St. John's Episcopal Church

Sermon for Sunday, May 24, 2009 (Year B, Easter 7, Memorial Day Weekend)

And they cast lots… and the lot fell on Matthias, and he was added to the eleven apostles. (Acts 1:26)

According to the Book of Acts, it is during the ten days between the Ascension and the Day of Pentecost that Jesus’ friends finally address the impact of Judas’ treachery.  For the past forty days they have been preoccupied.  As Luke notes, “After his suffering” the risen Lord “presented himself alive to them by many convincing proofs… and speaking about the kingdom of God.” (Acts 1:3)  The risen Christ instructed them to remain in Jerusalem until “the promise of the Father” (Acts 1:4) came upon them and they were baptized with the Holy Spirit.  Then Jesus ascended into heaven, leaving them alone to contemplate what the next few days might bring.

It seems to have been at this moment that they finally recognized how Judas’ betrayal had distorted their fellowship.  For three years they had been twelve; now they were eleven.  In Old Testament numerology twelve is a potent number.  Twelve was the number of Jacob’s sons and thus of Israel’s tribes.  Perhaps for this reason numbers divisible by twelve keep reappearing in the Old Testament — the twenty-four classes of priests and Levites, (1 Chron. 24:4; 25:31) the forty-eight Levitical cities (Num. 35:7), and the seventy-two elders, including Eldad and Medad (Num. 121:24-26).  This pattern carries over into the New Testament, as when St. John the Divine in his Revelation mentions the twenty-four elders standing around the throne of God (Rev. 4:4, 5:8), and the 144,000 servants of God, with 12,000 taken from each of the twelve tribes.  The number twelve suggests wholeness.  

To the disciples, to be just eleven must have felt very strange, very incomplete.  So they decide to replace Judas with someone else.  Thus we have the election of Matthias.  This ritual of replacement is rather mysterious, I think, because we know so little about both Judas and the man who took his place.  

Despite being history’s most notorious villain, Judas Iscariot is very much a cipher.  As one commentator notes, “The meaning of his name… his background, his character, his motive in betraying Jesus, the manner of his death — all are riddles now quite insolvable.” (E.P. Blair, Interpreter’s Dictionary of the Bible, Vol. 2, p. 1006)  Judas may have been from the town of Kerioth in Judea, thus making him the only non-Galilean disciple.  Some speculate that he was related to Martha, Mary, and Lazarus.  He was clearly an important member of the Lord’s circle of disciples, being chosen to serve as its treasurer.  Jesus and Judas were probably quite close at the beginning.  Judas, like the other disciples, is sent out to preach and heal and cast out demons in Jesus’ name.  

Did the two have a falling out?  Was Judas’ early enthusiasm  dampened by the kind of people Jesus associated with, or was he disappointed when Jesus failed to stage an insurrection against Israel’s enemies?  Did he betray Jesus in order either to trigger or to prevent a showdown in Jerusalem between Jesus and the Romans?  Or was Judas motivated by simple greed?  The gnostic idea that Judas acted on Jesus’ orders, so that Jesus could be freed from the prison of mortal flesh, is hardly credible.  In any case, it seems beyond question that Judas betrayed his Master — whether or not for thirty pieces of silver, with or without the famous kiss.  

The gospels differ as to what happened to Judas after the crucifixion.  Matthew says he killed himself in remorse; the Book of Acts contends that he died gruesomely in a fall; and legend tells us that he roamed the earth for many years, like Cain after the murder of Abel, an object of disgust.  In the end, Judas vanishes from the historical record.  And in doing so he leaves a tear in the fabric of fellowship in that upper room.

To repair the damage the Eleven hold an election.  Two are nominated: Justus and Matthias.  Matthias is elected.  Matthias who?  Here we face a blank wall.  If we know little for certain about Judas, we know nothing at all about this man Matthias.  Undoubtedly he was a disciple, a man of good character, faithful to the Lord’s ministry.  It is almost certain that after his election he labored faithfully in the Lord’s vineyard, helping the infant Church grow quickly during those crucial first few years.  But aside from this, we cannot even speculate.  Matthias vanishes as quickly as he appears.  So why, then, should we devote a Sunday in Eastertide to someone who is, for all practical purposes, an historical unknown?

One reason, I suppose, is to remind ourselves that history is not just the product of great men and great women doing great deeds which win either the approval or disapproval of historians and their readers.  Historians focus on great people mainly because they leave a paper trail — diaries, memoirs, letters, documents by and about them.  Sifting, evaluating, and presenting this residue of documentary evidence is what historians do.

Moreover, these great people are often very conscious of their place in history and expend no small effort to persuade historians to speak well of them.  They may believe that their contribution was or still is crucial; that the fate of nations turned and still turns on their decisions; and that civilization will implode if their successors fail to discern the truth which these great people see so clearly.  Given his recent statements, former Vice President Dick Cheney seems intent on casting in bronze the memory of his eight years in office (and garnering some publicity for his forthcoming autobiography) while disparaging those who do not share his views.  But this too —and he too — shall pass.  His book will sell nicely.  Then Mr. Cheney will join the silent pantheon of vice presidents, and in a few years the community of historians will begin to render fair judgement on his work.  

However, I think we should remember that history is not made just by great people.  Great people certainly count, but they count only because many more small people — people whose names and deeds rarely appear in any history book — did their part.  Those who claim to see so far and so clearly do so only because they stand on the shoulders of others.  

• For instance, those who signed our Declaration of Independence and assured their neighbors that life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness were God-given rights would hardly be remembered today if their neighbors had not backed their cause.  
• In 1848 Lucretia Mott and Elizabeth Cady Stanton set in motion the fight for women’s suffrage, but they would be mere footnotes in history were it not for the women in their thousands who demanded equality.
• Eleanor Roosevelt chaired the United Nations commission which in 1948 gained approval for the Universal Declaration of Human Rights.  This remarkable document recognizes that “the inherent dignity  and… the equal and inalienable rights of all members of the human family is the foundation of freedom, justice and peace in the world.”  It declares that no member of the human family shall be enslaved, subjected to arbitrary arrest or detention, tortured, deprived of the freedom of conscience and religion, and much more. (UDHR, 1948)  But great as her contribution was, Mrs. Roosevelt could have accomplished little without the support of many human rights advocates around the globe, most of whom are unknown.  
• Martin Luther King Jr. and Nelson Mandela fought for their dreams of racial equality with uncommon grace and tenacity, but it is the hundreds of thousands of American and South African citizens who shared their cause who, in fact, “made history.”

I mention this because this weekend we honor the memory of many, many Americans —most of whose names are remembered only by their families, if at all — who “made history” by serving their country in time of war.  Our national custom of honoring the war dead by decorating their graves most likely began in 1865 when liberated slaves in Charleston, South Carolina, decorated the mass grave of Union soldiers at the site of that city’s former Confederate prison camp.  The following year a memorial observance was held in the village of Waterloo, New York, which is now credited as the birthplace of Memorial Day.  In 1868 the Grand Army of the Republic issued an order calling for decoration of service members’ graves throughout the nation on May 30th.  The order declares, “If other eyes grow dull and other hands slack, and other hearts cold in the solemn trust, ours shall keep it well as long as the light and warmth of life remain in us.”  From its roots in the Civil War, the event grew across the years to include the war dead of all conflicts.

But Memorial Day is no celebration of war, nor is it the occasion to hymn great presidents or great generals.  Rather, Memorial Day commemorates the sacrifice made by countless individual Americans across the generations.  It recognizes that, at crucial moments, men and women have been called away from all that was familiar — from their homes, families, schools, jobs, and communities — to defend our country.  With rare exception they have done so with courage and honor, respecting the rules of war, being resolute in battle and compassionate in victory, and often returning home with little fanfare, seeking only to pick up their lives where they left off.  Like Matthias, they have been elected to serve in their generation.  Their works may not be even a footnote in a history book, but they served well and faithfully, and we are in their debt.  

Great people — or those who imagine themselves to be great — may try to claim the lion’s share of honor, believing their wisdom and their decisions are the hinge on which history turns.  But in the end, what we have, we owe to these average men and women whose labors may be little known to us, but are surely known to God.  

May the honored dead rest in peace.  Amen.

— The Rev. John E. Laycock, Interim Pastor

Readings for Year B, Easter 7:

Lesson: Acts 1:15-17, 21-26

Gradual: Psalm 1

Epistle: 5:9-13

John 17:6-19

Collect for Easter 7:

O God, the King of glory, you hve exalted your only Son Jesus Christ with great triumph to your kingdom in heaven: Do not leave us comfortless, but send us your Holy Spirit to strengthen us, and exalt us to that place where our Savior Christ has gone before; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, in glory everlasting.  Amen.

A Collect for All in the Service of Our Country:

O Almighty Lord God, who neither slumberest nor sleepest:  Protect and assist, we beseech thee, all those who at home or abroad, by land, by sea, or in the air, are serving this country, that they, being armed with thy defense, may be preserved evermore in all perils; and being filled with wisdom and girded with strength, may do their duty to thy honor and glory; through Jesus Christ our Lord.  Amen.

From A Prayer Book for Soldiers and Sailors

Published by the Episcopal Church for Use during World War Two

Sermon for Thursday, May 21, 2009, being the Feast of the Ascension

Paul writes, “I pray that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of glory, may give you a spirit of wisdom and revelation as you come to know him, so that, with the eyes of your heart enlightened, you may know what is the hope to which he has called you….”  (Ephesians 1:17-18)

There is a small Roman Catholic Church near my seminary in New York City.  The building is an unremarkable, even pedestrian 1950s-vintage red brick structure.  Indeed, its one saving grace is a frieze, or horizontal band of sculptures, which runs along the building’s 10th Avenue facade.  The frieze tells the story of Jesus, with each sculpture depicting a scene from the New Testament.  On the far left, as I recall, is the Archangel Gabriel’s visitation to the Blessed Virgin, announcing that she will bear God’s Son.  Then, in sequence, come Bethlehem, the boy Jesus in the Temple, the Baptism, the Temptation, Jesus preaching and teaching and healing, and Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead.  Far down on the right are sculptures describing our Lord’s passion — Palm Sunday, Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, the Tomb, and finally Easter Day.

To see the last couple sculptures you have to follow the frieze around a corner above a side entrance to the church.  Here Jesus appears to the disciples after the resurrection.  And then there’s the final sculpture — the Ascension.  It’s wonderful!  It shows a group of disciples looking upward toward heaven.  What are they looking at?  Two little “Jesus feet” dangling out of a cloud!  If, as I do, you take a secret delight in religious kitsch, this example is priceless!

This sculpture well describes the trouble we Christians have getting our minds around the idea of Jesus ascending to the Father.  How did this happen?  Did Jesus slowly drift up into the clouds?  Or did he go up like the Shuttle blasting off from Cape Canaveral?  

Perhaps the most compelling artistic rendering I have seen is the fresco entitled “Mystery of Faith,” behind the altar of St. Mary’s Episcopal Church in West Jefferson, North Carolina.  The artist, North Carolina native Ben Long, learned his craft repairing frescos at the Abbey of Monte Casino in Italy, which was heavily damaged during World War Two.  Coming home in the mid-1970s, Long offered to paint a fresco as a gift to his native state.  In time he produced several, including this towering full-color image of the crucified Jesus, and behind the cross a second image in white and gray of our Lord rising to the Father.  As he rises, Jesus seems to become transparent — he fades away, so to speak, into the surrounding clouds.  

Or is Jesus coming on the clouds?… coming in power to judge the world?  That, indeed, is the “Mystery of Faith,” the very same mystery you and I will declare in just a few minutes when we say, “Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again.”

As so often happens around these difficult parts of Holy Scripture — the miracles and the resurrection and the ascension — the first question we ask is “How?”  But that is not a question we can answer.  The “how” of such things is simply beyond us.  I suppose that’s why we call them mysteries!  But what isn’t beyond us is an answer to the question, “Why?”  It’s the “why” of these things that ought to concern us most.  And although even the “why” of the miracles or resurrection or ascension is difficult to comprehend, such answers as we do find may help us in our spiritual growth and in our discipleship.  So, a couple thoughts for this feast day:

The first has to do with continuity.  A number of scholars, speaking of the gospel as a form of literature, have described it as “a passion narrative with an extended introduction.”  In other words, each of our four gospels have, at their core, the story of Jesus’ last week in Jerusalem, and in particular the crucifixion and resurrection.  In many ways, all that comes before — all those stories of our Lord’s birth, baptism, preaching, teaching, and miracles — serve as a preface to this core element of the passion.  Indeed, without this introductory material the passion would not make much sense.

However, if we shift our point of view just slightly, we could also say that the narrative of the passion is set into the middle of a story of ministry which begins with Jesus’ baptism and continues after his resurrection and ascension.  From this perspective, then, the passion narrative links the public ministry of Jesus with the public ministry of the disciples.  It is the moment when Jesus hands his work on to his friends.

The Ascension is rather like that moment centuries earlier when the prophet Elijah is separated from his assistant Elisha by a chariot of fire and horses of fire, and Elijah is taken up into heaven in a whirlwind. (2 Kings 2:11)  Elisha is so deeply grieved by the loss of his master that he tears his clothing in two.  But then he sees Elijah’s mantle lying on the ground.  Perhaps it had fallen away from Elijah when the whirlwind caught him, or perhaps Elijah intentionally dropped it where his successor would find it.  In any case, young Elisha soon discovers that he has inherited both Elijah’s mantle and a double portion of the Master’s spirit.  The work of prophecy goes on.

Just so do the disciples find that the mantle of Jesus’ earthly ministry has fallen to them.  And just so — only ten days later — do they find that they, like Elisha, have inherited a double share of their Master’s Spirit.  Jesus may have ascended to the Father, but his work in this world continues uninterrupted.  You and I are part of that continuity, for we have been called and empowered to share Christ’s ministry.

My second point has to do with purpose and hope.  In his last conversation with his disciples Jesus says, “…everything written about me in the law of Moses, the prophets, and the psalms must be fulfilled.”  In other words, the mission for which our Lord’s friends have been trained for three years, and for which they will soon to be empowered by the gift of the Holy Spirit, must be seen in context.  That context is God’s determination, unfolding across the generations, to save his people — to free us from slavery, both physical and spiritual; to gather us in safety under his wing, as a mother hen gathers her chicks; to ensure, as Jesus said, that where he is, there we will be also.

Yet our lives are so full — full of family, work, and church responsibilities, tasks to be done, deadlines to be met, hoops to be jumped through — that it’s easy to become so focused on the trees that we can’t see the forest.  And because so many of the problems we deal with in our lives are not easily solved, or can’t be solved at all, we can end up feeling overwhelmed, impotent, abandoned, and hopeless.

This Feast of the Ascension, like so many other events we commemorate in the life of Jesus and his Church, is an invitation to see our lives in context, from the perspective of the Divine Purpose unfolding across time and in the lives of particular people.  Jesus calls us to be his disciples because our role, our contribution, is important to the fulfilling of God’s purpose.  If that Divine Purpose may be likened to a vast tapestry, then each of us has been given the opportunity and privilege to add a few stitches to the canvass, and by doing so to make that tapestry stronger and more beautiful and more complete.  Thus, when we respond to some need among “the little ones” whom Christ so loved, when we teach our children to know and serve the Lord, when we treat our neighbors and coworkers with respect, when we stand with others (or stand alone) against injustice and oppression, you and I are adding our small but distinctive contributions to the great tapestry of God’s purpose for this world.  

Be assured, then, that if our stitches seem too small to be of any significance, it’s simply because we stand too close.  But if we step back a bit, we may begin to see our work in context, how your stitches, and mine, and those of countless Christians near and far and across time, all fit together into the larger pattern.  One day we will stand in a place where we can see the the entire tapestry spread out before us, in all its glory.  For now, however, we have to know that not one of us is irrelevant, and that each of us matters to God and to the fulfilling of God’s purpose.  This is the work we have been given.  This is the hope to which we are called.  Amen.

—The Rev. John E. Laycock, Interim Pastor

Readings for Ascension Day:  

Lesson — Acts 1:1-11

Gradual — Psalm 93

Epistle — Ephesians 1:15-23

Gospel — Luke 24:44-53

Collect for Ascension Day:

Grant, we pray, Almighty God, that as we believe your only-begotten Son our Lord Jesus Christ to have ascended into heaven, so we may also in heart and mind there ascend, and with him continually dwell; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever.  Amen.

Sermon for Sunday, May 10, 2009 (Year B, Easter 5)

Jesus said, “Abide in me as I abide in you.” (John 15:4)

In just the past few days I’ve finally gotten around to reading Dan Brown’s 2003 novel, The Da Vinci Code.  I must be about the last person on the planet to read this book, which now has over 60 million copies in print, in 40 languages, plus the 2006 film adaptation.  And, of course, the film of Brown’s earlier novel, Angels & Demons, will soon be released.

For those few who haven’t read The Da Vinci Code, this is a mystery-slash-detective-slash-conspiracy novel built around the idea that the Holy Grail is not the cup used at the Last Supper, but the bloodline of Jesus and his supposed wife Mary Magdalene.  Brown spins a tale of a vast, centuries-long conspiracy by the Roman Catholic Church to suppress any knowledge that Jesus and Mary Magdalene married and had a child, and the equally long-running effort of various secret societies, including the Knights Templar, to protect this knowledge and perpetuate Jesus’ bloodline.  In the novel, information about all this is encoded in the art of Leonardo Da Vinci and enough anagrams, number games, and other brain-teasers to keep a small army of cryptologists awake at night.  

I find the book a bit slow-going, perhaps because I came up short on whatever genes dispose a person to be good at mathematics, crossword puzzles, and other “left-brain” activities.  However, it is fascinating that so many people see Brown’s novel as confirmation of their suspicion that the “official” version of Jesus is a cover-up, an attempt to hide the truth about this Galilean carpenter.  And what could be more convincing to a skeptical mind than the theory that Jesus had, in fact, married a notoriously immoral woman and fathered a child, and that such an awful truth had been concealed for 20 centuries by the Christian establishment.  If that truth were revealed, the skeptic would say, then the whole fabric of Christian theology would come apart at the seams… the Church, both Catholic and Protestant, would collapse like a house of cards… and billions of Christians around the globe would see their faith suddenly turn to dust and ashes.

From my perspective, the idea of a married Jesus hardly seems fodder for a good conspiracy theory.  In the Jewish culture of Jesus’ time, marriage was the nearly universal state of adult men and women.  It was considered essential to providing progeny, preserving the family name, ensuring companionship, and honoring God the Creator.  Celibacy was highly unusual, being generally limited to those who, as a result of accident or violence, were unable to function normally.  

In other words, nothing in Jewish culture would have prevented Jesus from marrying, and if he had married, this fact probably would be reported in the gospels with the same lack of fanfare that accompanies reports of Jesus attending synagogue services, eating meals while reclining, or doing anything else perfectly conventional.  If anything is unusual in Jesus’ behavior, it is that he did not marry.  And most scholars agree that if the gospels show Jesus doing something that is contrary to the norms of his culture — like associating with lepers or eating with tax collectors — then we can be sure that is what Jesus actually did.

Dan Brown’s book takes advantage of our fascination with conspiracy theories.  Something there is in the human heart — at least in some hearts! — which wants to believe that history is the product of powerful people or groups manipulating the “little people” for political or personal profit.  In the November 1964 issue of Harpers, the late historian Richard Hofstadter published an essay entitled “The Paranoid Style in American Politics.”  Describing the basic elements of what he calls “the paranoid style,” Hofstadter says:

The central image is that of a vast and sinister conspiracy, a gigantic yet subtle machinery set in motion to undermine and destroy a way of life… The distinguishing thing about the paranoid style is not that its exponents see conspiracies or plots here and there in history, but that they regard a “vast” or “gigantic” conspiracy as the motive force in history events… The paranoid spokesman sees the fate of this conspiracy in apocalyptic terms — he traffics in the birth and death of whole worlds, whole political orders, whole systems of human values.  He is always manning the barricades of civilization.  He constantly lives at a turning point: it is now or never in organizing resistance to conspiracy.  Time is forever just running out.

  Some conspiracy theories are silly — like the idea that the Apollo moon landings were faked on a sound stage.  Some are entertaining — like the notion that the government is hiding damaged UFOs and the bodies of deceased extraterrestrials at Nevada’s Groom Lake Air Force Base, otherwise known as Area 51.  Others are simply in bad taste — such as speculation that President Kennedy was killed by a Mafia and CIA cabal; or that Pope John Paul I, who died just 33 days after his election in 1978, was poisoned by Vatican bureaucrats; that Princess Diana was murdered by British secret service agents; or that the September 11th terrorist attacks were really carried out by Americans.  

In the hands of truly evil people, a conspiracy theory can be deadly.  A case in point is the rumor that wealthy Jews somehow “stabbed Germany in the back” during World War One.  This fiction, picked up and elaborated by the Nazi Party, led directly to the slaughter of million of Jews during World War Two.  Just as pernicious, if much less deadly, was Senator Joseph McCarthy’s paranoid claim in the 1950s that communist agents had infiltrated Hollywood, the press, the State Department, and the Army.  

This tendency toward paranoid thinking remains strong in some parts of the American landscape.  For example, consider all the dust kicked up last year over President Obama’s middle name, or the rumor that his birth certificate had been faked in order to conceal the fact that Mr. Obama was actually born in Indonesia or in Africa or on the planet Krypton.

Our world is full of very complicated issues.  A conspiracy theory, however odd, is often easier for some people to grasp than the reality of the situation.  So if someone finds it difficult to believe that Jesus was the Son of God, that he lived and died as one of us, that he rose from the dead and ascended into heaven, and — most importantly — that he left to us the task of showing forth the love of God in this world… if all this is so hard to believe, then perhaps we can understand why someone might more easily believe that the Christian story is a two thousand year old practical joke.

But if Christianity is a fraud, then it’s a very remarkable fraud indeed, because the centerpiece of this so-called bait-and-switch is a 30-year-old Jewish carpenter who said, “Abide in me as I abide in you.”  Abide means “to remain,” “to continue in a place,” “to endure without yielding.”  But  it’s important to note, too, that our word abide reflects a Latin root meaning “trust.”  So this verse also carries with it the meaning, “Trust in me as I trust in you.”  Trust in Jesus, your Master, as he trusts in you, his disciples.

Jesus’ fondness for agricultural metaphors is well known.  In this case he speaks of himself as the true vine and of his disciples as the branches.  God the Father, who is the vine grower, prunes that vine in order to encourage more abundant bearing of fruit — more faith, and more good works done in faith.  The branches of this vine are human beings, ourselves and others.  Therefore, the pruning away of a branch or the trimming of a twig is a painful process.  What gets cut away are not mere branches, but people, those who fall away from the community of faith because remaining part of the vine demands too much of them.  What gets trimmed back are those parts of us which interfere with the fruit-bearing — bad habits, unhealthy relationships, unworthy goals, and our own stubborn pride.  Yet for those who remain, for those who continue in place, for those who are willing to trust the Lord even when the problems are complex and the answers far from simple — for these disciples there will be fruit in abundance.  If we trust our Lord, our Lord will trust us to do his work, and our ministry will broaden and deepen with each passing year.

In the end, conspiracy theories about Jesus are just piffle.  Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that if there is any conspiracy surrounding Jesus, it a conspiracy of love, the goal of which is to overthrow all the powers of this world which abuse, oppress, and diminish God’s children.  In this scheme you and I are called to be co-conspirators, joining together to show forth God’s love in whatever small or large ways are possible.  If someone is trying to do good, we help.  If someone is trying to do evil, we get in their way.  It’s just that simple.

One good example of this conspiracy of love is the Tri-Cities Unemployment Resource Group.  This is the brainchild of Harvey Hammond, a parishioner at Christ Community Church.  Like so many others in our community, state, and nation, Harvey found himself pink-slipped by his automotive design company a few months ago.  And like so many others, he started applying for unemployment, checking out state programs for the unemployed, and doing all those things people have to do to keep a roof over their head and peanut butter on the table.

Harvey is a very bright and energetic guy.  However, after days and weeks on the phone, ferreting out information on the computer, and asking questions of several agencies, he was amazed at how difficult it is for the newly unemployed to figure out what to do and how to do it!  Not only is information hard to come by, but programs for the jobless are changing day by day as federal stimulus money begins to circulate through the economy.  Harvey realized that if he was having trouble getting information, others were probably having more trouble!  Therefore he decided to set up a central clearing house for information useful to people without jobs.  On April 21 the Tri-Cities Unemployment Resource Group held its first meeting here at St. John’s at mid-day, followed by an identical program the next evening over at Christ Community Church in Spring Lake.

The Resource Group is not intended to be a support group, although it is certainly supportive.  The idea is to make information readily available through presentations given week-by-week by agency representatives — which thus far have included people from Michigan Works, Flagstar Bank, and United Way.  This Tuesday our own Lynne Balkema will do a presentation on housing and foreclosure issues.  

You may have read about Harvey and the Resource Group in the Tribune a couple weeks ago.  That publicity was helpful, but only briefly.  The chore now is to tell the community that this Resource Group exists.  So, if you know someone in your family or among your friends and neighbors who is unemployed, encourage that person to attend one of the meetings — in the guild room on Tuesdays at 11:00 a.m., or at Christ Community on Wednesdays at 7:00 in the evening.  (By the way, be aware that people who have lost their jobs — who may until recently have been very willing to help others in need — are often reluctant to ask for help themselves.  Unemployment plays games with a person’s head, and pride can be a real barrier to getting the information which the Resource Group offers.)  And if you do not know someone who is jobless at the moment, talk about the Resource Group with your friends, because they will know somebody.

This is just one example of how our Christian conspiracy of love can produce fruit in abundance.  The message is clear.  If we are prepared to remain part of the true vine, if we are committed to being disciples, if we trust that our Lord will help us find solutions to the complex problems of this day and age, then you and I will make fine co-conspirators!  If we abide in our Lord, and he in us, then together we can do amazing things.  Amen.

— The Rev. John E. Laycock, Interim Pastor

Readings for Year B, Easter 5:  Lesson — Acts 8:26-40  |  Gradual — Psalm 22:24-30  |  Epistle — 1 John 4:7-21  |  Gospel — John 15:1-8

Collect for Easter 5:

Almighty God, whom truly to know is everlasting life: Grant us so perfectly to know your Son Jesus Christ to be the way, the truth, and the life, that we may steadfastly follow his steps in the way that leads to eternal life; through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord, who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever.  Amen.

Sermon for Sunday, May 3, 2009 (Year B, Easter 4)

“Jesus said, ‘I am the good shepherd.  The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.’” (John 10:11)

The chapel at The General Theological Seminary in New York City is called The Chapel of the Good Shepherd.  The name comes, I suppose, from the larger-than-life-size statue of Jesus which is centrally located on the reredos, or ledge, behind the large altar.  This is Jesus as the Good Shepherd, striding home with the famous lost lamb draped across his shoulders, and another lamb trotting along beside him.

At seminary you spend a lot of time in church — Morning Prayer, Eucharist, and Evening Prayer six days a week, plus Sundays in your field work parish.  Thus over the course of three years I had many opportunities to contemplate this rendering in marble of the Good Shepherd.  One thing always bothered me.  It’s that second lamb, the one trotting along beside Jesus.  He’s not in the gospel story, (Matt. 18:12) so I assume he’s a bit of artistic license.  He’s at Jesus’ left hand, looking upward with an enigmatic expression on his face.  Most days I thought he was casting Jesus a blissful and adoring look, basking joyfully in the presence of the Savior.  On other, less happy days I thought he looked rather annoyed, perhaps even jealous, that some other, less deserving lamb was getting a free ride home.  I guess my interpretation said more about me and my progress through the academic gauntlet than about this handsome sculpture.

Just as the Good Shepherd and his two lambs were central to our life and worship at seminary, so too were sheep and shepherds central to life and worship in Palestine two thousand years ago.  Their importance for a pastoral people cannot be overstated.  In biblical times sheep provided food to eat, milk to drink, wool for weaving, tent coverings, rough clothing, and something soft and warm to sit and sleep on.  Being the primary source of wealth, sheep were a medium of exchange and became the preferred animal for burnt offerings.

Sheep by nature are affectionate, unaggressive, and all but defenseless.  Therefore, they require care and supervision.  It was the shepherd’s job to move the flock from one grazing area to the next, protect it from predators, and above all keep the flock together.  The tendency of individual sheep to wander off is the background for Jesus’ teaching about the one lamb who went astray. (Matt. 18:12)

Because sheep represented so much of a family’s wealth, one might assume that the shepherd would be an honored member of society.  In fact, shepherds enjoyed low status, probably because of the work they did.  Shepherds were probably a rough lot, living in the field, working alone much of the time, exposed to weather and danger.  They were economically important, to be sure, but perhaps a bit unsavory.

The importance of the shepherd is underscored by the key biblical figures who were themselves shepherds.  For instance, Moses receives his call to God’s service at Mount Horeb when the Lord speaks to him out of a burning bush which he encounters while tending his father-in-law’s flock. (Exod. 3:1-15)  Again, when the prophet Samuel searches for Israel’s future king, he finds David, youngest of Jesse’s sons, tending his father’s sheep. (1 Sam. 16:11)  It was as a shepherd that David honed his skill with the slingshot, using it to protect the flock against predators. (1 Sam. 17:34)  That same skill allowed him to bring down Goliath.

The shepherd’s unsavory side is reflected in the scathing assessment pronounced by the prophets on Israel’s kings, who were supposed to be faithful shepherds of the people.  Isaiah says, “The shepherds… have no understanding; they have all turned to their own way, each to his own gain, one and all.” (Isa. 56:11)  And Jeremiah declares, “‘Woe to the shepherds who destroy and scatter the sheep of my pasture,’ says the Lord… ‘You have scattered my flock, and have driven them away, and you have not attended to them.  Behold, I will attend to you for your evil doings….’” (Jer. 23:1-2)  The prophets’ criticism is especially harsh because Israel’s kings are stand-ins for God himself, who is the true shepherd of his people — as the familiar opening verse of Psalm 23 makes so clear.

With this as background, we can understand why Jesus uses the shepherd image in his teaching.  Matthew and Mark both attest that Jesus has compassion on the crowds, “because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd.” (Matt. 9:36; Mark 6:34)  In this morning’s reading from the Gospel of John, Jesus declares that he is “the good shepherd” who knows each of his sheep and is prepared to lay down his life for their sake.  (John 10:10:11)  Quoting the prophet Zechariah, Jesus suggests that his opponents will strike at him in order to scatter the sheep, (Zech 13:7; Mark 14:27), but, as the statue in my seminary chapel makes clear, ours is the Savior who risks everything to seek out the lost.

Again and again, by these references to sheep and shepherds, Jesus contrasts his own faithfulness, and the Father’s, with the irresponsible behavior of those in his day who were supposed to be the shepherds of Israel, but proved to be hired hands who care nothing for the sheep and run away at the first sign of trouble. (John 10:12)

Now I realize that I’m preaching to a bunch of city-dwellers.  Most of us don’t herd anything except, perhaps, a bunch of young people through a food store or sports stadium or theme park.  About as close as you and I get to a lamb these days is the petting zoo or the butcher shop.  So when Jesus carries on about sheep and shepherds, it may sound like Zane Gray waxing eloquent about cattle drives and cowboys.

Yet sheep and shepherds are still very much a part of our lives, if a bit metaphorically.  Parents shepherd their children, teachers their pupils, and mentors in business and the professions their colleagues.  Not all of these “sheep” are docile, affectionate, and defenseless, but in their own ways, all need the guiding and guarding hand of the shepherd.

This is well worth noting today as we welcome little Charles Preston Vannoy into the Body of Christ.  Charlie may not realize it yet, but even now he is blessed with loving shepherds — his parents and grandparents, his godparents, even his big sister.  And when this morning’s liturgy of Holy Baptism is complete, he will have gained a whole army of shepherds, his sister and brother Christians who, by witnessing Charlie’s vows, taken now by his sponsors, commit themselves to the task of guiding this young man into the fullness of faith in Christ Jesus.  This we will do by reminding Charlie that he is a member of the one flock, by protecting him from predators, by seeing to his spiritual nurture, and by inviting him in time to take his place among the shepherds of God’s people.

In my experience, we Christians tend to identify more readily with the sheep than the shepherd.  We come to church feeling lost, and want Jesus to search us out and bring us home.  Or we want to gambol about at Jesus’ feet, looking up adoringly at our Savior — and perhaps a bit jealously at a brother or sister flock-mate who gets more attention than we do.  We want to be convinced that however much we stray, all will be well in the end.  And if we get that — from God, or at least from the pastor as God’s appointed shepherd for this part of the flock — then we can go home satisfied, happy as a lamb once more.

I don’t wish to discount the genuine anxiety some folks feel about their ultimate fate at God’s hands.  I know some people worry constantly that they can never be good enough for God, and that they are destined to spend eternity in hell.  However, I have to remind such people that Holy Baptism creates a relationship with our Lord which will see us through this life and into the next.  This has been the Church’s teaching across the centuries — that our Lord will not lose anyone his Father has given him. (John 6:39)

I know too that some churches teach that hell is a vast empire of the damned, large enough to contain all humanity save that little group of folks wise enough, or lucky enough, to agree with us and our pastor on every great and trivial point of doctrine.  For those who hold this view, heaven is like a rock concert: when the tickets are gone, they’re gone, and so are you!

I much prefer C.S. Lewis’ view on this matter in his book on heaven and hell, entitled The Great Divorce.  Lewis speculated that hell is in fact a very small place, in size (he says) “smaller than one atom,” and not in any sense a place made for human beings.  Lewis says hell is where what’s left of a human being goes when all the humanity has been flayed away.  It’s a small place because so few go there.  Heaven, by contrast, is unimaginably large, in order to accommodate the vast crowd of human beings that God made and still makes, loved and still loves, saved and still saves — baptized Christians most assuredly among them.  Lewis asserts that if some portion of the humanity with which God endowed us at birth still remains at the time of death, God is willing and able to build that up into the full and perfected humanity worthy of heaven.

I find Lewis’ vision of heaven — his description of the indescribable — so helpful, because it makes clear what an immense waste of time and energy and talent it is to worry about whether one is or is not going to hell.  You and I make far better use of our resources when we strive to be both loyal members of the one flock, and, at the same time, fit shepherds of that flock.  For that is what we are: both sheep and shepherd, both the recipients of God’s grace and the means by which that grace is bestowed upon others.  Our dual role comes with baptism.  By water and the Spirit we were adopted as God’s children and made members of the Body of Christ, born again, and endowed with spiritual gifts.  And by that same water and that same Spirit we were commissioned as ministers of the gospel, and challenged to witness to Christ in our homes, our churches, our neighborhoods, and our world, by all that we say and do.  

It’s hard work, of course.  This world is a broken place.  We do incredibly nasty things to each other; and the media tell us daily just how nasty it can get out there.  We suffer from what philosophers call “natural evil,” like a flu virus or a sudden windstorm which blows down a building.  And then there just plain bad luck, like working for an auto company that declares bankruptcy.  But this is the world our Lord came to serve and save!  Sharing his ministry is good work, and a high privilege.

So, then, as little Charlie grows up in the Church, I hope that we — his parents, godparents, grandparents, and brothers and sisters in faith — will help this young man understand what a wonderful gift he received on this his baptismal day, when our Lord received him into the household of God, which is one flock under one Shepherd.  May he find here both the comfort and the challenge of the Gospel.  Amen.

— The Rev. John E. Laycock, Interim Pastor

Readings for Year B, Easter 4:  Lesson — Acts 4:5-12  |  Gradual — Psalm 23  |  Epistle — 1 John 3:16-24  |  Gospel — John 10:11-18

Collect for Easter 4:

O God, whose Son Jesus is the good shepherd of your people: Grant that when we hear his voice we may know him who calls us each by name, and follow where he leads; who, with you and the Holy Spirit, lives and reigns, one God, for ever and ever.  Amen.