Sermon delivered Sunday, Nov. 18, 2012 (25th Sunday after Pentecost, Year B, Proper 28), at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Franklin, TN (1 Samuel 1:4-20, 1 Samuel 2:1-10, Hebrews 10:11-25, Mark 13:1-8)
The season of Advent is still two weeks away, but the Advent themes of expectant watching and waiting for the coming of Christ – both the remembrance of Christ’s birth in Bethlehem and the anticipation of his Second Coming – have already begun to seep into our liturgy. Have you noticed?
In last week’s collect, we prayed that we might purify ourselves as Christ is pure so that we may be made like him “when he comes again with power and great glory.” Our passage from Ruth (Ruth 4:13-17) told of the birth of Obed, the father of Jesse, the father of David – the lineage through which Jesus would come. (Think of how many Christmas songs refer to Jesse and David!) The passage from Hebrews last week concluded with a pronouncement that Jesus would “appear a second time, not to deal with sin, but to save those who are eagerly waiting for him” (Hebrews 9:28). As we continue reading in Hebrews today, we hear about the importance of encouraging one another as we see “the Day” – that is, the final judgment, the end times – approaching (Hebrews 10:25).
And today we also hear a story about the birth of a long-expected child: not Jesus just yet, but the prophet Samuel. Samuel is not crucial to the lineage of Jesus like Obed from last week’s reading, but his mother Hannah’s song of praise at his birth bears a striking similarity to the Virgin Mary’s famous song of praise, the Magnificat (Luke 1:46-55), that she sings after the Angel Gabriel tells her she will bear the Christ child. Both women sing of their soul rejoicing in God and exult in God’s power to bring down the proud and raise up the lowly, to turn the world’s social structures upside down and to bring hope and life from unexpected places.
And then in the Gospel passage for today, we’re back to that Second Coming, apocalyptic, end times kind of stuff. Jesus foresees the destruction of the temple in Jerusalem and tells the disciples that much conflict and calamity will precede the end times and the renewal of creation. He tells them not to see social and physical upheaval as a sign that the end is near; though there will be wars and rumors of wars, earthquakes and famines, these things are “but the beginning of the birth pangs” (Mark 13:8).
Jesus’s use of birthing imagery is interesting, especially given the focus on birth in the Hebrew Bible passage for today, and the focus on birth that will come with the seasons of Advent and Christmas. Both Hannah and Mary rejoice in the birth of long-awaited sons, but Jesus’s words in Mark remind us of the fear and pain that often accompany birth. Before the joy of welcoming a new person into the world comes the pain of labor, the sweat and tears and blood, the worry about the health and safety of the child, the inner doubts about whether or not we will be capable caretakers of this utterly vulnerable life about to be entrusted to our care. The transition of this broken and sinful world into the promised world to come will be like this, Jesus tells us. The birthing of a new creation will bring the waves of pain and fear that women in labor experience in bringing new life into this world. Just as the birthing process is unpredictable – even with the marvels of modern medicine! – as to when it will begin and how long it will take, so is the birthing of the new creation. Just as the onset of contractions does not necessarily mean that the baby will arrive within minutes, so the pains of the conflict and suffering of this world do not mean that the end is here. Jesus’s use of the metaphor of “birth pangs” conveys the idea that wars, earthquakes, and other disasters will come in waves, like labor pains, each one seemingly unbearable while we are in the midst of it, and leading us to believe that surely things are almost over, but not necessarily immediately bringing forth the new life that we are so eagerly awaiting.
Like the birth of a new child, the coming of the new creation promised by God is something that we may both long for yet fear.
And although childbirth is our dominant metaphor this week, there are many other things in the human experience that we may find ourselves both longing for and fearing at the same time. This week, I asked several friends what they longed for yet feared, and got a variety of responses. One friend said the thing she longed for yet feared was “freedom. For everyone.” A friend in Nebraska who is a hunter said he longed for yet feared “a really big whitetail buck.” Several single friends said they longed for yet feared intimacy, a soulmate, a loving relationship. A friend with three children shared that she longed for yet feared having a fourth child. Other responses included longing for yet fearing a call from God, and longing to be with departed loved ones and friends but fearing death itself.
Looking at the themes that emerged in this survey, I wonder if the root of this archetypal fear of the very thing we desire is a fear of vulnerability, of loss of control. We know that in order to experience love, or to allow for the full flourishing of human life, or to let God into our lives to guide us, we must let go of our need to control outcomes and our desire to protect ourselves from pain and surrender to the power of something bigger than ourselves. And yet, we fear things that are bigger than we are, things that have the power to destroy us. So we hold on all the tighter to those “security blankets” and defense mechanisms that ironically, are actually keeping us from reaching or achieving the things we say we so long for.
Yes, we want that new heaven and new earth where there is no longer any mourning or pain or grief, where God himself will be our companion and comfort, where Christ will be king rather than the powers of this world. But between us and that beatific vision, according to the tradition we’ve been taught, lies the apocalypse, armageddon, the end of the world. Wars, earthquakes, and famines are just the beginning of it, Jesus says. That doesn’t sound like something we want! We want the reign of God on earth, we want peace and an end to humanity’s restless warring and relief from the natural disasters that devastate communities, but we fear the conflict and upheaval that Jesus tells us will inevitably precede it. We long for the new life, but we fear the birthing process.
But the word of hope for us in regard to all the things we long for yet fear, is that Jesus tells us not to be alarmed! Some of Jesus’s most common words in the Scriptures are words of comfort to his followers: “Do not be alarmed. Do not let your hearts be troubled. Do not fear.” Jesus promises to be with us, even to the end of the age (Matthew 28:20). Trusting in that promise offers us the possibility of a life freed from the shackles of fear, in which we can experience the love, joy and peace that we so long for. When we encounter conflict or pain, instead of being paralyzed by fear and reacting as if it were the “end of the world” – literally or metaphorically – we can move through the fear and respond in love to whatever is struggling to be born. Rather than turning away from the disasters of our age with a detached fatalism, shrugging our shoulders and saying, “What can you do? Jesus told us that ‘these things must take place,’” we can step in like a calm, collected midwife, seeking to ease the pains of the birth of the new creation by helping with disaster relief, feeding the hungry, and advocating for peace. We can let go of our fear if we trust in God’s promises, opening ourselves to potential pain and conflict because we have full confidence that our ultimate longing will be fulfilled in the embrace of Christ.
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Sunday, November 4, 2012
Sermon for All Saints' Sunday
Sermon delivered Sunday, Nov. 4, 2012, at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Franklin, Tenn.
All Saints’ Sunday, Year B (Wis. 3:1-9, Ps. 24, Rev. 21:1-6a, Jn. 11:32-44)
Today is All Saints’ Sunday, the day we commemorate the lives of all the saints who have gone before us, whose lives have been a testament to the power of the Gospel and an example of godly life and faith. All Saints’ Day is one of the seven principle feast days of the church, along with Christmas, Epiphany, Easter, Ascension Day, the Day of Pentecost, and Trinity Sunday. These seven days are the most important days in the church year, highlighting what is central to Christian faith and the life of the church.
All Saints’ Day and Trinity Sunday are the only two on the list that do not commemorate a specific event in the life of Jesus, but they also highlight central aspects of Christian faith and tradition. All Saints’ Day celebrates the “communion of saints” that is a central part of our Creed. Without the saints, there would be no church, and though the saints of the church were not Christ himself, their lives bore and continue to bear witness to Christ in the centuries after his earthly existence.
So who are these “saints” that we commemorate today? In popular understanding, a “saint” is someone who is much more “holy” than us regular folk, someone who never makes mistakes, who never or doubts or questions, who is perfect in matters of faith. “Let’s face it, I’m no saint,” people will say as they describe their shortcomings, the implication being that if they were a saint, they would not have these flaws.
This high standard for what it means to be a saint likely is influenced by the Roman Catholic tradition, in which there is a lengthy process for officially canonizing someone as a saint. In this process, the individual’s life is evaluated by church authorities for evidence of his or her holiness of life and correctness of belief, and he or she must be the cause of at least two miracles after his or her death. These criteria certainly lend themselves to an understanding of “saints” as a super-human ideal of perfection. In a sermon on the occasion of the canonization of Elisabeth Ann Seton in 1975, Pope Paul VI said as much: “Being a Saint means being perfect,” he said, “with a perfection that attains the highest level that a human being can reach. A Saint is a human creature fully conformed to the will of God.”
But this understanding of a saint is not the only understanding in Christian history and theology. The creation of a feast day for “all saints” came out of a desire to honor and commemorate all the martyrs in the first few centuries of the church’s existence. A willingness to die for one’s faith instantly earned one the designation of “saint,” regardless of how “perfect” or not he or she was and whether or not he or she had been the vehicle of any miracles. In the New Testament, the Apostle Paul often opens his letters to the various churches across the Mediterranean region with the words, “to all the saints” at Corinth, or at Philippi, or at Rome, and in this context he is presumably speaking to all faithful Christians in those places, not just the really holy ones. Despite its focus on those exceptional saints that are canonized by the church, the Roman Catholic tradition also acknowledges this broader definition of a saint as well.
In the Episcopal Church, our understanding of what a “saint” is tends toward this broader use of the term. The Episcopal Dictionary of the Church defines the word “saint” first as simply “a holy person, a faithful Christian, one who shares life in Christ.” It goes on to add that “the term may also indicate one who has formally been canonized or recognized as a saint by church authority.” Although we in the Episcopal Church do honor certain Christians in our liturgical calendar who stand out as particularly praiseworthy examples of Christ-like living, we acknowledge that all of us who share life in Christ through our baptism are part of the “communion of saints” that we refer to each week in the Nicene Creed. And thus, All Saints’ Day becomes a day to remember not just those grand heroes of the faith like the Virgin Mary and Saint Peter and the Apostle Paul, but also the everyday faith heroes of our lives, those who have made Christ known to us by their dedicated lives of faith, prayer, and service.
Most likely, we can all name one or two of these saints. Unless we came to Christian faith solely through an intellectual pursuit, by reading about the faith and deciding to accept it for ourselves, we were likely influenced by other Christians, by friends and family members who already knew the love of God in Christ and shared it with us before we knew or accepted it for ourselves. Maybe it was our parent or uncle or grandmother who took us to church, or the Sunday School teachers who taught us that “Yes, Jesus loves us.” Maybe it was an inspiring mentor who showed us how to live out the faith we felt in our hearts but did not know how to put into action in our lives. Or maybe it was a friend who introduced us to Christianity as an adult, or a stranger who said just the right words to us at just the right moment in our lives to open our hearts to faith in Christ. Whether we came to faith at an early age or later in life, in a gradual process of being raised in the church or through a lighting-from-the-sky conversion experience – or somewhere in between – our paths to faith most likely were influenced by those saints who may never have a “saint’s day” in the Christian liturgical calendar, but who are no less saints than those who do.
On All Saints’ Sunday, we remember God’s promise that death is not the final word, that those saints who have already departed this life continue on in their love and service of God. The beautiful passages we heard from the Wisdom of Solomon and the Revelation to John remind us that “the souls of the righteous are in the hands of God,” and that God will bring about a new creation in which “death will be no more, mourning and crying and pain will be no more.” In the midst of our grief over the departure of those beloved saints who showed us the way of faith, we remember that God’s grace and love are stronger than death. Our Gospel passage from John tells the story of Jesus mourning the death of his friend Lazarus, and then raising him to life again, foreshadowing Jesus’s own eventual Resurrection, through which death was defeated not just for one man, but for all creation. Death, for the Christian, is not the end of the story. In fact, in some ways, for us it is the beginning.
We begin our lives as Christians through the sacrament of baptism, in which we are united with Christ in his death on the cross. Though we usually think of baptism only in the positive terms of new life and rebirth, in baptism we are also initiated into the sufferings of Christ, and into the suffering that may come through following Christ. In baptism, we are indeed “born again,” but the new life into which we are born is the life of Christ, a life in which Good Friday is inseparable from Easter, and in which Easter comes through Good Friday. It is through union with Christ in his death that we attain to union with him in his life. As the Apostle Paul wrote in his letter to the Romans, “If we have been united with him in a death like his, we will certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his” (Romans 6:5). This is the promise of baptism, and the hope of the Christian life. This is the promise to which the lives of the saints bear witness, the promise that, again in the words of the Apostle Paul, “nothing in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Romans 8:39).
And on this day that we are particularly aware of that “great cloud of witnesses” (Hebrews 12:1) to the faith who have gone before us, we celebrate the addition of new members of the communion of saints. All Saints’ Sunday is one of four days in the church’s calendar when we initiate new members into the church through the sacrament of baptism. Today, we will renew our own baptismal covenant, and at the 11:00 service, we will welcome Alexandra Sidney Farmer and Andrew Christopher McClure into the church of God through baptism. They will be united with Christ in his death and in the hope of his Resurrection. Their parents and godparents will promise to raise them in the life of the church, that one day they might come to choose the God in Christ who has already chosen them. And we will promise to do all in our power to support them in their life in Christ. Because, as they say, “it takes a village.” Or perhaps – it takes a communion of saints.
Today we see the full circle of that communion of saints. As we give thanks for the witness of mature, fruitful Christian lives, we look expectantly and joyfully to these new disciples who are just beginning to grow in the knowledge and love of Christ. And we pray that we who pledge to support them in their life in Christ would one day be the “saints” that Alexandra and Andrew will remember whose lives bore witness to the power of the Resurrection and who led them to a mature faith in Christ.
All Saints’ Sunday, Year B (Wis. 3:1-9, Ps. 24, Rev. 21:1-6a, Jn. 11:32-44)
Today is All Saints’ Sunday, the day we commemorate the lives of all the saints who have gone before us, whose lives have been a testament to the power of the Gospel and an example of godly life and faith. All Saints’ Day is one of the seven principle feast days of the church, along with Christmas, Epiphany, Easter, Ascension Day, the Day of Pentecost, and Trinity Sunday. These seven days are the most important days in the church year, highlighting what is central to Christian faith and the life of the church.
All Saints’ Day and Trinity Sunday are the only two on the list that do not commemorate a specific event in the life of Jesus, but they also highlight central aspects of Christian faith and tradition. All Saints’ Day celebrates the “communion of saints” that is a central part of our Creed. Without the saints, there would be no church, and though the saints of the church were not Christ himself, their lives bore and continue to bear witness to Christ in the centuries after his earthly existence.
So who are these “saints” that we commemorate today? In popular understanding, a “saint” is someone who is much more “holy” than us regular folk, someone who never makes mistakes, who never or doubts or questions, who is perfect in matters of faith. “Let’s face it, I’m no saint,” people will say as they describe their shortcomings, the implication being that if they were a saint, they would not have these flaws.
This high standard for what it means to be a saint likely is influenced by the Roman Catholic tradition, in which there is a lengthy process for officially canonizing someone as a saint. In this process, the individual’s life is evaluated by church authorities for evidence of his or her holiness of life and correctness of belief, and he or she must be the cause of at least two miracles after his or her death. These criteria certainly lend themselves to an understanding of “saints” as a super-human ideal of perfection. In a sermon on the occasion of the canonization of Elisabeth Ann Seton in 1975, Pope Paul VI said as much: “Being a Saint means being perfect,” he said, “with a perfection that attains the highest level that a human being can reach. A Saint is a human creature fully conformed to the will of God.”
But this understanding of a saint is not the only understanding in Christian history and theology. The creation of a feast day for “all saints” came out of a desire to honor and commemorate all the martyrs in the first few centuries of the church’s existence. A willingness to die for one’s faith instantly earned one the designation of “saint,” regardless of how “perfect” or not he or she was and whether or not he or she had been the vehicle of any miracles. In the New Testament, the Apostle Paul often opens his letters to the various churches across the Mediterranean region with the words, “to all the saints” at Corinth, or at Philippi, or at Rome, and in this context he is presumably speaking to all faithful Christians in those places, not just the really holy ones. Despite its focus on those exceptional saints that are canonized by the church, the Roman Catholic tradition also acknowledges this broader definition of a saint as well.
In the Episcopal Church, our understanding of what a “saint” is tends toward this broader use of the term. The Episcopal Dictionary of the Church defines the word “saint” first as simply “a holy person, a faithful Christian, one who shares life in Christ.” It goes on to add that “the term may also indicate one who has formally been canonized or recognized as a saint by church authority.” Although we in the Episcopal Church do honor certain Christians in our liturgical calendar who stand out as particularly praiseworthy examples of Christ-like living, we acknowledge that all of us who share life in Christ through our baptism are part of the “communion of saints” that we refer to each week in the Nicene Creed. And thus, All Saints’ Day becomes a day to remember not just those grand heroes of the faith like the Virgin Mary and Saint Peter and the Apostle Paul, but also the everyday faith heroes of our lives, those who have made Christ known to us by their dedicated lives of faith, prayer, and service.
Most likely, we can all name one or two of these saints. Unless we came to Christian faith solely through an intellectual pursuit, by reading about the faith and deciding to accept it for ourselves, we were likely influenced by other Christians, by friends and family members who already knew the love of God in Christ and shared it with us before we knew or accepted it for ourselves. Maybe it was our parent or uncle or grandmother who took us to church, or the Sunday School teachers who taught us that “Yes, Jesus loves us.” Maybe it was an inspiring mentor who showed us how to live out the faith we felt in our hearts but did not know how to put into action in our lives. Or maybe it was a friend who introduced us to Christianity as an adult, or a stranger who said just the right words to us at just the right moment in our lives to open our hearts to faith in Christ. Whether we came to faith at an early age or later in life, in a gradual process of being raised in the church or through a lighting-from-the-sky conversion experience – or somewhere in between – our paths to faith most likely were influenced by those saints who may never have a “saint’s day” in the Christian liturgical calendar, but who are no less saints than those who do.
On All Saints’ Sunday, we remember God’s promise that death is not the final word, that those saints who have already departed this life continue on in their love and service of God. The beautiful passages we heard from the Wisdom of Solomon and the Revelation to John remind us that “the souls of the righteous are in the hands of God,” and that God will bring about a new creation in which “death will be no more, mourning and crying and pain will be no more.” In the midst of our grief over the departure of those beloved saints who showed us the way of faith, we remember that God’s grace and love are stronger than death. Our Gospel passage from John tells the story of Jesus mourning the death of his friend Lazarus, and then raising him to life again, foreshadowing Jesus’s own eventual Resurrection, through which death was defeated not just for one man, but for all creation. Death, for the Christian, is not the end of the story. In fact, in some ways, for us it is the beginning.
We begin our lives as Christians through the sacrament of baptism, in which we are united with Christ in his death on the cross. Though we usually think of baptism only in the positive terms of new life and rebirth, in baptism we are also initiated into the sufferings of Christ, and into the suffering that may come through following Christ. In baptism, we are indeed “born again,” but the new life into which we are born is the life of Christ, a life in which Good Friday is inseparable from Easter, and in which Easter comes through Good Friday. It is through union with Christ in his death that we attain to union with him in his life. As the Apostle Paul wrote in his letter to the Romans, “If we have been united with him in a death like his, we will certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his” (Romans 6:5). This is the promise of baptism, and the hope of the Christian life. This is the promise to which the lives of the saints bear witness, the promise that, again in the words of the Apostle Paul, “nothing in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Romans 8:39).
And on this day that we are particularly aware of that “great cloud of witnesses” (Hebrews 12:1) to the faith who have gone before us, we celebrate the addition of new members of the communion of saints. All Saints’ Sunday is one of four days in the church’s calendar when we initiate new members into the church through the sacrament of baptism. Today, we will renew our own baptismal covenant, and at the 11:00 service, we will welcome Alexandra Sidney Farmer and Andrew Christopher McClure into the church of God through baptism. They will be united with Christ in his death and in the hope of his Resurrection. Their parents and godparents will promise to raise them in the life of the church, that one day they might come to choose the God in Christ who has already chosen them. And we will promise to do all in our power to support them in their life in Christ. Because, as they say, “it takes a village.” Or perhaps – it takes a communion of saints.
Today we see the full circle of that communion of saints. As we give thanks for the witness of mature, fruitful Christian lives, we look expectantly and joyfully to these new disciples who are just beginning to grow in the knowledge and love of Christ. And we pray that we who pledge to support them in their life in Christ would one day be the “saints” that Alexandra and Andrew will remember whose lives bore witness to the power of the Resurrection and who led them to a mature faith in Christ.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)