St. John's Episcopal Church

Sermon for Sunday, January 31, 2010 (Year C, Epiphany 4)

But the Lord said to me, “Do not say, ‘I am only a boy’; for you shall go to all to whom I send you… Do not be afraid of them, for I am with you to deliver you, says the Lord.” (Jer. 1:7-8)

The year is 626 BCE (Before the Common Era).  Jeremiah is a young man, perhaps just a teenager, from the village of Anathoth, two miles northeast of Jerusalem.  He has been raised in the prophetic tradition of his fathers, and the prophets have made a deep impression on him — especially Hosea.  He shares with Moses a profound sense of Israel’s election as God’s chosen people and the importance of the covenant relationship between God and his people.  He is also a sensitive, perceptive man who will struggle with loneliness and self-doubt all his life.  In short, Jeremiah is just the kind of guy God would pick to be a prophet.

Marcus Borg, one of the more interesting Jesus scholars at work today, says that the prophets were the social critics of their day.  It was their task, Borg contends, to speak truth to power, to challenge those who used their political and religious power to dominate and exploit the weak.  I think Borg is a bit tepid on the spiritual side of the prophet’s portfolio, but he does have a point.  Prophets had a habit of sticking their noses into other people’s business, especially the business of the high-born and wealthy, but also the business of average folks who had forgotten what God wanted of them.  The prophets spoke for God, pleading with Israel to repent, predicting disaster, yet assuring people that the Lord would remain faithful to his covenant.  This work did not make the prophets popular, and it seems to have made Jeremiah a genuinely unhappy man.

Borg notes that Israel was unusual in that it allowed such people to speak freely for long periods.  Indeed, Jeremiah was active over a period of four decades.  In most authoritarian societies, those who dare criticize the powers-that-be are carted off to jail, or simply disappear.  But even in Israel, tolerance had its limits.  Being a prophet was a high-risk occupation.  As Jesus himself lamented, “O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, killing the prophets and stoning those who are sent to you.” (Luke 13:34, RSV)

So it’s small wonder, then, that Jesus does not find a receptive audience in Nazareth.  In today’s reading from the gospel of Luke, things start off on a good note.  “All spoke well of him,” Luke reports, “and [they] were amazed at the gracious words that came from his mouth.” (Luke 4:22)  But then Jesus’ critique becomes more pointed.  He reminds his listeners of the famine during the time of Elijah, and notes that the prophet was sent only “to a widow at Zaraphath in Sidon.” (Luke 4:25-26)  Sidon was Gentile territory.  He then recalls that while Israel had many lepers, the prophet Elisha healed only Naaman the Syrian, who was a Gentile. (Luke 4:27)  These Nazarenes did not appreciate the unfavorable comparison, especially from a carpenter-turned-rabbi whom they had known almost since birth.  So enraged were they that they “led him to the brow of the hill on which their town was built, so that they might hurl him off the cliff.” (Luke 4:29)

It seems clear to me that Jesus saw his ministry in prophetic terms.  He saw himself standing in direct lineal descent from Jeremiah and Hosea and the other prophets.  If this is so, then his social critique would not have made him a very popular person.  True, the gospels report that he stirred up a lot of interest, probably because people saw him as a wonderworker.  And there is no doubt that large crowds went out to see him, because they sought a healing or just wanted to be entertained.  But despite the interest and the crowds, Jesus apparently attracted very few disciples.  Think about that for a moment.  When Jesus finally comes to Jerusalem for the week which will culminate in his death and resurrection — after what most believe to be three years of ministry in and around Galilee — he does not arrive in the Holy City at the head of a vast throng of devoted followers.  On the contrary, there are just the Twelve, and a few women, and maybe a handful of others — numbering in all perhaps 25 souls or less.  And of these, only the women (and, in John’s account, the beloved disciple) are willing to stand with Jesus during his crucifixion.

I’ve wondered why that was — all those years of work, and so little to show for it at the end.  Perhaps the prophetic nature of Jesus’ work simply turned people off.  As George Eliot observed, “Falsehood is easy, truth so difficult.”  Many are happier with a convenient falsehood than an inconvenient truth.  And so, when people come along spouting truths which make us uncomfortable, we ignore them — or if we cannot ignore them, we push them off a cliff or nail them to a cross, at least in a manner of speaking.  As I said, prophets do not win popularity contests.  We should remember that when we contemplate our own prophetic ministries.

In the late 1980s and early 1990s my Bishop in the Diocese of Michigan, Coleman McGehee, worked with an ecumenical group to oppose war by picketing a plant which manufactured engines for cruise missiles.  As I recall, it was a relatively modest effort.  Mostly they stood at the plant entrance with signs.  This would be reported in the diocesan newspaper, and occasionally in the secular press.  Each report of Coleman’s anti-war activity would bring at least one letter to the diocesan newspaper chastising the Bishop for sticking his nose into “politics”, which the writers clearly believed was an activity for lay people, not clergy.  Coleman understood his anti-war witness as a prophetic ministry, entirely appropriate for a Christian bishop.  When he was consecrated bishop he was asked, “Will you boldly proclaim and interpret the Gospel of Christ, enlightening the minds and stirring up the conscience of your people?” — to which he replied, “I will, in the power of the Spirit.”  But at least some in his flock saw this bold interpretation of the gospel as stepping outside the proper sphere of the Church, which (so these critics seemed to say) was to pray, celebrate the sacraments, and otherwise keep out of the way.

At about the same time, much the same response greeted the Trustees of the Diocese of Michigan, who oversee diocesan investments, when they undertook to protest the South African government’s policy of apartheid by eliminating investments in South African companies or U.S. companies doing business in South Africa.  Letters to the editor came pouring into the diocesan paper saying, in effect, that apartheid was a “political” issue, and the Church ought to “stick to its knitting” and keep its nose out (which, I think, betrays an unfairly low opinion of the moral sensitivity of those who knit).

We’ve had much the same discussion about other issues — racism and the war in Iraq among them.  For example, in the early weeks of my ministry at my last interim parish, the anti-affirmative action initiative appeared on the state ballot.  You probably remember that.  A few days before the election I encouraged my flock to go out and vote.  That much was OK.  But then, from the pulpit, I made it clear that I would vote against the measure and gave a couple reasons why I thought that was the proper course, at least for me, while at the same time inviting others to vote as their consciences might lead them.

Well, I thought we might have to use the defibrillator on a half-dozen parishioners!  There was a long-standing, but unwritten, policy in that parish that matters of a political nature were never, never, never discussed from the pulpit.  Not that anyone had bothered to inform the new clergy guy on the block!  After the service one gentleman undertook to chastise me for my behavior — standing six inches from the end of my nose, screaming invective at me, and scaring the daylights out of the children who were also in the hallway.  I promptly added that day to my list of “adventures in ministry.”

The point of this, I suppose, is to remind us all, myself included, that prophetic ministry is part of the Church’s job description.  Like Jeremiah, we are called to tell forth God’s will for a particular group of people at a particular moment in history.  Like Jesus, we are called to see where people of faith fall short of God’s high standards, and to bid those people repent and return to the Lord (and we ourselves are often part of that group).  If the Church fails in this work, if the Church contents itself with saying a few prayers and singing a few hymns and otherwise keeping its nose out of other people’s business — especially things “political” — then the Church becomes just a small, inoffensive religious society.

But at the same time, we would do well to remember how the good folks at Nazareth responded to Jesus when he made bold to criticize how they lived out their faith.  They were ready to throw Jesus off a cliff!  Speaking out on the burning issues of the day — war and peace, how to deal with terrorism (and more especially, terrorists), economic policy, whether corporations should have the same free speech rights as individuals, abortion, sexuality and marriage, and so many other “hot button” issues… taking a stand and speaking out on these problems is sure to get someone’s dander up.  Becoming personally and publicly involved in asserting that stand will almost certainly earn you the contempt of those who feel that the proper role of the Church is to be meek, mild, and inoffensive.

In short, prophetic ministry does not win popularity contests!  But as Jeremiah and Jesus show us, the prophetic office is as much our responsibility as prayer and sacrament and education.  May we be faithful to this important work, regardless of the cost.  Amen.

— The Rev. John E. Laycock, Interim Pastor

Readings for Year C, Epiphany 4: Lesson — Jeremiah 1:4-10  •  Gradual — Psalm 71:1-6  •  Epistle — 1 Corinthians 13:1-13  •  Gospel — Luke 4:21-30

Collect for Epiphany 4:

Almighty and everlasting God, you govern all things both in heaven and on earth:  Mercifully hear the supplications of your people, and in our time grant us your peace; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever.  Amen.

Sermon for Sunday, January 24, 2010 (Year C, Epiphany 3)

Then Jesus, filled with the power of the Spirit, returned to Galilee… He began to teach in their synagogues and was praised by everyone. (Luke 4:14-15)

Some of you may have read The Last Temptation of Christ, a novel by the Greek writer and philosopher Nikos Kazantzakis.  This work was published in English in 1960, three years after the author’s death.  It portrays Jesus as a profoundly passionate figure torn between his mission, which he struggles to understand, and his own human need for love, family, and the joy of life.

If you didn’t read the book you may have seen Martin Scorsese’s film adaptation, which caused a rather nasty kerfuffle with the Catholic Church and several conservative Protestant groups.  These good folks were offended by a Jesus who was not in control.  But what really left them sputtering was the scene at the end of the film which shows Jesus and Mary Magdalene making love, and then an elderly, contented Jesus sitting in the door of his house, surrounded by his wife and children.  For some Christians, the idea that Jesus even knew about sex is a scandal.  Unfortunately, these critics failed to understand that in Kazantkazis’ novel the blessing of love and family — and the opportunity to be just an average 1st century Jew — is the last and greatest temptation of the Christ, the devil’s final effort to entice Jesus into throwing aside God’s mission.  Nor, apparently, did these good Christian folk notice that Jesus refuses to take the devil’s bait, and remains faithful to the work God gave him.

For me, one of the most captivating elements in the novel is the Holy Spirit.  Matthew, Mark, and Luke agree that at his baptism the Spirit descended upon Jesus in the form of a dove.  That figure of a dove leads us to think of the Spirit as a small, gentle thing, cooing quietly from a nearby tree branch.  However, in Kazantzakis’ novel the Spirit is an invisible but powerful bird of prey which digs its talons into Jesus and drives him forward in his mission.  That is not just literary license.  St. Mark says that after Jesus was baptized, “…the Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness.” (Mark 1:12-13)  There’s nothing gentle here: the Spirit literally throws Jesus out into the wilderness and into his confrontation with the enemy.

Thus, when Luke says that Jesus returned to Galilee “full of the Holy Spirit,” we ought to see a man who arrives in his home town of Nazareth not just deeply committed to his work, but also possessed by the Spirit and ready to proclaim both God’s will and his own role in fulfilling God’s will.  This was not the carpenter they had known since his boyhood.  No wonder the people of Nazareth were offended!

Jesus may well have had his moments of doubt, as Kazantzakis suggests — consider, for example, the Jesus of the Garden of Gethsemane.  It would be very human of him to wonder if he had heard God’s call correctly.  But the person who enters the synagogue at Nazareth is not wallowing in doubt.  Rather, he is absolutely confident that God is working through him.  Moreover, when he reads from Isaiah, declaring that “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor,” Jesus is not just reading a scripture lesson — he is reading his own job description:

to bring good news to the poor;

to proclaim release to the captives;

to proclaim recovery of sight to the blind;

to let the oppressed go free; and

to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor. (Luke 4:16-18)

Jesus clearly sees himself standing in deepest sympathy with the classical prophets of Judaism, who were the social critics of their day.  For those Christians who give priority to the so-called “social gospel,” which looks to the reform of both individuals and society as a whole by the application of Christian principles, this scene in the synagogue at Nazareth is their own job description, as well as that of Jesus.

Now, there are other Christians, people we might describe as “charismatic,” who have a different view.  Working with St. Paul’s idea about the variety of gifts, they emphasize certain gifts of the Holy Spirit, most especially the gift of tongues, that mysterious ability to speak in unknown languages.  These gifts are regarded as evidence that one has been “baptized by the Holy Spirit.”  Charismatics may feel that if one lacks such gifts, one’s faith is defective.  And they may declare that the “social gospel” only covers up a lack of genuine faith in Jesus as the Christ.

Thus we have two rather different visions of what it means to be a faithful Christian.  One, working from Jesus in the synagogue, prioritizes service with the marginalized.  The other, working from Paul’s emphasis on faith and spiritual gifts, prioritizes belief in Jesus as the Christ.  In our Anglican family of churches, these two groups have often been at loggerheads, sometimes regarding each other with open hostility and believing that those in the other group have lost their way, if not their minds.  But it may be more accurate to say that each has only half the truth.  As one commentator puts it:

“The advocates of a social gospel are correct in seeing this text [our reading today from Luke] as central to Christian commitment.  Luke makes this event a coming out party (as it were) — the… equivalent of John’s account of changing water into wine.  Jesus defines himself by his association with the dispossessed.  The implication is clear: a Christian faith without a social dimension is a wimpish impostor.”

In my experience, a faith which emphasizes believing to the exclusion of just about everything else results in a faith which consists mainly of believing! It seems to say, “If you believe — if you have faith — then you’ve done it all!”  But clearly that is not what Paul preached.  Himself a Pharisee by training, Paul objected to a faith which says you can be justified before God simply by following the rules, regardless of what you believe or how you treat your brothers and sisters.  We are not saved by works.  However, faith brings forth works, because (as we read in Ephesians) we have been “created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand to be our way of life.” (Eph. 2:10)  And as the author of the Letter of James puts it, “So faith by itself, if it has no works, is dead.”  (James 2:17)

However, the same commentator also says: “The charismatics see another equally valid truth.  Those who enter into a prophetic ministry without proper motivation — speakers who have no sense of being anointed by a persistent, nagging Power — can damage the faith as much as those who avoid the prophetic altogether.”  In other words, a prophetic faith which is not grounded in prayer, meditation, scripture study, and other gifts of the Holy Spirit is, in the end, a secular, not religious, activity.  This work may be very helpful to the people it benefits, but it does not build up the Body of Christ.

I would say, then, that as Christians we are called to seek a balance of these two important elements of the faith.  On the one hand, we must embrace the job description Jesus put before us on that day in Nazareth when he read from the scroll of Isaiah.  Like our Lord, we are called to bring good news to the poor, the oppressed, and blind, and all who suffer.  But we must also build a strong foundation for that work.  That foundation is our faith in Jesus, our commitment to follow where he leads, and our willingness to use the gifts God has given us through his Spirit.  As Paul tells the Corinthians, these gifts include prophecy, teaching, healing, forms of assistance, leadership, and much else.

So, for example, when our kitchen renovation is finished and we can again feed those in need through our Loving Spoonfuls ministry — for which early April is now the target date — how will we approach this work?  Will it be for us simply an act of charity for those in our community who lack enough food?  Or will it be an expression of our faith in the Lord and a sharing of his ministry by making use of the gifts the Spirit has given us?

In this, and in so many other areas of our personal and common ministries, how do we know if we’re on the right path, doing what God wants us to do?  One sign may be that we feel the sharp, sometimes even painful grip of the Holy Spirit, and the beat of her wings as that Spirit drives us forward, more deeply into our faith and more resolutely into our service with those in need.  May that Spirit fill us as it filled our Lord.  Amen.

— The Rev. John E. Laycock, Interim Pastor

Readings for Year C, Epiphany 3: Lesson — Nehemiah 8:1-3, 5-6, 8-10  •  Gradual — Psalm 19  •  Epistle — 1 Corinthians 12:12-31a  •  Gospel — Luke 4:14-21

Collect for Epiphany 3:

Give us grace, O Lord, to answer readily the call of our Savior Jesus Christ and proclaim to all people the Good News of his salvation, that we and the whole world may perceive the glory of his marvelous works; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever.  Amen.

Sermon for Sunday, January 17, 2010 (Year C, Epiphany 2)

They feast upon the abundance of your house; you give them drink from the river of your delights.  /  For with you is the well of life, and in your light we see light. (Ps. 36:8-9)

Most of what the average Episcopalian hears about the miracle at Cana comes from the sacrament of Holy Matrimony, which begins, “Dearly beloved: We have come together in the presence of God to witness and bless the joining together of this man and this woman in holy matrimony.  The bond and covenant of marriage was established by God in creation, and our Lord Jesus Christ adorned this manner of life by his presence and first miracle at a wedding in Cana of Galilee. It signifies to us the mystery of the union between Christ and his Church….” (BCP p. 423, emphasis supplied)

Jewish marriage customs in biblical times included a betrothal ceremony prior to the marriage.  It was then that the father of the bride gave his consent.  A period of time would elapse between the betrothal and wedding ceremonies.  As you know, it was during this period that the angel visited Mary.  Then, on their wedding day the couple, dressed in their finest, would be married before ten witnesses.  Afterward they would go in procession to the groom’s home.  Here there would be dancing and a feast that often lasted seven to fourteen days.

I suspect there are fathers-of-the-brides sitting here today who found it challenging enough to finance just one evening of dancing and feasting.  Fourteen days of merry-making could be ruinous!

Marriage and the duties of husbands and wives are mentioned in the New Testament, but there is no scriptural evidence of how Christians in the Apostolic Age celebrated their nuptials.  We assume they followed the Jewish model, since Christianity at this time was a sect within Judaism.  In the early liturgical books we can see this sacrament beginning to take a distinctive Christian shape — a prayer here, a blessing there, and most curiously, even a form for blessing the couple in bed!

Late in the middle ages the practice developed of posting the banns — a public announcement of a pending marriage.  At about this same time it became customary to perform a kind of civil marriage on the church porch, after which the couple moved inside the church for the religious wedding.  In our day, as views on marriage change, some feel that the distinction between a civil marriage ceremony and a religious wedding, which is common in Europe and clearly provided for in our Prayer Book, is an idea whose time may have come again.

However, it is not clear who actually got married in the middle ages.  Some researchers believe that a formal “church wedding” was common only among the upper class, who had a strong incentive to know who was married to whom, and therefore whose children were entitled to inherit property.  Peasants, on the other hand, may have contracted their marriages informally, by whatever means local custom might provide.

The first Anglican prayer book, published in 1549, said that a marriage should take place in church on Sunday morning, after Morning Prayer and the Litany, and before the Eucharist — hence our custom of celebrating Holy Communion at weddings.  Later Prayer Books did not require Communion as part of the ceremony, but urged the couple to receive Communion as soon as possible after the marriage.

The Exhortation in the English Prayer Book — that statement beginning, “Dearly beloved…” — also listed three reasons for marriage: first, the procreation of children; second, “a remedy against sin, and to avoid fornication”; and third, “mutual society, help, and comfort.”  This idea that procreation of children is the primary justification for marriage has been disputed among Anglicans from the 16th century forward.  Not only is it salt in the wound for those who cannot have children, and a non sequitur for those who marry late in life, but it also reflects a distorted reading of scripture.  In chapter 2 of Genesis God declares, “It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him a helper as his partner.” (Gen. 2:18)  Clearly, the issue here is loneliness, not a lack of children.  The man is without a helper, but more especially he is without a companion, and therefore incomplete.  Therefore, God creates the woman to be the man’s partner.  It’s worth noting that had the woman been created first, both the problem and the solution would have been the same.

For this reason the American Church has from the start maintained that the union of husband and wife “in heart, body, and mind is intended by God for their mutual joy; for the help and comfort given one another in prosperity and adversity; and, [only then!] when it is God’s will, for the procreation of children and their nurture in the knowledge of love of the Lord.” (BCP p. 423)  Certainly in our day perpetuation of the human species is not a problem; indeed, quite the opposite.  Marriage, then, is first and foremost a matter of companionship, while children are a gift of God for some, but not all, married couples.

The reference to Christ’s miracle at Cana has been part of the Exhortation since the first English Prayer Book.  It isn’t there merely as a kind of proof text, an obligatory link between marriage now and marriage in Jesus’ time.  Rather, in John’s gospel the miracles serve as signs which point to something else.  In this case, as the Exhortation puts it, “[marriage] signifies to us the mystery of the union between Christ and his Church….” (BCP p. 423)  For our purposes today I would cite just three elements which characterize both marriage and the mysterious union of Christ and his people.

One involves this matter of companionship which I mentioned a moment ago.  If marriage is first and foremost about the companionship of wife and husband, then I think we may also say that companionship lies at the heart of the Church’s relationship with our Lord.  And in both cases that companionship is undergirded by the commitment of the parties.  The partners in a marriage must be deeply committed to each other, and to the life they share, or the relationship will almost certainly break down sooner or later.  As Christians you and I are beneficiaries of the covenant our Lord forged in his blood, but covenants are always two-way arrangements, requiring commitment by both parties.  Christ’s commitment to us in beyond question.  Our commitment to Christ is a daily, sometimes hourly challenge in a world where the ground under our feet is constantly shifting.

I say “shifting ground” not just as a metaphor for a world in permanent flux.  It’s also the brutal reality faced by the people of Haiti this week, and by so many others around the globe who struggle from one day to the next.  Only God’s companionship, and the loving-kindness of others, can help us deal with natural disaster, war, disease, accident, poverty, hunger, injustice, the death of loved ones, and so much else.  As I said, Jesus is committed to being our companion.  He asks only that we be committed to him and to our brothers and sisters.

The third element is abundance.  At Cana Jesus could  have made do changing just a cup or two or water into wine — that would have been just as much a miracle.  But he changed several large storage containers of water into fine wine — enough, I suppose, to well supply all the guests for their several days of post-marriage feasting.  In John’s gospel this is a sign pointing to the abundance of God’s love poured out upon his people.  God gives us drink “from the river of [his] delights.” (Ps. 36:8)  God gives… no, God squanders his grace upon those who really don’t deserve it.  Yet we are the people God has chosen for his own, and therefore we are the beneficiaries of that overwhelming abundance.  The question this poses is whether we are willing to share the abundance of God’s blessings with each other, with both friends and strangers.  If you and I are fortunate enough to drink from “the well of life”, (Ps. 36:9) can we deny others, who are just as thirsty, the right to drink with us?

Marriage, then, is a sign which points to the commitment our Lord has made to be our companion in this life, and to the abundance of grace which comes with that companionship.  These three — companionship, commitment, and abundance — do not fully unpack the mystery of the union between Christ and his Church, but it’s a good start.  Amen.

— The Rev. John E. Laycock, Interim Pastor

Readings for Year C, Epiphany 2: Lesson — Isaiah 62:1-5  •  Gradual — Psalm 36:5-10  •  Epistle — 1 Corinthians 12:1-11  •  Gospel — John 1:1-11

Collect for Epiphany 2:

Almighty God, whose Son our Savior Jesus Christ is the light of the world: Grant that your people, illuminated by your Word and Sacraments, may shine with the radiance of Christ’s glory, that he may be known, worshiped, and obeyed to the ends of the earth; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who with you and the Holy Spirit lives and reigns, one God, now and for ever.  Amen.

Sermon for Sunday, January 10, 2010 (Year C, Epiphany 1)

The Feast of the Baptism of our Lord

His winnowing fork is in his hand, to clear his threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire. (Luke 3:17)

The gospel today is Luke’s account of the baptism of Jesus, which is prefaced by John’s denial that he himself is the Messiah.  Messianic expectation is building in Palestine as people struggle to survive under the burden of Roman occupation.  John’s preaching and baptizing along the Jordan clearly has made people wonder, “Maybe this John is the one!”  But John throws cold water (no pun intended) on their speculation:  “I baptize you with water,” he says, “but one who is more powerful than I is coming… He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire.” (Luke 3:16)

John’s comment, along with other apocalyptic texts in both the Old and New Testaments, have led to endless speculation about when the end of the world will take place.  Indeed, as I worked on this sermon yesterday afternoon, the History Channel aired an hour-long program on “The Seven Signs of the Apocalypse,” featuring earthquakes, volcanoes, celestial anomalies, and maybe Detroit winning the World Series again.  Predicting the end times has become a lively and lucrative cottage industry.

For example, some are saying that Dec. 21, 2012, will mark the end of time, because that is the day the Mayan calendar is supposed to end.  If you need proof, look no further than the movie “2012” which lays it out in a computer-generated, surround-sound cataclysm of earthquakes, windstorms, tsunamis, and some really mediocre acting.  Unfortunately, the idea that the world will end on Friday, Dec. 21, 2012, is based (so I read) on a misinterpretation of the Mesoamerican Long Count Calendar.  This calendar has a unit called a b’ak’tun, which is equal to about 394 years, and it is the 13th such b’ak’tun which ends in 2012.  Unfortunately for Hollywood, the 14th b’ak’tun begins on Dec. 22, 2012, and there are at least six more thereafter.  By my estimate, then, the world will not end for at least another 7,882 years, or until the year 9894 — on a Tuesday, at 4:37 in the afternoon.  So relax!  You still have time to pack.

Being so taken with our apocalyptic visions, we might not give sufficient weight to John’s reference to that winnowing fork and to the wheat and chaff.  This is often lumped in with the apocalyptic material and interpreted as Jesus’ culling of good folks from evil folks, with the evil receiving their just deserts in eternal and “unquenchable fire.” (Luke 3:17)  But I think John intends something else by this reference to common agricultural practice in 1st century Palestine.

If you remember your high school science classes, wheat is a protein-rich grass of the genus Triticum. Domestic varieties have been cultivated for at least 9,000 years.  The more primitive types — einkorn, emmer, and spelt — have hulls which tightly enclose the wheat grains.  Varieties grown today, such as common (or bread) wheat and durum, have brittle hulls which easily break away.  These hulls, once loosened, are called chaff.

People in John’s day grew the more primitive kinds of wheat, and therefore had to loosen the hulls mechanically, usually by placing the grain on a hard surface and beating it with a flail or having donkeys or oxen walk on it.  This is threshing.  The chaff was then removed by winnowing.  This generally involved using a basket or special fork to throw the wheat into the air so that the breeze could blow the chaff aside.  The chaff was later burned, tilled back into the soil, or fed to animals.  John’s winnowing image speaks to the kind of baptism the Messiah would administer.

Now, we generally think of baptism as an event — as a sweet and joyous ceremony which usually takes place when we are just a few weeks old or, more rarely, and as is the case today, when we are old enough to remember our baptism.  We even get a handsome certificate, suitable for framing, which declares that this event has taken place.

However, I would suggest that John’s image describes not an event, but a process. And more especially, this process does not involve separating good wheat from evil wheat.  Remember that threshing and winnowing is the way grain is made suitable for human consumption.  In the case of wheat, the inedible, dry, scaly protective casing is removed so that the wheat grain inside is usable and its nutritional value is available.  I have to assume, then, that baptism at the hands of Jesus is a threshing and winnowing process by which our own hard hulls are removed so that the rich wheat inside us is exposed.

Suddenly, baptism doesn’t seem the sweet naming ritual so many people imagine it to be.  Or more precisely, its sweetness has a sharp, even bitter, edge.  The sweetness of baptism is in the many good things which come to us with this ritual.  We are adopted by God as his children.  We are made members of the Body of Christ and inheritors of the kingdom of God.  We are given gifts of the Holy Spirit.  We are ordained as ministers of the Good News of Christ.  We are born again and assured of eternal life.

But there’s no such thing as a free lunch.  As baptized Christians, we share in the both the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.  We share both his suffering and his triumph.  Thus, along with all the good things of baptism, we should also expect — in some form, at least — to be beaten with flails, walked on by farm animals, and thrown into the air so that whatever in us is unworthy will be blown away.  Only this threshing and winnowing will make us ready for the Lord’s granary.

If all this sounds a bit threatening, let us remember the great Irish hymn known as St. Patrick’s Breastplate, the words of which are attributed to Patrick himself.  You sang it just a few moments ago.  Today, as we renew our baptismal vows — and as Mark Lindquist takes those vows for the first time this morning — let us bind unto ourselves the fullness of our faith in God.  As verse 2 declares:

I bind this day to me forever, by power of faith, Christ’s incarnation;

his baptism in the Jordan River; his death on cross for my salvation;

his bursting from the spiced tomb; his riding up the heavenly way;

his coming at the day of doom: I bind unto myself today.

It is this commitment, forged in baptism, which makes sense of verse 6, when we pray:

Christ be with me, Christ within me,

Christ behind me, Christ before me,

Christ beside me, Christ to win me,

Christ to comfort and restore me,

Christ beneath me, Christ above me,

Christ in quiet, Christ in danger,

Christ in hearts of all that love me,

Christ in mouth of friend and stranger.

In baptism we bind ourselves to the Lord who, by his life, death and resurrection, has won for us everlasting life.  Knowing that, we may be certain that Christ will see us through every test, and share with us every joy, this life may bring.  Amen.

— The Rev. John E. Laycock, Interim Pastor

Readings for Year C, Epiphany 1: Isaiah 43:1-7  •  Gradual — Psalm 29  •  Epistle — Acts 8:14-17  •  Gospel — Luke 3:15-17, 21-22

Collect for Epiphany 1:

Father in heaven, who at the baptism of Jesus in the River Jordan proclaimed him your beloved Son and anointed him with the Holy Spirit: Grant that all who are baptized into his Name may keep the covenant they have made, and boldly confess him as Lord and Savior; who with you and the Holy Spirit lives and reigns, one God, in glory everlasting.  Amen.

Sermon for Sunday, January 3, 2010 (Year C, Christmas 2)

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in Christ with every spiritual blessing… just as he chose us in Christ before the foundation of the world… (Eph. 1:3-4)

I’ve never been comfortable with the idea of predestination.  That, as you know, is the teaching that God has, from the beginning, determined that certain persons will be infallibly guided to eternal salvation.  At first glance it seems a reassuring concept.  But on closer examination it strikes me as a chilly doctrine, unworthy of a God I know to be full of grace and loving-kindness, who desires not the death of sinners, but that they turn and live. (Ezek. 33:11)

Advocates of predestination assure us that this idea has been around a long time.  They cite, for example, references in the Hebrew scriptures to a “book of life” in which God has written the names of all people, or at least of the faithful.  Those who are in the book will be saved; those who aren’t, won’t.  For example, in Exodus, after the episode of the golden calf, God declares to Moses that “Everyone who has sinned against me I will blot out of my book.” (Ex.32:33)  And then in the Book of Daniel, God tells Daniel that a time of great anguish will precede the final resurrection of the dead.  “But at that time your people shall be delivered, everyone who is found written in the book.” (Dan. 12:1)  And in Psalm 139 the Psalmist declares that God has known him even before birth.  “Your eyes beheld my limbs, yet unfinished in the womb; all of them were written in your book…” (Ps. 139:15)

This, for me, evokes the image of God as a Celestial Bookkeeper, making his list and checking it twice, to see who has been naughty or nice.

Predestination is more explicitly presented in the Christian scriptures.  In Matthew’s gospel, when the sons of Zebedee ask to be given high positions in Jesus’ kingdom, our Lord declares that “to sit at my right hand and at my left… is not mine to grant, but it is for those for whom it has been prepared by my Father.” (Matt. 23:23)  However, it is the Apostle Paul who sets forth this idea most clearly in his Letter to the Romans.  “We know,” Paul says, “that all things work together for good for those who love God, who are called according to his purpose.  For those whom he foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son, in order that he [Christ] might be the firstborn within a large family.  And those who he predestined he also called; and those whom he called he also justified; and those who he justified he also glorified.” (Rom. 8:38-30)

This morning’s epistle, the opening verses of the Letter to the Ephesians, moves the argument ahead several clicks.  The author declares that God “chose us in Christ before the foundation of the world to be blameless before him in love.” (Eph 1:4)  Our election, he says, is part of “a plan for the fullness of time” (Eph. 1:10) made known in Christ.  “In Christ we have… obtained an inheritance, having been destined according to the purpose of him who accomplishes all things according to his counsel and will… so that we… might live for the praise of his glory.” (Eph. 1:11-12, emphasis added)  In short, the faithful are chosen for salvation from “before the foundation of the world.”

All this would seem to indicate that you and I are not here by a mere accident of birth, but by divine intention; and if we are saved, that too is by divine intention.  And I have to admit, in those moments when we may feel most alone, unloved, or in the grip of a mindless destiny, the idea that we are being led infallibly to salvation, to something infinitely better, can be a great comfort.

But of course we Christians could not leave good enough alone.  Soon after Paul wrote to the Romans, people began to speculate that if some folks were predestined for glory, then it seemed only reasonable that others must be predestined for something else, something just as eternal, but significantly less pleasant.  Thus was born the idea of double predestination — that while some of us are infallibly led to salvation, others are just as infallibly led to eternal punishment.  This form of the doctrine of predestination is usually associated with John Calvin, but in all fairness it goes back at least to Augustine of Hippo in the 5th century, and more especially to those a few centuries later who pushed an exaggerated version of Augustine’s opinion.  I am assured, too, that Calvin’s own views on predestination were moderate in comparison to those who later claimed simply to be building on Calvin’s theological foundation.

As I said, I find predestination a chilly doctrine.  It seems to construct a mechanistic universe in which you and I are simply cogs in a great clockwork which is grinding along, century after century, toward some end known to God alone.  Jews and Christians have long asserted that God made us with free will, but this idea of predestination seems either to extinguish free will altogether, or to confine it to so small a space as to make our own choices meaningless.  Yet, as I said, many Christians find this doctrine comforting, seeing in it an assurance that while this world appears to be sliding downhill into chaos, nevertheless “God has a plan.”

But there are problems aplenty here.  Note, for example, that Abraham Lincoln is said to have concluded that slavery is evil because no free man would wish to become a slave himself.  In somewhat the same way, predestination is a doctrine beloved of those who number themselves among the elect.  To my knowledge, predestination is rarely, if ever, advocated by those convinced that they themselves are headed for eternal damnation.  It’s a doctrine for the winners.  And while the hearts of those who advocate predestination may ache for their brothers and sisters who are being drawn inexorably to the pit, as Lincoln might say, the saved would not consider changing places with the lost.  Indeed, such self-sacrifice would be impossible if all that happens in this world is planned from the beginning.

Another problem is the unintended but hurtful conclusions that unbridled predestination may suggest.  One might be led to say, for instance, that an early death due to an auto mishap or cancer is “just part of God’s plan;”  or that a young child dying in a sledding accident is “just part of God’s plan;” or that when the powerful abuse the defenseless, it’s “just part of God’s plan.”  If such tragic suffering is planned, then those events do not glorify God.  Rather, they accuse God of unspeakable callousness.

But we know that our God is not callous, mean-spirited, or unjust!  The Lord wants only our good, and gave us his Son as the means by which we may choose to make a new beginning.  And that is precisely my point: our fate is not chiseled in granite!  As God says through Ezekiel, “I have no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but [desire only] that the wicked turn from their ways and live….” (Ezek. 33:11)

I think Charles Dickens hit the nail squarely.  In A Christmas Carol, Ebenezer Scrooge is led by the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come to a graveyard where a neglected marker bears Scrooge’s own name.  “Spirit!” he cried, tight clutching at [the ghost’s] robe, “hear me!  I am not the man I was.  I will not be the man I must have been but for this intercourse.  Why show me this, if I am past all hope?… Assure me that I yet may change these shadows you have shown me, by an altered life!” (Dickens, p. 114, emphasis added)  It is precisely this possibility of an altered life — our ability to learn to live more faithfully today than we did yesterday — which makes sense of God’s amazing gift at Bethlehem.

Well, you may fairly ask this preacher, does God have any plan at all?  Do you deny divine intentionality altogether?  If so, aren’t you reducing life to nothing more than a big lotto game in which many pay, but few win?

Of course not!  I would say, instead, there is a plan — not for each of us individually, but a plan for the universe as a whole, and most especially a plan for the salvation for God’s people.  Our role in that plan is not preordained from before the beginning of time. On the contrary, whether we realize it or not, God sits down with us each day and offers us the opportunity to choose how we will contribute to that great and still-unfolding plan for our world and God’s people.  Again and again, we are given the choice between what is right and what is merely easy.  We can decide to work against God, and cast our lot with evil, or we can decide to work with God, casting our lot with Christ.

That is the choice which confronts us every morning of every day, year in and year out.  And we can take heart in knowing that Jesus came among us, full of grace and truth, to help us choose well.  Amen.

— The Rev. John E. Laycock, Interim Pastor

Readings for Year C, Christmas 2: Lesson — Jeremiah 31:7-14 • Gradual — Psalm 84 •  Epistle — Ephesians 1:3-6, 15-19a • Gospel — Matthew 2:13-15, 19-23

Collect for Christmas 2:

O God, who wonderfully created, and yet more wonderfully restored, the dignity of human nature: Grant that we may share the divine life of him who humbled himself to share our humanity, your Son Jesus Christ, who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever.  Amen.