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A few months ago, I noticed a big, colorful foam board sign in the Little House with the words “Miracles are coming.” It was sitting on the mantle of the fireplace. I figured that someone from the AA or OA groups that use our space might have accidentally left it behind after a meeting. But the sign didn’t disappear. And so after a few weeks, I moved it to the top of the bookcase so that we could enjoy both of the framed pictures that rest on the mantel – and the sign. A few days later, it was gone. “What a shame,” I thought to myself. While I found the message a bit cryptic – or perhaps a bit more new age-y than I am, I appreciated the spontaneous sign of spirituality and the burst of color. I concluded that the sign’s creator must have been offended by my relocation of the message to another part of the lounge and went on with my work. And then, on Good Friday, the sign reappeared – on top of the bookcase. I saw it before heading out to participate in the Stations of the Cross and couldn’t help but smile. Good Friday – a day of solemnity and solace in the Christian community – and in the midst of that was a reminder of hope, a reminder that the impossible is sometimes made possible.

“Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?” Jesus asked Mary as she stood outside the tomb. Her grief was so strong and tears too numerous to see the miracle in front of her. I picture here my young cousins so overcome by tears of separation anxiety that they no longer recognize their parents when they do walk back into the room – it takes reassuring words and hug to for recognition to break through. It’s not just tears that can be blinding. Sometimes our focus is so intense – or gaze set in one direction – that we totally miss where we need to be present.

Lately I’ve been watching the TV series “House” on DVD. It’s another one of those medical shows – emphasis on complex medical cases with unpredictable twists. The main character of the show is a gruff, sarcastic middle-aged doctor named Greg House, who walks with a cane and pops pain pills like they are candy. He supervises a trinity of gifted young neurologists. Every episode, a new case presents itself and the young team is broadsided. They follow the symptoms down one path, are certain they are going in the right direction – and inevitably find themselves needing to change course. House’s genius is his ability to make room for a change in approach – he’s able to stay present, but at the same time remain open and respond to the strange signs around him. That’s what makes him a brilliant diagnostician.

The resurrection of the Jesus is the “strange sign” and miracle that greets us this Easter morning. Unlike Mary weeping at the side of the empty tomb or the medical team on House – we are probably not broadsided by it. On a certain level, we know this story well – Jesus eats a last meal with his loved ones, he is handed over to the authorities, is crucified and rises. The question is: how do we know this in our bones – how to we embody this story within our selves?

The brilliance of the liturgical calendar – of inventions like Lent and Holy Week – is that we are taken on a journey of no return. It’s like boarding a rollercoaster tram – the safety bar comes down on you – and short of a mal-function  (which you pray won’t happen) – you only get to exit after having up and down the peaks and through the cork screws. Lent and Holy Week are a bit more gentle than a roller coaster – but they can take us to some difficult and scary places – as well as places of utter bliss and joy. In this day and age, as we find our religious holidays being exploited more and more by consumeristic culture, the journey through Lent and Holy Week can help to keep us grounded for Easter.

Today, we greet the Jesus of life. He’s at first mistaken by Mary to be a gardener – a quiet, tender-type of growth. And then just like that -- she registers the miracle before her very eyes. This weekend I picked up some daffodils from Trader Joe’s – the kind that sell for $1.29 and have yet to flower. Clip the stems, place in water and they pop open overnight! A visible sign of life – emerging rapidly – it’s delightful and wonderful. And this is what Mary wrestled to wrap her head around – on a much larger and profound level – during the wee hours of the dawn.

There is a famous quote from Irenaeus that reads “the glory of God is the human being fully alive.” What signs of life, growth and hope can we point to our communities this Easter season? When we look at our own life, where do we find ourselves most alive? A few nights ago Tavis Smiley interviewed the now famous author Anne Lamott. As a part of that interview, he asked her where the journey from Good Friday to Easter brings her this year. She talked about her own struggle with the landscape of the current political climate – and about feeling that a new hope was sprouting up around her through presidential campaigns. Regardless of whether or not you share Anne’s particular sentiments, that feeling of a heaviness about to be lifted – be it the heaviness of death, of an illness, of a broken relationship or of physical violence – is at the core of Jesus’ Easter proclamation. And how are we to celebrate the gift of Jesus’ resurrected life? Well, according to Anne Lamott – we can do this in small, slow and sometimes messy ways: agreeing not to look away, bearing witness, not killing – keeping a note by the phone to remind us “do not kill” (!), giving food to the hungry, saying what is true, recognizing the beauty of good people, seeing a vision of hope about us – and carrying that hope like glass of water – it may be just a small cup, but still carries the power to bring life to our world. Living in a world where the needs are so great and belonging to a small church community surrounded by so many needs – in this context, Anne’s message is an especially powerful one for us to hear. It is not in the flurry of Easter trappings peddled to us in the stores that we will come know the meaning of resurrection. It’s in our willingness to follow strange signs where they might lead us. It’s in our ability to remain open to the mystery of the impossible becoming possible. It’s in our willingness to carry hope like a glass of water – and knowing where to find the most parched patches of ourselves and our world and dousing with the water of life.

Amen.

The Rev. Nicole Janelle
St. Michael's, Isla Vista
Easter 2008

“What DO priests do during the week?” It’s a question frequently posed to priests. I suppose that even priests ask it of their colleagues – at least I do. “What do you do in that church of yours during the week?” A priest’s ministry context varies. The rhythm of my life at St. Michael’s -- a campus ministry and mission church set in an unincorporated beachside district, inhabited by both students and low-income Spanish speakers  -- is vastly different from my previous life at St. Mary’s in urban Los Angeles -- a historically Japanese-American church, filled with Japanese & Belizean Americans on Sunday, and low income Latinos during the week.

So in response to those who are mystified by all that a priest does between Sundays, here is a taste of what I do during the week!

Sunday, March 9th –

7:30am - It’s Daylight Saving Sunday. Spring forward. I hate this Sunday. Service starts at 10am, but it feels like 9am. Still, I’m thankful to be rid of the dreadful 7:30am service obligation of my previous placement. I get up at 7:45am, review my sermon on my computer, grab a bite (banana to eat), dress up in my priest gear and head out the door. I’m running late.

9:30am – Much later than I wanted to arrive to church, but what can I do. Quick – print the sermon (my printer @ home is busted), make sure Altar Guild is on track, turn on the lights, welcome people. I’m so happy that our sacristy is sparkling.  Last week, I spent an afternoon cleaning it out with three other dedicated elders.

10am – Start church on the dot with three clangs of the Isaiah bell.

11:15am - Church is over. Catch up with parishioners over coffee hour.

12pm – Wrap up conversation with parishioners and start some office work that includes editing last year’s Easter bulletin and deciding on a version of the Stations of the Cross this year that highlights the Millennium Development Goals. Around 3pm, I get inspired to clean my office. Find some new icons in my cobwebby, yet to be organized closet to hang of the walls! Move the boxes of files--stretching back 15 years--that have littered my floor for months into the chaotic closet. Do major filing.

3:30pm – Decide to head back home because I’m tired and hungry.

6pm – Take a walk around my neighborhood, since daylight has been extended!

7pm – Work on my tax questionnaire.

9pm – Start in on more work. Write my weekly emails to the congregation, faculty/staff/grad student and student-only listservs to inform about the activities of the coming week. Spend time replying to email correspondence. Start drafting a flier to advertise the bilingual Yoga & Compline program we plan to offer Spring Quarter. Wonder when I/we am/are going to have time to flier the neighborhood – and remember that I still need to create a bilingual Compline booklet by April 1. Create flier for the Progressive Christian Student gathering on Tuesday – come up with the title “Prayer for Dummies: A Crash Course on Prayer & Meditation.” Glad that our Communication Intern will flier the campus tunnels tomorrow. Generate the language for next Sunday’s bulletin and select hymns. Prepare agenda for Bishop’s Advisory Committee Meeting on Tuesday.

11pm – Watch several episodes of House on DVD. I’m warming up to this series.

2am – Finally get to sleep. I’m a night owl.

Monday, March 10th –

9am- Morning prayers from the New Zealand Prayer Book plus some spiritual reading.

11am – Get to work. Consult with the Office Administrator on the projects of the week.

11:45 – Pick up a chicken shawarma sandwich and head to the Antiochian Orthodox Church in Isla Vista for a meeting of area clergy. We talk about the future our campus interfaith center and our growing relationships with administrators at UCSB.

1:30 pm – Return to the office. Review financials for BAC meeting. Call a parishioner whose mother died that morning. More email correspondence. Prep for the on campus Progressive Christian Students meeting. Select helpful materials on prayer for office admin to copy. Talk to a VOX Planned Parenthood member on the phone about a counter demonstration she hopes I can attend later in the week.

3 pm – Visit the parishioner who is dying. Say prayers with her. It’s clear to all of us that she is on the threshold between this life and the next…

4pm – Go home. Manage to get to the gym before the day is over.

8pm – Listen to an episode of Speaking of Faith online. I LOVE this radio show – check it out for yourself: www.speakingoffaith.org!

9pm-10:30pm – Update the campus ministry website and blog from home while watching TV.

Tuesday, March 11th –

10am – Head to work.

10:30am – Conference call with other LA Diocese college chaplains. I’m a big fan of freeconference.com – as it saves me many hours on the 101 freeway!

12pm – To campus for the Progressive Christian Students conversation on prayer and meditation. Am thankful to be facilitating these conversations with a faculty member who will begin preparing for ordination in the fall.

1:15pm – Receive call that my ill parishioner has died -- Can I come to say prayers with the family? Head to family’s home, say prayers, make Wednesday appointment to talk with family about funeral.

2:25pm – 10 minutes late for meeting with downtown SB UCC minister to discuss a collaborative denominational approach to strengthen a progressive Christian presence on campus.

3:10pm – 10 minutes late on conference call with other LA Clergy to debrief recent conference we organized for clergy in financially stressed congregations. I don’t think being late is a good practice…

4pm – Hoped to have taken this time for a quick walk on the beach, but instead I’m preparing materials for my funeral planning meeting tomorrow, putting the finishing touches on an appeal letter to some parishes with resources that must go out this week and outlining my thoughts for a panel discussion in a residential hall this evening. Successfully (I think) hand off the task of Spring newsletter layout to a graphic designer who attends an area Episcopal Church! Register that I still need to do work on the content of the newsletter and organizing of propaganda pictures for the newsletter by the end of the quarter.

6pm – Bishop’s Advisory Committee meeting begins. BAC is made up of students and associates who meet once a month and function as a steering committee of the church and campus ministry. Together we pray. Map out the end of the school year. Discuss financials. Assign “homework tasks.” I’m a believer in homework assignments for all who serve on committees. :)

7:30pm – Meeting ends. A few students stay for College Crew. We cook pasta, talk and say Compline Prayer together.

8:30pm – Begin my trek to campus for the panel discussion.

9:00pm – Conversation with students and panelists on the question “Do you believe we live in Christian privileged society?” I believe we do. I also believe it’s a challenge to claim our Christian roots given the way our capitalist system hijacks our traditions and culture does not value depth. I appreciate our thoughtful interfaith discussion.

11:30pm – Get back to the office. Go home. I’m fried. Praise God to discover that the palms have (finally) arrived on my doorstep for Palm Sunday.

3am – Can’t get to sleep until 3 (did I mention that I despise springing forward?!). Annoyed I never made it to the gym and have fallen off the yoga boat. Ruminating about the lists of things that need to get done in the next month. I have an unusually busy six weeks ahead of me.

Wednesday, March 12th –

10am – Leave the house. Try to connect on my cell with the Office of Women’s Ministries at the Church Center to talk about some Imagine conference business. Forgot that I had agreed to check in with the director at 8am PST. Don’t succeed in getting through to her.

10:45am – Arrive on campus to join with VOX Planned Parenthood students in counter demonstration with Justice For All – an outside pro-life group that displays large pictures of bloodied fetuses on campuses. One student walks by and starts sobbing uncontrollably. She mentions to me that she had abortion and the display is too much to bear. She responds to this violation by railing at the JFA people. A crowd begins to gather as she voices her anger. A group of us pulls her out of that conversation and I walk her to class with another student. She begins to calm down, but is still distraught. I make sure to give her my card in case she later wants to connect with supportive ear. We also tell her that there is help available at Student Health Services. Above head, plane is circulating the UCSB campus with the photo of a bloodied fetus on it…

11:55am – Reluctantly leave the counter demonstration to attend a quarterly on campus gathering of Episcopal faculty, staff and graduate students at the Faculty Club. Today, St. Mike’s parishioner Mark Juergensmeyer is giving a mini presentation on the intersection of his spiritual life and academic work. I’m reminded that Mark and I, despite our age gap, have a bit of a parallel life – we attended the same seminary AND did our field work in the same parish! Learn that one of my seniors has been accepted into her first choice PhD program. Hooray!

1:20pm – Connect with Women’s Ministries Office about our work on promoting Imagine gatherings while walking back to office from campus.

1:30pm – Meet with the family of my parishioner to plan her Celebration of Life service.

2:45pm – Get back to office work. Sketch out funeral service bulletin for our office administrator. Assure musician is available the service. Talk to several people about the logistics of Campus Connection (a new outreach initiative of the campus ministries of UCSB & CSU-CI to bring students to our campuses for an overnight immersion experience) preparation meeting this Saturday in Los Angeles. Proof and sign a set of appeal letters. More email correspondence, including an email to the congregation about parishioner’s funeral arrangements; service will be on Monday of Holy Week!

4pm – A call from a retired clergy friend. He’s in the neighborhood. Can he swing by? Of course…I guide him to the church over the phone.

4:10pm – Turns out my friend has a guest with him – none other than The Rt. Rev. Ann Tottenham --retired Suffragan (Anglican) Bishop of the Diocese of Toronto! I have a picture of her in my office taken ten years ago at Lambeth with the other bishops who are women. We tour the grounds of St. Mike’s together. I’m glad he stopped by with +Ann!

5pm – More prep for Campus Connection. Start to work on my sermon.

7:30pm – Head home.

8:30pm – Gym. Bring a draft my friend’s manuscript Environmental Change-Making with me. Spiritual reading on the elliptical machine! :)

10:30pm – Do some house chores. Water my thirsty plants. Spiritual reading. Pack for LA.

1am – Sleep.

Thursday, March 13th –

9:30am – Walking meditation.

10am – Finish up sermon writing.

11:30am – Gym.

12:45pm – Leave for meetings in LA.

2-5pm – Meet with my clergy support and study group in LA. Our group includes four other women clergy for the Methodist and Episcopal traditions.

5pm – Spend the evening with friends.

Friday, March 14 –

Supposed to be a day off.

9am – Meeting with my tax guy who specializes in clergy taxes over the phone. Thankfully I’m getting a refund.

12pm – Lunch with a priest friend. We end up talking too much about work.

2pm – Meditative beach walk in Santa Monica.

3:30-5pm – Car wash and oil change madness.

5-9:30pm – Spend time with friends.

9:30-11:57pm – Finalize Campus Connection gathering schedule and materials for tomorrow’s meeting. Catch up on email correspondence. Delighted to find an email update from a student who is spending her last semester as a senior in New Zealand!

Saturday, March 15th –

Normally, a day off – note that I will comp it after Easter as I am a believer in, and stickler for 2 days of rest every week (many clergy to not live by, nor subscribe to this idea of a “weekend off” -- nonsense, I say!).

9am – A visit to the $.99 store for some last minute meeting supplies!

10am – 2pm – Campus Connection meeting with students, clergy and mentors at my previous church, St. Mary’s in Koreatown (Los Angeles). Touch base after meeting with clergy friend about the possibility of going to Haïti (!) for a few days in May to assist with a peacemaking class through the Episcopal Peace Fellowship. I’m very interested!!!

3pm – Head back up to SB.

5:15pm – Arrive home. Eat. Head to the gym. Place finishing touches on Palm Sunday sermon before going to bed -- tonight @ a reasonable hour! It’s not been the most balanced week, but a rich one nonetheless…

Sunday, March 16th –

It’s Palm Sunday, the start of Holy Week! Gulp! All glory laud & honor…

Some of you may have discovered a new television show this season called Pushing Daisies. The tone of Pushing Daisies, in my mind, is a rip off of the French movie Amélie (one of my all time favorite films). The premise of the movie, however, is more a la Lazarus.

Pushing Daisies is about a man named Ned, a gifted pie maker, who has special powers – specifically the power to bring people back to life. There are a couple of catches however: When Ned brings someone back to life for more than one minute, something of similar "life value" in the universe dies; and, once he brings a person back to life, he can't touch him/her again or else s/he dies -- permanently. Ned's powers have played out somewhat tragically in his life: his mother died of a brain aneurysm, he revived her but then accidentally gave her a good night kiss and she died again; the woman with whom he is in love, he can't touch because he revived her, and she'll die if he touches her. Ned takes all of this in stride and finds his vocation in both making pies and teaming up with a private investigator to bring murder victims back to life.

The lectionary readings this morning of the dry bones and the raising of Lazarus – like the whimsical series Pushing Daisies – prime us to turn our attention to the cycles of life and death. Next Sunday we celebrate Jesus' entry into Jerusalem and crucifixion. Then we launch into Holy Week – reliving the last supper, the crucifixion, and the empty tomb – until we finally greet the resurrected Jesus on Easter Sunday. This sequence of events calls to mind a radio interview I heard recently with a rabbi who talked about the journey Jewish congregations make during Yom Kippur – or days of atonement. She explained that during these high holidays – when the synagogues fill to the brim – the selected texts read are not the dramatic and forthright stories of the Hebrew Bible you might expect to hear on a day when the whole community actually shows up to temple. Rather, during Yom Kippur obscure texts get read about minor characters in the Bible. It's all a brilliant attempt on the rabbis' part to get people to slowly dial into their own sinful behavior of the past year. And three days later, the congregations are there, sitting with their own sins in a way that perhaps might not have been possible had the text knocked them on the head the first day of service. The Lenten progression of Bible texts follows this same logic, I think. We get a bit of a knock on the head with Ash Wednesday, but then there is some breathing space during our 40 days in the wilderness that allow for some interesting meetings with characters who hopefully teach us as much about our own humanity as we learn of theirs.

The Gospel passage we read from John is the last act of ministry, if you will, of Jesus before the procession into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday. It's a disturbing story on some levels. Lazarus, like Jesus, is young – and his death untimely. It's also disconcerting that Jesus waits a long time – several days – before making his way to his friend. He waits so long, in fact, that according to Jewish tradition, Lazarus' soul would have departed his body and his corpse would have begun to rot. But Jesus finally does arrive to the scene where he meets Mary and Martha. Mary is quick to say that had he been at Lazarus' side, perhaps her brother would not have died. It's then that Jesus notices the weeping sisters and others also crying. And then he begins to weep. We don't know what was in those tears of Jesus'. Were they tears of anger directed to people who did not seem to have much faith in him? Were they tears for what would come to pass in the next several days? Were they tears for the brokenness of the world – or simply tears of exhaustion, frustration and sadness?

There is a beautiful story of a good and faithful rabbi…

"The day of Yom Kippur came, and all day the rabbi had fasted, done penance, and prayed for his people, his small congregation. That night, the holiest night of the Jewish year, they were all gathered in the synagogue praying, asking for forgiveness and mercy from God, blessed be his Name. The rabbi stood with his back to the people, tightly wrapped in his prayer shawl, and prayed. He prayed as fervently and intensely as he could. He remembers that every synagogue around the world gathering the Jews together on this day and all their prayers were ascending to God, the Holy One.

As he prayed he begged God for some sign that his prayer on behalf of his people was heard. As soon as he thought it and prayed it, he was taken aback. Why should the Holy One respond to such a prayer, when there were probably many others, hoping for the same thing? And yet, almost instantaneously, he was given an answer to his prayers. For just a moment her heard the voice of God, clear and ringing out like a bell: "Have Tam offer your prayers to me, and I will graciously accept all of you back into my heart, forgiving all things and showing my mercy upon you." And then just as surely the light, the sense, the sound, was gone. The rabbi stood with his back to the people praying still, and he was alone.

Then he turned toward the people. Instead of praying the prayer of intercessions as the ritual demanded, he called out: "Tam! Tam! Where is Tam?" He know what everyone was thinking – he had been thinking it himself just seconds before. Why Tam? Tam was hardly ever in the synagogue. He was poor, unlettered, and worked so hard that he often missed services. Oh, he was a good hearted enough soul, but he certainly hadn't amounted to much in the community. The rabbi didn't even know exactly what Tam did for a living. The people were stunned, shocked.

And poor Tam, who was in fact in the synagogue on this holy night, was equally stunned. He was paralyzed and could not move. Why did the rabbi call out his name instead of praying? What terrible thing was about to be visited upon him? But others in the synagogue recognized him, and the rabbi gestured to them to carry Tam forward to the front of the synagogue. Tam stood, silent, with head bowed before the rabbi. The rabbi spoke loudly and directly to Tam. "I have been praying for mercy and forgiveness for all of us on this night and I have been clearly told by God, blessed be hi Name, that we all will be forgiven and taken back into the heart of God if you pray for us, if you give your prayer to God on our behalf."

Tam was speechless. How could he pray? He could not even read the service, the prayers in the book. But the rabbi was insistent. God would only take the community back into his heart and give them a year of blessing, grace and mercy if Tam prayed for them. He had to pray for them! Finally, Tam agreed. But he looked at the rabbi and said: "I have to go get my prayers."

What? the rabbi thought. You have to go get your prayers? "Then go." he said.

Tam ran down the aisle, pushing people aside. Everyone was in confusion and disarray. But Tam did not live far, just down a street away from the synagogue's back door. He was back in no time.

Once again there was tumult in the synagogue as Tam returned to the front to stand but the rabbi and pray on behalf of the community. He stood before them all, and in his hands was a large earthen pitcher. He lifted it high, turned his back to the people, and addressed God. "O Holy One, you know I am not good at praying, but I bring you all I have. This pitcher holds my tears. Late at night, even when I am tired, I sit and try to pray to you. And then I think of my poor wife and children and the fact that they have no clean clothes to wear to services and are ashamed to come to the synagogue, and I cry. And then I think of all the hungry ones, the beggars on the steps of the synagogues and in the streets, in the cold and rain, miserable and so alone, and I cry some more. And then, God I think of what we do to each other. I think of all the gossip and hate, all the quarrels and wars, and I think of you crying, God, you looking down on us hurting one another so, and I know that you weep for us always. God, I cry for you and how we must break your heart and sadden you so. Please take my tears, accept my prayers, and take all of us back into your heart once again. Give us a blessing and forgive us in your great mercy and kindness.

And Tam took his pitcher and poured his tears over the floor of the synagogue. There was a long silence, and then the rabbi spoke, haltingly: "God has heard of Tam, and we are forgiven. We are once again the people of God. Let us live this year with grateful hearts."

The people sang, but they left the synagogue quietly. They vowed never to forget Tam's prayer or his pitcher of tears and to make sure there would be less to cry over in the years to come. They looked at Tam and his family differently, and their neighbors too. Some even reconciled with their enemies. But they all went home thinking of the tears of God."

From Lent: The Sunday Readings by Megan McKenna

Out of Jesus' tears comes the raising of Lazarus. Doubt and confusion surrounds him. Yet he stays true to his vocation to be an (unlikely) restorer of life and a kindler of the Spirit. It's interesting to note Lazarus walks out of that tomb, is presumably unbound and never heard from again. Many throughout history have creatively written endings to Lazarus' story. Pushing Daisies is a response in pop culture to the intrigue of this concept of "life after death". Jesus' life after death story, unlike that of Lazerus', offers a glimpse, however limited, into this segment of his life. The overall lack of emphasis on the specifics/details of "life after death" in the text pushes us back to the central themes of our lectionary readings – the work of "restoration of the Spirit." I've often admired the way some devote their entire lives to restoration work – be it of cathedral frescos, wetlands, rare books or ancient ruins. Yet I was struck that today's readings challenge us to see the work and art of restoration not just as the trade of specially trained professionals, prophets or messiahs. Rather, we are asked to play a part in restoring life to our selves, our churches, our communities and our world. And the tears we weep, like those of Jesus' and Tam's, may point to immediate spaces in need of restoration and a new breath of life.

Amen.

The Rev. Nicole Janelle
St. Michael's, Isla Vista
Lent 5 ~ 9 March 2008

May the words of my mouth, and the meditations of our hearts, remain in your heart, O God, our strength, our courage, our freedom. Amen.

Perhaps it’s not the most auspicious way to begin my preaching ministry, but I must start with a confession: for me, there is no other book in the Bible more inspiring and more irritating than the Gospel of John.

Let me start with what inspires.  For an English teacher like me, you can’t find a better book to teach students that stories move us not simply because of what they say what happened, but HOW they do so.  Metaphor, imagery, allegory, to name a few: the Gospel of John is chock full of the devices that writers use to help readers along in ways that they might not even expect.  In no other Gospel do you see so many explicit renderings of Jesus through abstraction and metaphor: Jesus is the Word; the Light of the World; the Good Shepherd; the Resurrection and the Life; the Bread of Life; the Way, the Truth, and the Life.  And of course, in today’s lesson, we have Jesus as the Lamb of God, proclaimed by John the Baptist, someone whom we met last week, preparing us and the world for Jesus’s arrival and, during this season of Epiphany, showing us Jesus’s true calling on earth.  Today’s lesson begins with John’s bold proclamation of who Jesus is, builds its drama with others—the disciples—and culminates (if you read the first part of the second chapter of the Gospel) culminates in the wedding at Cana, where Jesus performs his first “sign” by turning water into wine.  Read slowly, and you’ll notice that the writer is very careful to remind us of the time this drama all unfolds: John proclaims Jesus as the Lamb of God on one day, and by the end of the next day, Jesus has three disciples, two of them named: Andrew and Peter.  The following day (the second day of this narrative) two more decide to follow: Philip and Nathaniel.  And then the next day, Day Three, is the wedding at Cana.

Here’s the English professor emerging again!  John’s proclamation of Jesus as the Lamb of God on Day One which culminates in the wedding feast at Cana on Day Three is what one calls “foreshadowing,” a kind of teaser that serves also to illuminate more powerfully the significance of events later in the story.  And, of course, for John’s writer, this more significant event is the death and resurrection of Jesus.  It’s John’s Gospel, and John’s Gospel only, that has Jesus die before the Passover meal is eaten, not after it as the other Gospels put it, in order to drive the metaphorical point home. Jesus doesn’t just celebrate Passover as an observant Jew: Jesus IS the Passover, he is the Passover Lamb, the Lamb of God.  And what happens to this man who is sacrificed?  He experiences a resurrection, an event as joyful and astounding as experiencing a wedding, when two people miraculously cling themselves to one another.  The Gospel of John is astounding in both its complexity and unity, and for these reasons, I love it.  Here endeth the literature lesson.

On the other hand, there are moments when I can’t stand the Gospel of John.  It’s a book whose rhetoric is so sure of itself, so confident in its conviction of Jesus’s true nature, that it leaves so little for us to wiggle, for those of us still wiggling about our faith, our journey with God.  I am the Way, the Truth and the Life.  No one comes to the Father but through me, Jesus says later.  How many times has this claim to be the way and, by implication, the only Way, actually gotten in the way for those who are curious about what Christianity is all about?  For John’s readers of the 1st and 2nd centuries, these words were meant to assure believers that, as persecuted as they are by imperial Romans and oppositional Jews, they were doing the right thing, following the right course.

But for readers of the 21st century, and for those of us who know something of the centuries previous, these words have not only been exclusive and intolerant, they’ve been down right deadly.  To this day, I remember vividly my conversation with Adam, my sophomore year college roommate, on one otherwise mundane school night.  You might guess by his name that Adam was a Jew, a tremendously energetic and ambitious business student who nonetheless displayed moments of tenderness, especially toward those whom he regarded as friends.  In the late 90s, about a half decade after we all graduated, Adam quit his high-paying corporate job to care for Stephanie, our mutual friend, who was dying of breast cancer.  Stephanie wanted to write a novel before she died, so Adam said to her, “I want to write one too.  Let’s write together.”  So the two of them, Adam and Stephanie, set to work each day and it was this mutual support that allowed Adam and more importantly Stephanie to complete and ultimately publish their respective novels.  Shortly thereafter, Stephanie died with Adam at her side.

One night in college, Adam, in a rather jocular mood, asked me, “So, Jim, you really think that because I’m not a Christian, I’m going to hell?”  To which I quoted the Gospel of John: I am the Way, the Truth and the Life. “Yes, Adam.  I believe you are going to hell.”  Adam’s smile disappeared, his eyes looked at the floor, and I heard a barely audible “OK” as he shuffled down the hallway.  As soon as I said it, I knew that I couldn’t believe it, so for years I didn’t open the Gospel of John because deep in my heart, I knew that this wasn’t the truth that Jesus wanted to bring to the world.  Deep down, I could feel Adam thinking to himself that my saying he’d go to hell was somehow connected to the fact that his people were sent to death camps in central and eastern Europe two generations before.

In John’s Gospel, we don’t even see John the Baptist baptizing, we don’t hear a voice from heaven.  We get the supremely confident statement of Jesus as the Lamb of God.  While I know that this current translation is probably more accurate to the Greek, I’ve always been partial to the diction of the King James version. John says, “Behold the Lamb of God, which takest away the sin of the world.”  To behold something is to regard it as well as to take hold of it, to see as if to be bound by it.  To behold is, in this sense, to be held captive by what one observes, for the imagination to be captured.  Our imagination, our way of viewing the world, is captured, captivated by the arrival of Jesus, John tells us, who takes away the sin of the world.  And notice that it’s not “sins,” but “sin.”  We often interchange the two, in part because our fractal hymn during the Eucharist has us sing, “Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world, have mercy on us.”  But, here, it’s sin.

I used to think of sin usually in its plural form too, a list of do’s and don’ts that I’d tally up for a while before I thought to myself, hmm, better ask God to get rid of them, get me clean again, kind of like the dirty laundry that piles up until it gets so stinky you can’t bear but to spend the day washing everything.  But what is the “sin of the world?”  On your free time, turn to p. 848 of the Prayer Book, and here’s what you’ll find: “Sin is the seeking of our own will instead of the will of God, thus distorting our relationship with God, with other people, and with all creation.”  Sin is not really about what one consumes or sleeps with or does or doesn’t say.  It’s not a checklist of do’s and don’ts.  Sin is about deciding that you and your agenda precede and supercede everyone and everything else, no matter what the cost.  And the damage that this autonomy brings can be devastating, even deadly.  And all too often we in the Church invoke the name of Jesus and of God to assert our own will, our own agenda, which hurts our relationship with other people, with the world, and ultimately with God.  That’s what I did with Adam: I used words originally meant to comfort people as a weapon against him, and in doing so hurt him in ways that I can barely imagine the pain I caused.
    
John’s disciples must have known something about the destructiveness, the pain of this sin that puts us out of sync with God and God’s people, because they immediately follow Jesus after John pronounces Jesus as the Lamb of God.  What drew them so to Jesus?  What calls them to Jesus?  We don’t know for sure, but I suspect that what calls them is what calls us here this morning: in the dark stillness of the night, as we lie awake with the demons of the day finally dissipating from the chaos of our memories, in that stillness we begin to ask those questions that rarely come to us because if they came more often we’d be paralyzed from the terror of the profundity of the question.  What am I called to do?  What am I willing to die for?  What gives meaning and value to my life? The disciples are searching, searching.  They look to John, who points to Jesus.  They approach Jesus, and Jesus turns and their hearts beat even faster when he asks them what they’ve been asking all their lives: What are you looking for?  What do you want in your life?  What are you called to do?  These are the first words that we hear Jesus speak in John’s Gospel.  And how do the disciples respond? How might we respond?  Silence, then maybe a sputter, a stammer, because in those nighttime meditations when we’ve asked ourselves that question, we’ve gotten no response.  So, the disciples do what we would do.  They ask a question in response: Rabbi, where are you staying?

Now, I’m not yet an expert in Greek, but reliable sources tell me that the Greek word for “stay” can also be translated as “dwell” or “remain” or “abide.”  So the disciples are asking Jesus: where does your heart abide?  In what place do you dwell?  Do you know what we’re seeking too?  And do you have an answer for us?

And how does Jesus respond?  He doesn’t give them a list of things to do or don’t do.  He doesn’t offer rules of engagement, nor does he demand a contract or even a covenant to get right with God and God’s people.  He simply offers an invitation: Come and see.  Come and see.

Jesus knows what the prophet Isaiah also knew, that God already knows the question you are asking, always: what are you looking for?  What am I called to do?  And when we turn to God’s will, to the will of God to serve God and God’s people, we are given nothing more and nothing less than an invitation: Come and See.  Stay with me, and find out.  Find out what adventures and challenges are in store for you.  Jesus offers no guarantees, nothing measurable to prove to us once and for all that everything’s going to be OK.  He simply invites us to dwell with him, to remain with him, and see what God can do when we stay there.

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., whose birthday and ministry we celebrate tomorrow, knew something about dwelling, remaining, with Jesus.  At the age of 26, just one year into his first pastorate at Dexter Avenue Baptist Church in Montgomery, Alabama, the bookish King reluctantly accepted his role to lead what would become at the time the greatest nonviolent Black boycott and usher in the great age of the Civil Rights movement.  What was King looking for, what did he seek when he moved from pulpit to the street, when the streets became the foundation of his ministry?  And where did he dwell?  We get a glimpse of where King abided a half decade later, in his famous letter – I might even called it an epistle – which he wrote while staying, while dwelling, in a jail cell in Birmingham, Alabama.  Like St. Paul, King writes to fellow churchmen, eight in fact who had written a statement that called for, among other things, an “appeal for Law and Order and common sense,” and against what they viewed as unnecessary racial friction caused by nonviolent civil disobedience against the laws of segregation and exclusion.  (One of these clergymen was an Episcopal bishop, by the way.)  In his letter of admonishing love, King shows them, and us, where he dwells, where he believes God dwells, and where he thinks the church has sinned: by placing Its will against the will of God that distorts our relationship with God, God’s people, and God’s creation.  Toward the end of the letter, King addresses the church directly:

“But the judgment of God is upon the church as never before. If today's church does not recapture the sacrificial spirit of the early church, it will lose its authenticity, forfeit the loyalty of millions, and be dismissed as an irrelevant social club with no meaning for the twentieth century. Every day I meet young people whose disappointment with the church has turned into outright disgust.

“Perhaps I have once again been too optimistic. Is organized religion too inextricably bound to the status quo to save our nation and the world? Perhaps I must turn my faith to the inner spiritual church, the church within the church, as the true ekklesia and the hope of the world. But again I am thankful to God that some noble souls from the ranks of organized religion have broken loose from the paralyzing chains of conformity and joined us as active partners in the struggle for freedom, They have left their secure congregations and walked the streets of Albany, Georgia, with us. They have gone down the highways of the South on tortuous rides for freedom. Yes, they have gone to jail with us. Some have been dismissed from their churches, have lost the support of their bishops and fellow ministers. But they have acted in the faith that right defeated is stronger than evil triumphant. Their witness has been the spiritual salt that has preserved the true meaning of the gospel in these troubled times. They have carved a tunnel of hope through the dark mountain of disappointment.

“I hope the church as a whole will meet the challenge of this decisive hour.”

In a lonely jail cell, King knew what it meant to dwell with the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world.  King knew that abiding in the heart of God offered no immediate promises of liberation, but that Jesus’ simple invitation to Come and See was enough.  That was what King was asking of his fellow clergymen, to Come and See what God can do, if only we answer honestly to the question that Jesus knows we’re asking, What are you looking for?

Jesus, where are you staying?

In a moment, Fr. Jerry will invite us to re-enact again this exchange, by inviting us around this Table.  It is the table that invites everyone—whoever your are, wherever you find yourself on the journey of faith—to cast away the sin of the world, to realign our lives with God and God’s people.  It is an invitation to everyone—without a list of do’s and don’ts.  It is an invitation even to me, who committed the terrible sin of telling my friend Adam that he wasn’t a child of God, an invitation that is also the hope that someday Adam and I will meet again in the heart of God.  Fr. Jerry will say “Lift up your hearts,” and we respond “We lift them to the Lord.”  What are you seeking?  Rabbi, where are you saying?  It is this Table on which Jesus answers our question with nothing more and nothing less than an invitation to remain with him: Come and See.  No guarantees.  Nothing but the simple act of staying with Jesus and dwelling in the heart of God and God’s people.  Come and see.  Who knows what might happen?  I don’t know, but if you come and see, you might find that it’s in this simple act of staying with God through Jesus that might save your life and change the world.  Amen.

A sermon for St. Paul's, Ventura
Professor Jim Lee, Asian American Studies

I consider myself a “child of the sixties”, by which I mean not that I was born in the 1960s, but that they were my formative years. In 1969 I was 25 years old. During the preceding decade I arrived at some clarity, at least in broad terms, about what I value, how the world works and my place in that world. That’s what I mean by formative years. There are many iconic, shorthand ways to describe the sixties. Some people refer to the music, or certain movies, or the drug scene, or the war in Vietnam or the protests against the war. Certainly all those things were important in my life. But for me, being a “child of the sixties” means, above all, that you can picture, as if it were yesterday, exactly where you were and what you were doing when you heard news of the assassinations of John Kennedy, of Martin Luther King, Jr. and of Robert Kennedy. Each of those days is seared into my mind; they are as clear in my memory as the days my three children were born!

On April 4, 1968, the day Martin Luther King was shot, I was walking in downtown Palo Alto with a friend from work, Gil Johnson. Through the plate glass window of a store, we noticed a TV screen showing footage of the assassination of Dr. King. We didn’t even go inside. We just stood transfixed on the sidewalk, staring at the images. I felt stunned and disbelieving, as I had when Kennedy was shot, but this time more disillusioned. It seemed there was a world conspiracy to get rid of the leaders we admired most.

Martin Luther King, Jr. did not set out to be a civil rights leader. He came from a middle class family in Atlanta, his father and maternal grandfather were respected Baptist preachers, and young Martin was an impressive scholar, going all the way to get a Doctorate of Philosophy in Systematic Theology from Boston University. Before he was tapped to lead the Montgomery bus boycott, King’s main claim to fame was probably his dissertation entitled A Comparison of the Conceptions of God in the Thinking of Paul Tillich and Henry Wieman (definitely not destined to become a NY Times bestseller). In later years, King often remarked that in the mid fifties, when he got married, received his Ph.D. from Boston University and began serving as the pastor of a Baptist church in Montgomery, he had no idea what lay ahead. But, in 1955 when the organizers of the Montgomery bus boycott were looking around for a public spokesman and leader, the new Baptist minister in town seemed liked the perfect choice. Dr. King was eloquent and hadn’t been in town long enough to antagonize the establishment, either black or white.

It occurred to me when reading the Gospel of John for today that the time when the Montgomery organizers identified Martin Luther King, Jr. as their new leader might have been a little like this description of Jesus being identified as the new leader.  Until the moment of Jesus’ baptism, John had been the Jewish preacher that people were flocking to listen to and be baptized by. But after the baptism of Jesus, John comes to understand that his role has been to pave the way for a new and more powerful leader. John tells his followers: “I myself did not know him; but I came baptizing with water for this reason, that he might be revealed to Israel.” And, those who have been following John the Baptist do start following Jesus. “The next day, John again was standing with two of his disciples, and as he watched Jesus walk by, he exclaimed, ‘Look, here is the Lamb of God!’ The two disciples heard him say this, and they followed Jesus.”  And later that day one of the disciples, Andrew, went to look for his brother Simon and told him, “We have found the Messiah”. We have found the anointed one.
    
It’s almost too easy to find these parallels between the life of Jesus and the life of Martin Luther King, Jr. Both men emerged as inspirational leaders of a social movement in their early thirties. Both exercised leadership through a combination of teaching, preaching and direct social action. Both Jesus and Martin Luther King, Jr. used non-violent but purposely-provocative methods to identify and confront injustice. Both stood in solidarity with the poor and disenfranchised. And both Jesus and Martin Luther King were killed before they were forty, increasingly feared by the government and rejected by many in their own movement.

Despite the occasional set back, the early years of Dr. King’s leadership of the civil rights movement were remarkably successful. There was the Montgomery bus boycott, the establishment of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference, the integration of the lunch counters in Atlanta, and of course the historic March on Washington marked by King’s inspirational “I have a dream” speech. These are the parts of the Martin Luther King Jr. story that we like to remember. Over the last forty years, a popular oversimplified version of Martin Luther King’s life has emerged. It’s easy to get the impression that Dr. King led a string of increasingly effective desegregation campaigns in the South, which culminated triumphantly in 1964 with the passage of the Civil Rights Act and the awarding of the Nobel Peace Prize, and that almost everyone was grateful to Dr. King for setting the country on the right path.

But the truth is that Martin Luther King, Jr. experienced at least as much failure and criticism as he did success and admiration during his years of leadership. This was especially true after 1964, when Dr. King moved beyond integration efforts in the South. In preparing this sermon, my most valuable source, especially about the darker moments in King’s life, was Gary Commin’s chapter on the life of Martin Luther King, Jr. in the book, Spiritual People, Radical Lives. I learned, for example, that Dr. King heard the news that he had been awarded the Nobel Peace Prize while hospitalized for exhaustion. In 1965 State troopers stopped the marches on Selma and King lost the support of many of his followers. In fact, things pretty much went downhill for King after 1964. Gary puts it starkly: “The last three years of his life offered no honors or victories, only declining acclaim and developing despair.” White liberals, who had supported King’s fight against segregation in Southern cities, were much less enthusiastic when Dr. King went north to confront racism and poverty in Chicago. And black leaders bitterly argued against King’s public opposition to the Vietnam War, on both strategic and patriotic grounds.

Here’s how Martin Luther King describes the events of 1965 and beyond in his last book, Where Do We Go From Here. Referring to his “I have a dream” speech, he writes:

I remember the first time I saw that dream turn into a nightmare, just a few weeks
after I had talked about it. It was when four beautiful, unoffending, innocent
Negro girls were murdered in a church in Birmingham, Alabama. I watched that
dream turn into a nightmare as I moved through the ghettos of the nation and saw
my black brothers and sisters perishing on a lonely island of poverty in the midst
of a vast ocean of material prosperity, and saw the nation doing nothing to grapple
with the Negroes’ problem of poverty. I saw that dream turn into a nightmare as I
watched my black brothers and sisters in the midst of their anger and
understandable outrage, in the midst of their hurt, in the midst of their
disappointment, turn to misguided riots to try to solve that problem. I saw that
dream turn into a nightmare as I warched the war in Vietnam escalating, and as I
saw so-called military advisers, 16,000 strong, turn into fighting soldiers until
today over 500,000 American boys are fighting on Asian soil.   

So what kept Martin Luther King, Jr. going through this nightmare?

Simply put, it was his relationship with God.

The oversimplified version of Martin Luther King Jr.’s life not only ignores his failures, but also pays surprisingly little attention to his religious faith. Dr. King’s training as a Baptist preacher is regularly cited as the source of his oratorical skills, but the centrality of prayer and King’s relationship with God are almost brushed under the rug. Which is strange, because Dr. King frequently told this story of what he called the most important night in his life. It was in 1956, after he had moved to Montgomery to become pastor of Dexter Avenue Baptist Church. He had recently agreed to help lead the Montgomery bus boycott.  King answered a late night phone call. An unfamiliar voice barked out a death threat and then hung up. With his wife and baby daughter asleep in the next room, King sat down in his kitchen with a cup of coffee that he never drank, overcome by a sense of fear and loneliness. He felt that he didn’t have the courage to go on, much less the strength to lead others. Desperate, King prayed for help, and had an epiphany. Dr. King described what happened next:

At that moment I experienced the presence of the Divine as I had never experienced Him before. It seemed as though I could hear the quiet assurance of an inner voice saying: ‘Stand up for righteousness, stand up for truth, and God will be at your side forever.’ Almost at once my fears began to go.

That inner conviction of God being at his side sustained Martin Luther King, Jr. through all the achievements and disappointments that were to follow.  The words from the prophet Isaiah that we heard this morning could speak as well for Dr. King, especially towards the end. “I have labored in vain, I have spent my strength for nothing and vanity; yet surely my cause is with the Lord, and my reward with my God.”

I am grateful to Nicole for the opportunity to prepare this sermon. It’s given me a chance to become re-inspired by Martin Luther King’s life. For me the inspiration comes not from Dr. King’s early successes in the civil rights movement, but in how faithfully he continued speaking and working against injustice during his last three years of  “declining acclaim and developing despair.” Dr. King held onto a faith that gave him infinite hope, even in the face of finite disappointment. This is the faith I want to share.

There is a phrase of Martin Luther King Jr.’s that my husband quotes frequently, that the arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice. Although the words were familiar to me, I was surprised and profoundly moved when I discovered that they come not from the heady, successful days of the civil rights movement, but from a sermon that Dr. King delivered just four days before he was killed by an assassin’s bullet. On March 31, 1968, from the pulpit of the National Cathedral, Martin Luther King, Jr. declared:  “We shall overcome because the arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.”

Amen.

The Rev. Dr. Joanne Leslie, Deacon
St. Mike's 1.20.2008
 

Throughout Advent we meet various characters who take huge risks in saying “Yes” to God. I’m thinking here of John the Baptist, Juan Diego & Guadalupe (whose feast we celebrate on Dec. 12), Mary (last week we read the Song of Mary – the Magnificat) and (today) Joseph.

But what exactly does this “Yes” mean, might you ask? I’ve been thinking about the “Yes” saying this week in terms of a marked shift in one’s life. The kind of shift that doesn’t happen every day because it’s pretty major. I’m talking about the kind of shift that is on par with choosing where to attend college or graduate school, committing to a relationship, welcoming a child into the world, beginning a new job or losing a job, moving from one place to another, making a career change, entering recovery, burying a loved one or simply seeing the world through a new lens. This “yes” is about acceptance – whether wrapped in terror or wrapped in peace.

Today we focus on Joseph’s “yes” moment. Here he is not yet married and his fiancé is found to miraculously be with child! I’m willing to bet that most men in his situation would have simply run away. But Joseph had the strength to stay by Mary’s side. His first plan was to stay with her so that she would not experience public disgrace -- but to slowly dismiss her, thereby dissolving the engagement that de facto was dissolved given that it appeared Mary had been unfaithful. Then he planned to move onto Plan B. But he receives a message from the angel in his dream that he should not be afraid to wed Mary and welcome the child of God into his life. We often talk about the vulnerability of Mary in this situation – but Joseph too places himself in a vulnerable position. He says “Yes, I will marry this woman who does not carry my child; Yes, I will welcome this child into my life as if it were my own” – and apparently he even postpones sexual relations with her until this child of God is born. Joseph shows the kind of care that all of us are to show to those who are most vulnerable in society. I imagine that Joseph put himself at risk of public ridicule with these decisions. Yet, he said “yes”and his life changed forever.

It is the church community’s role in the world to be a place where people can wrestle with the difficult and momentous decisions of their lives so that they can come to a place of clarity and acceptance and say “yes” in very much the same way Joseph does in today’s Gospel reading.

Now, I don’t know about you, but during this time of year, the “yes” moment or shift that stares me squarely in the face revolves around celebrating the Advent and Christmas seasons in a way that is faithful to God and the Christian tradition. Easier said than done in our culture, because our consumer-crazed society has hijacked Christmas! It’s been ripped from its roots and exploited by big corporations that sell it as a season primarily about materialism. In the midst of the whirlwind, there are some chances to spend quality with friends and family. But these also come with their own pressures, which can often be difficult to deal with.

Recently, I was at a meeting with our neighbor across the way, Rabbi Allison Conyer. She was lamenting about this time of year, sharing with us how difficult it is for her and other Jews who are confronted with vestiges of a Christian holiday at every turn. I nodded in sympathy at her comment. And later on I thought about how for Christians – at least some Christians – it’s also difficult to be surrounded by the symbols of our high holidays, but not the solemnity or authenticity of their true meaning. This is to say that the version of Christmas peddled in the malls is not the Christmas I claim as a Christian.

For many years now, I’ve worked to reclaim this sacred and holy season. This year, the attempt has been easier than in past years. It’s helped, I’ve found, to watch little to no television – not terribly hard to do for me, I admit, when you only have access to one channel if you don’t opt for cable! In the car, I listen mostly to radio in Spanish, public radio or our local UCSB station, which does a great job keeping the Christmas hype down. I managed to spend just a few hours shopping for Christmas this year and am exploring more alternative gift giving options – like donating to such organizations as the Heifer Project, Episcopal Relief & Development or Freedom from Hunger in honor of a loved one. There are so many needs in the world I reason, and so why not give the gift of life along with, say, a meaningful book, magazine subscription or homemade treat, rather than just buying those big ticket item?

Last week I found myself listening to a conversation on Speaking of Faith about money and moral balance, especially during the holiday season. Speaking of Faith is a wonderful radio program about spirituality and faith in America. You can listen to all past programming through the internet – I commend it to you. In fact, one church I know has used the radio program to guide small group conversation – this is something we could think about doing in our student groups, Women’s Spirituality Group or other group at church…This conversation about money and moral balance centered precisely on the dilemmas we Christians face at Christmas. The sales are starting, the stores are open late, and many of us are gearing up to spend more money than we actually have in a holiday season with deep roots in religion. Host Krista Tippet explores with Nathan Dugan, a financial educator and a Lutheran, the turmoil many of us experience with money in our day-to-day lives — and how we might work towards a moral and practical balance for ourselves and the next generation. Nathan opens the conversation by saying that he believes that the Church has been complicit getting sucked into the whole persuasive argument about the role of consumerism in our culture. He doesn’t think that the Church has understood the impact of what that means for peoples’ souls and what it robs from us in terms of our personal sense of being. A strong statement. But Nathan finds his vocation in teaching people to how to establish a counter rhythm to excess – he empowers people to cut through excess and discover simplicity.

Advent is a great time to do some of the work Nathan talks about. We are familiar with the season of Lent being one characterized by discipline, simplicity and inward focus. But Advent too is considered a penitential season. It’s an invitation – with its long, dark nights – to slow down, reflect, pray, meditate, make amends and say “yes” to God in a new way. Advent is all about preparing for something new. We are preparing to say yes to life. Jesus was all about saying “yes” to life and no the forces of oppression, whether they be physical, psychic, emotional spiritual, material or all of the above.

This Advent, I’ve had the pleasure to serve as one of the judges for the “What’s Sacred” photography contest held to commemorate the University Religious Center’s 50^th anniversary. In the months leading up to Advent students and residents from across Santa Barbara County have been invited to submit a snapshot which expresses their understanding sacredness. Last week, I was handed a CD with 85 photo entries on it of photos ranging from beautiful beach sunsets to a close up of a cow’s udder! Today I must make submit the 30 photos that I think should make the first cut. It’s been a wonderful Advent exercise to enter these photographs to contemplate the varied expression sacred within the frame. I feel honored to step into these photographers’ sacred space. I’ve also been asked by the URC to write a short essay on the topic sacredness. My wrestling with that exercise has been one meaningful way I have said “yes” to the holiness of this season. I find that I have to dig deeply to define sacredness during this season. It lives beyond all the cute-sy holiday cheer that greets me at every turn.

One meaningful way some churches have begun the reclaim Advent and Christmas is through the celebration “Blue Christmas.” Typically held on the night of the Winter Solstice – the longest night of the year, the Blue Christmas gathering honors the reality that for many people, Christmas time is an emotionally difficult one. Some people may be grieving the loss of a loved one, others may not have the option to be with their families, or their families may be so broken that it is easier to celebrate Christmas away from the home. One priest I know talks about the Blue Christmas service at her church as one of the most pastoral things she does during the year. Her congregation keeps the service simple – because grief and pain during this season is complex. They hang blue ornaments on the evergreen in the sanctuary, the first decorations on the tree that is bare for Advent. The next day the rest of the congregation sees those ornaments as they decorate for Christmas, having prayed during the Prayers of the People for the losses the ornaments represent. But not everyone who comes to a Blue Christmas service is trying to cope with the death of a loved one. She’s encountered people who are grieving over the loss of a job, the loss of their health or vitality, the loss of a dear pet, their change to empty nesters, or their addictive behaviors either past or present and the pain they have caused others. And, sometimes grief can be too raw to bring to such a service. People who do not come to St. Paul's Blue Christmas service are often comforted to know that a religious community is recognizing the difficulties some people face at the holidays and will pray for them. The service sends a really powerful message to those whose grief is very deep and is very personal even though the intimacy of the service is not something that every grieving person is ready to experience. (E. Kaeton and ENS/ Schjonberg)

With Advent coming to an end and Christmas just around the corner let’s keep on with the hard work of claiming our sacred story for what it is. We’ve had a wonderful Advent here at St. Mike’s – a festive community celebration of Advent Lessons & Carols, a joyful crowd at our Sunday morning Advent liturgies, we’ve pledged our time/talent/treasure to St. Mike’s this season and we’ve collected and continue to collect a donation for the Heifer Project (over $400!). We’ve also completed a year of ministry together. A year marked by many meaningful occasions and a warm sense of spirit! And so today, be sure to savor the last day of Advent and begin to prepare yourselves for a rich 12 days of Christmas. A new life is taking shape among us. Let us take our cue from Joseph, whose “yes” to God led him into a new and wonderful world.

A blessed Advent and holy Christmas season to you all! Nicole+

A few years ago, while I was in New York attending a meeting, I had the pleasure of attending a church service in which Tracey Lind, Dean of the Cathedral in Cleveland, preached. Tracey has recently published a book – fancy and beautiful book called “Interrupted by God: Glimpses from the Edge”. I refer her book as “fancy” and “beautiful” because it’s a collection of her own black and white photographs and stories about her years doing urban ministry. It’s the kind of book that is substantive AND appropriate for coffee table. In this book and in her sermon that night, Tracey talked about her life of faith as a series of interruptions by God. She introduced us to people in her life that appeared out of the blue and altered the course of journey. She told us about unexpected moments of holiness where she experienced the overpowering love of God as she struggled on a particular fringe. Tracey admitted that sometimes these interruptions have been welcomed. Mostly though, she considered them to be a nuisance—at least initially…Interruptions after all have the habit of “breaking into the normal state of affairs….but, Christ often happens in the interruptions”.

Jesus says to Zacchaeus, “Hurry and come down from that tree; for I must stay at your house today.”  Talk about an interruption form the ordinary realm of possibility. I want you to think for a moment about a modern day public figure you associate with serious corruption. Then imagine God saying to that person: “let’s spend some time together at your house”. This is in essence what plays out in the Gospel text. Zacchaeus was a tax collector – a figure associated with corruption and well despised by the larger community. So I imagine that more than just a grumble went through the crowd when Jesus informed everyone that he would be spending time with Zachaeus at this sinner’s home. Much to everyone’s surprise, Zachaeus responds to Jesus’ pronouncement with a proclamation of repentance and generosity. “Lord” he says, “half of my possessions I will give to the poor and if I have defrauded anyone or anything, I will pay back four times as much.” So picture your modern day corrupt figure again and imagine that person voluntarily giving away his or her power and wealth and admitting wrongdoing. In today’s culture where the name of the game in the public sphere is never admitting defeat or wrongdoing, Zachaeus’ actions—in contrast--are humbling and bold.

Fortunately for us, our God is one who delights in interruptions that hold within them the gift of “another chance”. In her book, Tracey Lind tells the story of growing up in a Jewish and Christian household and being haunted by an exchange she had as a child with one of her Sunday School Rabbis. One day, after her Hebrew School had finished watching a documentary on the Holocaust, the Rabbi turned to Tracey and said “Tracey, you don’t look Jewish. You could have passed. What would you have done? Would you have died for your faith or denied it?!” In that moment Tracey didn’t have an answer. She didn’t know what it meant to pass. She didn’t know what it meant to die for one’s faith. She didn’t really know what faith was. She only new that she was angry embarrassed, confused and alone. So she just started back at him and finally said, “I don’t know.” Tracey has wrestled with that accusatory statement and probing question all the days of her life. It has permeated her dreams, it has kept her awake, it has stood with her in the pulpit and it has influenced every major life decision she has made. It was as an adult that Tracey was able to find some sort of resolution to THE QUESTION of her life. Several years ago, the adult Tracey, now priest who is also a lesbian woman, watched a gay colleague in her diocese stand trial in a landmark Church case for being a priest public about his committed relationship with another man. The pain of that process propelled her to speak aloud from the ten-foot-high pulpit of her church the truth of her life. In her sermon she said: “And now, to answer your question, God: No, I will not pass! Yes, I am ready and willing to claim who I am and to live and die for my faith!” The people of her congregation responded with a thunderous applause and a loud “Amen!” Today, Tracey continues to live out this ethic by having put herself forward as a candidate for the next Bishop of Chicago.

Zachaeus, a man short in stature in so many ways, dared to interrupt Jesus’ journey to Jerusalem. First he climbed a tree to flag him down and then he made a public statement of repentance. We don’t know what motivated Zachaeus in the first place to alter the trajectory of his life. But I’m willing to bet that an interruption from God caused him to climb that tree and then accept Jesus as both houseguest and Savior. In doing so, he became one of the saved sought out from the lost. Zacchaeus’ story is a dramatic one. The passage from Isaiah, however, is an example of an even harsh interruption from God, the hardest kind of interruption there is. Addressed to those whose hands are “full of blood” the instructions are terse: clean up, remove the evil and learn to do good or else….

The interruptions, however scary or delightful they may be, are spaces where we can connect most deeply with God and with humanity. Holidays aka Holy Days often serve this function on the collective level. This week alone we face a barrage of important and sacred days -- All Hallows’ Eve, All Saints’ and All Souls and this coming week, Election Day. All Hallows’ Eve, was originally observed by the ancient Celts as the day to celebrate the onset of Fall and the beginning of their New Year. It was also a festival of the dead, a time to remember those who had passed and a time when witches, goblins and demons could walk the earth. Lanterns made out of gourds were left along paths to guide the way home for ancestors while others were carved with scary faces and carried or placed on porches to ward off the demons and witches. These lantern gourds are now the fancy and fun carved jack-o-lanterns we see today.

All Saints’ and All Souls are about celebrating the lives of the Saints past present and future. In Mexican culture the Day of the Dead or Dia de los Muertos is an important version of this Holy Day. In most Mexican localities November 1 is set aside for remembrance of deceased infants and children, often referred to as angelitos (little angels). Those who have died as adults are honored November 2. From mid-October through the first week of November, markets and shops all over Mexico are replete with the special accouterments for the Dia de Muertos (Day of the Dead) including candles and votive lights, fresh seasonal flowers and a special bread of the dead. All of these goods are destined for the buyer's ofrenda de muertos or offering to the dead. At home members of the family might use the purchases to elaborate an altar in honor of deceased relatives. The spirits of the dead are expected to pay a holiday visit home and should be provided with an enticing repast and adequate sustenance for the journey. Meanwhile, at the family burial plot in the local cemetery, relatives spruce up each gravesite. The graves are then decorated according to local custom. On November 2 family members gather at the cemetery for gravesite reunions more festive than somber. Some bring along picnic baskets, bottles of tequila for toasting the departed or even a mariachi band to lead a heartfelt sing-along.

While the interruption of death is a topic largely avoided in North American culture, the Mexican Day of the Dead is meant not to be a morbid occasion, but rather a festive time. You may have been interrupted by such a makeshift altar recently.

The last planned interruption of this mini season will be Election Day. Elections, while not religious holidays, carry perhaps just as much moral weight as any Christian holy day. Every year, in the first week of November, we are asked to put our faith in action as we dig into our conscious and decided how we want our local, state and national governments to involved with the global human family. As people of faith, we are asked to seek justice in the world. In electing new leaders, this means making sure that the candidates or the propositions we endorse—as Isaiah puts it—rescue the oppressed, defend the orphan and plead for the widow, so to speak.

Tracey Lind writes: “Christ happens in the interruptions. Though I don’t always welcome them in the moment, I see interruptions as divine grace waiting to be recognized and received. In fact, I believe that the Risen Christ is always standing in the shadows of life, and every now and again, more often than not, comes out and is made known to us through some person, action, or event, an interruption into the ordinary realm of possibility. We never know when Christ is going to move from the shadows to the center stage. It just happens, and when it does, the normalcy and complacency of our lives is interrupted.” Jesus welcomed the interruptions. Let us do the same as we “run without stumbling” in our journey as fools for Christ.

Amen.

Year C, 22 Pentecost/Proper 26

Several years ago, my friend Ranjit Mathews spoke at the Presiding Bishop’s Forum on Global Reconciliation, held during the Episcopal Church’s General Convention in Minneapolis. Part of Ranjit’s talk included a personal conversion or transformation story of sorts, which I share with you today:

In light of September 11th, and in the light of globalization, [he writes] we need to create a new paradigm, maybe a Christian paradigm of tolerance. I feel this word reconciliation very deeply. For it was because of the reconciling love of Christ that I became a Christian. My family and I were traveling in India, now nearly four years ago and we were in the state of Karnataka. I was 20 and had recently completed my sophomore year at school. But within that, the form of Christian worship that I was a part of had a lot to do with fundamentalism. That means there were a lot of regulations put on me, such as I couldn’t listen to hip--hop because it wasn’t Christian music, or I couldn’t hang out with a certain group of friends because they weren’t Christian. I found this to be very problematic for it was not allowing me to be me. I felt like this wasn’t what it meant to be a Christian for it was putting me in a box.
 
Then my family and I went to India, and we stopped one day in the city of Mysore in the state of Karnataka. My family and I went to a cathedral, and as we were leaving it, at the top of the stairs were two leper girls. They had no legs and were rolling around on makeshift skateboards. One of them came to me, and we both stared into each other’s eyes, and then she took her hand, touched my foot and then brought it to her mouth. I had been reconciled very distinctly. I had come to know that Christ simply asks that we come as we are, and that we love with revolutionary fervor.

[St. Paul, in Ephesians, talks about the "new being," and it was at this point that I had believe I had become one — and isn’t that what we proclaim as Christians, that we are new beings. We are new creations.]

Ranjit’s story is the modern day story of Ruth, Naomi, Jesus and the Samaritan. He fleshes out what is a bit buried in today’s lectionary text—this idea of tolerance in its most welcoming form, being in the world as we are and loving with revolutionary fervor. The subtext of the Ruth and Jesus story is one of breaking societal rules and convention so that the world will open up a bit to be a more just, humane and happy place.

Ruth and Naomi’s story is the tale of two women, one young and one old, both husbandless, childless and vulnerable to the systems operating in the world around them. In a society that defined a woman’s worth by her marital status and offspring, Ruth, Orpah and Naomi had nothing to stand on. Living in Moab, it was even worse for Naomi who was husbandless and found herself a complete outsider in her late husband’s community. When the breaking point came and Ruth, Orpah and Naomi needed to make a decision and act in order to survive, each woman chose a path based on her needs. Orpah chose to follow a promising route—that of sticking around in her own land so to maximize the chances of finding a mate and with that a stable life. Naomi, the oldest of the three women, decided that she needed to return to her land and people. Ruth made the riskiest decision of all by braving the unknown and opting to follow Naomi to her homeland. In choosing to leave Moab, Ruth elected the status of outsider for herself when it would have been much easier to meet a fellow Moabite and start a family of her own in Moab. In Jewish Bethlehem, Ruth would have been forever marginalized by race and religion. But instead of clinging to security and what was known to her, she clung to the idea of a new life with Ruth. It’s what I consider revolutionary love on the scale of laying one’s life down for another. And so, the pair went off to Bethlehem, traveling with confidence in themselves and what they had to offer to one another and the world, knowing that God is with them on the journey.

To the women and men who through the ages continue to identify with Ruth and Naomi’s situation, their story is an inspiration. What woman in this generation has not had to face the possibility of breaking in a new path and the complexities and struggle that come from venturing out on that uncharted territory as we navigate the demands of past, present and future. Struggling to find themselves, Ruth and Naomi set off on a journey that brings them transformation, that process of coming to wholeness, growing into the skin of creation in a way that we become more than we ever thought we could become.

We can think of the encounter between Jesus and the Samaritan in the same light. Here is another story that puts front and center the issue of marginalization and lays out the politics of who is both in and out. Jesus, walking toward Jerusalem, is negotiating a zone of margin—the region between Samaria and Galilee. In this space, he encounters a group of outcast people—lepers—both Jewish and Samaritan who ask to be healed. We know that lepers kept distant from non-lepers, formed colonies and often positioned themselves at traffic ways in order to make appeals for charity. Jesus is unfazed by his interaction with this group. He sends them to their priests to receive healing. Yet, it’s the outcast of the outcast--the Samaritan leper--that returns to Jesus in order to share his profound gratitude. Thus, only the outsider earns the full blessing of Jesus’ ministry. This encounter is typical of the Gospel of Luke, which likes to highlights the plight of the marginalized. The fact that only the outsider is stunned into a public decry of thankfulness is a metaphor for the disintegration of Israel’s choseness into blindness and complacency.

The construction of non-negotiable boundaries in the form of constraining societal rules and regulations is a peculiar and particularly human thing. The orchestrators of such binding rules are driven by their fear of a loss of control – of what chaos might ensue if such rules were not in place. Yet the stories of redemption we hear about over and over again in the Bible are tales of intermixing on the margins—these stories embody the deconstruction and destruction of such rules, regulations and hurtful social conventions. Over and over again we read of one mainstream group finding its redemption through a marginalized group or of one marginalized group being redeemed by another marginalized community. For Ranjit it was the moment he received a kiss from the leper woman—a kiss of peace which has set him on fire to do the most incredible work in the world. Ruth’s catalytic point came when she set off to a far away place together with the woman she loved, trusting that the difficulties and joys would change her life and the lives of others in a powerful way. The relationships like the one between Jesus and the Samaritan leper dissolved the rules of out-castness so that as we read in today’s Psalm: “God takes up the weak out of the dust and lifts up the poor from the ashes, setting them with the princes, the princes of his people.”

I often find myself in a fury, studying these biblical texts knowing full well that in 2000 years of history, these lessons—these desires of God are far from heard and internalized, let alone realized. In Southern California, with issues that stare us in the face as we go about our daily lives, it’s quite easy to know this all too well. There are too many issues here we could lift up as examples. How many times have I found myself zigzagging Los Angeles (or even Santa Barbara County) before finally realizing how spooked I was driving through palatial to impoverished and back through palatial and impoverished as I traveled the same street across town. This disequilibrium is the pattern of any American urban layout. It’s also the sort of segregation that two millennia ago Jesus worked to dispel.  So what does it mean, when formal institutions and informal groups of people reinforce the politics of who is in and who is out? What does it mean when self professed Christians and the institution of the Church create a culture where heterogeneity and plurality are not respected? The realities we read about in the Bible are so intimately human that they travel through time. We’re able to understand the power struggles of Jesus’ time because they continue to be played out before our very eyes today. Conversely, we are also able to glean from these stories the key to redemption. Just as the world is made wrong through people, it is also made right through people. And it’s made right in a very big way by those people hanging out on the margins, those people trekking between the margin and the center and those people choosing to leave the comfort of their margin to intermix on a new margin. You can’t be a person of faith, a new being or simply one who loves with revolutionary fervor all alone. Even the most secluded, out-in-the-cave hermit is supported by a community that makes life possible. God comes to us through one another, sometimes as one another. This is why we can’t afford to go it alone or manipulate who will be included and who will be excluded. Just as all words are defined in relation to other words, all selves are defined in relation to other selves. Truth or the Kingdom of God, then, is inscribed in larger and larger contexts. When people like Ruth, the leper-Girl, Naomi, Ranjit, the Samaritan, Jesus and countless others encounter that larger context, something shifts. It’s in this work that the multiplicity of God’s love bubbles forth into a new corner of the Kingdom. And, only multiplicity of relation—this form of relationship and coalition building between margin and center and margin and margin—only this form of relationship building yields new flavors and experiences of God’s love.

Amen.
 
Year C, Pentecost 19/Proper 23