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(Fifth Sunday of Lent) Rev. Dominique Peridans Home is where the heart is—they say.
Perhaps, ‘tis the place to which the heart, shattered, scattered abroad, returns. (from Gloria Squires, with whom I am unfamiliar) I will draw all people to myself. Jesus, on the Cross, “lifted up from the earth”, arms wide open, the place to which our hearts, shattered, scattered abroad, return. He is our home. And, all people are drawn, welcome, no heart left out. That is inclusiveness. The powerful embrace that transcends every imaginable tired political identity. Let’s take a quick look at this interaction, A group of Gentiles come to Jerusalem during Passover (when the Jews celebrate delivery from slavery) hoping to see Jesus. Why the Temple? As non-Jews, it’s not their Temple! Perhaps because, as early Church Father St. John Chrysostom (+407) suggests, it was such a splendor, that even non-Jews honored the Temple with gifts. Why do they want to see Jesus? Well, as Jesus reveals, desire for God results from God attracting us. Jesus is somehow attractive to them. Why do they approach Phillip instead of Jesus? The apostles were preaching to non-Jews. Phillip, which means “mouth of the lantern”, as mentioned in Acts, chapter 8, was the first apostle to preach to non-Jews. Why does Phillip go to Andrew? Perhaps out of respect for Andrew who became an apostle before him. Cascading respect… Then, as mediators, together Andrew and Phillip go to Jesus. What is Jesus’ response? If I were Jesus, I probably would have said, “Awesome! Bring them in! Celebration! Mission being accomplished.” Instead, initially odd, Jesus reveals his Passion and Death. Jesus reveals that soon they—and all—will truly see. Indeed, Jesus will say to the same Phillip, during the Last Supper (John 14:9): “Whoever sees me sees the Father.” But his Passion and Death are to be understood in the light of something seemingly unrelated: much mentioned glory. “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified.” His Passion and Death, in which, somehow, his followers mysteriously participate, is ultimately about glory. Jesus then says, “Father, glorify your name.” And the Father, the voice come from heaven —as at Jesus’ Baptism and Transfiguration, responds, “I have glorified it and I will glorify it again.” What is glory? Some of you may recall the working definition I often propose (!): glory is the radiance of God, divine light and love, which, in God, are one, as they overflow. Jesus’ mission: to communicate the glory of God. In seeing these Gentiles coming, apparently ready, Jesus says that the “hour” of His Passion and Death has come, the time for the grain of wheat to fall into the earth and die, and in so doing, to bear much fruit: glory. Revelation too heavy for our hearts and too befuddling for our minds, As St. Paul says, “a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles” (I Corinthians 1:22). At the Cross, however, Jesus pours forth “attractive” light and love to overflowing —so that death, which normally brings them to a screeching halt, no longer bring them to a screeching halt. Jesus doesn’t say, “I will draw all people to myself after the Cross, when this mess is over”. We sell Jesus short when we only think of the Resurrection as the victory. The Cross as historic event is tragic. The Cross as mystery is the communication of victorious light and love. The Resurrection makes this reassuringly manifest. As mentioned, then Jesus then reveals that we are called to participate in the mystery of the Cross. We don’t simply consider the historic event and hope to be moved. We are to receive this light and love, eternally poured forth, and to be instruments of it—to overflowing. And, this is only possible by complete surrender, put in frankly frightening terms as “hating one’s life”! I don’t know about you but, without Jesus, there is no way I can lay down my life for others. Surrender. If only we understood what God wishes to accomplish in and through us, we would unclench our fists and receive more light and love. Let us surrender to Jesus —including the difficulty that we have to surrender to Him! He is one step ahead of us. He is not just on the back end of successful surrender. We must indeed freely choose to surrender, but Jesus is quietly bestowing grace on the front end of our surrender. Hear the poignant question of Saint Jane de Chantal, widowed at age 28, in 1601, with four children, a broken-hearted French baroness who took a vow of chastity for Christ, and eventually founded an order of nuns for women in poor health. When shall we cast ourselves undeservedly into the arms of our most loving Father in Heaven, leaving to Him the care of ourselves and of our affairs, and reserving only the desire of pleasing Him, and of serving Him well in all that we can? (Third Sunday in Lent) Rev. Dominique Peridans Home is where the heart is—they say. Perhaps, ‘tis the place to which the heart, shattered, scattered abroad, returns. (from Gloria Squires, with whom I am unfamiliar) I will draw all people to myself. Jesus, on the Cross, “lifted up from the earth”, arms wide open, the place to which our hearts, shattered, scattered abroad, return. He is our home. And, all people are drawn, welcome, no heart left out. That is inclusiveness. The powerful embrace that transcends every imaginable tired political identity. Let’s take a quick look at this interaction, A group of Gentiles come to Jerusalem during Passover (when the Jews celebrate delivery from slavery) hoping to see Jesus. Why the Temple? As non-Jews, it’s not their Temple! Perhaps because, as early Church Father St. John Chrysostom (+407) suggests, it was such a splendor, that even non-Jews honored the Temple with gifts. Why do they want to see Jesus? Well, as Jesus reveals, desire for God results from God attracting us. Jesus is somehow attractive to them. Why do they approach Phillip instead of Jesus? The apostles were preaching to non-Jews. Phillip, which means “mouth of the lantern”, as mentioned in Acts, chapter 8, was the first apostle to preach to non-Jews. Why does Phillip go to Andrew? Perhaps out of respect for Andrew who became an apostle before him. Cascading respect… Then, as mediators, together Andrew and Phillip go to Jesus. What is Jesus’ response? If I were Jesus, I probably would have said, “Awesome! Bring them in! Celebration! Mission being accomplished.” Instead, initially odd, Jesus reveals his Passion and Death. Jesus reveals that soon they—and all—will truly see. Indeed, Jesus will say to the same Phillip, during the Last Supper (John 14:9): “Whoever sees me sees the Father.” But his Passion and Death are to be understood in the light of something seemingly unrelated: much mentioned glory. “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified.” His Passion and Death, in which, somehow, his followers mysteriously participate, is ultimately about glory. Jesus then says, “Father, glorify your name.” And the Father, the voice come from heaven —as at Jesus’ Baptism and Transfiguration, responds, “I have glorified it and I will glorify it again.” What is glory? Some of you may recall the working definition I often propose (!): glory is the radiance of God, divine light and love, which, in God, are one, as they overflow. Jesus’ mission: to communicate the glory of God. In seeing these Gentiles coming, apparently ready, Jesus says that the “hour” of His Passion and Death has come, the time for the grain of wheat to fall into the earth and die, and in so doing, to bear much fruit: glory. Revelation too heavy for our hearts and too befuddling for our minds, As St. Paul says, “a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles” (I Corinthians 1:22). At the Cross, however, Jesus pours forth “attractive” light and love to overflowing —so that death, which normally brings them to a screeching halt, no longer bring them to a screeching halt. Jesus doesn’t say, “I will draw all people to myself after the Cross, when this mess is over”. We sell Jesus short when we only think of the Resurrection as the victory. The Cross as historic event is tragic. The Cross as mystery is the communication of victorious light and love. The Resurrection makes this reassuringly manifest. As mentioned, then Jesus then reveals that we are called to participate in the mystery of the Cross. We don’t simply consider the historic event and hope to be moved. We are to receive this light and love, eternally poured forth, and to be instruments of it—to overflowing. And, this is only possible by complete surrender, put in frankly frightening terms as “hating one’s life”! I don’t know about you but, without Jesus, there is no way I can lay down my life for others. Surrender. If only we understood what God wishes to accomplish in and through us, we would unclench our fists and receive more light and love. Let us surrender to Jesus —including the difficulty that we have to surrender to Him! He is one step ahead of us. He is not just on the back end of successful surrender. We must indeed freely choose to surrender, but Jesus is quietly bestowing grace on the front end of our surrender. Hear the poignant question of Saint Jane de Chantal, widowed at age 28, in 1601, with four children, a broken-hearted French baroness who took a vow of chastity for Christ, and eventually founded an order of nuns for women in poor health. When shall we cast ourselves undeservedly into the arms of our most loving Father in Heaven, leaving to Him the care of ourselves and of our affairs, and reserving only the desire of pleasing Him, and of serving Him well in all that we can? We continue our Lenten journey.
Already the third Sunday!
Time flies when…resolutions unravel. Hopes are dashed. And hopes are reborn. Thankfully, it doesn’t take too long to realize that Lent is not about me. Lent is not my time to get my act together, to trim the fat, so to speak. Lent is about surrender, complete surrender to our Lord. Sometimes, my inability to keep my Lenten resolutions is just what I need-- my fragility: a springboard to surrender. To help us on this journey: John, chapter 2, the surprising cleansing of the Temple, which the synoptic gospel writers place towards the end of their gospels. John, however, places this as Jesus’ second ministerial act —rather strikingly contrasted with Jesus’ first ministerial act, the miracle at the wedding feast in Cana. From hand elevated in blessing to hand elevated with a whip of cords. Seemingly: one extreme to the other, joy to anger, welcome to rejection. Personality analysis whiplash! Although apparently day and night, both incidents, in their own way, point to what is to come: the Cross. Everything that Jesus says and does finds its culmination at the Cross. Everything that Jesus says and does communicates divine love, which the Cross does supremely. “No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.” (John 15:13) Of course, when we speak of the Cross, we speak also of the Resurrection. The Resurrection makes manifest the loved poured forth on the Cross, love veiled by suffering. Lent is all about discovering Jesus, the friend, who lays down his life, who gives us everything, pouring forth from his heart every last drop of love. Now, here, as a good Jew, Jesus goes to the Temple for the feast of Passover, in Jerusalem, where He will ultimately go, to the Cross. He finds the Temple, house of prayer, His Father’s house, not being used exactly as divinely intended. Bear in mind, however, that the vendors are not selling just anything. They are not selling cigarettes and ice cream and Jewish People magazine. If I am not mistaken, they are selling things used for sacrifice in the Temple. And the money-changers are exchanging Roman for Jewish coins, which can then be placed in the collection basket (yes, they too had a collection basket!). The scenario is thus not that outrageous. Yet, Jesus seems to go wild. He makes a whip of cords, evicts persons and animals, spills coins and overturns tables. There is a 1568 painting of this scene by Spanish painter, El Greco, (in the National Gallery here in Washington) depicting chaos and terror on the faces of all present. ?!? Is Jesus having a horribly out of character moment? There must be more than meets the eye—perhaps, in the vendors’ hearts. If the activity is not that outrageous, perhaps Jesus reacts to what He reads in those vendors’ hearts. They have made the Father’s house into a marketplace by virtue of what is in their hearts or what is not in their hearts. The Temple (this temple!) is the place of hearts turned to the Father, to God. Theirs are not, and it pains Jesus when His Father is not loved and respected. We witness the vulnerability of Jesus’ heart. Think of what you experience when you witness a loved one hurt. Jesus is not having a hissy fit or lashing out. Jesus is showing the zeal of love for his Father’s house, for his Father. Now, when asked for a sign to justify His actions, Jesus gives none. And, no apology, only prophecy! “Destroy this Temple, and, in three days, I will raise it up.” ?!? The Temple becomes a challenging, revealing metaphor. Without faith, however, without a deep inner sense that leads beyond what meets the eye, His listeners think Him crazy. Rebuild in three days a temple still under construction for forty-six years? Nice try: not happening. Faith takes the listeners who want to hear to a revelation about His body: Jesus is to die and rise in the very body that will be crucified. Divine love always has the last word. The new Temple, i.e. the new place of encounter between God and man, where hearts turn to the Father, is the God-man—including his body. And the love that animates Jesus’ heart as He gives His life, and by which He rises, is the love that makes of us temples of God. Saint Paul tells us (I Corinthians 3:17), “God’s temple is holy, and you are that temple”. The zeal we see manifested here is thus also the zeal Jesus has for each of us. Do we believe it? Do you truly believe that Jesus will go “wild” for you if the sacredness of the child of God in you is not respected? “God’s temple is holy, and you are that temple”. The choice is ours, today, each day. Do we choose to fix our eyes and hearts on Jesus and welcome the zeal of divine love from Him, and let it burn our hearts? Do we choose to live as Temples of God? (Second Sunday of Lent) Zachary Baker Rodes My brothers and sisters, let us pray.
Lord, may we always seek the Truth, whence it comes, cost what it may. Amen. Right before this passage we hear the confession of Peter that Jesus is the Messiah. “Who do you say that I am?” Jesus asks and then, if we remember Jesus gives as an order, “And he sternly ordered them not to tell anyone about him.” The text then reads that Jesus was only saying that it was the Son of Man that was going to undergo great sufferings. He doesn’t say, I, the Son of Man. Simply teaching what the Son of Man was going to go through. And he said it all quite openly, plainly, boldly even. Peter began to rebuke him and in so doing just broke the divine will that was just proclaimed. “And he sternly ordered them not tell anyone about him.” Peter’s rebuking implies a child-like instruction, a deep sense of condescension towards the Messiah. Jesus then backlashes. In a colloquial way, it might sound something like this, “Who the heck do you think you are to tell me who I am or who I am not after I just told you not to tell anyone. I will tell whoever I want! Step in line, Satan, for you do not dwell on God’s will for you but on the pride of your own, thinking you could shape the will of my Father for you.” For trusting in the will ofman, and not the will ofGod, one loses the hope that Jesus Christ proclaims to us. That is Peter’s rebuke. That is the rebuke we so often fall into in our relationship with God. But there’s hope, yet. Then he capitulates. Peter knew who he was and he, Peter, learning a lesson, Jesus calls to the crowd, to us, and calls them to the life in Christ. This is the call by Jesus Christ, this is a will of God that we should follow him and in so doing deny ourselves and even our life, if we have to, so that we may never be ashamed of proclaiming Jesus Christ as Lord. Now this is not our only will, of course. What God wills for us are as countless as the stars, to use the language of the Hebrew Bible. This life as a Christian, as the bearer of the cross, is a will of God openly said. We are called to a deep humility in Christ that allows for God’s hope, faith, and love to transform us and allows for Jesus to take center stage and use us in the kingdom work here on Earth. It is not that our personality changes, or relationships don’t change, but that the hope of the Gospel is the one that transcends the material frustrations of the present and it is a hope that rests in the Eternal Word of the Son of Man. Son of Man! That elusive saying. I love the title of Son of Man, whatever its origins, it is my favorite Christological title. Here, Jesus links the Son of Man with who he is. God Incarnate. Fully God and Fully Man. Born ofmankind, through Mary, and therefore, a son of man. The title in our modern inference evokes a gendered language, yet ultimately it calls us to reflect on the humanness of Jesus Christ through the revelation of Jesus as God. Why is there a cross to bear in this faith in Christ? This is a cross to bear when the world around us seeks to rest their hope in the material, which is reality, instead of God’s will, which is Truth. Reality is not the Truth. The truth is found in what God speaks, wills for us. Paul writes in Romans that all this depends on faith to receive the grace of God. And it is by this faith I believe Jesus Christ is Lord. In Christ there is a cross to bear that reveals itself as God and the eternal hope that is within him. In this sinful and adulterous generation, there has been a hoping against all hope. I do not mean to use this strong language to say how evil this world is, only to remind us how broken this world is. The phrase “this generation” doesn’t connote a current population during a period of time, but simply, as one commentator puts it, “an unfaithfulness to God’s priorities”. Paul reminds us of Abraham putting priority into the hope of God’s promise for him despite any material reality that said otherwise. This hope is something I realized recently I’ve been living without. Despite what 2020 was, I think I was good at spotting the hopeful moments, the ones that made life a little bit easier. I hope you could spot those as well. But it was not a year in which I relished in God’s eternal hopefulness. That is until recently. It wasn’t sudden, it wasn’t an epiphany. It was a slow pour, through prayer and contemplation, rest and relaxation, reading and writing, until one day I was filled with the hope that no matter what, God is there. In the Jesus’ rebuke, we do see hope. The hope of the life into which we have been saved, Jesus Christ. This does not mean our earthly path is void and we merely scorch earth or wait around. We live out this saving hope by living out our reality, our cross to pick up and bear, in which faith, hope, and love flourish in way that allows for the will of God to bring truth into the world, to the glory of the Son of Man. May it be so, Amen. (First Sunday of Lent) Rev. Dominique Peridans Exactly a century ago, 1921: Betty June Thornburg was born in
Battle Creek, Michigan. Her father abandoned her when she was very young. She and her mother received a telegram in 1937: he had committed suicide. Betty’s earliest memory: breaking spontaneously into song when she was three, to distract a drunken man threatening to beat up her mother at the “Blind Pig” pub she ran. At age nine, Betty quit school to sing on street corners, to raise money. Her mother was an alcoholic. One evening, at a Charlie Chaplin silent film with her mother, she thought, “I will be a star and my mother will stop drinking.” 1950: Betty, Hutton, as she was known on stage and in film, got the starring role in Annie Get Your Gun, replacing Judy Garland. Success, but the road ahead was not smooth. 1967, a definite turning point: firing by Paramount Pictures, death of her manager, death of her mother in a fire, bankruptcy. 1969: death of her dear friend, Garland, of a drug overdose. 1970: loss of her singing voice, nervous breakdown, attempted suicide. 1971: at age 50, after four failed marriages and a wrecked career, homelessness. “All she had was a shopping bag with a few things in it” said the executor of her estate. Worth $10 million at one point, she was broke and broken. Uppers and downers led her to a rehabilitation hospital in Boston, weighing only 85 pounds. On the verge of giving up, there she noticed a priest, Fr. Peter McGuire, pastor of Saint Anthony’s parish in Portsmouth, Rhode Island. He had come to the same hospital, to check in his cook, Pearl. Betty later found out from Pearl who this man was. One thing led to another and Betty found Fr. Peter and employment in his Rectory where, for five years, she cooked and cleaned. It was her time of recovery. In the humble process, she says she “found Christ in her heart”. In September of 1980, she returned to Broadway, one last time: a two-week stint as Miss Hannigan, in Annie. Her grandchildren came to see her. In the program, all the actors had extensive biographies—save one, Betty Hutton. Under her photograph were only seven words, “I am back. Thanks be to God!” Betty Hutton died on March 12, 2007. With the grace bestowed during Lent, each of us, in our own way, can say, “I am back; thanks be to God”. We can say this because grace gives us God’s love already victorious. This victory is revealed in this terse gospel passage. Jesus is baptized and revealed as the Beloved and thus our Beloved. Love fills. Jesus is then immediately driven by the Spirit into the wilderness, where, for forty days, he is tempted by Satan. St. Gregory (+604) says, It was not unworthy of our Redeemer to wish to be tempted, who came also to be slain; in order that by His temptations He might conquer our temptations, just as by His death He overcame our death. Love conquers. Jesus then comes to Galilee, proclaiming the kingdom of God has come near. Love touches. This gospel, at the beginning of Lent, is a source of hope. It indeed reminds us that God’s love is already victorious. There are no obstacles to God, if we do not want. And, when we are tempted not to love—which, for me, is every 15 minutes (!) our Beloved, Jesus, in Whom we experience the kingdom of God, is right there with us. As Saint Paul says to us in I Corinthians 15:57: God gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. Jesus tells us, however, that we must repent and believe in the good news. To repent is to experience deep regret for wrongdoing and to turn our hearts towards our Lord Whom we have wronged. To believe is to yield with a sense of awe. Let us acknowledge the times that we have not welcomed the victory of Jesus’ love, especially in loving others And let us surrender to Him. Ah: the grace bestowed during Lent, Jesus’ gift, which makes all of this possible, and so we can dare to hope. Each of us, in our own way, can say “I am back. Thanks be to God!” (Last Sunday After the Epiphany) MJ Layton It is fitting that our season of Epiphany, the season of revelation, should end on a mountaintop. The conservationist John Muir once said, “Oh, these vast, calm, measureless mountain days, days in whose light everything seems equally divine, opening a thousand windows to show us, God.” There is something about the difficulty of the climb, the companionship of the trail, and the expansiveness of the summit view, that whisper to us that we are a little bit closer to God at the top than at the bottom.
On the mountaintop in our gospel reading we find Jesus, with three bewildered and frightened disciples, Peter, James and John. God reveals to us again that Jesus is God’s Son in an eye-catching scene. Jesus shines brightly. He talks with Moses and Elijah. A cloud overshadows them. God’s voice speaks to the disciples from the cloud. And then it’s over as suddenly as it began. What were the disciples to make of it? Perhaps Jesus told them to keep it quiet until after his resurrection because they could not understand it yet. They had just seen Jesus’s triumphant glory, but they had not yet seen his crucified glory, and we cannot truly understand one without the other. There is another mountaintop scene in Scripture that sheds light on this one: Moses receiving the 10 commandments at Mount Sinai. Let me set the scene for you. It’s the desert. The Israelites have just fled slavery in Egypt, narrowly escaping Pharaoh’s army when God parted the Red Sea. Now they are camped out, waiting to see what comes next. Moses goes up the mountain. God speaks to him out of a cloud. God reveals to Moses God’s law. See the parallels? Granted, I’m oversimplifying a bit, because there is the whole golden calfdebacle and Moses having to go up the mountain again for a second set of tablets because he smashed the first ones in anger, but we’ll leave that aside for now. The kicker detail that connects these scenes is that Moses’ face was shining when he came down the mountain. It freaked the Israelites out so much that he hid it under a veil. Two mountains. Two brilliant revelations. At the first, the revelation of God’s law. At the second, the revelation of God’s Son. We might be tempted to interpret this as saying that God’s law and God’s Son are two equal revelations of God. Jesus is simply the new Moses, a prophet sent from God to show us a different way to interpret the law. Before, God’s people followed the 10 commandments, now God’s people follow Jesus’s teachings like the Sermon on the Mount. But this misses the point entirely. 1 Our epistle reading this morning comes at the end of a passage in Second Corinthians, where the Apostle Paul expounds on these two revelations. He refers to the first, the revelation of God’s law, as the ministry ofcondemnation, and to the second, the revelation of God’s Son, as the ministry ofjustification. Now, calling God’s law “the ministry of condemnation” sounds a bit harsh, but it’s for a good reason. The law of God is glorious and good. It tells us to love the Lord our God with all our heart, soul, and strength, and to love our neighbors as ourselves. If we truly did these two things, we would make the world around us a much better place. But the fact is, we are sinful human beings, and no matter how hard we try, we cannot follow these rules. The Israelites promised that they would obey God there at Mount Sinai, and the Old Testament recounts over and over again the stories of their transgressions. We have our own “mountaintop experiences” – perhaps a particularly stirring sermon or an amazing spiritual retreat – and we resolve to become better people. But we can never quite follow through the way that we want. This is why God’s law is a ministry of condemnation: once we hear it, we are condemned by it, because we are unable to uphold it. If the Bible left us with only the mountaintop experience of Sinai, it might feel hopeless. But that’s where the revelation of God’s Son comes in. Jesus’ divinity allowed him to live the perfect human life, or perhaps to perfect the human life. He followed all the commandments given at Sinai – loving God and loving his neighbor perfectly all the time. But then, despite the fact that he was NOT condemned under the law like the rest of us, he was crucified. He died for us, so that we might be forgiven for not following the law perfectly. His perfect life stands in place of our imperfect lives, his undeserved death stands in place of our deserved deaths. This is the ministry of justification. This is the ministry where God looks at each of us and says, “Well done, good and faithful servant” because when God looks at us, God sees Jesus’s life instead of ours. In this ministry, our mountaintop experience happens not when we resolve to be better people, but when we kneel at the foot of the cross, humbled by the gift Jesus offers us. God’s Son is more glorious than God’s law. The apostle Paul puts it this way: “ ” Jesus’ glory, found both on the cross and in the transfiguration, is permanent glory. The gift offered to us in his life, death, and resurrection can never be lost. Once we accept this gift, we are free to love God and love our neighbor, not in a doomed attempt to follow the law perfectly, but out ofthanksgiving for what God has done for us in Jesus Christ. May God’s light shine For if there was glory in the ministry of condemnation, much more does the ministry of justification abound in glory! 10 Indeed, what once had glory has lost its glory because of the greater glory; 11 for if what was set aside came through glory , much more has the permanent come in glory! “in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.” Amen. Rev. Mary McCue We have celebrated the epiphany of the shepherds coming to the baby Jesus in his manger, and returning to their homes, glorifying God for all that they had seen. Our Gospel today also tells us of epiphany. It is the feast of the Presentation of Our Lord in the Temple, moved to this Sunday, so we can celebrate it together. It is an important feast in our liturgy and one of 13 Great Feasts in the Orthodox Church.
In today’s Gospel, Jesus’s parents have brought him to Jerusalem for their purification according to the Law of Moses. It was a solemn ceremony, marking presentation of the newborn to the Lord. As a first-born male child, he was designated as holy to the Lord, destined for the priesthood. The ritual for doing so was well enshrined in the law. So was the offering to be made in honor of the Lord. For less well-off families, it was the sacrifice of a pair of turtledoves or two young pigeons. When they brought Jesus into the Temple for the ritual, they encountered a holy man named Simeon. Simeon is described as righteous and devout. “Righteous and devout” – those two words tell us a lot about Simeon. He was probably not a young man. He was probably spending most of his time praying. He had probably been waiting a long time for the consolation of Israel. And he had been made a promise by the Holy Spirit, an important concept in Luke’s Gospel. Simeon trusted in the Holy Spirit, which had revealed to him that he would not die before he had seen the Messiah – the Messiah the Jews had been waiting for for hundreds ofyears. This day, his faith in the Holy Spirit is rewarded. Guided by the Spirit, he came into the Temple as Jesus was brought in by his parents. Guided by the Spirit, Simeon recognizes him. His recognition is so strong and so complete that he prays the beautiful Nunc Dimittis prayer, saying that “Master, now you are dismissing your servant in peace, according to Your word, for my eyes have seen your salvation which you have prepared in the presence of all peoples; a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel.” It’s a prayer that we pray today, in Evening Prayer and in Compline. But Simeon was not the only one. Anna, a widow, never left the Temple, but worshiped and prayed there day and night. Anna, too, recognized the child, praising God and to speak about the child to all who were looking for the redemption of Jerusalem. Not one, but two Epiphanies, to devoted, holy people. Both were people devoted to the law and religion – as were Jesus’ parents. Simeon, though, sees a vision beyond the law. He says, “This child is destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed, so the thoughts of many will be revealed.” He adds a poignant word to Mary – “a sword will pierce your own soul, too.” What did Simeon see in Jesus’ face that caused him to pray the beautiful prayer about the ending of his life? ...In the face of an infant. What did Anna see in that face that caused her to proclaim the redemption of Israel? ...In the face of an infant. What did the apostles see in that face that caused them to drop their nets, give up their livelihood and their way of life to follow him? ...In the face of a young man? What a beautiful, arresting face it must have been! It must have been infused with the Holy Spirit, with Grace and with Light. How appropriate. Another name for this Sunday is Candlemas – a feast of candles and thus of light. Jesus is the light in our dark world. He brings us light, and into the light. Can we see the light? I think we can. A wise man once said, “You’ll never meet a person that God doesn’t love.” As Simeon, Anna and the Apostles saw in Jesus, we can see Jesus in every person we meet – young, old, troubled, wise and not so wise. We can see the light when we pray to Jesus. We can see it when we Trust in Jesus’ love to us – what Simeon must have seen – what Anna must have seen – what the apostles must have seen. We can see it in the face of each other. We can see light, and love, because Jesus has shown us the way. And we can follow that way. As the Collect for today says, “...as your only-begotten Son was this day presented in the temple, so we may be presented to you, with pure and clean hearts by Jesus Christ, our Lord...” Amen. (Feast of Saint Agnes, Virgin and Martyr) Rev. Dominique Peridans We find ourselves in chapter 18 of Matthew’s gospel. Much has happened in Jesus’ public life between Nazareth and this exchange: soaring sermon, multiple miracles, calling and commissioning and confession, predictions of Passion, Transfiguration and teaching on the need for complete surrender for a disciple.
And now: an intriguing question, a question that makes one wonder if the disciples are truly paying attention: “Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?” To help answer the question, Jesus “calls a child, whom he puts among them”. Jesus has a huge soft spot for children. Why? Children typically have open hearts. And Jesus gravitates towards open hearts; it brings Him joy to indwell them. Indeed, “The Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head” (Matthew 8:20; Luke 9:58)--save the human heart. Our hearts are Jesus’ pillow, if you will. Children’s hearts are really Jesus’ pillow. The child also serves as a living metaphor. Jesus chooses, as St. Jerome (+420) says, “one whose tender age should express to them (disciples) the innocence which they should have.” Indeed, Jesus says: “Unless you change and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” Humility is the fitting internal disposition before a great God, in Whose life we participate. And there are, of course, great benefits to being genuinely humble: we learn to be sensitive and to be grateful, to admire and to welcome... But, this is more than a lesson in humility. This is really about divine love. The kingdom of heaven is one of love and only love can enter Love. The same St. Jerome articulates a few qualities of a child, which speak to divine love and reveal what happens in a disciple of Jesus when transformed by divine love. A child
If any of you put a stumbling block before one of these little ones who believe in me, it would be better for you if a great millstone were fastened around your neck and you were drowned in the depth of the sea. Today, we celebrate our very special child-like sister in faith: Saint Agnes, our patroness, our friend. She was no better equipped than us to do what Jesus asks. But she said “yes” and, by virtue of divine love, she lived and loved heroically, and, by virtue of divine love, she journeys with us. In the ancient Roman calendar of the feasts of the martyrs dating from 354, her feast is assigned to January 21. We moved it to today, so that, together, we be able to celebrate! She was martyred in 304 at the age of twelve for resisting sexual assault. She is, understandably, patron saint of young girls and girl scouts, and of those seeking chastity and purity. According to an account by St. Ambrose, born in what today is Belgium, Bishop of Milan, Doctor of the Church, died in 397, Agnes told the judges during her trial, “He who chose me first shall be the only one to have me.” Hername is derived from a Greek adjective meaning “pure, sacred”. All accounts unanimously point to her heroism under torture so to preserve her virginity in the name of her faith and her Lord. The accounts vary regarding what exactly took place. In one account, the Roman Prefect Sempronius condemned Agnes to be dragged naked through the streets to a brothel. In another account, a fellow lusting after her during her trial was struck blind. In another account, she was tied to a stake but the flames parted. Many agree that she died by the sword. What is certain is that the One who chose her first was the only one to have her. Let us, with her, with humility and forgiving and pure hearts, approach the Eucharistic table, in person or by desire if viewing livestream, and enter the kingdom of heaven. (THE SECOND SUNDAY AFTER THE EPIPHANY) Molly Jane Layton Come and see! the young girl says to her mother, impatient to display her fingerpainting.
Come and see! the teenage skateboarder says to his crush, eager to show off his newest trick. Come and see! the research assistant says to her stern supervisor, hopeful to gain approval. Come and see. Three words full of invitation and hope in the speaker. And three words which can spark everything from wonder to skepticism in the hearer. What will that mother find at the fingerpainting table? A masterpiece or a mess? Is that crush open to being impressed? Or annoyed at being called away from her girlfriends? Will the discovery be enough to crack through the supervisor’s hard outer shell? Regardless, the invitation still stands. You could perhaps make “Come and see” the slogan of the whole season of Epiphany, which we are in right now. Epiphany comes from the Greek word that means “a coming to light” or “an appearing.” 1 At Christmas, Jesus, the Son of God, appeared as the Savior of the world. And now, in Epiphany, our gospel texts center around important moments in Jesus’s ministry where aspects of his identity are revealed to us, such as his baptism last week. We are invited, along with the disciples, the crowds, and the religious leaders, to come and who this Messiah is. Our gospel reading today describes the calling of Philip and Nathanael, two of Jesus’s disciples. Philip is so excited about who Jesus is that when Jesus asks him to follow him, he immediately runs off to find Nathanael to get him to join, too. Nathanael, however, is a bit more skeptical. “Wait – you said he came from Nazareth? Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” Nazareth was a small, backwater town in Galilee, an out of the way region not particularly known for anything besides its fishermen and its tendency to produce revolutionaries. This is why Nathanael doubts that the one written about by Moses and the prophets could possibly come from there. Certainly he would come from somewhere a bit closer to Jerusalem, right? Actually, no. Jesus came from Nazareth. And the fact that Jesus came from Nazareth reveals to us something important about God’s love for the world: God does not send his Son into the circles of power, into the places where it looks like everyone has their act together, into the places where he can make the right connections and get ahead. God sends his Son to minister to the people at the margins, to the places where people struggle to make ends meet, to the places where people are more likely to spend all night fishing than to loudly drop lots of coins into the temple collection plate. When Nathanael meets Jesus, his response to him shifts from skepticism to wonder. Although they have never met before, Jesus displays intimate knowledge of Nathanael’s character and his actions. This blows Nathanael’s mind. His skepticism now completely gone, he acknowledges 1 Liddell and Scott’s Intermediate Greek-English Lexicon Jesus as both the Son of God and the King of Israel, which is a pretty amazing declaration for an Israelite to make. But instead of patting Nathanael on the back, Jesus gently chides him. “That’s all it took for you to believe? You will see far greater things than that! Even angels ascending and descending on the Son of Man!” Although a bit more cryptic, this revelation is just as important as the previous one. Jesus alludes to the story of Jacob’s ladder in Genesis, where Jacob dreamt about angels ascending and descending on a ladder between heaven and earth. Thus, Jesus identifies himself with the ladder, as the locus of contact between heaven and earth, the place where earthly humans find the connection to their heavenly Father. Furthermore, New Testament scholar Raymond Brown points out that the phrase “greater things” in other places in the Gospel of John refers to Jesus’s death, resurrection, and ascension. 2 Thus, Jesus is obliquely telling Nathanael to “hold his horses” because the best is yet to come. It’s too much for the disciples to handle right now, so Jesus doesn’t spell it out clearly. But Jesus knows what is coming and is already preparing them to understand the climax of his ministry. Through his passion, death and resurrection, Jesus becomes the very way to God. This, truly, is worthy of our wonder. Friends, these revelations about Jesus are good news for us today. Our skepticism may sound different than Nathanael’s, but it is still just as real. Can anything good come out of a global pandemic? Can anything good come out of political violence? Can anything good come out of a country with a brutally racist past? We need to know that Jesus, by being our way to God, can heal and redeem our lives and our world. And so, the invitation stands. Come and see, that Jesus does not shy away from the hard places in our lives. Come and see that he does not abandon us for the circles of power or leave us for people who look like they have it all together. Come and see that he is present with us in our struggles and in our pain and in our fear. Come and see how he is our pathway to God’s love and affection. Come and see how his death, resurrection, and ascension are our hope and our light in the midst of the darkness. Come and see. Amen. (The Baptism of the Lord) Rev. Dominique Peridans Four churches in a small Ohio town:
Presbyterian, Methodist, Catholic and Episcopal. All four, oddly, overrun with pesky squirrels. The Presbyterians, after much prayer and consideration, determined that the squirrels were predestined to be there, and they shouldn't interfere with God's divine will. The Methodists had to deal with the squirrels having taken up habitation in the Baptismal font. They opted for a very practical approach: secure a cover on the font. The squirrels, however, somehow managed to move it and there were twice as many squirrels the next week, having a font party. The Catholics decided that they were in no position to harm any of God's creation. So, humanely, they trapped the squirrels and set them free a few miles outside of town. Three days later, the squirrels were back. The Episcopalians came up with the most effective solution: they baptized the squirrels and registered them as members of the parish. Now they only see them on Christmas and Easter. Baptism. In his Catechism, published in 1538, John Calvin asks, “How do you know yourself to be a child of God in fact as well as in name?” Answer: “Because I am baptized in the name of God the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.” Baptism, as we Episcopalian Christians know and experience it, that is to say, as a guaranteed encounter with the Triune God, finds its source in the Baptism of the Lord, the author of Baptism because the “author of our salvation”. It is odd that Jesus be baptized, however, for He has no need for Baptism. Jesus had no need for Baptism, for He is “full of grace” (John 1:14), and grace is what we believe Baptism confers. If Jesus has no need for Baptism, then why was He baptized? To make John the Baptist feel that his ministerial labor is worthwhile? Because He couldn’t resist the cool waters on a hot day? Jesus can only be baptized if He is to make use of John’s Baptism, the Baptism that stands at the threshold of the New Covenant. Jesus does make use of John’s Baptism to institute a Baptism which confers grace, the Baptism. As St. Ambrose, 4 th century Bishop of Milan, says: Our Lord was baptized because He wished, not to be cleansed, but to cleanse the waters, that, being purified by the flesh of Christ that knew no sin, they might have the virtue of baptism. In being baptized, Jesus makes a promise: to use the simple element of water to communicate divine life in a special way. A guaranteed encounter with the Triune God. So guaranteed, that it led Saint Isidore, ancient Christian philosopher, Bishop of Seville, Spain, who died in 636—and who, by the way, invented the period, the comma and the colon—to say that “Baptism is not the work of man but of Christ, and this sacrament is so holy that it would not be defiled, even if the minister were a murderer.” Those Baptismal waters… Those Baptismal waters led Lutheran pastor Nadia-Bolz Weber, whom I quoted last Sunday, to say, “Many of us would pray not to die in a car crash before we were baptized, like other people pray not to get sick before their employee benefits kick in.” Those Baptismal waters led contemporary theologian Carrie Underwood to sing, I followed that preacher man down to the river. And now I'm changed, And now I'm stronger. There must've been something in the water. Those Baptismal waters led another singer of another generation of another musical genre, Nina Simone, to sing Take me to the water To be, to be baptized I'm going back home, going back home Gonna stay here no longer I'm going back home, going back home Baptism confers grace to us, and grace grants us a share in God’s life, home. Indeed, the Baptism of Jesus reveals this. Jesus comes to be Baptized in the Jordan, through which the Israelites entered the Promised Land. By grace, and thus through Baptism, we enter the “Promised Land”. The “Promised Land”, for us, is nothing less than God’s life. Finally, the Baptism of Jesus reveals the mystery of God, “the heavens torn apart”. The Holy Spirit, like a dove, that is to say, full of gentle love, descends, confirming the divine origin of Jesus. Then, “a voice came from heaven”, expressing divine delight: the Father. Son, Holy Spirit, Father. This epiphany is not only of Jesus but of the Trinity. It is the first explicit New Testament revelation of the Trinity. Today, we celebrate Jesus as God God as Trinity ourselves as beloved children of God Jesus is the Beloved, in whom, we are the beloved. Each of us is a beloved child of God. God has given us everything, so that we be born again and live His very life —which means: a happiness deep in the heart that no one/nothing can take. We must, of course, cooperate with grace. We do so by seeking God and letting ourselves be found by God and by stepping out in faith to love our neighbor. Loving neighbor is intrinsic to our relationship with Christ. Worry not, however. Christ makes this possible: grace upon grace… (John 1:16) (FEAST OF THE EPIPHANY) Rev. Dominique Peridans The feast of the Epiphany.
Early on, the Church had a sense in faith that this merited a special celebration. Saint Clement of Alexandria (Egypt, not Virginia!), prominent theologian, who died in 215, mentions it. There is written and historian Ammianus Marcellinus, in 361. “Epiphany” means manifestation. We celebrate God incarnate, the Word made flesh, made manifest to the Gentiles (i.e., to the rest of the world, beyond the Jewish community), in the persons ofthe Magi. The first to visit the Christ-child were the shepherds, simple and lowly, who were Jews. The second to visit the Christ-child were the Magi, these other mysterious figures, who represent the learned pagan world. The first reading (Isaiah 60:3) speaks prophetically of them: “Nations shall come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your dawn.” This passage from Isaiah has led many to conclude that the Magi were, in fact, kings. It is unclear who they are. The term Magi comes from a Persian term, “mag” for “priest”. Lutheran pastor, Nadia Bolz-Weber, says, reference to this feast by Roman soldier “Three kings from the Orient bringing gifts to Jesus in a manger is a charming story, but it’s not actually the one we find in the Bible. A closer reading ofMatthew shows that we have no idea how many people were there, and we don’t know how far east they came from. Was it the Orient? Was it New Jersey?... And most importantly, they were definitely not kings.....They were Magi, as in magicians, and not the cute kind you hire for your kid’s birthday party. Yet history made them out to be kings, maybe because the reality that they were magicians is too distasteful, since no one really wants the weird fortune-teller lady from the circus with her scarves and crystal balls to be the first to discover the birth of our Lord. So, the story has been nicened up into an idealized picture ofmulticultural diplomacy. But the Epiphany story ofHerod and his infanticide reveals a God who has entered our world as it actually exists, and not as the world we often wish it would be.” The exact identity ofthe Magi is indeed difficult to specify. Whatever the case may be--pagan priests or magicians, both astrologers, three or more, named or unnamed, they are traditionally portrayed as coming in full regalia, with gifts. They come with all their learnedness, rather moved in their minds. Theirs is an attraction of which we may not often think. The simplicity of the shepherds, moved in their hearts, seems more accessible. The Magi, sometimes called the wise men (not wise guys!), are mysteriously moved in their minds. They come reading the stars: in this case, a star, indicating the birth of a king. Given what they say, we may presume that they came expecting divinity: a king from above. “Where is the newborn king of the Jews? We have seen his star at its rising.” We can perhaps say that they come because they have been given a gift from Christ, before even seeing Him: faith. This they are given, not because of privilege, but because they are seekers. God likes seekers. God extends Himself to those who seek. Faith is a gift, freely given, which entails a very subtle attraction to God, enabling us to discern mystery from above. It is interesting and important to note, also, that faith does not eliminate the use of the mind. Indeed, the Magi come moved by faith, all the while reading the star... St. John Chrysostom (+ 407), in a commentary on this, says, “Since they sought a heavenly King, though they found Him in no signs of royal pre-eminence, yet, content with the testimony of a star alone, they adored.” Saint Augustine and Saint Jerome support the understanding of magician. No Church Father holds the Magi to have been kings. Additionally, the Gospel narrative fails to mention the number of the Magi. Some Church Fathers speak of three Magi, likely influenced by the number of gifts. The Gospel narrative also fails to mention the names of the Magi. In the Western part of the Church, from the seventh century, we find slight variants of the names, Gaspar, Melchior, and Balthasar. With the eyes of the body , they see a fragile infant. With the eyes of faith, they “see” God. Only faith can bridge the apparent abyss between child and God. It is very much like our situation regarding the Eucharist. Only faith can bridge the apparent abyss between bread and God. The Magi come and find. They find what they were seeking in faith, and they are filled with joy. The first thing that they do upon seeing the child is to adore. They “prostrated themselves and did him homage.” (verse 11) Adoration is always the first, fundamental act in the presence of God. They also offer gifts, gifts in keeping with the reality of this child. The gifts are revealing for us:
“gold, as to a king; myrrh, as to one who was mortal, and incense, as to a God.” More things will later be revealed about the Christ. But this is the initial revelation to the world, through the Magi. Revelation is not a shop window display. It is sharing that invites experience. Let us adore and experience Jesus, our King of Kings, our God, the Lamb, Who comes to us now in a special way in the Eucharist. |
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