For the communities of Dignity/NoVA at Emmanuel Church-on-the-Hill in Arlington, VA and Dignity/Washington at St. Margaret’s Episcopal Church, Washington, DC.

Scripture Readings

Earlier this week, as I was searching through iTunes for various podcasts and other such things that I could download to my new iPod, I came across a lecture by Sir Jonathan Sacks.  Lord Sacks is the Chief Rabbi of the United Kingdom, and he was giving a lecture at MIT (Massachusetts Institute of Technology) on the topic of a book he wrote a while back entitled, “The Dignity of Difference.” I haven’t yet had a chance to read this book – though I hope to in the near future – but the book’s subtitle is “How to avoid the clash of civilizations,” and its thesis, as I understand it, is to offer insights into how to deal with the very real and unique conflicts of the 21st century.  I mention this now because some of what I’m going to say comes from Rabbi Sacks and, coincidentally, is very relevant to the Scriptures we have before us this evening.
 
There is, I think, a tension that is experienced by all of us who claim that through our beliefs and expressions of religious faith we have some connection with the Truth, with the Divine, with God.  That tension can potentially be experienced by all people of faith – especially by those of us who come from the monotheistic traditions of the west and who believe in One Universal God who is the God of all that is, the God of all creation. This tension, sadly, is one that isn’t always expressed or resolved in a very pretty way.  And the tension is simply this:  If – on the one hand – we as a people of faith believe in the One God and in the tradition that is ours, the tradition that leads us to love and serve and worship and come to know God in THIS way — and they who are “out there” – on the other hand – they who are not part of us and yet who also claim to know God in ways that are markedly different from ours, and perhaps even hold particular beliefs that are not only different but even contrary to ours – how can we both be right? If God is universal and One – shouldn’t the ways of knowing and serving God also be universal and One?

In today’s world, you don’t have to look very far to see what I was referring to when I said that this tension isn’t always expressed in a pretty way.  We live in a world where conflict and discord seem to be more the rule rather than the exception; and whil hopefully that’s less true in our personal lives that it is on the world stage, it may be true there, as well.  Whether we look at our own political battles here in the US – battles that seem to be becoming more strident every day – or if we look around the world and see the conflicts between powers great and small – isn’t it the case that all parties to such conflicts, regardless of what they are, are in some way claiming, “We have the Truth”? Aren’t they claiming, “We are right, and you are wrong”?
  
It struck me as I was reading the scriptures for today how flawed that way of living in the world can be.  Let me read to you again a line from today’s 2nd reading from the Book of Revelation:  “I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, ‘Behold, God’s dwelling is with the human race. He will dwell with them and they will be his people and God himself will always be with them as their God.”

Notice that the author of this very Christian text does not say, “God’s dwelling is with the followers of Jesus.”  The author does not say, “God’s dwelling is with the Catholics … or the Protestants … or the Evangelicals … or even the Christians.” The author doesn’t say, “God’s dwelling is with the Jews … or the Muslims … or the Buddhists … or the atheists.”  The text does not say, “God’s dwelling is with the Democrats … or the Republicans … or the young … or the elderly … with the able-bodied or the physically-challenged.”  It doesn’t say, “God’s dwelling is with the straight people … or the gay people … or those who form families ‘this way’ or ‘that way.’”  The text is quite clear, especially with its more accurate translation of the Greek word, anthropon, translating it into English not as “men” (as was the case in some older translations), but as the more accurate “human race” or “humanity.”  God’s dwelling is with the human race; it is with all humanity that God dwells.  For those in our world who tend to see “the other” only by the labels that set them apart from us, that’s an essential insight for us to remember. God dwells with “them” as much an as completely as God dwells with “them.”

That being said, what then, does it matter whether we are Christians or not? If being a good Christian leads ultimately to the same divine dwelling as does being a good Muslim, or a good Jew or a good American or a good Iranian … what difference does it make?  In the end, when the former earth has passed away and God’s reign of a new heaven and new earth is upon us, such distinctions might mean very little.  But in the meantime, you and I must live our lives not in the general, in the abstract … but we must live our lives in the concrete, the flesh-and-blood of the here-and-now. We must live our lives marked by the very real differences that exist among and between us.

In his lecture, Rabbi Sacks tells a story of when he was a young man, considering the possibility of becoming a rabbi.  He feared, however, that if he became more religious, more immersed in the faith and history and traditions of Judaism, that he might begin to lose interest in or even respect for things non-Jewish.  In sharing this fear with an old Rabbi, he was told this parable: 

“Imagine 2 people whose lives are spent carrying stones.  That’s what they do, they carry bags of stones. One spends his life carrying what he sees as just rocks and rubbish, and the other carries diamonds. Now, imagine if you give each a sack of emeralds. The person who spends his life carrying rocks thinks, ‘Ah  … here’s just another heavy sack to ‘schlep,’ another burdensome weight to carry.’ But the one who spends his life carrying diamonds knows that these emeralds are stones of great value. And even though they aren’t diamonds, they’re still precious.  And so it is with us.  If your religion is for you just a heavy weight, a burdensome bag of rocks, a dead weight which you experience as a simply a strain on your back and in which you see no beauty at all, then not only will you not value your own religion, you won’t be able to value the religion of others.  But if you know your religion is beautiful and precious … if your religion and your faith are for you a beautiful diamond … then when you see an emerald, you may realize that it’s not your kind of stone, but you will also realize that on its own it is beautiful and precious.  The more we value and appreciate the real beauty of the faith which is ours, the better we can see and value the beauty in the faith lives of others.”

One of the diamonds for us as Christians is that very simple commandment of Jesus that we love one another. This is what we hear Jesus say today in our reading from John’s Gospel, which comes as part of John’s narrative when Jesus celebrated the Passover with his disciples before his own passion and death.  You will recall that instead of telling his readers about the meal part of that event, John tells his readers about how Jesus washed the feet of his disciples. That action is followed by Jesus’ explanation of what “washing feet” really means and how he gives them his commandment that we are to love others as he has loved us.

A couple weeks ago we read that passage from later on in John’s gospel, one of the post-resurrection encounters that the disciples have with Jesus – in which Jesus meets the disciples on the side of the lake, tells them what to do in order to haul in a great catch of fish, and then fixes breakfast for them and shares a meal. Recalling then the three times that Peter had “denied” Jesus just days before, Jesus asks Peter three times, “Peter, do you love me.”  You may recall that in speaking about that passage, Fr. Bob mentioned that the Gospel writer actually uses two different words which, in the Greek of the original text, mean “to love.”  Agape is that self-less, altruistic love that God has for God’s people.  It is this kind of love that Jesus speaks of in today’s gospel. That’s the word Jesus uses here, agape. Jesus’ great commandment to love one another is a commandment to love as he loved.

Let us pray that we may, as followers of Jesus in this place, in this time, in this day and age that is ours, that we may have the eyes of faith to see the beauty that is the diamond we have been given, and that following the example of Jesus, we may never fail to wash the feet of our brothers and sisters, giving ourselves in loving service to all humankind.

For the communities of Dignity/NoVA at Emmanuel Church-on-the-Hill in Arlington, VA and Dignity/Washington at St. Margaret’s Episcopal Church, Washington, DC.

Readings

• Have you ever had an experience in which you sensed deeply the Presence of God?
• Have you ever found yourself in a situation in which you just knew – in a way that you couldn’t put in to words – that you were in the presence of something truly Good, truly Holy, truly Divine?
• Have you ever been caught off guard by something quite extra-ordinary in the midst of the very ordinary, something that caused you to stop what you were doing and really, really pay attention?

That’s the kind of experience that Moses had as told in the first reading we listened to from Exodus.  Moses was busy about his daily work, simply doing his job of tending the sheep of his father-in-law’s flock. And in this midst of this … in the midst of doing something that probably had become quite ordinary and mundane … something very unusual happens. Moses sees this burning bush – a bush on fire yet not consumed.  This “burning bush” experience proved to be a turning point, a decisive moment in his life that helped him understand his true purpose in life, being called by God to be the one to lead the Israelites out of slavery and – eventually – toward freedom and dthe Promised Land.

Such “burning bush” experiences are not infrequent in Sacred Scripture, nor are they infrequent in the lives of holy women and men throughout history, women and men who do great things because of what they understand God to be asking of them.

• For Mary of Nazareth, her experience of the angel-messenger lead her to say “yes” to something she didn’t fully understand, but which she knew was from God.
• For her husband Joseph, his dream experience lead him to abandon his own plans of quietly putting Mary out and instead choosing to cooperate in God’s plan for his life, a plan which was at odds with what he saw as his future.

In more recent times ….

• The self-described unbeliever, Thomas Merton, found himself drawn to a Catholic liturgy in a New York City church that changed his life and set him down an unpaved road of conversion, faith, and mystic spirituality, ultimately becoming one of the most influential Catholic writers of the last century.
• For Teresa of Calcutta, her “call within a call” came on a train ride on the way to annual retreat when she was still a Sister of Loreto, a call she would describe as Jesus’ own plea to “satisfy his thirst” by serving the poorest of the poor.

These are all examples of moving and dramatic “burning bush” experiences.  They are identified in the lives of those who lived them as singular turning points, events that had the power to change the course of their lives and – in some cases – the course of history.

Perhaps you answered “yes” to one or more of those questions that I mentioned at the beginning. Perhaps you, too, have had a “burning bush” experience – a moment of great epiphany, an “Aha!” moment in which you knew that what was to follow in your life would be very different from what had come before.

Whether we have had such an experience or not, such moments of great conversion or personal drama are not the only way in which the Divine is known. In fact, it’s probably more often the case that God – self-identified to Moses as “the one who causes to be whatever comes into existence” – is present in the simple, the ordinary, and every-day.

Earlier this week, a colleague and I were both working a little late, after everyone else in our part of the office had gone home. She knows I’m Catholic and knows my background, and so she asked me, “Do you do Lent?”  This is a woman who describes herself as “not a very good Jew,” and so she was a little apologetic about her phrasing, not knowing if that was the right way to ask the question. She asked because she had been speaking earlier in the day with another Catholic colleague, and she also has a number of good friends and even some relatives who are practicing Catholics, and she hears them speak of “giving something up for Lent.”  She also wanted to know if Lent for Catholics was like Yom Kippur for Jews, with its focus on atoning for the things you’re sorry for.  I first explained that it would be more accurate to speak of “observing” Lent rather than “doing” Lent, and then went on to say how our observance of Lent is not quite like Yom Kippur, most notably because of our fundamental Christian belief that the work of “atonement” was accomplished once and for all by Jesus with his full and complete gift of self through his death on the Cross.

Now, I certainly wouldn’t describe this little chat as a “burning bush” experience – no great epiphany that is leading me to major life changes. But it was, I think, an experience of the Presence of God. That little interaction caused me to stop – even for just a few moments – and enter a world that I can so often be blind to.

We all have busy lives, filled with responsibilities at work and at home; lives filled with endless voicemails and emails and text messages. We are constantly on the go, constantly moving from one thing to the next.
Lent invites us to slow things down – to put our cell phones on “silent” [or better yet, turn them off!]; to unplug our iPod earphones and experience the world – which, almost by definition, is an experience of God – in new and different ways.  It’s a time for us to rekindle a ‘burning bush’ experience we ourselves may have had in our past; or it’s a time to allow the experiences of others to ignite our minds and hearts to see the revelation of God in our midst.  It is a time to allow our Lenten practices of meatless Fridays and occasional fasting to be “planned opportunities” – providing the time and the space and the freedom in which we may become just that much more attuned to the possibility of an unplanned encounter with God. 

For the communities of Dignity/NoVA at Emmanuel Church-on-the-Hill in Arlington, VA and Dignity/Washington at St. Margaret’s Episcopal Church, Washington, DC.

I once read that every theological statement that is of value or truly meaningful always has a degree of paradox about it. Statements about God and the Divine that are worth anything at all always are a bit mysterious, and they cause us to stop for moment, to ask “how can that be?” or “what does that mean?” They cause us to pause and to scratch our heads!

I kept coming back to this idea in thinking about what we celebrate today – the feast of the Baptism of the Lord. This is an event in the life of Jesus which is re-told in all four Gospels, though each presentation is somewhat different. This year, as we read from the Gospel of Luke, we have Luke’s account in this third Chapter which starts off with John, the Baptizer, preaching what Luke calls “a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.” People are coming out to John and he is speaking very strong words about how they must mend their ways. And – lest anyone think that John is talking merely about something spiritual, merely about a change of heart – he speaks very explicitly about how they must “produce good fruits as evidence of their repentance.” The repentance that John preaches is very socially oriented, very justice oriented, and one that must bear itself out in concrete action.

This is the scene that Luke sets before the passage we just heard. Jesus – whom Luke says was about thirty years old – comes forward and receives this baptism of repentance with all the other people. Luke is the only Gospel writer who says that, after the baptism, Jesus was at prayer. Only then do we have the big “Hollywood moment” with the dramatic scene with the dove-like Holy Spirit and the divine declaration, “You are my beloved Son, with you I am well pleased.” Then – as if this voice from heaven were not enough to convince that Jesus is indeed the Son of God – Luke provides something that the editors of the Lectionary didn’t include: a lengthy list of Jesus’ paternal lineage going back for 76 generations (“…was the son, as was thought, of Joseph, the son of Heli, the son of Matthat, the son of Levi,…) all the way back to “… Seth, the son of Adam, the son of God.”

Now, we may ask ourselves, “Did Jesus need to receive this baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins, since he was ‘the sinless one’; and if he didn’t need to, then why did he?” It’s a good question, as is the question, “what does Baptism mean for us?”

When I was in active parish ministry in a large parish north of Boston, we celebrated baptism not only through a very active and large RCIA program – the process by which un-baptized adults are catechized and welcomed into the sacramental life of the Church – but we also celebrated every month a very large number of infant baptisms. These celebrations would sometimes have eight, ten, even fifteen children being brought by their parents and families for baptism. Our practice was that the priest who was presiding that month would also conduct the catechetical sessions for the parents and godparents. Whenever I conducted these sessions, I would usually ask the assembled group – folks usually in their twenties or early thirties, some of whom hadn’t been inside a Church since the day of their Confirmation or their Wedding – what Baptism meant to them. Invariably some would say it meant being “cleansed of original sin.” And while this is not incorrect, the fundamental meaning of Baptism is much more than this.

For us as Christians – the fundamental and central meaning of Baptism goes beyond the meaning of John’s baptism, mere forgiveness of sins. At its core, Christian Baptism is a sharing in the death and resurrection of Jesus. To be baptized means to die and rise with Christ. At the celebration of Baptism, when the water of the baptismal font is blessed, the prayer of blessing ends with these words: “May all who are buried with Christ in the death of baptism rise also with Him to newness of life.” The small rituals we perform immediately after Baptism are meant to exemplify what has just been celebrated. For example, the newly baptized is clothed with a white garment, indicating that the old self has died and the baptized has “…become a new creation in Christ.”

Dying and Rising, Life through Death – that’s a paradox if ever there was one!

How can Life come from Death? How can Life come from the loss or absence of Life? All of us want to live, but who among us wants to die? Death means loss, it means letting go. It often means sadness and pain and suffering, too. This is true of our own physical death – and perhaps even more true when we experience the loss of someone we know and love. It is also true of the ways in which we must die a thousand deaths this side of the grave, in order to be fully alive. As followers of Jesus, we are challenged to live out our baptism each and every day – and sometimes that means dying and letting go.

Are there things today that I need to let go of in order to experience the new creation I already am? Are there things within my heart or my mind that are needlessly taking up space, needlessly distracting me from being the child of God I became in baptism? Are thing parts of my life that I need to let go of, to empty out, making room for the Spirit to dwell more fully within me?

• Perhaps there’s a friendship I have ignored and let slip away through inattention or ambivalence.
• Perhaps I am weighed down by my attachment to wealth, to power, to possessions.
• Maybe I am so absorbed with the daily problems of my own life that I am unable to see and hear my sisters and brothers in need.
• Perhaps there is within me too much anger or resentment at a Church that admittedly fails to fully live the Gospel message it’s called to preach, especially in welcoming her gay and lesbian children.

Whatever might be in the way of living out our own baptism, there is one thing we can be certain of. Just as the voice from heaven spoke at Jesus’ baptism, that same voice of God reminds us each and every day that we, too, are God’s beloved daughters and sons. We, too, even as LGBT people created in God’s image, are God’s beloved children with whom God is well-pleased. Many centuries ago, St. Irenaeus said that the “glory of God is the human person fully alive.” As we come to the end of this Christmas Season – the season that celebrates the paradoxical reality that the Divine became Human, the mysterious marriage of Divinity with Humanity – let us pray that we may be fully, joyfully alive each and every day.