Monday, April 30, 2018

An Open Heart...Abundant Love

April 28, 2018
Ordination to the Holy Order of Deacons
Five Candidates
Christ Church Cathedral, Mobile Alabama

Ryan, Sara, Alice, Forbes, and Josh, this is your day – it is a day that will change your lives forever. It is glorious day, and it is an absolute honor and privilege for me to share a small part of this day with you. I will treasure these few moments, always.

You may be thinking, or at least I hope that you are thinking – “Wow, I made it.”  Without doubt you are saying to yourselves, “I can’t believe it – thanks be to God for this glorious moment.”  And, you would be extraordinarily unusual if you were not feeling nervous and anxious and if you were not wondering “What Now?” Now that this sacred transition has taken place, who am I – how do I proceed according to my newly declared vows. What does God have in store for me?

You have arrived, after many months, perhaps many years, of discernment, meetings, study, and a host of other challenging tasks – and probably some nail biting - you have arrived at a most sacred moment in your lives.

Today, with our consent, by our prayers, and with Bishop Russell’s actions of laying hands on you and petitioning the Holy Spirit, by the power of that same Spirit, you will assume the outward expression of your inward, invisible reality. You will be ordained to the Sacred Order of Deacons in Christ’s one holy and catholic apostolic church. You will receive the sacrament of ordination.

That’s what ordination is - a sacrament. A sacrament that gives outward and visible expression to an inward invisible reality. Your invisible reality – your call to become part of the ministry of servanthood of our church. Your desire to, in the name of Christ, serve all people, particularly the poor, the sick and the lonely.

A little over eight years ago, I was sitting just where you are sitting – in the pews listening as my friend and mentor, Bishop Chip Stokes preached my ordination sermon. My journey to ordination had been a long one, filled with many challenging moments.

It began in Harlingen, Tx, a tiny town in the Lower Rio Grande Valley. The year was 1992 and I had been appointed Executive Director of an organization providing services for people, mostly Mexican-Americans, living with HIV/AIDS.

It is important to remember that back in 1992 people living with HIV/AIDS were seen as lepers. And, Mexican-American migrant workers with HIV/AIDS – well, to put it bluntly, absolutely no one wanted them around – No one. My appointed task was to find a way to bring health care and social services into their lives – to relieve their suffering; their pain; their isolation.

I arrived fresh from New York City where I had been part of the AIDS activist group Act UP and all the sophisticated political shenanigans that went with that movement, and I set down roots in dusty, hot, and very primitive Harlingen, TX.

To my surprise, my staff, all Mexican, had created a beautiful office space for me, complete with a huge mahogany desk. That first day, I was treated like a queen. However, my second day on the job took a very different direction. About 10 in the morning a small Mexican gentleman rushed into my office, announced that he was Deacon Albert, and said, passionately, “Ma’am you can’t sit there behind that desk. Not if you want to help the people in the Valley. You need to come with me. You need to be where the people are, not behind a big fancy desk.”

That was my introduction to Deacon Albert, an incredibly passionate and energetic Catholic Deacon, who as it turned out was also a member of my staff.

After informing me that I needed to get out from behind my desk, Deacon Albert loaded me into his ancient, non-airconditioned, Toyota pick-up along with bags and boxes filled with food and other household items, and off we went – literally in a cloud of dust.

I have no memory of how many people we visited that day. I only remember that we were gone for hours and hours, until dusk really. We visited mothers whose sons were dying of AIDS, we visited mothers who had AIDS and whose babies were also HIV-infected, we visited young men who were dying of AIDS – we visited lots and lots of people, all of them touched by HIV/AIDS and all of them living in the colonias, or slums of an already impoverished Texas town.

Ostensibly, our goal was to deliver food, but Deacon Albert delivered a lot more than food. He delivered the love that Christ asked us to show towards one another when in John’s gospel he says, “Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another.” Through conversation, prayer, and all forms of generosity, Deacon Albert brought love to all those we visited. That first day with Albert was a day, like today, a day I will never forget.

After that, I never missed a week of delivering food and love with Deacon Albert. And, I never ceased to be amazed at the power of his love. Mothers were reunited to sons whom they had rejected, dying infants were baptized, infants who died only a few short months after being born had glorious funerals, parties were given for those living in deep sadness and isolation.

There was always enough – enough love for everyone – there was always an abundance of love.

I could go on and on but suffice it to say that for almost four years I worked by Albert’s side and that work – Albert and his work set my heart on fire. My heart was burning with the power of love. And, it was then that I knew that God was calling me to be a deacon in the Episcopal Church.

When I remember this time of my life, I like to believe that Luke’s gospel in which Jesus commands us to “Be dressed for action and have your lamps lit; be like those who are waiting for their master to return from the wedding banquet, so they may open the door for him as soon as he comes and knocks” is fair warning to all of us who sense the call to ordination and who are ultimately ordained in Christ’s one holy and catholic apostolic church.

Unlike Peter who fell asleep in the garden, as deacons, priests, and bishops it is essential that we stay awake. We must never be too tired, too benumbed to hear Christ knocking on the doors of our hearts. We must not allow the din of our lives and the turmoil of the world to drown out God’s voice. God’s voice always present within our hearts and our souls, always – never ceasing, never too tired.

With burning hearts, we must have the courage to allow the Holy Spirit to guide us in all things. As Christ’s servants, we must be passionately active in the servanthood of all the church. We must always be ready for him when he comes; when he knocks.

No easy task this business of always being dressed for action, lamps always lit. Bishop Dan Edwards, the bishop who ordained me, said to me just before we processed down the aisle the day of my ordination, “If you think you’re busy now, just wait. You will be even busier after today.” Well, his remark was “right on.” No different than any of my other clergy colleagues I am busy, very busy.

But, and this is a big “but”, we must never be too busy to rest, too distracted reflect, to pray, to study – to listen for and to God. Paul in his Letter to the Ephesians writes, “I pray that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of Glory, may give you a spirit of wisdom and revelation, as you come to know him, so that with the eyes of your heart enlightened, you may know what is the hope to which he has called you, what are the riches of his glorious inheritance among the saints, and what is the immeasurable greatness of his power for us who believe, according to the working of his great power.” (Eph 1:12-20)

“…so that with the eyes of your heart enlightened, you may know what is the hope to which he has called you…”

If we are unable to listen for and to God with the eyes of our hearts, we will never know the hope to which he has called us. If we are unwilling to follow Jesus’ commandment given to us in John’s version of the Last Supper “Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another”, we will fail mightily in providing an abundance of love to those whom we have vowed to shepherd.

Open hearts and abundant love – essential tools of the trade for all clergy - deacons, priests and bishops alike.

This is your day to be ordained a deacon of the church. I pray that in the few short months prior to your ordination as a priest, you will find a Deacon Albert, jump into his, or her, ancient pick-up, and embark on a journey into the world where an open heart and abundant love are so desperately needed.

I pray that your life as a deacon will be deeply ingrained in your hearts and in your souls. I pray that whatever your title you will always be deacons – servants of Christ sent into the world to love abundantly -to heal and to ensure justice for all. I pray that you will never forget these first few months of your lives as ordained clergy and the sacred nature of your new lives.


Ryan, Sara, Alice, Forbes, and Josh, God has led you on an extraordinary journey and now calls you into an extraordinary ministry of service. We all give thanks for this day and for God’s call to you and I am thankful for the privilege of being present with you on this day. In closing I offer to you this prayer so beautifully expressed by St. Paul.

“For this reason, I bow my knees before the Father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth takes its name. I pray that, according to the riches of his glory, he may grant that you may be strengthened in your inner being with power through his Spirit, and that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith, as you are being rooted and grounded in love. I pray that you may have the power to comprehend, with all the saints, what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, so that you may be filled with all the fullness of God. Now to him who by the power at work within us is able to accomplish abundantly far more than all we can ask or imagine, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus to all generations, forever and ever. AMEN. “(Eph 3:13-21)

Monday, April 9, 2018

You Do Not Know...

St. Simon’s on the Sound
Maundy Thursday - 2018

John 13:1-17; 31b-35

A few weeks ago, on the Fourth Sunday of Lent, I preached to you about the Light of Christ and the challenges we all face in letting that light shine into the darkness of our lives. Darkness based in our self-centeredness, our need to “be right” about everything, and our inclination to deny the humanity and needs of “the other” – the needy, the poor - those who are considered outcasts from our shiny, fast-moving, technological world.

Darkness that creates a comfortable space for a system of denial that obscures painful truths about ourselves and about the world around us. Darkness that creates a barrier between ourselves and God and eclipses the love that he has for us, and the love that he demands that we show “the other.”

In that sermon I also spoke of the challenges that we all face once the Light of Christ has finally broken through our darkened world. Challenges based in having the will and the courage to stay in the light – to stick with the demands of the light – to not scurry back into the comfortable darkness of denial, self-centeredness and self-aggrandizement.

Since that time, many things have occurred -of course. Life moves so very quickly these days. But, one event – or ongoing series of events, I might say, has brought me to a place that sheds light – a new light – on both my comments of several weeks ago and on tonight’s gospel reading from John.

Certainly, your ears are burning. You are waiting with baited breath to hear what this series of events that brought me to my “aha moment” are. You are just yearning to ask –“Clelia – what has happened to bring you to this new awareness?”

Well, here it is. As many of you know since the end of January my husband has been in a skilled nursing facility. This means, among other things, that I visit him regularly, and that while visiting I cannot help but be among and observe other residents, the staff and the many types of interactions that occur between residents and staff.

I can assure you that visiting skilled nursing facilities is nothing new for me. I have visited many people in numerous skilled nursing facilities over the years in both my role as a social worker and as clergy. But until now I have never really looked at what was going on around me. I would just rush in with tunnel vision, my focus targeted on finding the room and resident that I was visiting, and after my visit rush out, most usually with my nose pointed downward as I read messages on my cell phone.

You might say, I visited these facilities in darkness.

This new way of visiting the facility – forced, as it were to be among the residents and the staff - not rushing through the halls with blinders on, has been a truly eye opening and unbelievably humbling experience.

You might say, the Light of Christ has broken through my darkness.

Let’s not kid ourselves, caring for people with advanced dementia, end stage Alzheimer’s Disease and a host of other disabling medical conditions is an exceptionally difficult job. A job comprised of many demanding and sometimes unpleasant and demeaning tasks. It is a job, quite frankly, that I could never do.

So, when I say that I have observed the love and the Light of Christ at this facility – I mean it. I really mean it.

Each resident is lovingly known and cared for. Each resident is respected and assisted no matter what their medical or physical need. Each staff member, many clearly exhausted, makes every effort to be present when a resident expresses a need, a concern, a fear.

Being among these residents and their caretakers these past few weeks and observing their actions and interactions has made Jesus’ statement, “You do not know now what I am doing, but later you will understand” stand out for me in a very new way.

It has also brought new meaning – new and powerful meaning to tonight’s gospel reading and foot washing.

John begins tonight’s passage saying, “…Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart from this world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end.”

Jesus knows that this is his final hour with his disciples. He knows that a humiliating and painful death is just hours away. Yet he does not focus on himself, he continues to focus, in love and with love – agape - on the other – on his disciples.

Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end.”

When Jesus says, “You do not know now what I am doing, but later you will understand” he is referring to what happens next – the foot washing. In washing the disciple’s feet Jesus is establishing for the them an example of sacrificial love – of service, of humility, of an upside-down kind of understanding of God’s love – God’s grace, and salvation. A love that is based in humility and salvation.

“You do not know now what I am doing, but later you will understand”

Jesus in his love for his disciples is not frustrated by their continued lack of understanding of who he is and what his message is. Despite the many signs that he has given them - No matter what he says or does, they just don’t seem to get it – not even Peter, who seems completely mystified by what is happening. The disciples continue in darkness.

No, Jesus is not frustrated, but he is determined. Determined to continue through love, sacrificial love, agape, to demonstrate what he means when he says, “I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples if you have love for one another.”

And, Jesus is determined to show the disciples how his love is manifested in the world. He washes their dirty, ugly feet. He performs the work of a common servant – not by commandment, but out of love.

The foot washing is also symbolic. In the foot washing the disciples are cleansed, perhaps we might even use the term baptized, by Jesus so that they may also cleanse, heal, love others. Jesus demonstrates so powerfully that after his death and resurrection the disciples’ authority will come not through displays of power, but through acts of sacrificial love, servitude – the servitude modeled by Jesus in the washing of feet.

This poignant last supper scene, Jesus’ last moments with his disciples, Jesus’ acts of humility and sacrificial love immediately precedes the moment of absolute darkness that occurs at the end of tonight’s service – the stripping of the altar, the chanting of Psalm 22 with its haunting refrain,

My God, my God why have you forsaken me? And are so far from my cry and from the words of my distress...They stare and gloat over me; they divide my garments among them; they cast lots for my clothing. Be not far away, O Lord; you are my strength; hasten to help. My God, my God why have you forsaken me?”

The gradual darkening of the church – darkening that continues until there is no light. The Light of Christ eliminated.

Yet despite the grief that we will experience as the light dims, leaving us in total darkness, Christ gone, this night needs also to be a night of thankfulness.

Unlike the disciples in the upper room who are left in complete darkness at the close of this evening, we are a people who have experienced the resurrection. We know the rest of the story, Christ crucified on the cross in humiliation; Christ risen in glory, our sins washed away through his sacrificial death.

Understanding the full meaning of the foot washing is central to our journey from darkness into light – to our journey as servants of Christ. Jesus’ command to love, love sacrificially, translates to love dirty, deformed feet, love the outcast, love all those who suffer. The command to love one another just as Jesus loves us means to love as a servant washing each other’s feet, not as a king sitting apart and aloof. Jesus’ command mandates that our love is directed to the least of these, the lost, the needy, the poor – those in darkness.

Servant love – agape – is not easy. No matter how deep we believe our faith to be – no matter how frequently we proclaim our intent to serve according to God’s will – this agape servanthood role is not an easy one to carry out. That was my “aha” moment this Lent. Watching the skilled nursing facility residents and staff interact I continually thought of the foot washing – of Jesus washing away the pain and the suffering of those in darkness.

Perhaps most importantly, it became so very clear to me that being a servant – God’s servant – following the servant model given to us in love by Jesus, is very, very hard. It is something that requires continued humility, and a deep commitment to the other.

It requires us to love the other as Christ loved us – all of us, all of us who are a very broken people – you, me and everyone else.

As you come forward to participate in tonight’s foot washing, I pray that you will meditate on John’s haunting phrase, “Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end.” I pray that as your feet are washed you will imagine Jesus kneeling in front of you, washing your feet in tenderness, in love. And, I pray that as you wash the feet of the other, you will see Christ in that person, and you will experience yourself washing the feet of Christ who loves you to the end.

Thursday, March 15, 2018

Out of the Darkness

St. Simon’s on the Sound
March 11, 2014

John 3:14-21

“Then they cried to the Lord in their trouble,
and he saved them from their distress.”

In the last few years I have refrained from “giving up” something as a Lenten discipline – you know something like chocolate; chardonnay; carbohydrates, or any of those other delicious niceties of life that give us great pleasure and offer comfort in times of stress and challenge.

Rather than “give up” something during these brief 40 days I have committed myself to a discipline of identifying ways of thinking and ways of being that have led, or are leading me into darkness, away from light – away from God.

My Lenten discipline has been grounded in an intentional and continual reflective and prayerful examination of my life’s past and current events. A frequently painful journey of seeking God’s light to illuminate areas of darkness in my life. Darkness that creates a barrier between me and my God who so clearly wants to be my light – my way – my life.

Put simply, through prayer, reflection and spiritual guidance, I have asked God to shed light on ways of thinking and ways of being that either have carried or are carrying me down a road away from God. A road that leads into the pit filled with biting serpents. The pit so vividly described in today’s reading from Numbers.

In my conversations with God I have asked God to give me new lenses through which I can take a good look at myself.

This Lenten discipline of mine has always been a resounding challenge and most assuredly a transforming struggle.  I am always astounded at what I uncover – or, perhaps I should say what God helps me to uncover. It never fails, I always discover that, quite literally, I was completely in the dark about many aspects of my life.

Usually, God’s light does not immediately penetrate my darkness. I suppose that would be too simple, too easy. No, at first the light flickers on, and I most usually, turn it off – very quickly.

But that darn light is so persistent – crafty and persistent. Gradually, the light seeps through the cracks of my darkness. Soon the darkness is not so dark; there seems to be no clear boundary between the darkness and the light. And then, suddenly there is no darkness at all. The light shines continually and my new lenses are polished and working. My interactions, reactions, my ways of being are clearly illuminated in a new way – a way that is far more congruent with a true relationship with God.

Seen through new lenses my life is illuminated in a new, frightening and yet incredibly exciting way. Perhaps most important of all, my new way of being infuses me anew with the depth, the strength, the power of God’s love. My new way of being allows me to offer that love to others; allows me to bring the gift of God’s love to others – those who are still in darkness.

Then, of course, comes the struggle of staying in the light – of not returning to the darkness – the pit.

This week’s Lectionary readings are one of the few occasions in which all of the appointed passages from Scripture, including the psalm, come together to form a powerful, painful, and yet love-filled message for those of us engaged in a Lenten journey of reflection and repentance – one that leads us out of darkness and into the light.

First, we heard an Old Testament story filled with vivid and frightening imagery of poisonous serpents biting people – killing people. Punishing people for their complaining and whining – for their looking away from God to find an easier, more convenient way to live their lives. And then, unexpectedly, this terrifying account of writhing, venom spitting serpents ends by becoming not a story of pain, suffering and death, but a story filled with the hope of salvation.

In today’s passage from Numbers, God sent poisonous serpents into the Israelite camp as punishment for the people complaining against Moses and God. Through this frightening siege of venomous serpents, the Israelites recognized that they were being punished for falling away from God; the God who had promised them salvation from slavery and suffering. In haste, they went to Moses and repented saying, “We have sinned by speaking against the Lord and against you.”

As they began their cry of repentance, God commanded Moses to make a poisonous serpent out of bronze and to lift it up on a pole – high up - so that anyone bitten by one of the serpents could look up at it and live. The Israelites grateful for this life-saving serpent lifted on high said that it was not the sight of the bronze serpent that saved them, but that looking up to it, they looked up to God as the Lord who would heal them. They renewed their promise to follow God.

Psalm 107 opens with the powerful verse, “Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good, and his mercy endures forever.” A hymn extolling God’s mercy to those who, “were fools and took rebellious ways,” but who also “cried to the Lord in their trouble.” God “sent forth his word and healed them and saved them from the grave.”

Yet another version of people lost in darkness crying out to God for light, for salvation. And, as always, God there – right there. Ever present, ever loving.

Fast forwarding to today’s gospel reading from John, Jesus almost 500 years later tells his disciples and the surrounding crowd, “And just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up.”

The term translated “lift up” (hypsoo) can also mean “exalt,” and John uses that double meaning to communicate the theological paradox of this story in which Jesus is both physically lifted up onto the cross as punishment, and at the same time lifted up on the cross in exaltation by God.

For anyone in first century Palestine, Jesus included, being nailed to a cross and then lifted up for public display was a moment of profound humiliation and defeat. But John describes Jesus’ crucifixion as collapsed into a single measure of divine action: Jesus crucified by taking on man’s sins; Jesus exalted by God as our savior.

Just as the Israelites were required to look upon the very thing that brought death in order to receive life – the bronze asp lifted on high by Moses, so we are asked to look upon Jesus lifted up on the cross in humiliating crucifixion in order to understand the concept of Jesus taking on man’s sins in order to offer salvation to those who follow him. Follow him to the cross and beyond; always looking up – always looking for the Light of Christ.

In John’s passage Jesus continues, “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but have eternal life.” Beautiful and comforting words. But, in this context of serpents and crucifixion crosses how are we to interpret them? How does a loving God act out of such anger and cause so much pain? If God loves us so much why should we struggle, why should we suffer?

If we listen carefully we hear Jesus say, “And this is the judgment, that the light has come into the world, and people loved darkness rather than light because their deeds were evil. For all who do evil hate the light and do not come to the light, so that their deeds may not be exposed. But those who do what is true come to the light, so that it may be clearly seen that their deeds have been done in God.”

God’s grace has no meaning in isolation from God’s judgment. If we believe that we have no sin, we have no need for forgiveness. If there is no judgment, we require no grace.

The question for all of us is very clear. During our Lenten journey do we have the courage, the discipline, the insight to look up and allow the light of Christ to shine on the darkness in our lives and in the world around us?

Do we dare to have a look at our own lives – our own ways of thinking and our own behaviors, so frequently less than admirable. Our own thoughts and behaviors that with regularity are in direct conflict the great commandments that we affirm each Sunday during Lent”

“Jesus said, “The first commandment is this: Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God is the only Lord. Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all your strength. The second is this: Love your neighbor as yourself. There is no other commandment greater than these.”

Do we have the courage to change our ways of being; our behaviors. To cease thoughts and actions that trigger the arrival in our lives of venomous serpents and to look up to Christ lifted up high on the cross for a better way; a way filled with the Light of Christ? Do we have the courage to Repent and Return? Can we find the humility and bravery necessary to repair relationships gone awry and deeds left undone out of fear or apathy?

Are we daring enough to face the difficult truths of a world darkened by the astounding challenges of complex political and social justice issues” Are we brave enough to face everything from personal transgressions, however, small or large, to mass shootings and other acts of violence and hatred; and to do something about these things?

Are we courageous enough to act as Christ’s disciples and seek justice and peace in our own lives and in the lives of those who live in darkness throughout our community and the world?

Perhaps most importantly, can we stand firm in the light? Or, once we see the light do we scuttle off, creeping back into the comfortable darkness of denial? Experiencing the salvific power of the light and seeing clearly that we have fallen away from God, do we look upwards – on high – asking forgiveness and seeking ways to keep the light shining, as a guide, as an advocate, as our Savior- however painful the ensuing steps we must take might be?

Our message today is that God is indeed the God who so loved the world that he gave his Son so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but have eternal life. But that, that same God is also a God who places on our shoulders the expectation of actively seeking the light, actively seeking His salvific gift – His Son, Jesus – and following that light, not the darkness of a deeply troubled world, but in the way of the cross – a way strewn with love, encompassed by grace; and based on faith.

The face of God in today’s readings is of a God who is ever present -ever ready to forgive. But, it is also a face of God to whom a turn must be made. A God of demand always ready to be a God of grace. Grace and demand, the way all serious relationships work.

Seek the Lord while he may be found,
call upon him when he is near;
let the wicked forsake their way,
and the unrighteous their thoughts;
let them return to the Lord, that he may have
mercy on them,
and to our God, for he will abundantly pardon.

            Isaiah 55:6-7

Friday, January 12, 2018

Are We Ready?

St. Simon’s on the Sound
December 24, 2017

Luke 1:26-38

This is quite an incredible morning. The Fourth Sunday of Advent, Christmas Eve morning, and the day on which we will baptize baby Hawkins Hatchee Hale in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. 

In just a few minutes, amidst the joyful anticipation of glorious angels singing, shepherds standing amazed and trembling, and the arrival of the Christ child in a manger in long ago Bethlehem, we will receive baby Hawkins into the household of God – right here at St. Simon’s on the Sound. We will anoint this beautiful child with holy oil and charge him with the lifelong baptismal calling to confess the faith of Christ crucified, proclaim his resurrection, and share with the world his eternal priesthood.

This is most assuredly a WOW moment in time – sort of like a perfect storm but in the very best sense of that concept. This morning is a time in which our Advent waiting and watching for the birth of the baby Jesus coincides with the arrival not only of the Christ child in a manager in far away Bethlehem; but also, the baptism of baby Hawkins. The arrival of this the newest member of God’s kingdom in the here and now. Two blessed and joyful events that remind us of our own baptism, our own call to confess the faith of Christ crucified, proclaim his resurrection, and share with the world his eternal priesthood.

Holy Baptism is just that. It is Holy. It is a sacred moment - the act of full initiation into Christ’s Body, the Church, by water and the Holy Spirit. In this Holy moment, the sacred bond which God establishes with each one of us in Baptism becomes indissoluble.

In the words of the Catechism, "Holy Baptism is the sacrament by which God adopts us as his children and makes us members of Christ's Body, the Church, and inheritors of the kingdom of God." 

Through the rite of Holy Baptism, we are reminded that God was made man in Christ so that he could be among us – be one of us. We become profoundly aware that God reconciled himself to us through the gift of his Son Jesus Christ - God made man - God among us; and, through Christ and our baptism by water and the Holy Spirit, we are reconciled to God. We are reconciled to God through his love for us in the gift of his incarnation - the gift of his Son, Jesus, and the gift of baptism into God’s church.

Once baptized, we are members of God’s family – heirs of God’s eternal kingdom. Once baptized, we are anointed as God’s priests, called to go forth into the world living the life that Christ modeled for us, so many years ago.

Once baptized we are bound to our baptismal vows to continue in the apostles’ teaching, and fellowship, in the breaking of bread, and in the prayers. To persevere in resisting evil, and whenever we fall into sin - fall away from God - to repent and return to the Lord. To proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ. To seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving our neighbor as ourselves. To strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being.

There is still more in this powerful initiation that we call baptism. That more is our presence. Through our presence, we are an integral part of this sacred ceremony. We participate by making a promise. A promise that is filled to the brim with responsibility and accountability. As we witness the baptism of baby Hawkins, and affirm, “we will,” when questioned by Fr. David, we commit to do all in our power to support him in his life in Christ. With our support, Baby Hawkins joins the baptized of all who walk together in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.

Baby Hawkins, and we - all of us - by our vows are now bound irrevocably and  inextricably, to Christ, to God. God is now with us, in us, behind us, and before us with every breath that we breath; with every step that we take. And, we are in Him, with every breath that we breath; with every step that we take.

Several years ago, in Haiti, I had the honor to baptize a little girl. An infant really, perhaps  4-5 months of age. I was serving at the temporary altar of a church that had been completely destroyed in the 2010 earthquake. The priest was Pere Kerwin Delicat, now the dean of the cathedral in Port au Prince. There were two babies to be baptized - one girl and one boy. Pere Kerwin began the baptismal ceremony with the boy, completing the entire liturgy before asking the family of the infant girl to come forward. Once they had gathered around the baptismal font, Pere Kerwin directed the mother to give the child to me, and he said: “You do the girl.”

I was completely taken aback. In a kind of daze, I reached forward to take this tiny child who was encompassed by a massive crinoline filled baptismal dress. Panic set in - I could not feel the baby through the dress - would I drop her once the mother took her hands away?

Somehow, I managed to gather most of the dress and the head of the child in my right arm - I had to go on faith about the child’s body because I really could not feel it through all the fabric. Pere Kerwin held the prayer book for me. It seemed that I was ready to get on with the baptism.

However, I want to mention that it was August. The temperature was about 101 degrees and the humidity about 98 percent; and, we were outside under a tarp. Pere Kerwin and I had been in our vestments for over 45 minutes. I had also preached. We were both perspiring quite heavily.

As you can imagine this was not what one would call a great moment in time for me to be performing a baptism. Sweating heavily, speaking in a foreign language, holding a great mass of crinoline in which was swathed a beautiful baby girl, my glasses sliding down my nose - well, I will let you come to your own conclusions about how I was feeling.

And then, something incredible happened. I can only call it the arrival of the Holy Spirit. As we progressed through the baptismal liturgy, all discomfort fell away. And, when I poured water on the child, baptizing her in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit - au nom du Pere, et du Fils, et du Saint-Esprit - I experienced a mystical moment. A moment that really cannot be described. A moment in which I could feel God with us - God blessing us - God’s light and love surrounding us. The Holy Spirit descended upon us.

I have never felt that way before - and never after.

I believe that what I experienced in Haiti, is what we should all experience not only at our own baptism, which we probably cannot remember, but at every baptism in which we find ourselves a participant - both as we witness a child, or an adult, baptized; or, as we, through the baptismal liturgy, renew our own baptismal vows. It is an experience that, I pray, we will all share in just a few moments when we baptize baby Hawkins. And, it is an experience that we should all share later today as we come together to witness the arrival of the baby Jesus, in the manger. The birth of Jesus, God’s gift to us.

Baby Hawkins has brought us a great gift on this the Fourth Sunday of Advent. He has brought us the gift of experiencing in the here and now the powerful impact of what it means to be a member of God’s kingdom. His baptism is an outward manifestation of our Advent prayers and reflections - “Purify our conscience, Almighty God by your daily visitation, that your Son Jesus Christ, at his coming may find in us a mansion prepared for himself.”

Are we ready? Have we prepared ourselves for this great gift, and this great commitment to a way of life that is based on our baptismal vows? Have we emptied ourselves of distractions, pettiness, and anger? Have we prepared a mansion for Christ within our hearts and our minds and our souls. A mansion where he can flourish and from which he can go forth through us and our way of being in every day, and with every breath?

In this glorious moment of baptism that we are about to witness let us pray that we experience that mystery of the Holy Spirit descending upon us, filling us with the glory of God. Let us pray that this mysterious and most powerful moment leads us in amazement to the manger in Bethlehem later this evening when we witness the Christ child born anew. Let us pray that our hearts and minds, so filled with the Holy Spirit and the gift of God among us, will lead us, renewed in our own  baptismal vows to be faithful witnesses continuing forever in the risen life of Jesus Christ our Savior.

Let us pray that these glorious moments stay with us throughout the coming year, continually guiding us - continually lighting our path and filling our hearts and minds with God’s love for us and for the world.

When the song of the angels is stilled,
when the star in the sky is gone,
when the kings and princes are home,
when the shepherds are back with their flocks,
the work of Christmas begins:
to find the lost,
to heal the broken,
to feed the hungry,
to release the prisoner,
to rebuild the nations,
to bring peace among the people,
to make music in the heart.

Howard Thurman

Tuesday, November 28, 2017

Sheep or Goat - Which Are YOU?

St. Simon’s on the Sound
November 26, 2017

Matthew 25: 31-46

Today’s gospel reading about the sheep and the goats is yet another parable that sets us straight with regard to those who are fulfilling their baptismal covenant, truly engaging in compassionate living, and those who are not. The question for us in today’s gospel is - who is a sheep and who is a goat? Can you tell? It’s not always so easy – and yet, to not understand the difference and, therefore, the importance of this message from Jesus, can lead to sharp disappointment and potential damage to those who are the target of our “compassion.”

As an example, let me tell you a story about some good folks who believed that there were sheep, but who really turned out to be goats – or, did they?

A small group went on a mission trip to Haiti. Their work was focused on providing a three-day Vacation Bible School experience for children situated in a small orphanage located in the capitol city of Port au Prince. Each day the mission team would be shuttled from the guest house, where they were staying, to the orphanage. After several hours at the orphanage, they returned to the guesthouse for an afternoon of prayer and studying.

Their shuttle bus took them through Cité Soleil (Sun City in English) a shanty town located in the center of Port-au-Prince. Most of Cite Soleil’s 300,000 residents live in extreme poverty. Children and single mothers predominate in the population. Social and living conditions in the slum do not allow residents to fulfill even the basic human needs. Homes are simply shacks made from rusty metal sheets. Infectious diseases are wide-spread. Garbage collection, clean water, and basic sanitation does not exist in Cité Soleil. The average life expectancy of Cite Soleil residents is between 45-50 years of age. 

The mission team members were naturally troubled as they drove through this section of Port au Prince. They were especially troubled by the fact that mothers were carrying small infants wrapped in newspaper to keep them warm. One evening at supper, they agreed to purchase baby blankets and hand them out to the mothers as they drove down the boulevard that transverses Cite Soleil. That decided, they quickly finished dinner and rushed out to the street vendors selling baby products, and bought up as many blankets as they could find.

The following morning, as their bus drove down the Cite Soleil boulevard, the mission team members handed the blankets to women and their babies through the open bus windows. The women grabbed at the blankets and waved at the team, with big smiles on their faces.

The team felt great. They had done a wonderful thing. They had demonstrated compassion for the cold and impoverished babies. Now the babies would be nice and warm, the mothers would heave a sigh of relief; all that dirty old newspaper could be tossed away. In those moments they felt themselves to be truly be good shepherds, compassionate people caring for God’s flock.

On the way back to their guesthouse, just a few short hours later, the team members looked out of the bus windows and were aghast as they saw the very same blankets that they had given to the mothers hanging in vendor’s stalls for sale, once again. And, even worse, the very same babies were still wrapped in the offensively dirty newspaper.

They were angry. These mothers were callous, they only cared about money, not their babies – how could they???

The mission team leader suggested that the driver stop the bus so that one or two of the mothers could be interviewed. Since no one on the team spoke Creole, the bus driver was asked to question the mothers about the blankets and the newspaper. After several moments of conversation, the bus driver turned around to the team and said, “They say, thank you for the blankets so they could sell them and get the money they need to buy food for their babies.”

Maybe these team members weren’t sheep. Maybe they were really goats.

In today’s parable of the sheep and the goats, we learn that the coming Son of Man has actually been present among the most vulnerable members of society all along.  He is already here – the kingdom has been a home for the sheep since the “foundation of the world.” 

The Son of Man of this parable upends paradigms of time and power and privilege. We discover that he makes, and has made, his dwelling place not in castles and elegant homes, but in mangers and fields. He makes, and has made, since the foundation of the world, his dwelling place among the least. 

The Son of Man of this parable is crowned with king-like attributes of universal and everlasting dominion, but does not act like a typical king, or ruler, or judge. When Jesus remarks, “Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me,” we learn that He is one of them, one of the least. The least are his family.

And, who exactly are the least ones – needy members of the Christian community, the wandering Christian missionaries of Matthew’s day – or, perhaps anyone in need. Why didn’t Jesus give his disciples a clearer identification of the least ones? Perhaps because doing so would make us all goats. Should we have to ask?

Today’s parable implies quite clearly that we should not have to ask. 

In this parable, the king speaks first to the sheep, affirming that they are blessed by the father; they will inherit the kingdom that has been prepared for them from the foundation of the world – from the beginning of time. Selflessly and without having to wonder “should I, or shouldn’t I,” they have given him food, drink, hospitality, clothing, care and visited him when he was in need. 

The king’s address to the goats runs through the same list of acts of compassion, but is expressed in the negative – the goats are “accursed.” The goats voice surprise at the king’s comments: “Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry…?” 

Although the sheep and the goats voice identical questions - “Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry…,” their questions carry very different implications.

The sheep acted out of genuine compassion, without any awareness that the king might be present among the least ones, and without any thought of potential reward. The goats, on the other hand, are trapped within the social code that orders relationships and values giving to those at the top of the pyramid, not those at the bottom – those who have nothing to give back.

On the lips of the goats, the same question that the sheep have asked implies something quite different. For them, the goats, “When did we see you hungry…?” implies that, had they only known of the king’s presence among the least ones, they would have been right there, attempting to serve his needs.

What does this parable – this teaching of Jesus about the sheep and the goats have to do with the missionaries and the baby blankets in Haiti; and, perhaps, more importantly, us here at St. Simon’s, so many years later?

Everything really. This parable must be central to our consideration as we prepare to engage ourselves and our church in the world. It is a parable that forces us to carefully consider and discern, our intentions, our decisions, and our actions as we go forth each Sunday morning in peace, to love and serve the Lord. 

Are we, without concern of acknowledgement or reward, embedding ourselves among the least of those who live around and among us – those whom we serve? Are we developing a loving companionship with them; giving them, when it is truly needed, food, drink, welcoming, visitation, and healing?  Or, are we standing outside these communities of the least, sitting in parish halls and other church meeting rooms developing projects and programs that are intended to give to them – the least – what we deem they need? 

There is a big difference. The former is based on our becoming one - one body with the least – the body of Christ. The latter is based on a class system of “haves” and “have nots.”

Put another way, do we dare to live among the least of these? Do we dare to descend from the bus in Cite Soleil, one of the poorest and most dangerous neighborhoods in the world, and become one with the mothers and babies? Really be present with them and experience the pain that they experience in not being able to feed the infants in their arms. Serving them as brothers and sisters in Christ.

Or, do we find it more comfortable to sit in the moving bus, gazing out of the window and imagining that baby blankets will solve the problems of mothers who wander the streets of Cite Soleil. Do we even imagine that in their wandering they will stop at the next garbage heap to seek some small morsel of food for themselves and their family? Or, that when in next rains they will live in a sea of mud and water for days on end?

Do we develop a mission project, wherever it may be, that allows us to live with the community that we intend to join with for several hours over a period of two or three days - entering into companionships that will allow healing of mind, body and spirit on both sides? Or, do we sit at home and engage in a series of committee meetings to decide upon what gifts we can take them on our next visit?

This may seem an extreme example; but, really, it isn’t. The sheep are those who seek and serve Christ in all persons and strive for justice and peace among all people – loving and respecting each other, just as Christ loves us. This is the case for all sheep. Sheep in engaged in world mission, sheep engaged in local mission; sheep engaged in congregational mission.

Being present with; being among; walking beside; listening; loving others in the power of the Spirit. That is the job description for a sheep. That is the job description for all of us – all of us baptized in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. AMEN