​Corpus Christi 2022
John 6:47-58
 
Today is Corpus Christi—Body of Christ—Sunday,
the Body of Christ experienced in a special way in the Eucharist.
Sure, “the Eucharist is celebrated solemnly every Sunday,”
as notes Pope Urban IV, who, however, declared, in 1264,
we deem it fitting that at least once per year
it be celebrated with greater honor and a solemn commemoration.
 
Voila: Corpus Christi Sunday, which highlights our raison d’etre.
The Eucharist is the reason that we are here.
Sure, fellowship and formation and fearless service.
At the heart of, feeding this, however…
 
We are most deeply here because God took a human body, was made flesh,
and that body (inseparable from His whole Person, of course,
and from the other Divine Persons, the Father and the Holy Spirit!)
is shared, is communicated, in a special way, in the Eucharist, Communion.
The bread that I will give is my flesh for the life of the world, today’s gospel.
The Eucharist, the gift we cannot give to ourselves at home,
communicates the love that makes of us Sisters and Brothers.
As Reverend Nadia Bolz-Weber, the heavily tattooed Lutheran minister, says,
What unites us isn’t a doctrine, it’s a table — a table open to all, in which we receive this Bread of Life come down from heaven. The Body and Blood of Christ is what unites us and makes us a church. Hopefully not in a prideful see-how-inclusive-we-are way, but in a Lord-to-whom-shall-we-go? way, in as You-have-the-words-of eternal-life way.
 
As you know, this does not necessarily resonate with all Christians.
I’ve previously mentioned a visit, 4-5 years ago,
to a very large church, across the river, in Virginia.
Power music. Power preaching. Power coffee shop!
In its own way, inspiring—until, with the best of intentions,
so to keep the Christian life simple for everyone,
the preacher said, “the sacraments are a perversion of the gospel”.
Ouch!  My heart sank.
And I left, discreetly—not shaking the dust from my feet.
A statement, however, understandable—to a point.
“The Jews disputed among themselves, saying,
“How can this man give us his flesh to eat?”
Ugh: cannibalism?!?
So it seems—outside of love, the Resurrection, and a little theology!
Jesus’ own disciples will say, two verses (60) after this passage,
This teaching is difficult; who can accept it?
Symbol? sure.  Real Presence? not so much.
Jesus responds powerfully and clearly:
Unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood,
you have no life in you. (verse 53)
 
Why would Jesus venture such a controversial gift?
Because He is adamant about loving us
and there is something uniquely loving about this gift
—such that He prefers to risk it not being understood or even welcomed.
Jesus is adamant because God is love, and God, although complete
and perfectly fine unto Himself, wants us with Him forever.
The one who eats this bread will live forever. (John 6:58)
What more could we want?
Is there anything better to do on a Sunday morning
than to receive sacred bread that communicates eternal life?!?
[We need to spread the word!]
 
Jesus invents this tangible and accessible food for the journey,
whereby He gives us, in silence, His heart.
Unleavened, tasteless bread, designed to help us
to be childlike, unafraid (really, bread is usually harmless!).
The unconditional gift of his Resurrected (spiritualized but real) body
(which, by the way, means not cannibalism!),
no longer bound by time and place,
which is why we can celebrate the Eucharist here
as it is being celebrated all around the world.
 
In the early 5th century, St. John Chrysostom, said:
“How many of you say: I wish I could see his face.  You do see him.  You do touch him. You eat him. He gives himself to you, that you may see him, and that he may be your food.”
 
But, there is something different about consuming this food.
St. Thomas Aquinas (+1274) tells us,
“Material food changes into the one who eats it (your breakfast is becoming you…). Spiritual food, on the other hand, changes the person who eats it into itself. Thus the effect proper to this Sacrament is the conversion of a person into Christ, so that Christ live in him.”
(Commentary on Book IV of the Sentences, d.12, q.2, a.11)
 
+++
 
Saint Augustine, 5th century like John Chrysostom, says,
No one partakes of this Flesh before he or she has adored it.
Before we partake, we shall adore.
We will have an extended pause before receiving Communion, quiet,
to enjoy the Real Presence and to ask that we be readied for encounter.
A consecrated host will be displayed in what we call a monstrance
(from the Latin verb monstrare, “to show”).
Your time to say, “This teaching is difficult”, “I believe, help my unbelief”
“Lord, to whom shall we go?”, “I love you” or…
Your time to abide.
Then, we shall partake.
 
 
 

Don’t Worry, Be Happy
Pentecost 2022
John 14:8-17 (25-27)

I recently heard a definition of a good sermon: it should have a good
beginning. It should have a good ending. And they should be as close together as
possible! This relatively short sermon is entitled, Don’t Worry, Be Happy,
because today, we celebrate Pentecost. The term “pentecost” was adopted from Greek-speaking Jews, a term which means “fiftieth”—understood day, the fiftieth day. In Jewish territory, it designates the close of harvest, fifty days after Passover. In Christian territory, it designates the descent of the Holy Spirit in manifest fashion, which occurred, interestingly, on the Jewish feast of Pentecost, fifty days after the Resurrection. We do not simply commemorate that unusual day, as we read in Acts, chapter 2, “when…the disciples were all together in one place and suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, that filled the entire house and divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them We are, of course, thankful for that blessed day, for, because of it, we, Church, are here. This event is often considered the birth of the Church, for the Holy Spirit binds us to one another. Our good intentions and/or our common values are not enough to bind us such that we be the Body of Christ. What binds us is a Who that binds us, a Divine Person, the Third Person of the Trinity, the Holy Spirit. On Pentecost, we engage the Holy Spirit.

But who is this Holy Spirit, the seemingly faceless Third Person of the
Trinity, Who alone makes us Church?

As abstract as “He” may seem, “He” is indeed a Divine Person, not simply a force or an energy, a Person Who, as we profess in the Nicene Creed, “proceeds from the Father and the Son”, is given to us by the Father and the Son. The Holy Spirit is referred to, amongst many names in the well-known 4 th -century litany, as the Comforter, the Sanctifier and Consuming Fire. In our reading, Saint Paul makes an incredibly liberating statement: “All who are led by the Spirit of God are children of God.” (Romans 8:14) A child of God shares in the life of God.
A child of God has thus found his or her place, is at home in and with God.
​
This is why Jesus says to the disciples,
“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you.”
Peace follows right order.
Peace follows everything being in its right place
The Holy Spirit takes our hearts and places them in God, Home, our
rightest place.
Child of God, I am.
Child of God Lena will become much more deeply in a few minutes,
with a fresh outpouring of the Holy Spirit and the gratuitous gift of grace.
A pentecost!
And, it will be the responsibility of her parents, godparents, and faith
community, to help her to know that, as says Saint Aloysius Gonzaga, Italian Jesuit,
died in 1591, at age 23, caring for persons stricken with the pandemic of that time,
“It is better to be a child of God than king of the whole world.”
Saint Paul’s statement is also incredibly demanding because he makes it
clear that we are to be led by the Holy Spirit
in order for this liberating spiritual childhood to be real for us.
Being led implies willing cooperation, which is not always easy.
I know that it’s not for me!

My stubbornness, my fear, my fatigue, my selfish indifference get in the
way.
Yet, I am somehow always free to express willingness…
We express our willingness in simply calling upon the Holy Spirit,
without Whom it is not possible truly to live as a friend and disciple of
Christ.
And so, if I may ask, do you really call upon the Holy Spirit, the powerful, yet quiet inner
guest do you really believe that you are indwelt by,
and thus a temple of, the Holy Spirit?
How often do you cry out with your heart, “Come Holy Spirit!”?
This should be the leitmotif of your day: “Come Holy Spirit!”.
When you wake,
“Come Holy Spirit!”.
When you are about to begin an important business meeting,
or about to visit someone who sends you over the edge,
“Come Holy Spirit!”.
When you are about to express your love to someone dear,
or you feel overwhelmed or fearful or sad or hopeful,
“Come Holy Spirit”.
As the famous Belgian Archbishop during World War I, Joseph Mercier,
would say:
“Surrender to the Holy Spirit is the secret to sanctity and
happiness.”
The Holy Spirit is the happiness of God in person, indwelling our hearts.
Let us surrender today.
Don’t worry, be happy.

​“Up Through the Atmosphere, Up Where the Air is Clear”
Ascension of Jesus 2022
​Luke 24: 46-53
 
London. 1910. George Banks returns home, 17 Cherry Tree Lane, to learn from his wife, Winifred, that the nanny has resigned. The children, Jane and Michael, have run away, once more. Although soon returned by Constable Jones, who found them chasing a kite, it’s the final straw for the nanny. The next day, Mr. Banks advertises for a serious, no-nonsense nanny.  Jane and Michael insist that she be sweet.
Later in the week, several somewhat sour-faced women gather outside the Banks' home for interview, but a strong gust of wind blows them all away. Jane and Michael then witness a lovely woman, a sweet nanny, descending from the sky with umbrella.  Mary Poppins.  The rest is history.  With her magical manner, Mary Poppins renews the Banks’ home-life.  In the final song, her work done and time to depart, we hear “up through the atmosphere, up where the air is clear” as Mary Poppins ascends into the sky—with umbrella.


Up through the atmosphere, up where the air is clear…
Is this the Ascension of Jesus?
The scriptures sure seem to suggest so.In (Acts 1 (1-11), we read thatJesus was “lifted up, and a cloud took him out of their sight”and in our gospel, Luke 24 (44-53), Jesus was “carried up into heaven.” Our mural represents this!The seraphs, described in Isaiah 6 as nearest the throne of God,
with their flame-coloured wings surrounding Jesus’ body, carry him to heaven.
Scripture and Christian art describe a local movement, away from earth. Jesus now “up there.”
 
Now, each Sunday, we proclaim, as the Church has done for almost 1700 years
in the words of the Nicene Creed, the fact of the Ascension:
“He ascended into heaven (without umbrella!)
and is seated at the right hand of the Father.” 
To say “ascended”, however, does not necessarily mean local movement,
i.e., going from here to “there”.
There is local movement described in the event of the Ascension.
But there is more.  
 
Now, before we consider how the Ascension impacts our lives,
let us ask two questions:

1. first question: How does the Ascension make sense?  Why ascend?

The skyward movement (“up through the atmosphere, up where the air is clear”) serves to signify symbolically that Jesus, in His body, is attracted to the Father,
the transcendent Source beyond all things.
Let me “explain”.
Jesus’ body, after the Resurrection, is no longer of this world. 
This is why no one initially recognizes Him and why He can walk through walls. 
His body was transformed from within by divine love and light.
It is, as we say, a “glorified” body.
The fitting “place” for His body, therefore, is the mystery of God
who “is love” (I John 4:16) and “is light” (I John 1:5).
The fitting “place” is the Father, heaven
--without any of the distance of his earthly pilgrimage.

1. second question, a curiosity: What does “seated at the right hand” mean?

God has no hands! 
And why the apparent prejudice against left-handedness?
And why does Jesus need a chair?
Once again: symbolic language rooted in human experience.
One reading of this, taken from my favorite: Saint Thomas Aquinas, 13th century:
 
The word "sitting" may mean "abiding"… it belongs to Christ to sit at the Father's right hand…inasmuch as He abides eternally unchangeable in the Father's bliss, which is termed His right hand, according to Psalm 15:11, “At Thy right hand are delights even to the end.” Christ dwells at the right hand of the Father: for He is happy and the Father's right hand is the name for His bliss.
 
We are talking about the happiness of Christ, including in his flesh,
happiness which He shares with us!


In the Ascension, therefore, strange as it may initially sound,
we discover how loved we are, in all that we are.
St. Leo, Bishop of Rome, died in 461, says, regarding the Ascension:
“Not only is the immortality of the soul proclaimed, but also that of the flesh.” Although who I truly am as human being and as child of God
is deeper than that which is bodily,
my body—with its limitations, it skin color, its corpulence or its lankiness, its capacity for reproduction, its pain—is destined for immortality, for glory in Christ.
And so our bodies really matter to God.
I am loved in every corporeal fiber of who I am.
Nothing, therefore, is outside this relationship with our Risen and Ascended Lord.
 
Jesus is thus not gone, not “way up there”. 
Unlike Elvis, Jesus has not left the building.
As the same St. Leo says:
“By ascending, Jesus did not abandon His friends.
Indeed, although His bodily presence is withdrawn,
still, as God, He is ever-present.”
After the Ascension, Jesus is ever-present, more present. 
After the Ascension, there is more God in our midst.
 
Once Jesus is with the Father in His body in this perfect way,
He sends the promise of the Father. 
He sends the Holy Spirit, “power from on high.” 
Our Triune God is a class act: intensifying presence, increasing love.  
 
Knowing what we do in faith, thanks to the Ascension, we can,
as Saint Augustine invites in a sermon in the early 400s for this special day,
“strive to find rest with Christ in heaven even now,
through the faith, hope and love that unites us to him.”
 
Amen.
 

​“My Lord and my God!”
Second Sunday of Easter 2022
John 20:19-31
 
Let’s walk through this post-Resurrection gospel, first situating things.
According to what John explicitly says, prior to this appearance,
only Mary Magdalene had seen Jesus.
Indeed, the gospels unanimously present Mary Magdalene
as the first to see the Risen Lord.
Why Mary Magdalene?
Why not Mary?
It perhaps was Mary, such the normal course that it need not be mentioned.
The Scriptures are silent about certain things
which are to be intuited by the heart….
Why not Peter, chief of the apostles, or John, the beloved disciple?
I like to think that Jesus goes first where hearts most thirst.
Pretty good rhyme, huh?!
Mary Magdalene was in love with Jesus—in the deep(est) sense.
 
After Mary Magdalene, Jesus appears here to the Apostles,
who are locked in a room, seized by fear.
Nowhere near the courage of Mary Magdalene!
They are in Jerusalem, which, per some etymologies, means “abode of peace”.
And what does Jesus say to them?
“Peace be with you”.
How wonderful.
In a sense, Jesus declares Himself, in the mystery of His Resurrection,
the abode of peace, the definitive Prince of Peace.


Peace is the fruit of right order.
There is peace when all things are in place, as they should be.
The rightest order, our rightest place is relationship with God,
into which the Risen Lord most intimately introduces humanity.
 
Jesus thus comes to the Apostles to reassure them
and to introduce them more deeply into right relationship with God:
“Peace be with you”.
He then breathes the Holy Spirit upon them,
granting them authority to forgive sins: instruments of overflowing mercy.
They are not simply beneficiaries of but are participants in the Resurrection.
Entitlement check: we are not here as spiritual consumers,
but as disciples and friends eager to be transformed
and sent forth in the power of the Holy Spirit which Jesus breathes upon us.
 
There is, however, as often the case, one unsavoury apple: Doubting Thomas.
Thomas was not with them when Jesus came.
Another Thomas, Aquinas, in his commentary 1200 years later, says
so he had missed the comfort of seeing the Lord,
the conferring of peace and the breath giving the Holy Spirit.
This teaches us not to become separated from one's companions.
We need the Mystical Body of Christ, the Church.
Thomas’ presence is strangely reassuring for us, who, at times, doubt.
“I will not believe,” he says.
As Saint Gregory (monk, Scripture scholar, Pope, sometimes called the Father of Christian worship, greatly admired by John Calvin, died in 604) says
the disbelief of Thomas was of more benefit to our faith
than the faith of the disciples who did believe.
 
Jesus goes directly to those who desire deeply and intensely.
and those who struggle to believe.
Put your finger here and see my hands.
Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe.
Look at the cover of your bulletin a faint image of the famous 1601 painting
by Caravaggio (now in Berlin, Germany).
Up close and personal, Thomas’ finger plunged into the flesh of Jesus’ side.
A tactile learner, apparently!
The wounds, which could have been healed in the Resurrection,
remain for our benefit.
The same Saint Gregory says,
It is the plans of Divine Mercy that by feeling the wounds in the flesh of his Teacher, the doubting disciple should heal in us the wounds of disbelief.
 
The simplicity with which Thomas touches suggests, to me, that what moved him most was not simple intrigue but Christ’s gentle mercy.
Jesus welcomes him in his unbelief.
 
Jesus then proceeds to proclaim the beatitude of faith,
the happiness that awaits those who are willing to believe
In a sense today’s marquee phrase:
“Blessed are those who have not seen and have come to believe.”
Jesus can only proclaim such happiness if, in faith, we touch Him
—with our hearts and minds, of course.
Happiness necessitates communion with the object of our desire.
Faith is not simply a set of beliefs.
Beliefs per se are not life-giving, not happiness-giving.
Even though it is without seeing Him,
faith enables us to touch the Risen Lord.
And one day (one eternity) we will see the One Whom we touch in faith.
Faith ends in the Beatific Vision.
If, during our earthly pilgrimage, without seeing,
we are in communion with Christ, the object of our greatest desire,
there are joy and peace which surpass understanding.
Hence the words of Peter in his first epistle (1:9)
“Although you have not seen him, you love him;
and even though you do not see him now,
you believe in him and rejoice with an indescribable and glorious joy.”

No one and nothing, no trying circumstance, no rejection/feeling of isolation
can keep us from touching God.
All we need to do is to want it, be willing to believe, and we touch.
Blessed are we who have not seen and have come to believe.
Let us touch the Risen Lord in faith
—in our hearts, in one another, in the Eucharist,
and be full of wonder, gratitude, joy and peace.
Let us be people of the Resurrection.
 
 

Alive Forever
Easter Vigil 2022
Luke 24:1-12
 
Alleluia, Christ is risen!    (response: The Lord is risen indeed, alleluia!)
“Alleluia”!  (literally, in the Hebrew: "All hail to Him Who is!")
The One Who is, eternal, Whom no one and nothing can suppress.
 
Now, some of you may not particularly feel like singing Alleluia, because
emotionally disconnected, tired, confused, indifferent, sad, angry, unworthy…
Thankfully, we gather and are connected deeper than feeling, as people of faith,
people graced to touch the Eternal One Who is beyond emotional grasp,
closer and more real and more steadily present, however, than any emotion.
We cannot prove Christ’s resurrection.
Sure, there are testimonies, but they are always a matter of faith, not proof.
We believe in Christ.  We believe Christ.  We believe Christ is risen.
Our faith may, at times, seem overwhelmed by what we are feeling and fragile,
but it is still there and a little is all we need.
 
In this evening’s passage from the letter to the Romans,
Saint Paul declares, in faith, that the Risen Lord touches and changes us:
“Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father,
so that we too might walk in newness of life…
Consider yourselves alive to God in Christ Jesus.”
The Christian Life: so touched and changed by the Risen Lord
that we are alive forever.
 
What is this force that animates Jesus in His victory over death,
and, by gracious gift, animates us, such that we live forever?
It is called divine love,
all-powerful, infinite love forever gushing forth from the heart of God.
Christ’s resurrection
is all-powerful, infinite love forever gushing forth from the heart of God.
Christ’s resurrection is thus the final victory over all that hinders love.
 
This gospel, from Luke 24, a gospel of perplexity and fear and amazement,
helps us as we seek to re-discover and participate in this victorious love.
What do we witness?
As their first act at early dawn, the women run to the tomb.
When he hears their testimony, Peter runs to the tomb.
Of course, initially, to the apostles, the words of the women “seemed an idle tale.”
It might be tempting to presume arrogant chauvinism, but remember the simple fact
that, for the apostles, like us, Christ’s resurrection is a matter of faith, not proof.
And Peter, after all, is rather quick to run, like the women.
Indeed, there is a lot of running—like little kids!
This is the Amazing Race!
Only, in this one, they all win, we all win!
 
There is an unusual moment, however: although moved by love to run
and understandably perplexed by “the stone rolled away from the tomb”,
in response to the “two men in dazzling clothes”, “the women were terrified.” 
Of what are these loving women afraid?
Jesuit priest, John Topel, in a 2012 article, “What Were the Women Afraid Of?”[1]
says that one thing they may be afraid of is “…the disciples’ need to surrender
to a divine holiness that empowers life in the new age.”
 
Although desirous, and singing “alleluia” in faith,
we too may also find ourselves strangely afraid, afraid of the bigness of life in Christ.
I often am.  I am often trying to tame Jesus, to barter, to justify and excuse myself:
rather small-minded and small-hearted.
Then Jesus, in His patient kindness, as He does the women in Matthew’s gospel, says
“do not be afraid.”
The Risen Lord touches our hearts unconditionally. 
Jesus makes this gifted life possible.
In response, let us, by choice in faith, not by feeling,
like Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, the other women—Peter,
run to Jesus with hopeful desire and joyful haste.
We have every reason to rejoice.
If death has not stopped Christ, none of our challenges will.
As contemporary theologian, Reba McEntire (country singer from Oklahoma!), says,
“Easter is very important to me, it’s a second chance.”


 
 
 


[1] (Journal of Theological Interpretation, Vol. 6, No. 1, Penn State University Press)

The Most Overwhelming Work of God’s Love
Sunday of the Passion: Palm Sunday 2020 

The Palm Sunday celebration always begins
by recalling the “triumphal” entry of Jesus into Jerusalem, 
cloaks and palm branches covering His pathway...
Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord!
Peace in heaven, and glory in the highest heaven!
Jesus’ arrival fulfills a prophecy from the prophet Zechariah (9:9):
Look, your king is coming to you,
humble, and mounted on a donkey.
Some triumph! 
I can’t help but think of buck-tooth Donkey from Shrek.
Why not a little more Marvel super-hero,
with Jesus seated upon a noble and strong white horse,
like that magnificently referenced twice in the Book of Revelation?
In chapter 6 (verse 2):
… a white horse! Its rider had a bow; a crown was given to him,
and he came out conquering and to conquer.
In chapter 19 (verse 11):
… a white horse! Its rider is called Faithful and True,
and in righteousness he judges and makes war.
Now we’re talking triumphal.  But a donkey?  Really?  Why?
Perhaps, because the King of Peace, not a super-hero, not here to make war,
as we understand and tragically experience it.
The apparent lack of triumph may perhaps be disappointing for some of us.
 
Jesus’ arrival also fulfils the first part of the same prophecy from Zechariah:
“Do not be afraid, daughter of Zion.”
We need not be afraid.
God always keeps His promises!
Our King is coming and coming humbly.
The humble arrival means that Jesus enters
every frightening situation that may be ours,
When it comes to God, to Jesus, “triumphal” refers to love not power.
True love can reach that which we deem unreachable. That is triumph.
Jesus is definitely powerful, all-powerful,
but His power is always at the service of His love.
He has no ego issues, no need to manifest prowess.
 
As suggested, we are not simply remembering a past event.
We continue to celebrate, to experience triumphal entry
each time the Lord comes.
We do so in a special way when we gather around this altar.
Indeed, as we move to the altar in our celebration, we proclaim
Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord.
Hosanna in the highest.
Vaguely familiar?
The Eucharist, Communion is a “triumphal” entry.
The Eucharist is our King coming, humbly, in the silence of divine love. 
“Do not be afraid, daughter of Zion.”
 
Today’s celebration opens this Holy Week.
Love is what makes this week holy.
I know that I’ve referred to this definition many times…
I will continue to do so until it makes its way onto your fridge
or into your diary or even somewhere in your phone:
          “Holiness is the purity of divine love” (St. Thomas Aquinas, +1274), 
And, as St. Paul says in I Corinthians 13: “Love never fails”.
And, as St. Paul of the Cross, 17th-century Italian monk and mystic, says,
The Passion of Christ
is the greatest and most overwhelming work of God’s love.
 
Jesus is King in laying down His life for us.
This is what love does—and love must do.
Our King of Peace, comes to reign in mercy, not by “lording it over us.”
He comes to reign from within, in our hearts.
Not always easy to believe or grasp, for triumphant kings normally do not die.
Our King suffers and dies--in order fully to reign as king.
 
And, along the journey to His death, Jesus willingly suffers
everything that normally “kills” the human heart:

• betrayal and abandonment 
• slander and mockery 
• denial and rejection

Jesus loves victoriously through it all; a King triumphant is He.            
 
If you think that there are deal-breakers in your life: this isn’t really for you,
this much love is impossible, think twice.
The Christ Who is coming to us loves even the betrayer,
and He suffers our insults with love’s ultimate expression, forgiveness.
We worship a Savior who “did not regard equality with God
as something to be exploited”, but humbled and emptied himself
“to the point of death, even death on a cross”,
a Savior Who thus can save us from death and its cause, sin,
Who can save us, when needed, from our selves.
We worship a God who pursues us with relentless, daunting love
and Who ultimately will enter the darkness and dankness of the grave
to say even here, here I will not be without you.
Although the suffering in our lives and world may incline you to think
that God stands an observer at a distance, on safe sidelines, think twice.
His abundant grace is hiding in, with, and under all the brokenness.
 
Let us lay our hearts on the path for Christ, and be in awe of
and surrender to the One Who “cometh in the name of the Lord.”
Amen.

​Alive Forever
Easter Vigil 2022
Luke 24:1-12
 
Alleluia, Christ is risen!    (response: The Lord is risen indeed, alleluia!)
“Alleluia”!  (literally, in the Hebrew: "All hail to Him Who is!")
The One Who is, eternal, Whom no one and nothing can suppress.
 
Now, some of you may not particularly feel like singing Alleluia, because
emotionally disconnected, tired, confused, indifferent, sad, angry, unworthy…
Thankfully, we gather and are connected deeper than feeling, as people of faith,
people graced to touch the Eternal One Who is beyond emotional grasp,
closer and more real and more steadily present, however, than any emotion.
We cannot prove Christ’s resurrection.
Sure, there are testimonies, but they are always a matter of faith, not proof.
We believe in Christ.  We believe Christ.  We believe Christ is risen.
Our faith may, at times, seem overwhelmed by what we are feeling and fragile,
but it is still there and a little is all we need.
 
In this evening’s passage from the letter to the Romans,
Saint Paul declares, in faith, that the Risen Lord touches and changes us:
“Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father,
so that we too might walk in newness of life…
Consider yourselves alive to God in Christ Jesus.”
The Christian Life: so touched and changed by the Risen Lord
that we are alive forever.
 
What is this force that animates Jesus in His victory over death,
and, by gracious gift, animates us, such that we live forever?
It is called divine love,
all-powerful, infinite love forever gushing forth from the heart of God.
Christ’s resurrection
is all-powerful, infinite love forever gushing forth from the heart of God.
Christ’s resurrection is thus the final victory over all that hinders love.
 
This gospel, from Luke 24, a gospel of perplexity and fear and amazement,
helps us as we seek to re-discover and participate in this victorious love.
What do we witness?
As their first act at early dawn, the women run to the tomb.
When he hears their testimony, Peter runs to the tomb.
Of course, initially, to the apostles, the words of the women “seemed an idle tale.”
It might be tempting to presume arrogant chauvinism, but remember the simple fact
that, for the apostles, like us, Christ’s resurrection is a matter of faith, not proof.
And Peter, after all, is rather quick to run, like the women.
Indeed, there is a lot of running—like little kids!
This is the Amazing Race!
Only, in this one, they all win, we all win!
 
There is an unusual moment, however: although moved by love to run
and understandably perplexed by “the stone rolled away from the tomb”,
in response to the “two men in dazzling clothes”, “the women were terrified.” 
Of what are these loving women afraid?
Jesuit priest, John Topel, in a 2012 article, “What Were the Women Afraid Of?”[1]
says that one thing they may be afraid of is “…the disciples’ need to surrender
to a divine holiness that empowers life in the new age.”
 
Although desirous, and singing “alleluia” in faith,
we too may also find ourselves strangely afraid, afraid of the bigness of life in Christ.
I often am.  I am often trying to tame Jesus, to barter, to justify and excuse myself:
rather small-minded and small-hearted.
Then Jesus, in His patient kindness, as He does the women in Matthew’s gospel, says
“do not be afraid.”
The Risen Lord touches our hearts unconditionally. 
Jesus makes this gifted life possible.
In response, let us, by choice in faith, not by feeling,
like Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, the other women—Peter,
run to Jesus with hopeful desire and joyful haste.
We have every reason to rejoice.
If death has not stopped Christ, none of our challenges will.
As contemporary theologian, Reba McEntire (country singer from Oklahoma!), says,
“Easter is very important to me, it’s a second chance.”


 
 
 


[1] (Journal of Theological Interpretation, Vol. 6, No. 1, Penn State University Press)
 

Spiritual Boot Camp?
First Sunday of Lent 2022
Matthew 4:1-11

Peter Marshall was born in Coatbridge, Scotland in 1902.  In 1926, at age 24, he emigrated to New York City.  In 1931, he was ordained a Presbyterian minister, in Brooklyn.  In 1937, he was called as pastor of New York Avenue Presbyterian Church, neighbors three and a half blocks from here, where many a US president have attended services, including Abraham Lincoln during the Civil War, and where Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. preached in February of 1968.  In 1947, Reverend Marshall began service as Chaplain for the United States Senate, until his sudden death of a heart attack just over two years later at age 46.
Reverend Marshall says, “It’s no sin to be tempted. It isn’t the fact of having temptations that should cause us shame, but what we do with them. Temptation is an opportunity to conquer. When we eventually reach the goal to which we are all striving, God will look us over, not for diplomas, but for scars.”
 
The first Sunday of Lent and, to hasten this sacred journey,
the Church gives us the temptations of Christ in the wilderness.
Perhaps, Lent is spiritual boot-camp after all !
Perhaps…
Saint Paul does tell us to “fight the good fight of the faith” (I Timothy 6:12)
And, he does tell us to “run in such a way that we may win.” (I Corinthians 9:24)
And, he continues “I punish my body and enslave it,
so that, after proclaiming to others, I myself should not be disqualified.”
(I Corinthians 9:25)
 
Perhaps, Lent is spiritual boot-camp after all, very much about
self-denial and self-discipline, virtue, conquering and battle scars.
Such language and notions do circulate in the Church…
 
But, then we situate the temptations of Christ on His journey.
And the inclination to think this begins to fade—at least, for me.
The temptations of Christ occur immediately after the Baptism of Christ,
i.e., immediately after being publicly revealed as the Beloved of the Father.
Now, St. Hilary, Bishop of Poitiers, France in the fourth century, says:
“The temptations of the devil assail those principally who are sanctified, 
          for he desires, above all, to overcome the holy.”
Recall what St. Thomas Aquinas says in his treatise on the Holy Spirit,
“by holy we signify the purity of divine goodness”
Otherwise put, by holy we signify beloved through and through.
 
Jesus is the Beloved.
In Jesus, we are beloved.
During Lent, we seek our Beloved more intentionally,
so to become beloved through and through.
If so, consequent to love, temptation lurks. 
 
A quick look at what is happening here…
Jesus goes “into the wilderness”—as the passage says,
“led by the Spirit…to be tempted by the devil”.
Sounds strange.
Jesus has no need of a few rounds of ultimate fighting.
Jesus actually and deliberately goes for us.  Why?
St. Gregory, the sixth-century pope, 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.
 
Before the temptations, however, forty days of fasting.
And Luke specifies, “he ate nothing at all… and he was famished.”
Duh!  Beyond famished I would be ridiculously irritable, even nasty.
The prior, very real fasting suggests that fasting strengthens,
and is, therefore, a good arm against temptation,
             but, does not eliminate temptation. 
 
What are temptations?
Temptations are un-loving possibilities that present themselves,
and, if pursued, can, because unloving, lead us astray from:
God, our true selves in God, and each other as sisters and brothers in Christ.
One interpretation of the three temptations:
          gluttony, pride—linked to power and vanity.
 
In other words, at the risk of oversimplification:
the devil promotes, “me, me, me”, and Jesus responds, “God, God, God.”

The devil invites us to, as we say in French, se replier sur soi-meme,
“to fold in on ourselves.”
Jesus invites us to turn towards God, to open and blossom. 

During Lent, if we let Him,
Jesus effectively turns us towards and introduces us into God:
our Source, our home, our purpose, our light, our freedom, our love.
 
More than ominous forewarning, this gospel at the beginning of Lent is
a source of hope, a resounding reminder that the victory has been won.
The same Saint Paul who speaks of fighting, tells us that
“in all things, we are more than conquerors through him Who loves us.” (Romans 8:37)
Jesus has already conquered our temptations, and thus,
if we do not want, they are not obstacles to God, and we need not fear.
The same Saint Paul, in our second reading, reassures us that the
“Lord is Lord of all and is generous to all who call on him”.
 
Lent is not spiritual boot-camp.
Discipline stems from the same root as disciple and we can say
          really has to do with learning and, therefore, light.
Lent is about being enlightened,
          i.e., being taught by the One who is the Light of the World.
And Lent is about being loved
about surrender for the sake of encounter.
about abiding, scars and all, in the transformative Presence of Christ.
Amen.
 

​“Light Whose Brilliance is Eternal”
The Presentation of Our Lord
Luke 2:22-40

Childbirth is more admirable than conquest,more amazing than self-defense, and as courageous as either one.Gloria Steinem, early feminist leader, now 87 years old, who, actually, never experienced childbirth, yet knows this. 
Mary gave admirable and amazing birth to Jesus.
And, 40 days later, she and her husband, Joseph, journey to Jerusalem,
to the Temple, as we read, “to present him to the Lord”
and “to do for him what was customary under the law.”
 
Well, what was customary under the law?
The law in question is found in the book of Leviticus, chapter 12.
The Book of Leviticus, third book of the Old Testament,
named such because it deals largely with concerns of Levite priests,
developed over a long period of time, until its present form, early 300s BC,
mainly treats of legal, moral and ritual practices—lots of them!
Regarding childbirth, we read (bear with me: complex!):
If a woman conceives and bears a male child,
she shall be ceremonially unclean for seven days.
On the eighth day, the flesh of his foreskin shall be circumcised.
Her time of blood purification shall be thirty-three days;
she shall not touch any holy thing, or come into the sanctuary…
When the days of her purification are completed…
she shall bring to the priest at the entrance of the tent of meeting a lamb.
If she cannot afford a lamb, she shall take two turtle-doves or two pigeons, one for a burnt-offering and the other for a sin-offering;
and the priest shall make atonement on her behalf, and she shall be clean.
 
8 + 33 days, i.e., 40 days, have passed:
circumcision, Mary’s purification,
the offering of the poor who cannot afford a lamb.
More deeply than mere observance of tradition, however,
Mary and Joseph are coming to the Temple
because their hearts are exploding with gratitude and joy
and they want to share the gift with their community.
 
Saint Bernard (not the breed of dog, but the 12th-century French mystic),
in a homily preached on this feast, speaking to Mary, says:
“Present to the Lord the blessed fruit of your womb.
Give for the reconciliation of us all
the holy Offering which is pleasing to God”.
 
And who is there, first in line, to receive the gift?
Two people, older adults:
Simeon, the “righteous and devout man”
and “a prophetess, Anna, the daughter of Phanuel,
of the tribe of Asher”, 84-years-old.
We know little about either of them (only mentioned in this Scripture).
 
Simeon “came into the temple”.  Anna “never left the temple”.
Simeon was “looking forward to the consolation of Israel.”
Anna was “looking for the redemption of Jerusalem.”
They were watchers.  They kept vigil.  They had their eyes and hearts peeled.
We are like them regarding the Second Coming of Jesus.
As we proclaim in Eucharistic Prayer II, we are
“looking forward to His coming again with power and great glory”.
Saint Peter (2 Peter 3:13) says, “according to God’s promise,
we are looking for new heavens and a new earth.”
 
They watched, but it is unclear
how much they knew exactly for what they were watching. 
“Consolation” and “Redemption” are big categories.
Whatever the case may be, the salvation history with which they were familiar culminates in a baby, a baby who melts hearts, and upends expectations,
Lutheran minister Nadia Bolz-Weber, whom I have previously quoted, says
 
Babies give us a blessing of innocence, of what is possible,
of a moment when we are blessedly free of cynicism.
Babies remind us that there is hope, babies minister to us
in a way that words and even actions never can, like pre-verbal love, like primordial priests wrapped in cotton blankets.
This epiphany is God declaring “this is how I want to be experienced,
that you not fear, vulnerable that you may finally be vulnerable with me”.
 
Which perhaps leads to the question, for us,
“Where do I look for redemption?”
With the psalmist (psalm 121:1), we ask “from where does my help come?”
Truth be told, Jesus can fade from my horizon
and I sometimes look in other places: my good deeds,
significant relationship(s), political activity, the approval of others,
healthy habits, good planning and tight processes, my self-awareness... 
And yet I know that none of these are sources of redemption. 
How small we sometimes think—even in the Church.
At one end of the spectrum,
redemption that is purely personal and somewhat detached from the world.
At the other end of the spectrum,
redemption that is synonymous with a political “justice” agenda,
societal and having little to do with conversion of the heart.
You will notice here, with Simeon and Anna,
that redemption, salvation is personal and communal. 
This baby, ultimately as adult to give his life and rise from the dead,
saves me from my innermost darkness and,
through each of us and together, saves the community from its darkness.
 
Simeon and Anna break out in song
because God in Christ touches and renews everything.
Their praises echo in our midst.
Let us ask them to help us prepare ourselves to receive the gift of Jesus,
vulnerable like a child, in the Eucharist.
Let us, as Saint Sophronius, Patriarch of Jerusalem in the early 600s,
preached on this feast:
 
be shining ourselves as we go together to meet
and to receive, with the aged Simeon,
the light whose brilliance is eternal.
 
AMEN.

Sermon preached by the Rev. Dominique Peridans on the Feast of Saint Agnes
January 23, 2022
 
She was an incredibly beautiful girl, irresistibly beautiful to some. Her hand had several times been asked in marriage. Her faith was such, however, that she always declined, making it known that she already had a spouse by the name of Jesus.
Other suitors persisted, ill-intentioned. Yet, awed by her strong presence, they left her untouched—save one suitor who attempted to violate her. In so doing, he was miraculously struck blind. Her faith was such that she prayed for his blindness, and he was healed.
 
One of her suitors was Procop, the Governor's son. He tried to win her with promises and rich gifts, but the beautiful girl kept saying, “I am already promised to the Lord of the Universe. He is more splendid than the sun and the stars, and has said that He will never leave me!”
 
In great anger, Procop denounced her as a Christian and brought her to his father, the Governor. The Governor too promised her rich gifts, if only she would deny Christ. She refused. He tried to change her mind, to no avail. He put her in chains. He sent her to a brothel. At the last, she was condemned to death. Yet, she was as happy as a bride on her wedding day. Of her Divine Spouse she said, “He who chose me first shall be the only one to have me!" She then prayed and bowed her head for the death-stroke of the sword.
 
The day: January 21. The year: 304.
Her name: Agnes, derived from a Greek adjective meaning “pure, sacred”. Her age: 13.
 
She is the patroness of our parish, our strong sister along the way. When we come to church, it probably does not really cross our mind that she awaits us. She does.
She journeys with us, per the movement of the Holy Spirit, intervening insofar as we let her. Let her.
 
This gospel reveals one of her traits, which the Lord would like to forge in us: child- like-ness. This is revelation about becoming like children.

 
What happens in this gospel?
 
There is an interesting progression. The disciples, entrusted with great responsibilities, approach Jesus about greatness. “Can we all be board members for life?!?” Worldly and limited, sadly, is their perspective. They do have a good instinct, however. As Church Father, Origen (d. 254), exhorts,
 
“We ought to be imitators of the disciples: when any question of doubt arises among us, and we find not how to settle it, we should, with one consent, go to Jesus.” 
The disciples rightly go to Jesus. When any question of doubt arises for us, personally or as a parish, we ought to go to Jesus. The disciples are entangled in concerns about greatness. And, as St. Jerome (+420) remarks,
 
“Jesus heals their ambitious strivings, by arousing an emulation in lowliness. He calls a child, whom he puts among them.” 
And, with a living metaphor before their very eyes, Jesus cuts to the chase: Whoever becomes humble like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.
Case closed.
 
Or, perhaps, case opened…
 
Child-like-ness. This is revelation about becoming like children. What is it about children that makes it possible to enter the kingdom of heaven, i.e. enter the life of the King? St. Hilary (+367) tells us
 
“Jesus calls infants all who believe through the hearing of faith; for infants follow and love their father and mother… do not bear hate, or speak lies…and believe what they hear to be true.” 
Saint Jerome (+420) rephrases this:
 
“Unless you have innocence and purity of mind, you shall not to enter the kingdom of heaven.”
And so we must ask, for example, regarding the life that we are called to live together here, as sisters and brothers: do I believe and trust or do I somehow sow seeds of doubt and division?
 
The revelation continues: Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me. The Holy Spirit wishes to transform our hearts, making us child-like, thus making us welcoming of the most vulnerable among us, in whom Jesus awaits us. Mysterious, liberating business this is that goes deeper and deeper.
 
About such children the vulnerable in whom He awaits us, Jesus speaks very strongly. He always does so when he lays His heart on the line.
 
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. 
This was common Jewish punishment of the greater criminals. But, why is fastening a millstone and drowning better than putting a stumbling block? Perhaps because putting a stumbling-block before one of the little ones leads to death of the heart?
 
The Holy Spirit wishes to transform our hearts, making us child-like, then to become welcoming like we have been welcomed. I am safe in God’s lap, including the childish parts of me, and, from there, am now able to welcome whomever He brings across my path, into my life. By this mysterious fire of love at work in us, to which we much choose to yield each day, we can welcome the least, the last, the lost, and the lonely.
 
Amen.