Category Archives: Homilies

Homily for the 21st Sunday of Ordinary Time (August 21/22, 2010)

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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: Is 66:18-21; Heb 12:5-7, 11-13; Lk 13:22-30

When I first looked at the scripture readings for this weekend a few weeks ago, I must admit that I wasn’t terribly inspired.  These readings – and especially our Gospel reading in which Jesus speaks of the challenges of entering the Kingdom – aren’t what I would call “comforting.” In fact, they reminded me of that saying that the purpose of the Good News, the purpose of the Gospel is “to comfort the afflicted and to afflict the comfortable.” After listening to Jesus speak about what seem to be limitations on who does and doesn’t get into the Kingdom of God, is it any wonder that we might feel a little unease, a little discomfort?  And, it’s not surprising, then, that this discomfort is reinforced with Jesus’ own words in which he says that there will be “wailing and grinding of teeth” among those who don’t make the grade, those who are left out and are not admitted to the feast, that eternal banquet about which we pray and sing so often.

As I thought more about it, I realized that there were probably two things going on with these passages that contributed to my reaction.  First, I think most of us prefer to focus on those parts of Scripture which do, indeed, comfort us in our own afflictions. It feels good to hear the Sermon on the Mount when it speaks about all those who are “blessed” in one way or another; it feels good to hear passages in which God is depicted as all-loving and all-merciful and all-forgiving. Second, I also realized that I tend to gravitate towards and identify with those passages that have a more social dimension, ones in which Justice prevails, where Jesus especially turns the tables on prevailing social norms and values – doing so not just for the sake of doing it, but doing so because those tables needed to be turned upside down in a world and society that seemed always to be getting things not quite right.  Today’s readings, however, are much less social and much more personal. They speak to us not only collectively, but also to you and me as individuals.

Why do I say that?  Well, I think it’s because there’s really a question behind the question that’s put to Jesus in the Gospel passage we just listened to.  As Luke writes, “Someone asked him, ‘Lord, will only a few people be saved?’” I would wager that this “someone” wasn’t really looking for a number or some other measurement about who would and would not be saved. The question behind this “someone’s” question was probably, “Lord, will I be saved?” This is not to say that the question about “how many” wasn’t important to Jesus’ listeners.  During Jesus’ day, there were two concepts in popular rabbinical teaching that were probably at work in the background.  The first is the teaching of the rabbis that “all Israelites have a share in the world to come”; and the second is a passage from what’s called the 4th Book of Ezra, which is not part of the “Canon” of scripture, but which states, “…this age the Most High has made for many, but the age to come for a few.” (4 Ezra 8:1)  Stating that all Israelites would have a share in the Kingdom of God was the expected answer to this common question put to Jesus. But Jesus’ answer differs from the traditional answer.  That traditional response understood that the “few” would be all Israelites, God’s chosen people; and that “the many,” those who would not be saved, were those outside the community of Israel.

Like so much of what Jesus did, even in this question his response is unexpected. Not only does he not answer the question by saying whether few or many will be saved, he answers it a highly unusual way. Instead of saying that entrance into the Kingdom was based on who you knew, or what community you have been a part of in this life … he states that the heavenly feast is also open to non-Jews, non-Israelites.  “And people will come from the east and the west and from the north and the south and will recline at table in the kingdom of God.” Now, he doesn’t say in this passage exactly who those people will be – and so doesn’t answer the question, “Will I be saved?” – but he does suggest that old presumptions are out the window.  I guess this is one of the reasons why I always find it a bit offensive when those from some Christian traditions ask, “Are you saved?” or will declare with absolute certainty that they “are saved.”

The truly scriptural answer is – we don’t know. We certainly hope we will be welcomed to God’s kingdom, but it’s beyond presumption for any of us to declare it as a foregone conclusion. What we DO know, however, is that we are called to live lives in which – to use Jesus’ word – we “strive” to follow him and his teaching as best we can. The verb that Luke uses when reporting this answer of Jesus is an interesting one.  Jesus advises that one must “strive to enter the narrow gate.” The Greek verb agonizomai, “strive,” is used to describe what is required in athletic training.  It’s that discipline to which the author of the Letter to the Hebrews is referring. It’s that discipline that, “…seems a cause not for joy but for pain, yet later it brings the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who are trained by it.” In this context, discipline means not punishment in response to a crime or offense, but rather is the discipline of training and preparation.  It’s the discipline that frees us from unnecessary baggage and burdens, that allows us to travel lightly in this life so that we will be able to enter unencumbered through that narrow gate and be recognized by Jesus as his true friend, his true follower, his true disciple.

So what do we do here and now to train ourselves so that Jesus will recognize us and claim us as his own? How do we live our lives today so that we are not turned away and the door not closed in our face? Fortunately, ours is a rich heritage with many, many spiritual traditions and practices.  Hopefully, some of these have a place in our daily lives as we exercise and strive to grow as disciples of Jesus. As with physical exercise, there’s probably no one single path, no universally-applicable routine, that all of us follow. But there are, I think, some common indicators that can help us see how effective our training and exercise are. I’d like to end with a brief story that might serve as just one such indicator.  When I first read this story and thought about the world of today – so filled as it seems with conflict and division everywhere we look – it occurred to me that we have quite a ways to go on our journey to the kingdom.

A Hasidic rabbi asked his students how to determine the hour of dawn and to know when night ends and day begins. One answered, “Is it when from a distance you can distinguish a dog from a sheep?” “No,” answered the rabbi. Another offered, “Is it when you can distinguish between a fig tree and a grapevine?” Again the rabbi said, “No.” “Then tell us,” asked the students, “how can you know when night ends and day begins?” “You’ll know that the sun has risen,” said the rabbi, “when you can look into the face of every other human being and have enough light to recognize that person as your brother or sister. Up until then, it is night, and darkness is still with us. Only when you can see every other person as your brother or sister, only then will a new day have dawned.”

Homily for the 14th Sunday in Ordinary Time (July 3/4, 2010)

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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:
1 Is 66:10-14c; Ps 66:1-3, 4-5, 6-7, 16, 20; Gal 6:14-18; Lk 10:1-12, 17-20

Before I get to the heart of what I want to say, let me make one comment about the reference Jesus makes at the end of this passage from Luke – a comment that perhaps might be of help if ever you find yourself in a “discussion” – and hopefully it will be a “discussion” and not an “argument” – with someone who is claiming that “the Bible itself condemns gay people.”  As many of us know, there are just a small handful of passages from the Bible that many people have used to condemn God’s gay and lesbian children – passages that we generally consider to be incorrectly taken out of their historical and cultural context, and thus misunderstood and misinterpreted – and one of them has to do with Sodom. This perhaps is the most well-known, the most notorious, because the word “Sodom” (which comes from the Hebrew word for “burnt”) found its way into English with the ill-defined words of “sodomy” and “sodomite.” You recall the story from the Book of Genesis in which two divine messengers come to the town of Sodom and are greeted by Lot. As was so important a custom in that part of the world, Lot extended a welcome to these strangers, offering them that life-giving hospitality without which travelers in the harsh terrain could perish.  Hospitality also placed a responsibility on the shoulders of the one who extended it; and that responsibility was to protect those to whom shelter and welcome were given.  Now, for unstated reasons, the citizens of Sodom come to Lot’s house and demand that he bring out these strangers so that they might abuse, probably rape them. And so the debate has been – is this passage about homosexuality, or is the true sin of the people of Sodom the fact that they turned their backs on the custom of hospitality and the responsibilities that come with welcoming the stranger?

So if you do find yourself in that discussion, you can and should point to this passage from Luke.  Because here, in the words of Jesus, we have a reference to Sodom, that city which God destroyed.  In making this reference, is Jesus speaking about sexual behavior? Clearly not. Jesus is making a reference, an allusion that was probably well-understood by his hearers, simply by naming the town. That reference, that allusion, is in the context of the lack of welcome, the lack of hospitality that his disciples might receive as they go about their mission of preaching in those towns and villages that Jesus intends to visit. And so, Luke chapter 9 supports the claim that the real sin of Sodom had nothing to do with sexual behavior, but was their lack of hospitality and caring for those in need.

So … moving on… we have this weekend a collection of readings that don’t necessarily have a common thread or theme that jumps out at us.  In fact, these three passages have a wealth of ideas that we can reflect on, but the one thing I would like to draw our attention to is what Jesus instructs these 72 disciples – going out in pairs – to do when they enter a village or a town.  He tells them that they are to:

  • head directly to their destination without being side-tracked along the way;
  • accept hospitality in whatever way it is given;
  • cure the sick and tell them that God’s Reign is at hand
  • but … their very first words are an offering of Peace.  “Into whatever house you enter, first say, ‘Peace to this household.’ If a peaceful person lives there, your peace will rest on him; but if not, it will return to you.”

Much of Luke’s Gospel is focused on Jesus’ “going up to Jerusalem,” and this story from the 9th chapter of Luke is set n that context.  In the previous chapter – chapter 8 – Luke tells us that the time had come for Jesus to be taken up, to be “lifted up,” Jesus decides it’s time for him to go up to Jerusalem, the place where Jesus knows he will suffer and die, where he will be lifted up on the cross. And so, it’s in this context that we have this story of Jesus sending out the 72 … the context of going up to Jerusalem — in Hebrew, Yerushaláyim – the city whose very name means, “the abode of Peace,” or the “the dwelling place of peace.”

Earlier this week I was listening to bits and pieces of the testimony before the Senate about the nomination of Elena Kagan to the Supreme Court. After her own testimony and questioning, the Senate Committee listened to various panelists presenting their views, people who both support her nomination and who those who oppose it. As I listened to the testimony of one particular person – someone who heads an organization with roots in conservative Christianity and whose stated mission is “Defending Family, Faith and Freedom,” – he was making the argument that he believes the nominee is anti-military and opposed to veterans and military service. In saying this, he said something that I found very striking. “War is the most difficult human activity, bar none.” When I heard that, I was puzzled, and I thought – Really? Is that really true? Is war the most difficult of all human activity? Now, I don’t mean to dismiss or overlook the countless sacrifices made and burdens borne by the hundreds of thousands of men and women – and their families – men and women in years past and even in our present day who have stepped forward to – as the saying goes – “stand in harm’s way” so that we might enjoy the blessings, the liberties and freedoms that we celebrate as a nation this weekend.  War is, no doubt a very difficult and even a terrible thing.  But when we look at the whole span of human history, we humans have been pretty good at fighting war.  And so when I heard that statement – “War is the most difficult human activity, bar none,” … my immediate reaction was to ask, “What about peace?” It struck me that if we look at this from the perspective in which “success” or “failure” is a measure of difficulty, isn’t Peace a more difficult human activity? Isn’t it more difficult to follow the command of Jesus to be bearers of peace, to be sources of peace, to be instruments of peace?

Many of us will remember a time when the collective voice of the Bishops in our country had a weight that, for various reasons, seemed stronger than it does today. It was 27 years ago, in 1983, that the Bishops issued a Pastoral Letter on War and Peace entitled, The Challenge of Peace:  God’s Promise and Our Response. And while this pastoral letter reflected the time in our nation’s history in which it was written – a time in which its focus was not so much on the type of wars being fought today, but rather focused on the possibility of nuclear war and issues surrounding nuclear deterrence – the guiding principles articulated in that letter are still worth remembering.  If you’ve never read this document, I encourage you to do so. It’s not light summer beach reading, but rather is a thoughtful and in-depth discussion of war, of peace, and what we as Christians can and must do to further advance that Reign of God which, while still close at hand, sometimes seems so very far away.

Let me close by reading one brief passage in which the Bishops remind us of some core values and perspectives:  “At the center of the Church’s teaching on peace and at the center of all Catholic social teaching are the transcendence of God and the dignity of the human person. The human person is the clearest reflection of God’s presence in the world; all of the Church’s work in pursuit of both justice and peace is designed to protect and promote the dignity of every person. For each person not only reflects God, but is the expression of God’s creative work and the meaning of Christ’s redemptive ministry..” [emphases added].

“The transcendence of God and the dignity of every human person.” As we observe the 234th anniversary of that day in which our forebears declared to the world that “All people are created equal,” let us pray that we will never forget that “All” means “All” and that as followers of Jesus who suffered, died and conquered death so that we might have peace and the fullness of life, that we also have what it takes to engage every day in that most difficult of human activities, bar none … the activity of being instruments of God’s peace every moment of our lives.

Homily for the 5th Sunday of Easter (May 2/3, 2010)

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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.

Homily for the 6th Sunday of Ordinary Time, Year C

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(This is posted out of order, and is a homily from February 2010)

6th Sunday of Ordinary Time, Year C – February 13/14, 2010
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: Jer 17:5-8 ; Ps 1:1-2, 3, 4 and 6 ; 1 Cor 15:12, 16-20 ; Lk 6:17, 20-26

One of the things that I try to keep in mind when preparing a homily is to find the right balance between the “general” and the “particular” aspects of what I might say.  By that, I mean making sure that my words are so rooted in the scriptural passages before us that the homily could almost be delivered to any community, while at the same time being very attentive to saying something – or at least trying to say something – that is relevant to the unique qualities and experiences of this particular, unique community. Obviously there are some things that those of us who preach can and do say in one setting that wouldn’t be said if we were preaching before a small community of retired nuns, or before a grammar school with young children.

Sometimes, however, a scripture passage or even just a particular line from a passage jumps out so boldly and so clearly, that this balance is upset, because that passage or that line seems to be almost uncannily applicable to the community being addressed, it would be difficult to preach the same message elsewhere.

I don’t know if it jumped out at you as it did me when I first read it, but there was a line in that Gospel passage we just listened to from Luke’s “Sermon on the Plain” that hit me like a ton of bricks.  In case you missed it, let me read it again:  “Blessed are you when people hate you, and when they exclude and insult you, and denounce your name as evil on account of the Son of Man.”

Relatively speaking, there’s no doubt that you and I live in a gay-friendly part of the world.  Most of us are able to live openly and freely, with generally little fear about being known as part of the LGBT community. It’s quite probable that our neighbors and co-workers know this truth about who we are, and that this knowledge has very little consequence. There are bars and restaurants and other establishments that cater to a gay clientele, but even in those places that aren’t “gay” per se, gay men and women are accepted just like everyone else. In the more public sphere, progress continues to be made to advance the civil rights of gay people, as is evidenced by the impending legal recognition of same-sex marriage in DC, as well as the military’s movement to allowing lesbians and gay men to serve openly.

Yet, despite living where we do, there are still regular reminders from both society and Church that we are not fully accepted. Just this past week, Virginia’s governor chose not to include “sexual orientation” in the Executive Order about discrimination in the state’s workforce that new governors traditionally issue shortly after their inauguration, suggesting at least philosophically (if not legally) that it’s OK to discriminate against someone simply because he or she is gay. Several days before that, the highest ranking churchman in the U.S. issued a statement that was highly critical of the work and mission of a Catholic organization that has done so much good for over three decades in building bridges between the institution of the Church and gay Catholics. Two Fridays ago – Cardinal Francis George, who is not only the archbishop of Chicago, but is also currently the president of the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops – issued a statement that read, in part:

“No one should be misled by the claim that New Ways Ministry provides an authentic interpretation of Catholic teaching and an authentic Catholic pastoral practice. Their claim to be Catholic only confuses the faithful regarding the authentic teaching and ministry of the Church with respect to persons with a homosexual inclination. Accordingly, I wish to make it clear that, like other groups that claim to be Catholic but deny central aspects of Church teaching, New Ways Ministry has no approval or recognition from the Catholic Church and that they cannot speak on behalf of the Catholic faithful in the United States.”

While perhaps not hateful, such statements by religious leaders clearly do have the effect of saying to the wider Church community and society at large – “those people may claim to be Catholic, but they really aren’t; “they’re not….” – to use the bishop’s word – “‘authentic’ like us.” It is this kind of speech that is a perfect example of what Franciscan Father Richard Rohr calls “dualistic thinking.” This kind of thinking – this way of seeing and experiencing and living in the world – is constantly judging and labeling and categorizing. It is always thinking of terms of who’s in and who’s out; who’s superior and who’s inferior; who’s included and who’s excluded. Last September I was fortunate enough to participate in a small retreat with Fr. Rohr – a retreat sponsored by New Ways Ministry. One of Fr. Rohr’s common themes in his writing and his preaching about faith and spirituality is to encourage a non-dualistic way of seeing the world, of learning to see that – as one of the titles of his books states – “Everything Belongs.”

I don’t know about you, but for me, it’s hard to hear such statements like Cardinal’s George’s coming from the leaders of our Church and not get just a bit angry. It hurts to know that some Church leaders think we are “less than fully Catholic” – simply because we seek to know and accept the authentic selves that God has created us to be; and in that seeking and knowing, we may have something to say that could disturb their static worldview and challenge them to see us and the world with new eyes.

This week we begin the season of Lent, the Church’s extended 40-day “Annual Retreat” as we prepare to celebrate the deepest truth of our faith – a truth that says life and love conquer hatred and death. Perhaps what we need to do is keep mind not only the words of Jesus from this passage of Luke that promises blessing and God’s presence for those are now hungry, poor, weeping and excluded, but also keep in mind the words that the editors of our Lectionary didn’t include – the next two lines from Jesus’ Sermon on the Plain:  “But I say to you…love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you.”

Homily for the Third Sunday of Lent – Year C (March 6/7, 2010)

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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. 

Homily for the Baptism of the Lord, Year C – January 9/10, 2010

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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.

The Present Moment of the World in Which We Live: Homily for the 1st Sunday of Advent (2009)

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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.

First Reading: Jer 33:14-16
Second Reading: 1 Thes 3:12-4:2
Gospel: Lk 21:25-28, 34-36

I was invited by a friend to join him and some of his family and other friends for Thanksgiving.  At one point in the conversation as one of the friends was trying to coax our host’s sister into telling us stories about him from childhood, we began to discuss some basic differences between individuals, including the degree to which someone is more of a “planner” or more “impromptu” and able to fly by the seat of one’s pants. Some of us clearly self-identified as ones who like to have things very ordered, structured, and planned out in great detail – while others of us were much more laid back, able to go with the flow, and take things as they come.

Well, regardless of our preferred way of approaching life, all of us know that things don’t always go according to plan and that what we envision things will be like at some point in the future often needs to be periodically adjusted with the passage of time and in response to the reality of changed circumstances.  This is a fact of life – true for individuals, for families, for companies, for societies, and even for communities of faith.  Although there are some who would like their community of faith – the Church – to be timeless and never changing, even our earliest scriptures tell us that this was never the way it was.

In fact, within the very first half-century of Christianity, our ancestors in the faith needed to make two very significant adjustments precisely because things weren’t going as they thought they would.  These two adjustments were rooted in their lived experience of life – in the reality that “Life Happens.” The first adjustment had to do with their understanding of when Jesus would come back – when his promised return to usher in fully the Reign of God, would take place.  The second – because of the first – had to do with their understanding of the steps required for a non-Jew, a Gentile, to become a Christian. Originally it was believed that in order to become a follower of Jesus and member of the Christian community, a gentile must first convert to Judaism, as Christianity was seen by those outside and inside the Christian community as a “reform of Judaism” movement.  Over time – this perspective changed. This perspective – which answered an utterly fundamental question – “what is Christianity?” – gave way to a new and evolved understanding, a different perspective that was informed not only by the passage of time, but by the lived experience of people unfamiliar with Judaism who heard the Gospel message. Our second reading today comes from what is probably the oldest scripture in the New Testament – Paul’s first letter to the community at Thessalonica. These were mostly gentiles who were not familiar with Judaism, yet who heard the preaching of Paul and were drawn to follow Jesus.  They were not required to convert to Judaism as part of their path to Christian discipleship – they were not required to follow the 613 Laws of Moses in order to be faithful Christians. Rather – they were simply to follow what Paul instructed them to do – to “abound in love for one another and for all” – essentially to live lives that were loving and just.

This change in how a gentile could become a Christian was partly influenced by the realization that the Second Coming of Jesus – originally thought to be just around the corner – was probably not happening any time soon. And so the first followers of Jesus – whom we can imagine as having both eyes gazing heavenward as they awaited Jesus’ return – began to realize that perhaps they needed to have at least one eye focused not on the skies above, but on the earth below, on the world around them.

Today we celebrate the first Sunday of Advent, the first Sunday of a new liturgical year. And while many around us are focused on putting the holiday shopping season into high gear, our history and liturgical tradition draw our attention to this period of four weeks which is often spoken of in terms of anticipation, expectation and hope.  Each of these is among the traditional words used to describe Advent.  From the Latin meaning a coming, or coming towards – Advent is a season that invites us to reflect not only on the First Coming of Jesus in time some two thousand years ago, but also the second coming of Jesus at the end of time.

I suppose that’s one of the reasons why we have for our gospel reading a passage that seems at first a bit out of sequence.  We have a reading that sounds like it belongs more at the end of the year rather than at the beginning. When we think of this time of year, we think about those scripture stories that prepare us for the birth of Jesus. This year – Year C in our liturgical cycle of readings – we will be reading largely form the Gospel of Luke.  And beginning next week we will start to hear some of those beautiful Lucan stories that are referred to as the “Infancy Narrative.” But today on this the First Sunday of Advent, we hear a passage not from the beginning chapters of Luke, but one from the 21st chapter. Luke presents Jesus telling his followers about the end of the world, speaking in an unusually apocalyptic tone. But even as Luke presents Jesus as saying these things – things that seem to direct our eyes heavenward – Luke also reminds of what is most important. Today’s Gospel reading leaves out a small parable that occurs between the beginning lines and the ending lines of what we just listened to. In the so-called “parable of the fig tree,” Jesus states that “Heaven and earth will pass away, but My words will not pass away.”

Living that Word here and now is the challenge before every Christian. The Living Word is always found at the intersection between Faith and the present moment of the World in which we live. Bringing these together isn’t always easy. In some ways it seems particularly challenging this year, because at first glance, the present moment of the world in which we live doesn’t seem all that receptive to folks like you and me. In fact, in some ways one could say that the world and our Church are becoming less – not more – welcoming to the LGBT community.

  • On the political front, voters in Maine joined voters from many states around the country when they rejected same-sex marriage for their gay and lesbian neighbors;
  • The Vatican welcomes Anglicans who no longer feel at home in their own communion – not because the Anglican Communion has denied the divinity of Christ or abandoned the Nicene Creed, but because they do not like their church’s positions on women in ministry and same-sex unions;
  • In Uganda – where homosexual activity is already criminalized – there is strong support, even from those who call themselves Christian, for legislation that would expand this criminalization and impose the death penalty in certain circumstances;
  • And, closer to home, numerous Catholic bishops – including Washington, DC’s own Archbishop Donald Wuerl – have signed the so-called “Manhattan Declaration” which labels same-sex relationships as examples of “immoral conduct” and compares such loving unions to polygamy and incest.

Perhaps that’s why it’s so important that we take our Advent theme to heart this year.  That theme – “Dignity: Tell Your Friends” – invites us to tell our friends, our families, our colleagues and neighbors who we are and what we have to say to the world.  It invites them to come here as they are – to pray with us, to celebrate Eucharist with us, and to share in our faith which we experience as gift. As a community, we claim that we are a prophetic voice to the gay community and to the Church – a voice that says the arms of God are big enough to welcome all people – regardless of any category or label we might place on one another.  As we begin this Advent Season, this New Year in our own life of faith, let us with faithful hearts be attentive to the present moment of the world in which we live. Let us re-commit ourselves to telling our stories with others – our stories as lesbian and gay Catholics.

If any of you read the National Catholic Reporter, you may have seen a commentary by Nicole Sotelo, writing about the recent pastoral letter approved by the bishops of the U.S. on Marriage, which promotes – I think – an incomplete and at times incongruous theology of the human person.  She essentially writes about how our Catholic brothers and sisters – more so than Church leaders – are much more  like our Christian ancestors who were able to grow and change and evolve with the passage of time, being able to discern the difference between the essentials of faith and those things that are conditioned by history and culture and circumstance. In conclusion, here’s what she says:

“When one stops gazing only at the 258 active Catholic bishops, but instead takes a good look at the approximately 65 million Catholics in the United States and their growing acceptance of lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender people, there emerges much hope for the future of our church and society.”

“Dignity: Tell a Friend.”  With 65 Million Catholics in the US … that’s a lot of friends to tell!

Catholicism, Fundamentalism, and the Presences of Christ

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Homily for the 21st Sunday in Ordinary Time – August 22/23, 2009
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: Jos 24:1-2a, 15-17, 18b; Eph 5:21-32; Jn 6:60-69

I won’t ask for a show of hands, but was anyone just a little bit uncomfortable when we listened to that passage just heard a few moments ago – the passage from Paul’s Letter to the Ephesians in which he says that wives are to be subordinate to their husbands? No doubt that is one of those passages in Scripture that can offend the sensibilities of many of us. In the Gospel passage from John, which continues the long “Bread of Life Discourse” that we have been hearing these past weeks, and in which Jesus previously said his followers must eat his flesh and drink his blood, we hear these followers today saying that these words are hard to accept. For those of us in 21st century America, Jesus could well be speaking about the passage from Ephesians when he asks his followers, “Does this shock you?” While we may not be shocked by more conservative societies around the world displaying their very rigid social norms about how wives and husbands, men and women – as well as young and old, parents and children – are to relate to one another, we are I think just a bit shocked when we hear scripture passages such as this one – and many others like it – which on their face can seem very much out of step with the norms and values that we seek to uphold in a free, democratic and open society, a society which claims to see equal human dignity present in every person.

By drawing our attention to this passage, I intend not to raise for our reflection the particulars of how husbands, wives, spouses should relate to each other; but rather I’d like to say a few words about a bigger issue about who we are as Catholics and how we understand and hold together some of the basic and formative elements that define us as Catholic Christians.

In 1963, the Fathers (and yes, they were all men) of the Second Vatican Council and Pope Paul VI approved and promulgated the first of 4 “Constitutions” of Vatican II. This first constitution—Sacrosanctum Concilium – was The Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy. Early on in the text, the document identifies four ways in which Christ is present in the Sacred Liturgy. Specifically the document states:

“To accomplish so great a work, Christ is always present in His Church, especially in her liturgical celebrations. [Christ] is present in the sacrifice of the Mass, not only in the person of [the] minister, …but especially under the Eucharistic species. …[Christ] is present in His word, since it is He Himself who speaks when the holy scriptures are read in the Church. [Christ] is present, lastly, when the Church prays and sings, for He promised: “Where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them” (Matt. 18:20)”

These four presences – the minister, the Word of Scripture, the Bread and Wine of Eucharist, and the Gathered Assembly – these all speak to the richness of who we are and what we do whenever we gather together “in word and in sacrament.”

Why is this important? Why does it matter that we are conscious of these various ways in which Christ’s presence is known and experienced? Well, I think it’s important – especially in our own day – because we are constantly surrounded by and bombarded with declarations about “what Scripture says” and “the authority of God’s word” and “the Bible says…” Such declarations claim that Scripture is the final authority on all things, and they come very close to home when people claim they are just adhering to “biblical precepts” when they make pronouncements about the sinfulness of homosexuality, or about justifications for war, or about the distribution of the wealth and the world’s resources that keep so many millions in poverty; … and yes… we still hear Scripture used to justify the oppression of women and so many others.

Perhaps you’ve seen that bumper sticker or t-shirt that reads: “God said it, I believe it, that settles it.” This sort of fundamentalism, a fundamentalism that leaves no room for the assent of faith, no room for the human person struggling to balance faith and reason, doubt and certainty; a fundamentalism that in effect denies the presence of Christ in the Gathered Assembly – such fundamentalism is foreign to us as Catholic Christians, and truly foreign to the most traditionalist understandings of Christianity.

Earlier I mentioned Vatican II’s Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy. In that document’s opening paragraph, it states that one of the constitution’s purposes is, “to adapt more suitably to the needs of our own times those institutions which are subject to change.” Let me read that again: “to adapt more suitably to the needs of our own times those institutions which are subject to change.”

Fundamentalists thinks that when it comes to God and religion, nothing is “subject to change.” They dismiss adaptations to the needs of our times as being unfaithful at best, and heretical at worst. And yet, throughout the history of the Church, faithful Christians have struggled with how to live out the truly fundamental, the foundational beliefs of Christianity, the ones that transcend time and place and culture, giving them concrete expression in the context of the times and circumstances in which they found themselves. We saw an example of this just yesterday as the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America – the largest Lutheran denomination in the US – voted to lift a ban that effectively required gay and lesbian ministers to be celibate. Their action affirms the loving, committed relationships that gay and lesbian people can and do form and recognized that our understandings about sexuality and human relationships have grown and evolved with the passage of time. As one man quoted in the today’s Washington Post story about the ELCA’s action put it, “We are responding to something that the writers of Scripture could not have understood.”

Applying this same approach to this passage from Ephesians about husbands and wives, isn’t it possible to understand that, even though there may be suggestions of male dominance, influenced by the context of the first-century in which Paul was writing, the real and enduring meaning of this passage is that spouses are to put each other first? Of course it is.

When Jesus saw others leaving because they were not able to hear the deeper meaning of his words within the depths of their hearts, he turned to the Twelve and asked if they were leaving as well. Like Peter and the others, we have come to believe that Jesus is the Son of God, that Jesus does have the words of eternal life. We believe that Jesus is present not only in the Words of Scripture and the Bread and Wine we bless, but that Jesus is also present in each of us and in our community, gathered as we are in His name. Although there may be some who might want us to leave, let us today make our own the words of Peter. Peter said, “Master, to whom should we go? You have the words of eternal life.” Put another way, our response might well be: “You know, Lord, we’re staying with you; we’re not going anywhere.”