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Sermons preached each Sunday and at special services are archived on this page. Sermons are listed below by date preached, from most recent to least recent. You can search the full text of the sermon archives with the search feature, or filter sermons by preacher, liturgical season, or a specific date.
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Monsters are Real
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+ In the Love of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
In the mid-1990’s St. Gregory’s went on pilgrimage to the Holy Land, and one of our stops was the Capernaum, which is called in Hebrew, Kafar Nahum― the village of Nahum. (Nahum is also the name of one of the Old Testament prophets.)
Capernaum was the home of St. Peter’s mother-in-law, and Jesus and his disciples made their headquarters there. We saw the foundations of her house, preserved under a magnificent church.
We also saw the ruins of the fourth century White Synagogue, so-called because it was built with white limestone blocks from quarries several miles away. And beneath the ruins of the White Synagogue, we could see the foundations of the first-century synagogue where this morning’s Gospel took place. Unlike the White Synagogue, the synagogue Jesus entered was built with Capernaum’s indigenous black volcanic stone.
So Jesus enters this synagogue on the Sabbath, and he is invited to teach. And they were astounded at his teaching, because “he taught them as one having authority, and not as the scribes.”
Scribes were teachers of the law, and like rabbis today, they never taught on their own authority; instead, they cited other scribes― just as today rabbis cite other rabbis to support their teaching. But Jesus speaks as one having authority, and the readers of Mark’s Gospel know where Jesus’ authority comes from― he is the Beloved Son empowered by the Holy Spirit.
Suddenly a man with an unclean spirit cries out. Notice that this man wasn’t a stranger who entered the synagogue― he was one of them, and had been there all along.
There’s a post going around Facebook these days with a quote from Stephen King, the famous writer of horror stories: “Monsters are real. Ghosts are real, too. They live inside us, and sometimes they win.”
The monster― the unclean spirit― in this man was winning, and so he cries out “What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us?”
The answer to the unclean spirit’s question is “Yes.” Jesus was empowered by the Holy Spirit to liberate and save us from, as our Baptism service puts it, “Satan and all the spiritual forces of wickedness that rebel against God” (The Book of Common Prayer, page 302).
And now, in this morning’s Gospel, Jesus shows his authority to teach by showing his power to liberate and save this man from the unclean spirit― the monster― who was living inside him.
Fortunately, we rarely if ever encounter this kind of unclean spirit, this kind of monster. But there may be lesser monsters lurking within us, as we see in this morning’s reading from Paul’s letter to the Corinthians. But first, a little background.
In the ancient world, almost all the meat that was available in restaurants and markets had previously been sacrificed to idols in the temples. What’s more, only the wealthy― the 1% of the ancient world (!)― could afford to eat meat in their homes, while the only time the 99% ever got to eat meat was during pagan worship services when the meat was sacrificed to idols.
So imagine the situation at St. Paul’s Church in Corinth. A handful of parishioners were wealthy and ate meat regularly. Other parishioners were Jews, and the second of their Ten Commandments forbade idol worship. And the newest parishioners were poor converts from paganism, whose only association with meat was in pagan sacrifices to idols.
So Paul is writing to the “know-it-all” monsters living in some of his parishioners and who think that the other parishioners should just get over their superstitions and qualms about eating meat. And so Paul writes:
“Now concerning food sacrificed to idols: we know that― and now Paul quotes the know-it-alls― ‘all of us possess knowledge.’” However, Paul admonishes them, “Knowledge puffs up, but love builds up.”
Now as a matter of fact, Paul agrees with the puffed-up “know-it-alls” theologically:
“Hence, as to the eating of food offered to idols, we know that ‘no idol in the world really exists,’ and that ‘there is no God but one.’ (And here we hear echoes of the Shema, the Jewish creed, “Here O Israel, the Lord your God is one.”) Indeed, even though there may be so-called gods in heaven or on earth— as in fact there are many gods and many lords— yet for us there is one God, the Father, from whom are all things and for whom we exist, and one Lord, Jesus Christ, through whom are all things and through whom we exist.” (And this reminds us of the Nicene Creed, in which we say of Jesus Christ that “through him all things were made.”)
But although Paul agrees with the know-it-alls theologically, he disagrees with them pastorally because the puffed-up monsters within them aren’t acting with love:
“It is not everyone, however, who has this knowledge. Since some have become so accustomed to idols until now, they still think of the food they eat as food offered to an idol; and their conscience, being weak, is defiled. ‘Food will not bring us close to God.’ We are no worse off if we do not eat, and no better off if we do. But take care that this liberty of yours does not somehow become a stumbling block to the weak. For if others see you, who possess knowledge, eating in the temple of an idol, might they not, since their conscience is weak, be encouraged to the point of eating food sacrificed to idols?”
And now Paul shows the fundamental reason why love must come before everything else in the life of a congregation:
“So by your knowledge those weak believers”― the literal translation is “weak brother or sister― “for whom Christ died are destroyed. But when you thus sin against [your brothers and sisters], and wound their conscience when it is weak, you sin against Christ. Therefore, if food is a cause of their falling, I will never eat meat, so that I may not cause one of them to fall.”
St. Gregory’s and every Congregation and every Christian Community is founded on this great spiritual truth: that each one of us is a brother or sister for whom Christ died.
Let us pray:
“Lord Jesus, you stretched out your arms of love on the hard wood of the cross that everyone might come within the reach of your saving embrace: So clothe us in your Spirit, that we, reaching forth our hands in love, may bring those who do not know you to the knowledge and love of you; for the honor of your name. Amen” (Book of Common Prayer, p. 101).
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| Sermon Date |
Sun 01/29/2012 |
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The Invitation
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Title: The Invitation
Preacher: The Rev. Meredith Woods Potter
Invitations come in many forms. I recently received what I call a “two envelope” invitation – the most formal kind of invitation to which one is expected to respond in writing referring to oneself in the third person: “The Rev. Dr. Meredith Woods Potter accepts with the pleasure the kind invitation of . . . “ But more often – sometimes almost daily - I receive invitations from groups or causes sent by e-mail or Facebook – invitations to which I usually respond with a “click delete.”
Certainly, for me at least, the most troubling invitations are those to which I don’t respond, because the invitation itself either goes unrecognized or because it just goes right out my head before it gets written onto the calendar. Right before my sixteenth birthday, some of my classmates planned an elaborate surprise party for me. In order to make sure it was a surprise, my best friend was given the task of getting me to the party. And to do that, she invited me rather casually to meet her for lunch and a movie on the day of the planned event. Her invitation was both casual and a bit vague. She may have said: “let’s meet for lunch and a movie on Friday.” And I probably responded, equally casually: “Well, that sounds like a plan.” I obviously didn’t give the invitation another thought, because when I had an opportunity to play golf that day, I simply “blew off” my friend’s invitation to lunch and a movie. And so a number of my closest friends celebrated my sixteenth birthday without me! That’s what happens when invitations are unrecognized and thus ignored!
Both of today’s Scripture readings are about invitations that come from God: how to recognize such invitations when we receive them; and how we are respected to respond. In spite of the fact that God doesn’t issue invitations in two envelopes, God does expect us to RSVP – God’s invitations always carry the command: “répondez s'il vous plait.”
Our first reading this morning features the young boy Samuel, who receives a summons from God which he doesn’t recognize. Now Samuel was a very special child. His mother, Hannah, was the favored wife of the Ephraimite Elkanah, and although he loved her very much, she had remained childless for many years. In desperation Hannah made a vow to God that if she were to conceive and bear a child, she would dedicate the child’s life to the Lord. God heard her plea, and when Samuel was born, Hannah kept her promise. As this morning’s lesson begins, Samuel has been taken to the temple to be raised and mentored by the aged prophet Eli.
But Samuel had been born at a time when the people of Israel had become estranged from God; they had strayed so far from God’s commandments, that God’s voice was rarely heard and seldom recognized. So when God called to Samuel, the boy automatically assumed that it was his master and mentor Eli who had summoned him. Each time Samuel heard the Lord speak, he reported to Eli; and each time Eli sent the young boy back to his bed. Finally, Eli figured out that it must be God who was calling Samuel, and so he instructed the young man to return to his room and wait. And when he heard the voice again he was to respond: “Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.” The story reminds us that unless an invitation and its sender are recognized, one cannot respond appropriately. This is true of all invitations, but it is especially crucial when the invitation comes from God.
This morning’s Gospel continues to explore God’s invitations and our responses. The Gospel begins as Jesus invites the first disciples to become his students, his closest companions, the ones who will be with him throughout his life and ministry, and finally the ones to continue Jesus’ work in the world after his death and resurrection. The first invitation is to Philip, and the invitation is quite simple and direct: “Follow me.”
Let’s think for a moment about the verb “to follow.” Literally speaking, to follow is to walk behind another so that when one follows closely, the primary thing one sees, if not the only thing, is the person directly in front who is leading the way. I remember hiking in Glacier National Park one weekend with a research colleague who was an experienced hiker and climber. When we came to a very steep and rugged incline, I wasn’t sure how or if I could get to the top. My hiking buddy took a rope; he tied one end to his waist and the other end he tied around my waist, so that we were tethered together only a few feet apart. Then he got directly in front of me and said, “Follow me. Do exactly what I do; put your hands on the rocks where I put my hands; put your feet right in the crevices where I put my feet; don’t look down; don’t look up; keep your eyes on me and just follow me.” And that’s how I got to the top of one of Glacier National Park’s most beautiful but rugged passes.
When Jesus called the disciples to follow him, he too was inviting them to look only at him, not to look back at family or friends, but to follow precisely where he was leading - to do what he was doing. And he promised that if they really did follow him, then they too would be able to heal the sick, raise the dead, perform the miracles that he performed, and continue God’s work in the world.
In discipleship Jesus leads us along many difficult paths, many steep slopes, to carry out his work in the world. But like the disciples, we have to begin by following the leader. Then we will become equipped to guide others. That’s the final message in today’s Gospel. After being invited by Jesus, Philip then invited Nathanael to “come and see.” Philip invited Nathanael to follow him so that he too would be able to follow in Jesus’ footsteps. And so when we accept Jesus’ invitation to follow him, we are then expected, like Philip, to invite others to “come and see” – to “come and see” how our lives have been changed by accepting Christ’s invitation; to “come and see” how we are living out our invitations from God in our church, in our communities and in the world.
Are you listening? Do you recognize God’s voice? What is your response to God’s invitation for your life? Will part of your response be to extend an invitation to others?
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| Sermon Date |
Sun 01/15/2012 |
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Poured Out Richly
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+ In the Love of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Please turn in your pew Bibles to Genesis, chapter 1, verse 1.
“In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep”― meaning, the waters― “while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters.”
Notice right away that water is the first element of creation and it’s mentioned twice.
Now skip down to verse 6 and read through verse 10:
“And God said, ‘Let there be a dome in the midst of the waters, and let it separate the waters from the waters.’ So God made the dome and separated the waters that were under the dome from the waters that were above the dome. And it was so. God called the dome Sky. And there was evening and there was morning, the second day. And God said, ‘Let the waters under the sky be gathered together into one place, and let the dry land appear.’ And it was so. God called the dry land Earth, and the waters that were gathered together he called Seas. And God saw that it was good.”
Again, notice how prominent water is― dry land only comes on the third day of creation! So think of what a powerful symbol water is for Baptism as a sign of new beginnings and new creation.
Now let’s go back up to the second verse and the phrase “wind of God.” Do you see the footnote? It tells us that the phrase could also be translated “the spirit of God.” And that in fact has been the traditional way it’s been translated.
For example, here’s a verse from a Jewish interpretation of this verse:
“And the Spirit of God brooded over the waters like a dove which hovers over her young without touching them” (Targum of B. Hag. 15a).
What does the phrase “the Spirit of God brooded over the waters like a dove” remind you of?
{{Congregational Response}}
[this morning’s Gospel, which describes “the Spirit descending like a dove on him”]
Now please turn in your pew Bibles to Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians, chapter 10, verses 1 to 4:
“I do not want you to be unaware, brothers and sisters, that our ancestors were all under the cloud”― what does this refer to?
{{Congregational Response}}
[After the Exodus from Egypt God led the people of Israel through the wilderness with a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night],
“and all passed through the sea”― what does this refer to?
{{Congregational Response}}
[when Moses led the people of Israel across the Red Sea to escape the Egyptians],
“and all were baptized into Moses in the cloud and in the sea”― so Paul understands the Exodus to be a kind of baptism―
“and all ate the same spiritual food”― what does this refer to?
{{Congregational Response}}
[manna, the mysterious food God provided for the people of Israel in the wilderness], “and all drank the same spiritual drink. For they drank from the spiritual rock that followed them, and the rock was Christ.” ― what does this refer to?
{{Congregational Response}}
[when the people of Israel were thirsty for their wandering in the desert and complained to Moses, Moses struck a rock to get water for the people of Israel in the wilderness].
For Paul, Jesus is the rock from which refreshing and renewal water comes forth.
Now please put the pew Bibles back and turn in the Book of Common Prayer to page 306 in the service of Holy Baptism just before the blessing of the water:
“We thank you, Almighty God, for the gift of water. Over it the Holy Spirit moved in the beginning of creation. Through it you led the children of Israel out of their bondage in Egypt into the land of promise. In it your Son Jesus received the baptism of John and was anointed by the Holy Spirit as the Messiah, the Christ, to lead us, through his death and resurrection, from the bondage of sin into everlasting life.
“We thank you, Father, for the water of Baptism. In it we are buried with Christ in his death. By it we share in his resurrection. Through it we are reborn by the Holy Spirit.”
Finally, take up your bulletin and turn to our Gospel this morning. If you were here just a few weeks ago on the Second Sunday of Advent this may have sounded very familiar, because we read this passage right up to the point where John the baptizer says: “I have baptized you with water; but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.”
But we didn’t see Jesus because it was the Season of Advent! Now it’s Epiphany, which means “appearance,” and so in today’s reading Jesus makes his appearance:
“In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. And a voice came from heaven, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”
How many of you have read about Easel-R in the Newsletter over the last two weeks?
{{Congregational Response}}
Do you remember what Easel-R stands for?
{{Congregational Response}}
[Episcopal Spiritual Life Renewal]
A lot of impressive research has gone into the Episcopal Spiritual Life Renewal project, and among its findings is that spiritual growth begins with three basic beliefs: first, that salvation is a gift from God; second, that God is a Trinity of Persons― Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; and third, that God is personally active in our lives. And so I find it fascinating that Mark’s Gospel begins by enacting these three basic beliefs.
From the very beginning of Mark’s Gospel it is clear that everything is a gift from God and which God initiates, from the call of John the baptizer in the wilderness to the tearing apart of heaven and the descent of the Spirit. Baptism itself is a sign that salvation comes as a gift because no one can baptize himself or herself. Even Jesus must be baptized by someone else. And infant baptism is the ultimate sign of salvation by grace― for infants have obviously done nothing to earn their salvation; it is received as a gift from their parents who themselves have received God’s gift of salvation.
And also here at the beginning of Mark’s Gospel we are introduced to the God who is Spirit, descending from heaven; Father, speaking from heaven; and Jesus, the beloved Son.
And finally, this is a personal God, active in John the baptizer, active in the people coming out to be baptized, active in Jesus, and, as we will rediscover in all kinds of new ways this year as we participate in the Episcopal Spiritual Life Renewal Project, active in us.
This morning’s Gospel and the three basic beliefs that are identified in the Easel-R as catalysts of spiritual growth are all summed up in this passage from Titus (3:4-7) which was one of our Christmas readings:
“But when the goodness and loving kindness of God our Savior appeared, he saved us, not because of any works of righteousness that we had done, but according to his mercy, through the water of rebirth and renewal by the Holy Spirit. This Spirit he poured out on us richly”― notice that the Spirit is described as being poured out just as water is poured out― “through Jesus Christ our Savior, so that, having been justified by his grace, we might become heirs according to the hope of eternal life.”
Thanks be to God.
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| Sermon Date |
Sun 01/08/2012 |
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Not "What's in a Name?" but "Who's in a Name."
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+ In the Love of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Today we are celebrating the Feast of the Holy Name, so it was a bit of an Emmanuel Moment this past week when I read one of the vignettes from Gail Collins’ remarkable book, When Everything Changed: The Amazing Journey of American Women from 1960 to the Present.
Gail Collins tells the story of a teacher, Jo Meyer Maasberg, who taught in a small Wyoming school. For six years she taught her daughter’s class. Here’s what her daughter Jennifer said about the experience:
“It was funny because [my mom] gave me this big speech . . . how I had to show her respect and call her Mrs. Maasberg and, you know, all on the same playing field with the other kids. But I couldn’t call her Mrs. Maasberg. I called her Mom. So my whole class called her Mom.”
When I read this I thought of a similar experience that happened with me and my son, James. Almost from the time James could call me “Dad” he called me “Bill.” That was fine with me. From my standpoint, it was natural because I always encouraged people to call me “Bill” rather than “Father Bill” or “Father Roberts.”
But some people, including Ingrid’s dad, were incensed that James didn’t call me “Dad” or by some other “fatherly” title. Eventually James explained why he called me “Bill”: “Everyone else calls you ‘Father,’ so I wanted to call you by your first name.”
A second Emmanuel Moment arrived via an op-ed piece in this past Tuesday’s New York Times, titled “Want a New You? Change Your Name.” The author is a singer and writer whose name is Alina Simone. Here’s an excerpt from her op-ed:
“In June, my band performed at a party at a Lower East Side boutique that specialized in wool ankle cuffs and sheer tunics. A few weeks later, we were playing in Brooklyn when a man approached me and said, ‘I just thought you might like to know that a friend I brought to your last show changed her name to Alina Simone.’
“I laughed and said something like, ‘Well, I hope that’s working out for her,’ but the news was a strange revelation.
“Twelve years ago, I changed my own name to Alina Simone. (I used to be Alina Vilenkin, until I swapped my father’s last name for my mother’s.) So I know that whenever someone changes her name, a body gets stuffed in the closet. When I think back to my old self, I think of an entirely different person, not altogether likable, whose singular distinguishing characteristic was the chronic inability to follow through with anything she said she would do. I picked up and abandoned projects with great regularity back then, careful to always avoid the frightening terrain where my true ambitions lay.
Then I changed my name and it changed me. In my new incarnation as Alina Simone, I had no reputation, no history of unmet expectations, nothing to lose. I started singing; I formed a band. I poured my best self into my new name.”
This story, too, triggered a memory from my own life. When I was 10 my family moved from Evanston to Kenilworth. And I decided to change the name I was called, from my middle name to my first name. I, too, wanted to leave behind the “old me” and re-invent myself, and the name change helped me do it.
Final Emmanuel Moment: As I was thinking about this sermon I recalled a wonderful reflection on prayer that the late Dutch Roman Catholic priest and writer, Henri Nouwen, had written years ago, in 1980, when I was a young priest.
In his Introduction to Prayer and the Priest, Henri Nouwen writes this:
“A few months ago I went to visit a hermit-monk to ask him for his spiritual counsel. This hermit lives a very simple life of manual work, long fasts, and unceasing prayer. His clear, shining eyes radiate the living Christ, and his lips speak only about the abundant goodness of God. I told him my troubles and struggles, my sins and my guilt. He listened attentively and responded with words of comfort and consolation. But I kept prodding him, saying: ‘Yes, but . . . What about this . . . and this . . . and this . . . Don’t you think that’s pretty bad?’ Then he looked at me critically and said: ‘It might be worse than you say and it probably is, but remember, the worst has already happened in Jesus Christ. . . . And when you make his Name into your dwelling place, your burden will be light and your yoke easy.’”
May we who have been baptized into the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, make Jesus’ Name our dwelling place in this New Year.
Amen.
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| Sermon Date |
Sun 01/01/2012 |
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The Choice, The Decision, The Gift
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Title: The Choice, the Decision, The Gift
Preacher: The Rev. Meredith Woods Potter
Joseph kicked his sandals into the sandy soil as he trudged along the road to Bethlehem. He could see the town in the distance, but figured it would be at least another hour before they reached their destination. Even the donkey had grown tired and so Joseph had to give a tug on its rope to keep the animal moving. He turned his head to look back at Mary. She looked so uncomfortable, but managed a faint smile. Joseph couldn’t help but wonder what he gotten himself into. He had fallen so in love with Mary – her gentle ways, her quick wit, her beauty. He had really been looking forward to their marriage and life together – but then so unexpectedly had come her announcement. At first he just didn’t believe it – how could she possibly be pregnant? – and her explanation sounded far-fetched and impossible. Beside himself as to what to do, Joseph had gone to his father for advice. He had expected his father to tell him to cancel the engagement quietly to avoid public humiliation for Mary and her problem. But his father, a devout Jew and a very thoughtful man, had surprised him. He had suggested to Joseph that he had a choice and a decision to make. He had told his son that Jewish law certainly permitted Joseph to break the engagement, but that there was another option. And then surprisingly his father had asked him how much he loved Mary and how much he trusted God. Those two questions had sent Joseph’s mind whirling. Could he really believe Mary and the truth of what she had shared? For if he could bring himself to trust that this child in Mary’s womb was from God, then he loved Mary all the more for her faith, and her trust, and her courage. And so Joseph did indeed have a choice and with that choice would come a decision that would not only affect Mary, but would affect his own life forever.
As Joseph struggled with what to do, he had fallen into a restless sleep. And an angel of the Lord had appeared to him in a dream and had confirmed everything that Mary had shared with him. The angel told Joseph that the child would fulfill the words spoken by the prophet: “the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel, which means “God is with us.” When Joseph awakened, his mind was made up. He had made his decision. He would choose to trust God’s promise; he would marry his beloved Mary.
But Joseph was not only a devout Jew, he was also subject to the laws of the Roman authorities who occupied the land. And Caesar Augustus, the Roman Emperor, had decreed that all residents of the occupied territories would have to return to their birth place to participate in a census. And so Joseph had to take Mary and travel from Nazareth to his family’s home town which was Bethlehem. He had been forced to delay the trip, because Mary had gone to visit her cousin Elizabeth and had not returned until somewhat late in her pregnancy. And that’s why on this night Joseph had found himself exhausted, worried, and hurrying to find lodging in Bethlehem.
Joseph’s uncle had given him the name of an inn where they could stay, but the town was bursting with other travelers who had also come to be counted, and his uncle’s friend had no rooms by the time Joseph and Mary had arrived. And so with Mary about to give birth, the couple frantically had gone from one inn to another. Joseph had despaired of ever finding a place for them to spend the night – a place for Mary to give birth. But then finally a sympathetic innkeeper had offered them the most unlikely of rooms - a cave where sheep were housed. Joseph had done the best he could to turn the makeshift quarters into a somewhat comfortable room for Mary. He had fashioned a bed for her of straw; he had fetched water; he had hung their small lamp; he had fashioned a simple meal for them.
And now he was holding the new baby – the God child. Joseph thought his heart would burst with love and joy. Shepherds had learned of the birth and continued to arrive to pay their respects and give glory to God; the word spread to the village and now villagers were also coming in and out, expressing their joy. But Joseph paid them almost no attention, for his thoughts were consumed with “what ifs”: what if he had dismissed Mary and refused to marry her; what if he hadn’t dreamed of the angel’s visit and been reminded of the prophet’s words about this miraculous birth that was to come; what if he had failed to say “yes” to God; what if Mary had not said “yes” to God. But none of those “what ifs” mattered now. God had been with them; and God had given Joseph the greatest task of all – to help his beloved Mary parent the God child. And so Joseph offered his own prayers; he prayed that as a husband and parent God would give him strength, and courage, and wisdom. But most of all his heart was filled with prayers of joy and wonder and thanksgiving.
As we engage the Christmas story once again this morning, we too have a choice and a decision to make. “For unto us a child is born; unto us a son is given.” Will we choose to accept God’s precious gift to us? Will we decide to take Jesus into our hearts as Joseph decided to trust God and take the God-child into his heart? Today our hearts can be that birthing place where God’s greatest gift of love can find a home. And then God’s promise will come true for each of us; and we too will experience the meaning of Emmanuel - God will be with us, now and forever.
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| Sermon Date |
Sun 12/25/2011 |
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A Manger, Bread, and Beautiful Feet
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+ In the Love of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
St. Luke certainly knows how to drive home a point in our Christmas Gospel:
First, he tells us that Mary and Joseph laid Jesus in a manger.
Then the angel tells the shepherds that they will find Jesus lying in a manger.
And then, when the shepherds get to Bethlehem they find Jesus lying in a manger.
A manger, from the French verb manger― to eat, is a feeding trough, a sign that Jesus, now surrounded by shepherds, will be the Good Shepherd who feeds his sheep; and as Jesus himself tells us in St. John’s Gospel:
“I am the Bread of Life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry”
and
“I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh” (6:35, 51).
A couple of years ago I read John Baxter’s Immoveable Feast: A Paris Christmas (New York: Harper Collins, 2008). He writes this about bread:
“For centuries, bread in France signified the gulf between the classes: the higher up the social ladder, the more finely milled your flour, and the whiter your bread. Of someone who had all his success in early life, then fell on hard times, the French say, “He ate his white bread first.
“The bread of the French poor, when they had any, was dark and hard, made from wheat mixed with inferior grains like barley or rye. Unscrupulous bakers sometimes adulterated the flour with sand, even cement.”― and this practice continued as recently as the early twentieth century.
Then, later in his book, Baxter writes:
“The lavishness of our modern Christmas obscures how minor a role gifts traditionally played in the celebration. In [Charles] Dickens’ day, food and good works mattered far more. Scrooge, when he sees the error of his ways, doesn’t buy presents but gives money to a charity that helps the poor and sends a turkey to his clerk Bob Cratchit, whose wages he raises and family he helps” (pp. 235).
Here’s how Dickens himself describes Scrooge at that moment of transformation:
“‘I’ll send [this huge turkey] to Bob Cratchit’s,’ whispered Scrooge, rubbing his hands, and splitting with a laugh. ‘He shan’t know who sends it. It’s twice the size of Tiny Tim.’”
Then Scrooge tells the delivery boy, “You must have a cab,” and, Dickens continues,
“The chuckle with which [Scrooge] had said this, and the chuckle with which he paid for the cab, and the chuckle with which he recompensed the boy, were only to be exceeded by the chuckle with which he sat down breathless in his chair again, and chuckled till he cried.”
St. Luke tells us that when Jesus began his public ministry in Nazareth, he went to the synagogue on the Sabbath day as was his custom. And when the scroll of the prophet Isaiah was given to him, Jesus found this passage:
“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to preach good news to the poor” (4:18).
It’s a passage that echoes our Christmas reading from Isaiah:
“How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of the messenger who brings good news.”
May Jesus, the Bread of Life, born in a manger, nourish our compassion for the breadless, the jobless, the friendless, and the hopeless, so that we, like Jesus, may have beautiful feet.
Amen.
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Sat 12/24/2011 |
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Tent
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+ In the Love of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
In this morning’s first reading, King David is living in a house and God is living in a tent. Think about that: King David is living in a house, and God is living in a tent.
So how incredibly contemporary and relevant is that?!
Then King David had a Bright Idea― to build a house for God― and God’s prophet Nathan encourages him. Too bad they didn’t run their Bright Idea by God first! Turns out that God likes living in a tent so he can “move about among all the people of Israel.”
So God puts an end to David’s Bright Idea and says to him:
“Moreover the Lord declares to you that the Lord will make you a house. Your house and your kingdom shall be made sure forever before me; your throne shall be established forever.”
The words “house,” “kingdom,” and “throne” bring us directly to this morning’s Gospel― listen for them as I read:
“In the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent by God to a town in Galilee called Nazareth, to a virgin engaged to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David. The virgin’s name was Mary. And he came to her and said, ‘Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you.’ But she was much perplexed by his words and pondered what sort of greeting this might be. The angel said to her, ‘Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. And now, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus. He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David. He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.’”
Here’s how the poet Edwin Muir imagines the meeting between Mary and the angel Gabriel (“The Annunciation” in Collected Poems):
See, they have come together, see
. . .
Each reflects the other's face
Till heaven in hers and earth in his
Shine steady there. . .
But through the endless afternoon
These neither speak nor movement make,
But stare into their deepening trance
As if their gaze would never break.
Theologian and writer Maggi Dawn has this to say about Muir’s poem in her book The Writing on the Wall:
[He] “created a scene where . . . the meeting between Mary and the angel might have been a lengthy encounter― a whole afternoon passed while they gazed into each other’s faces. Muir captures perfectly the theological idea that while a message from God may be impressive, it is never impersonal. It is not just the delivery of information, like an email from head office, but a meeting of persons, and the primary significance of the angel’s visitation is not the angel himself, nor even the message that he bears, but the connection made between a person and God.”
Then she adds this parenthetical comment: “And as some theologians have mused, perhaps Mary also needed time”― that endless afternoon― “because she had a choice to make― she had the option to say ‘no.’”
The idea that Mary needed to make her choice during that endless afternoon brings us to another poet’s imagining of Mary’s and Gabriel’s meeting. In W. H. Auden’s For the Time Being; A Christmas Oratorio, the angel speaks to Mary:
Hear, child, what I am sent to tell:
Love wills your dream to happen, so
Love’s will on earth may be, through you,
No longer a pretend but true.
Today the Unknown seeks the known;
What I am willed to ask, your own
Will has to answer; child, it lies
Within your power of choosing to
Conceive the Child who chooses you.
“Child, it lies Within your power of choosing to Conceive the Child who chooses you.”
We know the end of the story.
Mary chooses to conceive the Child who chose her, and through Mary God will enter our world. John puts it this way in his Gospel: “And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us.”
Last week in her sermon, Meredith used Eugene Peterson’s translation: “And the Word was made flesh and blood and moved into our neighborhood.”
But here’s a more literal translation: “And the Word became flesh, and pitched his tent among us.”― which brings us right back to this morning’s first reading, where we learned that God likes a tent so God can move about among his people.
But before God can pitch his tent among us, God must first become flesh in Mary.
In her sermon on the Feast of St. Mary in 2003, Katherine Bush said this about God’s becoming flesh in Mary:
“Mary quite literally carries God within her. To be the space that the uncontainable God inhabits is not a job for the weak or the faint-hearted. Mary lives with God kicking around inside her.”
“Mary lives with God kicking around inside her.” Isn’t that a wonderful phrase?
So on this Fourth and last Sunday in Advent, three questions to ask:
What is God asking me to do that still needs my “yes?”
In what way is God “kicking around inside me?”
And where in my neighborhood is God pitching a tent right now?
Let us once again pray this morning’s Collect of the Day, with one change:
“Purify our conscience, Almighty God, by your daily visitation, that our Lord Jesus Christ, at his coming, may find in us a tent prepared for himself; who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.”
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Sun 12/18/2011 |
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The One Standing Among Us
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Preacher: Meredith Woods Potter
Title: The One Standing Among Us
Texts: Isaiah 61: 1-4, 8-11
John 1: 6-8, 19-28
As you listened to this morning’s Gospel, our first response might well be, “But we heard that Gospel last week.” And in fact last week we were introduced to the story of John the Baptizer from Mark’s Gospel. Mark’s account begins at the river Jordan with the prophet clothed in camel’s hair and described as eating a diet of locusts and wild honey and proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. He was “the voice crying in the wilderness” – the one whom God had designated to “prepare the way for the Lord.”
Today we hear a somewhat different account of John the Baptizer from the Gospel of John. In spite of his strange wardrobe and even stranger diet it is apparent that John was immensely popular. Crowds thronged to hear him preach and to be baptized. And not surprisingly John also attracted the attention of the Jewish authorities. Now I admit that I watch entirely too many crime shows on television, and so this morning’s Gospel reminds me of a criminal interrogation. The authorities haul John into headquarters for questioning. They have fingered him as the Messiah. And so they try to coerce him to confess his identity. But what John confesses is not what they want to hear, for he admits that he is NOT the Christ. The authorities persist in their questioning. “Then who are you?” they demand to know. “Are you Elijah?” Again John denies their accusation. The authorities are relentless; “are you then the expected prophet?” Again John insists that he is the victim of mistaken identity. The authorities press on: “Then why are you baptizing if you are neither the Christ, nor Elijah, nor the prophet?” John continues to insist: “you’ve got the wrong guy.” He explains once again: he is the voice calling the people to “prepare for the coming of the Lord.” John stands his ground: he is only baptizing with water for the forgiveness of sins, but someone greater than he is coming who will baptize with the Holy Spirit. The authorities don’t buy his explanation. But then John says something that startles and puts fear into them. He says, “among you stands one whom you do not know.” No criminal investigating team wants to learn that there is an “unsub” (unknown subject) at large, hidden before their very eyes. John’s words: “among you stands one whom you do not know” is more than an attempt to explain himself to the Jewish authorities. “Among you stands one whom you do not know” is a prophecy in itself, for it describes the troubles Jewish officialdom will have in recognizing and believing in Jesus. It also describes Christ’s often unrecognized presence in our lives today; for Jesus still remains the one whom the world does not know.
In one of the verses of John’s Gospel that is omitted from today’s reading, John writes: “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us” or as Peterson interprets the passage in The Message: “The Word became human and moved into the neighborhood.” Recognizing, pointing out, and proclaiming Jesus’ presence remain both challenges and responsibilities in our lives today as Christians. And yet recognizing God’s presence in our world and in our lives is often difficult. In spite of some notable occasions in which God evoked awe by making bushes burn and waters part, most often God acts quietly, anonymously, mysteriously, and in a still small voice. And that’s why human beings have always found it difficult to recognize God’s presence in their lives.
Jacob found himself alone and frightened in the middle of the desert. That night in what seemed to be a dream he wrestled with one whom he took to be an adversary. And yet when he awakened and later reflected on what had happened to him, he was able to declare with certainty: “God was in this place - and I did not know it.” [Genesis 28: 16]
Even those who had been close to Jesus throughout his earthly ministry failed to recognize him when he appeared to them after his Resurrection. First the women mistook him for a gardener and then two disciples walking to Emmaus carried on a long conversation with someone they took to be a fellow traveler. It was not until later when he broke bread with them that they realized their traveling companion had been Jesus. [Luke 28: 13-32]
And if those who knew him so intimately during his earthly ministry failed to recognize him, it’s no wonder that you and I often let his presence slip past our consciousness. One of the reasons that we try to identify and share our Emanuel Moments and Points of Pentecost is to enable us more frequently to recognize those times when God is in our midst. If the Word did indeed become human and move into our neighborhood, could it be that Jesus is our neighbor? Could it be that Jesus might even be right here is this church, right now, and like Jacob we don’t know it. Is it possible that when we pass the peace, we might actually shake hands with someone whom we do not know – and that someone might be Jesus?
As I reflect upon my childhood, I’m convinced that my parents were often on the lookout for God to show up at unexpected times or in unexpected places. Dad would strike up a conversation with a fellow passenger on the train, or meet a new employee at work, or an official in town for a meeting, And then Dad had a habit of inviting his newly-found friend to come home for dinner. And some of you may remember the story I’ve told of the homeless man who knocked on our door just as we were about to sit down for Thanksgiving Dinner, only to have mother insist that he come in and share Thanksgiving with our family. When I grew older and asked mother about the stream of strangers who were welcomed into our home, my mother’s response was: “well, you never know. . .” What was left unspoken was her conviction that you could never know for sure when “the one standing among you whom you do not know” might actually be Jesus.
During this Advent season as we prepare for Christ’s coming anew into our lives, how can we be more intentional about recognizing his presence? Jesus himself gave us a clue. He suggested that we look for him among the poor, the homeless, the sick, the needy. As we do his work in the world, he will be there along-side us. And it is carrying out his ministry, that we will come to know and recognize his presence. Be alert! Be prepared! Watch! For there is one standing among us whom we really can get to know.
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Sun 12/11/2011 |
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A New and Beautiful Song
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+ In the Love of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Many of the first Christians expected that the end of the world would happen within their generation, and as time passed with no end in sight some grew discouraged. So Peter wrote a letter to a number of churches to encourage them, and this morning’s first reading is taken from that letter:
“Do not ignore this one fact, beloved, that with the Lord one day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like one day. The Lord is not slow about his promise, as some think of slowness, but is patient with you, not wanting any to perish, but all to come to repentance. But the day of the Lord will come like a thief, and then the heavens will pass away with a loud noise, and the elements will be dissolved with fire. . . .”
When I read those words I immediately remembered this famous poem by Robert Frost, published in December 1920:
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
His contemporary, T. S. Eliot, published a poem titled The Hollow Men in 1925. Here are its final two verses:
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.
Both men wrote their poems in the aftermath of the Great War.
A generation later, in 1952, the United States detonated the first hydrogen bomb; and six years later, in an interview in September 1958, a reporter asked T. S. Eliot if he would still conclude his poem with the words, “Not with a bang but a whimper.”
Eliot said no for two reasons.
First, because “not with a bang” wouldn’t work anymore with the reality of the hydrogen bomb.
And second, Eliot didn’t know whether the world would end with either a bang or a whimper because people whose houses had been bombed in World War II had told him that they didn’t remember hearing anything” (“T. S. Eliot at Seventy, and an Interview with Eliot” in Saturday Review. Henry Hewes. 13 September 1958 in Grant p. 705.).
But speculation about the end of the world doesn’t interest Peter. He simply takes it in stride and then asks a penetrating question:
“Since all these things are to be dissolved in this way, what sort of persons ought you to be in leading lives of holiness and godliness. . . ? Therefore, beloved, while you are waiting for these things, strive to be found by him at peace, without spot or blemish; and regard the patience of our Lord as salvation.”
Peter is telling us not to let the future distract us from the present. This morning’s Gospel tells us not to let the past distract us from the present, either:
“The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God. As it is written in the prophet Isaiah, ‘See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you, who will prepare your way; the voice of one crying out in the wilderness: “Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight,”’ John the baptizer appeared in the wilderness, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.”
The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, for Mark begins with John the baptizer. The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, for us begins with baptism. And baptism is about two things: repentance and forgiveness.
Repentance, literally, is about “turning around.” “All roads lead to heaven― all you have to do is turn around!” Repentance is something God gives us the grace to do so that we can turn from the past and embrace the present. In other words, repentance is the beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, for us.
Forgiveness, literally, is about “letting go.” Forgiveness is something God does for us to set us free from our past sins and failures and hurts so we can embrace the present. So forgiveness, is the beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, for us, too.
But at its heart, baptism is about death and resurrection. In the words of our liturgy, “We thank you, Father, for the water of baptism. In it we are buried with Christ in his death. By it we share in his resurrection” (The Book of Common Prayer, page 306).
Recently we have begun referring to our hour-long Sunday services as “practices”― “practices” for the other 167 hours of the week.
So you can imagine how happy I was when I read this passage about “practicing” just this past week from Free for All: Rediscovering the Bible in Community, by Tim Conder and Daniel Rhodes (a book I’ve mentioned before):
“Because Christ has conquered death, and because we are able to enter into his victory by practicing our own death in baptism, we can encounter the world with optimism. . .” (p. 223).
“. . . Christians should be those who are the least likely to let fear dominate our lives and the way we interact with others. Our interactions do not have to be based on a fear of death, a fear of losing our families, a fear of losing our homes or our wealth, for all of these things have been given over to Christ already in our baptism. . .” (pp. 222-3).
I have also been asking the question of “How can we do a better job of imagining how we might take the Scriptures we read in the church out into the world?”
So imagine my further delight when I read this analogy between reading the Bible and another discipline that takes a lot of practice:
“. . . reading the Bible is a lot like reading music. Anyone who has had even an entry-level course in music realizes that reading music is an exercise that cannot be divorced from its performance.
". . . To truly read music one must deploy an instrument to actualize the notes, to hit the notes with perfect pitch, and to join them together smoothly and eloquently. . .” (p. 229).
“To read the Bible as Scripture is to perform it, to be called into its mission, to learn to sing its beautiful songs. A true reading of Scripture must live in its performance . . .” (Ibid.).
“Practicing our mission . . . allows us to interpret the Word of God in the Bible because, just like the singer who must actualize the notes on the page in her voice, we must actualize this Word with our lives, making them into beautiful songs” (p. 230).
Whether the world ends in fire or ice, with a bang or a whimper or no sound at all, and whatever our past may be, baptism is our invitation to sing now a new and beautiful song to the Lord.
Amen.
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Sun 12/04/2011 |
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Occupy!
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+ In the Love of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
I think we all know the pattern by now.
A group of people who feel disenfranchised by the system, and burdened by taxes and debt, march into the heart of a city, and occupy it. And because these occupiers get a fair amount of support from the general population, the local authorities keep their distance at first. But eventually the occupiers overstay their welcome, the police are called in, and some of the occupiers get hurt, some get arrested, and some take off.
And the rest of us, who may be sympathetic if not completely on their side, wonder when it will all end, and how it will all be sorted out, because we know it’s got to end sometime, and we know things have to change somehow.
So let’s look at a specific example.
On Sunday, Jesus enters Jerusalem with a core group of 12 occupiers and a number of other people who have been inspired by his message, and over the next several days they do a number of provocative things.
On Monday, the Occupy Jerusalem movement goes right to the Temple, the nexus of power, and Jesus brings the banking system to a screeching halt by overturning the tables of the money changers.
On Tuesday, Jesus publicly denounces the Judean and Roman authorities― the 1%― for their neglect of the 99%. And then, as the day is coming to an end, one of the occupiers, overwhelmed by the magnificence of the Temple, exclaims “Look, Teacher, what large stones and what large buildings!” And Jesus makes an incredibly provocative prediction: “Not one stone will be left upon another; all will be thrown down” (Mark 13:1-2).
Later, the Occupy Jerusalem movement crosses the Kidron Valley and sets up camp for the night on the Mount of Olives, which overlooks the Temple across the Valley. Jesus’ top four lieutenants in the Occupy Jerusalem movement, Peter and Andrew, and James and John, ask Jesus, “When will this be?”
Jesus tells them that the only thing he knows for sure is that there will be a time of great suffering, especially among his followers in the Occupy movement. In short, it’s going to be rough time for a long time. But then Jesus assures them that the time will come when everything will be put right, and that’s where this morning’s Gospel comes in:
“In those days, after that suffering, the sun will be darkened, and the moon will not give its light, and the stars will be falling from heaven, and the powers in the heavens will be shaken. Then they will see ‘the Son of Man coming in clouds’ with great power and glory.”
This great event is at the heart of this morning’s Collect for the First Sunday of Advent, when we ask God to “give us grace to cast away the works of darkness, and put on the armor of light now in the time of this mortal life”― this time when life ends in death― “in which your Son Jesus Christ came to visit us in great humility; that in the last day, when he shall come again in his glorious majesty to judge both the living and the dead, we may rise to the life immortal”― the time when life never ends.
The word “Advent” means “coming,” and in Advent we prepare both for the First Coming of Jesus “in great humility” when he was born in a manger and died on a cross; and for the Second Coming of Jesus at the end of time― “in the last day”― when he will come again “in his glorious majesty.”
Which is to say that in Advent we celebrate the very first Occupy Movement when God occupied a manger in Bethlehem, and the very last Occupy Movement when God will occupy a new heaven and a new earth:
“Then he will send out the angels, and gather his elect from the four winds, from the ends of the earth to the ends of heaven. From the fig tree learn its lesson: as soon as its branch becomes tender and puts forth its leaves, you know that summer is near.”
Isn’t that a delightful image for the Second Coming and the end of time? Especially as our days are getting shorter, and the leaves have fallen from the trees, and winter is about to set in.
And this delightful imagery would have been particularly vivid for the disciples because the Occupy Jerusalem movement took place during Passover, at just the time when the fig trees covering the Mount of Olives were breaking into leaf.
But in the meantime, Jesus gives his Occupy movement its marching orders:
“Beware, keep alert; for you do not know when the time will come. It is like a man going on a journey, when he leaves home and puts his slaves in charge, each with his work, and commands the doorkeeper to be on the watch. Therefore, keep awake— for you do not know when the master of the house will come, in the evening, or at midnight, or at cockcrow, or at dawn, or else he may find you asleep when he comes suddenly. And what I say to you I say to all: Keep awake.”
Until the end comes, Jesus has put us in charge, each with our own work for the kingdom of God. For we who have been “sealed by the Holy Spirit in baptism and marked as Christ’s own for ever” are called to be Occupiers.
Are you living in Lincolnshire? Then you are a part of Jesus’ Occupy Lincolnshire movement, so “Keep Awake,” for you may encounter Jesus in the most unexpected people and places.
Are you working in Wheeling? Then you are a part of Jesus’ Occupy Wheeling movement, so “Keep Awake,” for you may encounter Jesus in the most unlikely people and places.
Are you vacationing in Venice? Then you are a part of Jesus’ Occupy Venice movement, so “Keep Awake,” for you may encounter Jesus in the most surprising people and places.
Are you doing business in Beijing? Then you are a part of Jesus’ Occupy Beijing movement, so “Keep Awake,” for you may encounter Jesus in the most unexpected people and places.
For the last several weeks I’ve featured a logo on our Parish Newsletters that shows the Episcopal Church shield and the legend “Occupy the pews of your Episcopal Church!”

Now I realize that that’s not the Gospel message at all.
The Gospel message is this: Occupy the World!
For as St. John reminds us in his Gospel, “God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him” (John 3:17).
Thanks be to God!

THE WORLD!
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Sun 11/27/2011 |
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