of them looks familiar but I can’t remember why. It’s only after church that she introduces herself: the young woman asking for a prayer, to believe. I came to see if it was true, she said. I came to see if God really is at work, if you were telling the truth. 

Imagine us at the end of a year that brought so many challenges. Cuddled up on Spring Street looking for the divine. We know the nature and character of God: mercy and grace for the whole world. We know how God works in the world: feeding the hungry, healing the sick, and lifting up the lowly. I don’t mean to minimize the suffering and sadness of this year. And, this is not the first time our world has faced incredible challenges. Still, God is at work in and through each one of us, right now. We have all we need: God’s infinite grace and mercy given to us for all the world to know. Tonight, we receive the greatest gift: the mystery of the divine revealed in a poor child, to shepherds in a field, and to us. Tonight we witness the mystery of the Incarnation: all the hope we need for a better future.

Merry Christmas! May your heart be light! Even while our troubles are in clear sight - because no matter the trouble God’s faithfulness is true. God will help us muddle through. Have yourself a merry little Christmas now! Peace be with you. Merry Christmas!

Let me be a Witness: Advent 1, Year B

I am stunned by the reality that today marks the beginning of the third week of Advent. How can this be? To be honest, I’m never ready for Christmas by the third Sunday of Advent. Rarely do I buy Christmas presents on time, despite the ease of Amazon prime. Often, it’s our daughter who gets the house decorated by now (she grows impatient waiting on her parents to pull the lights down from the attic). This year, like most years before it, I’m simply moving from one activity to the next: caught up in the energy and busy-ness of the season. 

Of course, this year is different from all other years. Instead of prepping the house for visitors, I’m pre-recording worship services. There’s no long wait at the post office to ship presents. There IS splurging for two day shipping, hoping gifts will arrive on time. There are no parties or Christmas cookie exchanges. Instead, our family wonders how we can make this Christmas more unique. We are trying to honor being together and all the people and traditions we miss.

One tradition that I will miss is the Christmas pageant. Christmas pageants are a new tradition in my life. When I was a small child, we traveled to my grandparents for Christmas. Then, as I grew older, we stayed home at Christmas and attended “midnight” mass (no pageant at midnight mass - all the children are in bed by then). After college, working at an Episcopal school, I experienced my first Christmas pageant. Christmas pageants have been an adult experience for me: as a chaplain, priest, and parent.  And, I love them. Every year, through costume and music, the story unfolds. Here is the angel Gabriel. Here is Mary, and Joseph, and the donkey. Here is the innkeeper, the shepherds, their sheep, stars and angels. Here is the baby, our Christ. The pageant invites the children, invites all of us, to find our place in the story. 

One character who is rarely, if ever, found in the pageant is John the Baptist. Maybe that’s because no one wants to wear camel’s hair? More likely, it’s because we associate John with Jesus’ adulthood. Of course, Luke weaves Jesus and John together from infancy. And mostly, John baptizing Jesus is the story we know. Notice, in John’s Gospel, John is not the baptizer; he is the witness. If John (the Baptist) was in the pageant, he’d be a sole voice, standing the in the wilderness: “Look,” he’d say, “There’s the lamb of God.” Would he be at the beginning or the end - or both?

Forgive me while I chase a rabbit here, there’s a point to the chase. All while preparing this sermon I kept getting distracted: John the Gospel writer and John the baptizer. How to distinguish between each? And, this is how John’s Gospel works: words repeated with different characters and images for a purpose. BOTH John the Gospel writer and John the baptizer are witnesses; they “testify to the light, so that all might believe…” The Gospel inherits John the baptizer’s witness. And we are to do the same: to come, see, and believe. The point is we inherit John’s ministry, like the Gospel writer, and become witnesses.

In John’s Gospel, a witness does more than tell a story or attest to what they have seen. A witness or witnessing leads to belief. At the end of the Gospel we hear: “…these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.” (John 20: 31). The power of witness is the life it brings to the listener, the reader, to the whole world.

Let’s talk about Jesus for a minute. Who is he and what does he do? He is the light of the world that shines in the darkness and will not be overshadowed. He is the Incarnate Word, present from the beginning, life for everyone. He is the power by which we are children of God, born from God. From him, we receive “grace upon grace” (John 1: 16). By his life, death, and resurrection, our lives are bound to His life. This is God’s life reconciling creation to God’s own self. On Christmas morning, when we sing “Joy to the Word the Lord has come let earth receive her king…,” this is what we sing: that Christ Jesus came to us and for us, and not just for us, for the whole world. This is our witness, our testimony: Jesus, the Son of God, born of a woman, calling us to come and see: healing, forgiveness, and abundant life for all.

Those of us who believe in Jesus the Christ, the incarnate word of God, are witnesses. We have a story to tell of how Jesus transformed our lives. Maybe it’s a story, like Nicodemus, of finding new life, being born again. Maybe it’s a story, like the woman at the well, of finding meaning and value in our lives. Maybe it’s a story, like those at the feeding of the 4000, of discovery: that God, through the life of Jesus, gives us all we need. For me, following Jesus has led me to a life of humility, mercy, and grace. 

Without Christ, I depend solely on my self and am ruled by anxiety and narcissism. I wonder, how are you a witness to Jesus?

John the baptizer, the first witness, is the standard for our witness. John the baptizer escapes every name. He is a voice making a way for the Christ. He baptizes with water only to prepare for the One who is greater than all others. Everything he does points away from himself and to the Christ, and not for his sake. He takes up this witness “so that all may believe.”

May we take a moment and examine our lives. How are we a witness to the Incarnate Word? How does the light of Christ in our lives break through the darkness? How do we make the paths straight, a way for the Word of the Lord in the world?

Here, at the Cathedral, we’ve used our resources to benefit our community: building an awning for St. Francis House, offering warm clothing for Dorcas House and El Zocola, and supporting The Stewpot. We’re also working diligently to offer a variety of ways for for our community to come close to God through prayer and worship. There are other ways, of course. Every time we love God and our neighbor we live in service to God’s kin_dom. We are witnesses of Christ’s reconciling love to the world. 

May we witness Christ’s reconciling work in creation. May we believe in the transformative power of Christ in our lives and the world. May we know Christ and make him known. Amen.