Our Constant Light

 

SERMON

Maundy Thursday - March 28, 2024

Several weeks ago, I preached on the gift of the good news proclaimed by Jesus. Good news that points us to the light of Christ. The light of Christ; a light that frees us from the exile of darkness. A light which makes possible our entrance into the kingdom of God’s love, forgiveness, and salvation.

Tonight, I preach about the disappearance of the light. The return to the exile of darkness that engulfs us as we anticipate the crucifixion of Christ. Tonight, the light of Christ will be extinguished. Seemingly eclipsed from our lives. Gone.

I first experienced this devastating eclipse of Christ’s light while visiting one of the largest Episcopal cathedrals in the United States, a massive gothic structure with a sanctuary that accommodated six choir stalls designed to seat 32 singers, chairs for 10 clergy, a 62 rank Austin organ, and a large free-standing altar covered by an intricately designed red and gold silk brocade Jacobean frontal.

The altar cushions displayed brilliant needlepoint designs. Lustrous silver candlesticks and candelabra held golden beeswax candles. Beautifully embroidered linens and multiple light-catching silver flagons and chalices added to the brilliance that surrounded this exquisite space.

The wall behind the altar was dominated by three stained glass panels that soared upward into the vaulted ceiling. These incredible pieces were placed above marble images of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John and were framed by intricate stone carvings of assorted designs.

The entire area was bathed in glorious light. The light of Christ.

Throughout the service the incredible voices of the choir and the thrilling music made possible through the various ranks of such a versatile organ transported the entire congregation into a spiritual place well beyond our day-to-day realities.

As the Eucharist drew to a close the many lanterns scattered around the church were dimmed and the candles extinguished. Ever so slowly the priests, deacons, chalice bearers and acolytes began to “strip” the altar and the choir began to chant Psalm 22:

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? And are so far from my cry and my words of distress.

O my God, I cry out in the daytime, but you do not answer; by night as well, but I find no rest.

Chalices and all of the other eucharistic vessels were reverently handed to Altar Guild members waiting at a small door that opened onto the sanctuary. The Fair Linen was carefully folded and gently handed to an acolyte. Then the candelabra, the frontal, the cushions, the Altar Book, the prayer books, and the hymnals quietly disappeared, one by one. The ceremony proceeded slowly, gracefully, and tragically. All the while the choir chanted Psalm 22 ever so quietly.

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? And are so far from my cry and my words of distress.” 

And then, the chanting drew to a close. The lights dimmed to near blackout. The priest slowly removed the purple veil from the processional cross and then gently, reverently re-veiled the cross in black. At that point the church fell into total darkness and with the processional cross leading, the choir, the clergy, the chalice bearers, and the acolytes solemnly and ever so quietly processed out in silence. As the last in this long line of mourners passed by each row then joined the somber procession.

Out into the darkness went the cross; out into the darkness went the clergy; out into the darkness went the congregation – out into the darkness we all went, following Jesus to the Garden of Gethsemane.

No words, no music; no light. The light of Christ extinguished.

I was not alone as I shed tears and felt a painful emptiness in my heart; an emptiness that I had never experienced before. I was not alone when I thought, “Christ is gone; there is no Christ – what will I do?”

In the dark sorrow of the Maundy Thursday stripping of the altar I believe that we, each in our own way, experience a sense of doom and desolation. Jesus has been betrayed; he will be scorned; he will be tortured; he will suffer excruciating pain; he will be nailed to a cross, crucified; he will die an agonizing death.

Tonight, the light of Christ will be extinguished. Darkness will fall upon us. Darkness will invade our hearts and souls. We will experience deep sadness and despair. The Light will have disappeared.

But when that moment of sadness and despair comes upon us, let us remember the words of Genesis 1, “… God said, let there be light; and there was light. And God saw that the light was good; and God separated the light from the darkness.” (Gen 1:3-4).

Then let us remember John’s words when he spoke of the arrival of Jesus as God’s agent in the world, “What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.” (John 1:4-5)

And finally, let us remember Christ’s words when he so wisely proclaimed, “No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.” (Matt 5:15-16)

Christ’s light is God’s light, and God’s light is our light. An eternal light given to us at the beginning of time. An eternal light that pleases God. An eternal light passed on to us by Christ. An eternal light that as a beloved child of God, no matter what the circumstance, we shall carry with us always, in our hearts, in our minds, and in our souls. A light that we are called to shed on others.

This evening, Jesus’ time among us will come to an end. In a few short hours Jesus will ascend and once again be one with the Father. And we, if we have heard his message; have received him into our hearts; have been truly baptized by his Spirit, will follow him on this last journey into the darkness of the garden, through the agony of the crucifixion, and beyond.

In just a few short hours we, you and I, will be the bearers of God’s eternal light. We will be the lamp that gives light to the whole house.

And what then? How do we carry out this enormous responsibility cast upon us not only by Jesus, but also God, the Father. What is our job to be?

In tonight’s gospel Jesus tells his disciples, “Whoever serves me must follow me, and where I am, there will be my servant also. Whoever serves me, the Father will honor.”

Our responsibility, our salvation, Jesus tells us, is made manifest through being the good servant; through moving in and through and with God as we go about our day-to-day lives. Our words and deeds are to be embedded with the compassion, love, and forgiveness shown us so beautifully by Christ tonight as he washes our feet and feeds us with this last meal. A meal destined to become a sacred remembrance of our lives together.

We are destined to serve the world by pouring forth into the world Christ’s compassion, love, and forgiveness. Compassion, love, and forgiveness generated by the light of Christ that burns deeply and eternally in our hearts.

If, in some small way, we can accomplish this task of serving one another with compassion, love, and forgiveness as Jesus loved, served, and forgave us, I assure you we will be bathed in the light of Christ, God’s light given to us at the beginning of time. We will come to know the peace that passes all understanding; we will understand the meaning of our salvation; we will be true participants in the glory of the Easter resurrection.

Tonight, we follow Jesus on the first steps towards his death – and believe it or not, the star that lights the way, shines more brightly than ever,

I close with a prayer of the Kikuyu  in Kenya - I Have No Words To Thank You

O my Father, Great Elder, I have no words to thank you, but with your deep wisdom I am sure that you can see how I value your glorious gifts.

O my Father, when I look upon your greatness, I am confounded with awe. O Great Elder, Ruler of all things earthly and heavenly, I am your warrior, ready to act in accordance with your will.

 

 

 

A Lenten Reflection

 

SERMON

March 10, 2024

John 3:14-21

Well, here we are right, smack in the middle of Lent, a time that demands consistent commitment to the tasks of reflection and repentance. Tasks that each of their own accord present enormous challenges both historically and in the present moment. Yet, however challenging, mandatory tasks for a Lenten journey in which we clear the decks for long periods of time to reflect on the ways in which we have succumbed to temptation and turned away from God. Time in which we reflect how we might resist the pull of temptation by turning to God for help and for forgiveness.

Time in which we begin to understand the true meaning of repentance.

In the Hebrew Bible repent means “to return,” especially “to return from exile.” The roots of the Greek word for repent mean “to go beyond the mind that you have.” To repent is to return from exile (falling away from God) and to embark on a way that goes beyond the mind that you have. A mind that has lost its focus on God.

So also, the ancient meaning of the word “believe” has a meaning quite different from our common understanding. “Believe” has to do with trust and commitment. “To believe in the good news,” means to trust that the kingdom of God is near and to commit to that kingdom.

Our Lenten journeys are the “time out” needed for our return from exile. These reflective times of prayer and repentance provide the possibility to go beyond the minds that we have. They provide the faith foundation that is absolutely necessary if we are to “believe” – to trust and commit to - the good news given to us so lovingly, so powerfully through the gift of the incarnation.

The gift of the good news proclaimed by Jesus whose teaching and healing offer us ways in which to return from exile, ways to go beyond the minds that we have. Ways in which it becomes so easy to attain God’s forgiveness, God’s love, God’s salvation. Ways in which to repent.

Today’s brief reading from Numbers tells a graphic story of repentance. The Israelites after 40 long years continue to wander in the desert wilderness. They are tired and hungry, fed up with the tasteless manna that they receive each day. They cry out to God, “Why have you brought us up out of Egypt to die in the wilderness? For there is no food, no water, and we detest this miserable [manna].”

This disruptive anger causes God to react quickly and quietly. He sends venomous snakes to infest the camp. Many of the Israelites are killed by the poisonous snake bites. They are terrified and cry out to Moses, “We have sinned by speaking against the Lord and against you; pray to the Lord to take away the serpents from us.”

Moses gets to work praying for the people and, as always, God responds. He instructs Moses to “Make a poisonous snake and put it upon a pole; and everyone who is bitten shall look at it and live.”

The people took heed. Whenever a snake bit them they rushed over to the pole and gazed up at the evil-averting bronze snake that had been attached to it, and they were cured. Some biblical interpretations speculate that the Israelites were in fact looking upward beyond the bronze snake to heaven. In any case, looking up at the bronze snake was the antidote to death. Those who were bitten were healed.

I am struck by the fact that in this story of salvation God did not remove the evil, death by snakebite; but he did provide the alternative to death, looking upward to the evil-averting bronze snake. An antidote of God’s making. The people had a choice. Death by snakebite, or belief in God’s almighty power to heal, to save.

Thousands of years later, John writes, “Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but that in order that the world might be saved through him. Those who believe in him are not condemned; but those who do not believe are condemned already, because they have not believed in the name of the only Son of God.”

Does this sound familiar. The world is in trouble, in exile. People were living in exile and loving darkness rather than reaching for the light. God recognizes this and as a response sends the most unimaginable gift of his Son, Jesus. God provides a light that enters the world to dispel the darkness of exile. A light to illuminate ways of being that go beyond the minds of those in exile. Ways in which it becomes so easy to attain God’s forgiveness, God’s love, God’s salvation. Ways in which to repent and return to God.

“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.” Those wandering in the desert of darkness now have a glorious alternative. The possibility of God’s forgiveness, God’s love, God’s salvation.

Look up. Return from exile and think in ways that go beyond the mind that you have. Have faith in the light of Christ.

But is this message of salvation just for us? For our personal benefit? I think not.

Many theologians agree that all Scripture is missional in nature. In other words, the Old Testament, the Psalms, and the New Testament each in their own way provide ample clues as to the ways in which we as Christians have been called first by God, and then by his Son, and now by the Spirit to be a missional people. A people generously spreading the light of Christ and the love and salvation offered by God to all those throughout the world who live in darkness

In his book Transforming Mission, David Bosch, one of the foremost mission theologians of the twentieth century wrote, “The classical doctrine of the missio dei as God the Father sending the Son, and God the Father and the Son sending the Spirit (is) expanded to include yet another “movement”: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit sending the church into the world…mission is not primarily an activity of the church, but an attribute of God. God is a missionary God…Mission is thereby seen as a movement from God to the world; the church is viewed as an instrument of that mission…There is church because there is mission, not vice versa.” (pp.492-96)

God expects us to carry his light into the world. We are called to be a light to the world. A light that causes church to become church. As one of my colleagues so succinctly put it, “Unless we speak for God who else will speak.”

So, in these last few weeks of Lent as we reflect on our lives as Christians and consider ways in which we must repent if we are indeed to be the light of Christ in the world, I would encourage us to start by having a good look at the overwhelming needs of the world. A world that as Justin Welby, Archbishop of Canterbury, said last week “has come unhinged.” A world besieged by darkness. A world so very much in need of Christ’s light.

The war in the Ukraine has just passed the two-year mark. Over 10,000 people have been killed and as of the end of December 2023, 5.9 million refugees from Ukraine were recorded across Europe, most unsettled and awaiting the possibility of a return to their homeland.

The death toll in Israel-Hamas war has surpassed 30,000, roughly one person for every 73 who live in Gaza. The United Nations recently warned that famine is immanent for more than half a million of Gaza’s residents, and that one in six children under the age of 2 in northern Gaza is suffering from acute malnutrition. 

In Sudan 17.7 million people—37% of the population—are experiencing crisis levels of food insecurity. Hunger and starvation are a daily occurrence with over 13.6 million children urgently needing life-saving humanitarian assistance. Over 3 million children are facing severe acute malnutrition.

Climate change is contributing to humanitarian crises where climate hazards affect vulnerable populations. About 3.3 to 3.6 billion people are highly vulnerable to climate change because of the location and circumstances in which they live.

Just here at home thirteen million children are food insecure and experiencing hunger. Homelessness in America spiked in 2022, reaching a record high of more than 650,000 people, all of whom were living in shelters or outside in tents or cars. 

There are millions upon millions of people who live and suffer in darkness, who need the light of Christ to illuminate the hope that can be generated only by being assured that they are loved by God.

What might our repentance this Lenten season look like then. We might ask the question, “In light of so engulfing a sea of darkness where is God’s mission, the church?”

I would suggest that prayer generated by a greater awareness of whatever it is we are praying for is a good start. Seizing upon a particular issue, reading a bit about it, talking to others about it, getting other points of view, and then developing a prayer based on educated awareness, compassion, and love. That is a good first step.

Of course, there are many other steps. But knowledge bred of educated awareness, continual self-reflection based in humility and the search for repentance, and prayer are a good place to start.