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(Fifth Sunday of Easter) Rev. Dominique Peridans Alice Neel, visual artist, expressionist painter, A
career-spanning retrospective of her work opened last month at the Metropolitan died in 1984 at the age of 84. Museum of Art in New York: "Alice Neel: People Come First". I had the good fortune of seeing it. She describes her work as “pictures of people”, resisting the classification of “portrait painter”, too staid a genre she thought. Neel had a prodigiously creative life. Neel also had a difficult life. She married upper-class Cuban painter, Carlos Enriquez. Their daughter, Santillana, died ofdiphtheria just shy ofher first birthday. November 1927. November 1928, Neel gave birth to another girl, Isabella Lillian. New York City, her adopted home. In 1930, Carlos announced he would travel to Paris, to find a place for the family to live. Instead, he returned to Cuba, taking Isabella with him. Mourning the loss of her husband and daughter, a nervous breakdown, hospitalization, attempted suicide, sanitorium. She continued to paint. Release. Time with her parents. Welfare. Several lovers and many friends. Two sons. She continued to paint, to the end. Her work is hard to describe: plainly serious? thoughtfully naked? irresistibly direct? Her portrayal of pregnant women, for example, is jarring and compelling and demanding. Jesus’ portrayal (or better, revelation) of Himself as the True Vine is (also, albeit differently) To the degree I poetically hear this passage, I’m fine with it. To the degree I real-ly hear this passage, I’m less fine with it. Seemingly incomplete information, harsh consequences for non-compliance and disturbing demands for exclusive allegiance. What exactly is the mysterious fruit? Why no room for negotiation or compromise? Why the declaration of our incompetence and inability? Very offensive to my sense ofautonomous selffor which I have worked many years! jarring and compelling and demanding. It implies that my life is not my own, that I am bound, by necessary extension, to Christ’s other branches whether such boundedness suits my temperament or not, that my choices, therefore, affect people I don’t even know. Worse, that I hold two seemingly contradictory truths in perpetual tension. One: that the point of my Christian life isn’t me, my growth, my catharsis, my contributions, my achievements. that I am inextricably linked to Some-One else and to many others, who have a hold on my heart. Indeed, apart from the vine and the other branches, I am not only barren; I am dead. And two: that I (and every branch) matter more than I can possibly imagine because the fruitfulness of the True Vine is no trivial thing. Indeed, Jesus wants to make use of you and me to feed the world. A key word and thus key revelation in this metaphor: “abide”. (used eight times in this passage!) If the Father is the vinegrower, Jesus is the vine, and we are the branches, what are we to do? One essential thing: abide. Cling, depend, rely, acquiesce, commit, remain, continue, last, make ourselves at home. To abide is passive--to stay rooted in place and active--to grow, to change. To abide is humbling: we accept nourishment not of our own making. To abide is vulnerable: we get pruned. To abide is risky: we bear fruit that others will see and taste. To abide is relentlessly communal: we live with fellow branches, a life that can be crowded and tangled. This invitation, this calling is challenging. We live in strange divided times and understandably have trust issues, even in the Church. [Anyone here afraid of being cancelled?] And it’s very hard in our self-promoting culture to confess that we are lost and lifeless and can do nothing that lasts forever on our own, that our happiness lies in surrender, not self-sufficiency, that Jesus isn’t just a wise teacher or good role model or provocative historical figure, but the very Source and Sustainer of my life. Bear in mind, however, that this is all gift. By grace, we have been grafted onto, incorporated into Christ. And, in intimate communion with Him, I can bear much fruit. And what is this mysterious fruit? Look to our second reading, which also speaks of abiding: God is love, and those who abide in love abide in God, and God abides in them. The fruit that we bear along the pilgrim way, which allows God to radiate in and through us, is love for one another. The fruit is divine love exercised between us. And the more we allow the love of God in our hearts to flow, and to be victorious over jealousy, anger, bitterness, fatigue, the more rooted we are in Christ’s heart, Source of this love. It is an ever-deepening cycle. Jesus makes it possible for us to love in this way, and the more we say “yes”, the closer we are to the Source. It’s a win-win. We need only surrender... And who, really doesn’t want to surrender to love? (Fourth Sunday of Easter) Rev. Mary McCue In the Name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit.
When I told a friend, I was preaching on the text of the Good Shepherd, her reaction was, “Don’t we all need one these days?” I think my friend was right. We all need a good shepherd these days. Someone to help us find the right way – to guide us, with his voice, to safe places. Someone we know, who knows us. Someone who is with us in all weathers, in tough places and always brings us home. The image also evokes the Old Testament. Moses was a shepherd. So was King David. It’s a, timeless beautiful image – a good shepherd that cares for his sheep, even to the point of laying down his life for them. And it’s inclusive; he has other sheep that do not belong to this fold that he must bring in also. There will be one flock, one shepherd. And the flock, and we, have a good shepherd these days – Jesus Christ. In this section of John’s Gospel, we learn much more about Jesus Christ and his mission on earth, because he tells us much more directly. We all remember earlier Gospels. Jesus asked his followers and his beneficiaries to keep his deeds and words secret. He performs his work indirectly, through healing, through teaching, through preaching, through traveling through the countryside to meet them. By this point in John’s Gospel, he has already been transformed water into wine, been a good shepherd to the Samaritan woman, cured the royal official’s son, and healed the paralytic by the Bethzatha pool. Plenty of signs! Now, Jesus begins to be more direct. He begins using the phrase, “I am.” He is telling the disciples – and us – what he is and what his mission is about. “I am the good shepherd.” “I am the bread of life.” “I am the light of the World.” “I am the gate for the sheep.” “I am the good shepherd.” “I am the resurrection and the light.” “I am the way and the truth.” “I am the true vine.” Consider those beautiful images: bread of life – the way of the truth – light of the world. Those seven references in John’s Gospel are simple, direct, in language everyone can understand. Jesus is not only showing his disciples and the people who he is through his works. He is telling them directly. His, “I am” also echoes the Old Testament of Yahweh, who says, “I am that I am.” And his allusion to the vine is one found in the Old Testament as well. Jesus is bridging the teachings of the law into the teachings of the spirit. This section of the Gospel, called the Book of Signs by scholars, is about Jesus giving us more direct insight into his mission on earth. Scholars say that John’s Gospel is focused on the individual’s relationship to God, rather than on Jesus’ works. His “I ams” certainly focus on the individual’s relationship to God, by describing who he is to them – and to us. As the words oftoday’s Collect say, Grant that when we hear his voice, we may know him who calleth each by name and follow where he doth lead. AMEN. (Third Sunday of Sunday of Easter) Rev. Dominique Peridans Easter week, I spent three days in Washington,
the other, the original Washington, founded in 1776, the first city in America named after General George Washington. North Carolina, along the Pamlico River. While there: a stroll through the large cemetery of Saint Peter’s parish. Azaleas abloom abounding. Lime green lawn. Towering oak trees planted in 1877. Outstanding old graves. Indeed, not a grave after 1890, following the town ordinance forbidding further burials for fear of water contamination. Film director Cecil DeMille is buried in the church crypt. One particular grave caught my eye: Hattie Frizzle, died October 16, 1881, at age 4. The inscription is most unusual, perhaps perplexing to some: Pa, don’t hold me back. It is all tangled up and I can’t undo it. For me, it speaks to being caught up in the mystery of the Resurrection. Pa, don’t hold me back. It is all tangled up and I can’t undo it. We continue to celebrate the Risen Lord. It’s still Easter! We celebrate the Risen Lord every day, of course, but ‘tis the special season. We continue to let ourselves be caught up in the mystery of the Resurrection. God become human is victorious over death, which means that nothing can hinder God from communicating His love to me (us): not my exhaustion or exclusion, my loneliness or locality, my depression or depletion. I know that I sound like a broken record, but what more is there? Divine love has the last word and we are invited to experience it and to be transformed by it. Jesus reigns and is, therefore, present in all that may feel like death, in all that feels like it is dying in us. The mystery of the Resurrection is our mystery, our reality—if we so desire. It is, of course, mysterious, mystery-ous. It was for these disciples. Hence, startled and terrified, they thought that they were seeing a ghost. (v. 37) This incident follows Jesus’ appearance to the two disciples on the road to Emmaus, downcast and disbelieving. That encounter reveals that Jesus comes to us when everything seems to be unraveling and isolating. Those two disciples then rush to the others (our passage today) and, as they are sharing, voila, Jesus. St. John Chrysostom (+407), Bishop of Antioch (now in southern Turkey), Doctor of the Church, says, “He that was so much desired comes, and is revealed to them that were seeking and expecting Him”. Jesus responds to the deep desires of our heart. “Peace be with you”, Jesus says, and the He invites them “touch me” (v. 39) A powerful invitation, which should speak to us deprived of so much touch in the age of COVID. Jesus is always inviting us to real intimacy in love. Their believing is gradual. They do not initially recognize Jesus. Why? Perhaps because, with Jesus, there is more than meets the eye. Just like us, the Apostles need faith truly to recognize Jesus. Perhaps, they’re not making good use of the gift of faith. Consequently, the newness of Jesus’ body post-Resurrection to their eyes strangely veils who He is. Jesus goes further in the reality of real encounter. He had no need to eat—as says Saint Bede, the 8th century English monk (after whom, BTW, a metro station is named in Jarrow, England!) Yet, Jesus asks, Have you anything here to eat? St. Cyril (+444), contemporary of St. John Chrysostom, Bishop of Alexandria (Egypt, not Virginia), also Doctor of the Church, says The Lord had shown His disciples His hands and His feet, that He might certify to them that the same body which had suffered rose again. But to confirm them still more, He asked for something to eat. Jesus is merciful with us in our difficulties in believing. So merciful is He, that He makes us, like He did these disciples, witnesses of His resurrection, instruments of the victory of divine love. For this truly to be possible, however, He sends upon us, as we read in the verse just after this passage, the promise of the Father, i.e., the gift of the Holy Spirit. Our inner journey is scarcely different than that of these disciples. There is more than meets the eye, and sometimes we do not make good use of the gift of faith. We sometimes conclude that, because we do not see the Risen Lord and because some things do feel like they are dying in us, Jesus is far. Au contraire. Jesus is closer to us than we are to ourselves. He comes to us, downcast or disbelieving, unraveling or isolated. And He sends upon us the Holy Spirit. Touch the Risen Lord now, in faith and in hope, and receive afresh. All we must do is want it. It is that simple. AMEN. (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. |
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