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(First Sunday of Lent) Rev. Dominique Peridans Exactly a century ago, 1921: Betty June Thornburg was born in
Battle Creek, Michigan. Her father abandoned her when she was very young. She and her mother received a telegram in 1937: he had committed suicide. Betty’s earliest memory: breaking spontaneously into song when she was three, to distract a drunken man threatening to beat up her mother at the “Blind Pig” pub she ran. At age nine, Betty quit school to sing on street corners, to raise money. Her mother was an alcoholic. One evening, at a Charlie Chaplin silent film with her mother, she thought, “I will be a star and my mother will stop drinking.” 1950: Betty, Hutton, as she was known on stage and in film, got the starring role in Annie Get Your Gun, replacing Judy Garland. Success, but the road ahead was not smooth. 1967, a definite turning point: firing by Paramount Pictures, death of her manager, death of her mother in a fire, bankruptcy. 1969: death of her dear friend, Garland, of a drug overdose. 1970: loss of her singing voice, nervous breakdown, attempted suicide. 1971: at age 50, after four failed marriages and a wrecked career, homelessness. “All she had was a shopping bag with a few things in it” said the executor of her estate. Worth $10 million at one point, she was broke and broken. Uppers and downers led her to a rehabilitation hospital in Boston, weighing only 85 pounds. On the verge of giving up, there she noticed a priest, Fr. Peter McGuire, pastor of Saint Anthony’s parish in Portsmouth, Rhode Island. He had come to the same hospital, to check in his cook, Pearl. Betty later found out from Pearl who this man was. One thing led to another and Betty found Fr. Peter and employment in his Rectory where, for five years, she cooked and cleaned. It was her time of recovery. In the humble process, she says she “found Christ in her heart”. In September of 1980, she returned to Broadway, one last time: a two-week stint as Miss Hannigan, in Annie. Her grandchildren came to see her. In the program, all the actors had extensive biographies—save one, Betty Hutton. Under her photograph were only seven words, “I am back. Thanks be to God!” Betty Hutton died on March 12, 2007. With the grace bestowed during Lent, each of us, in our own way, can say, “I am back; thanks be to God”. We can say this because grace gives us God’s love already victorious. This victory is revealed in this terse gospel passage. Jesus is baptized and revealed as the Beloved and thus our Beloved. Love fills. Jesus is then immediately driven by the Spirit into the wilderness, where, for forty days, he is tempted by Satan. St. Gregory (+604) says, It was not unworthy of our Redeemer to wish to be tempted, who came also to be slain; in order that by His temptations He might conquer our temptations, just as by His death He overcame our death. Love conquers. Jesus then comes to Galilee, proclaiming the kingdom of God has come near. Love touches. This gospel, at the beginning of Lent, is a source of hope. It indeed reminds us that God’s love is already victorious. There are no obstacles to God, if we do not want. And, when we are tempted not to love—which, for me, is every 15 minutes (!) our Beloved, Jesus, in Whom we experience the kingdom of God, is right there with us. As Saint Paul says to us in I Corinthians 15:57: God gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. Jesus tells us, however, that we must repent and believe in the good news. To repent is to experience deep regret for wrongdoing and to turn our hearts towards our Lord Whom we have wronged. To believe is to yield with a sense of awe. Let us acknowledge the times that we have not welcomed the victory of Jesus’ love, especially in loving others And let us surrender to Him. Ah: the grace bestowed during Lent, Jesus’ gift, which makes all of this possible, and so we can dare to hope. Each of us, in our own way, can say “I am back. Thanks be to God!” (Last Sunday After the Epiphany) MJ Layton It is fitting that our season of Epiphany, the season of revelation, should end on a mountaintop. The conservationist John Muir once said, “Oh, these vast, calm, measureless mountain days, days in whose light everything seems equally divine, opening a thousand windows to show us, God.” There is something about the difficulty of the climb, the companionship of the trail, and the expansiveness of the summit view, that whisper to us that we are a little bit closer to God at the top than at the bottom.
On the mountaintop in our gospel reading we find Jesus, with three bewildered and frightened disciples, Peter, James and John. God reveals to us again that Jesus is God’s Son in an eye-catching scene. Jesus shines brightly. He talks with Moses and Elijah. A cloud overshadows them. God’s voice speaks to the disciples from the cloud. And then it’s over as suddenly as it began. What were the disciples to make of it? Perhaps Jesus told them to keep it quiet until after his resurrection because they could not understand it yet. They had just seen Jesus’s triumphant glory, but they had not yet seen his crucified glory, and we cannot truly understand one without the other. There is another mountaintop scene in Scripture that sheds light on this one: Moses receiving the 10 commandments at Mount Sinai. Let me set the scene for you. It’s the desert. The Israelites have just fled slavery in Egypt, narrowly escaping Pharaoh’s army when God parted the Red Sea. Now they are camped out, waiting to see what comes next. Moses goes up the mountain. God speaks to him out of a cloud. God reveals to Moses God’s law. See the parallels? Granted, I’m oversimplifying a bit, because there is the whole golden calfdebacle and Moses having to go up the mountain again for a second set of tablets because he smashed the first ones in anger, but we’ll leave that aside for now. The kicker detail that connects these scenes is that Moses’ face was shining when he came down the mountain. It freaked the Israelites out so much that he hid it under a veil. Two mountains. Two brilliant revelations. At the first, the revelation of God’s law. At the second, the revelation of God’s Son. We might be tempted to interpret this as saying that God’s law and God’s Son are two equal revelations of God. Jesus is simply the new Moses, a prophet sent from God to show us a different way to interpret the law. Before, God’s people followed the 10 commandments, now God’s people follow Jesus’s teachings like the Sermon on the Mount. But this misses the point entirely. 1 Our epistle reading this morning comes at the end of a passage in Second Corinthians, where the Apostle Paul expounds on these two revelations. He refers to the first, the revelation of God’s law, as the ministry ofcondemnation, and to the second, the revelation of God’s Son, as the ministry ofjustification. Now, calling God’s law “the ministry of condemnation” sounds a bit harsh, but it’s for a good reason. The law of God is glorious and good. It tells us to love the Lord our God with all our heart, soul, and strength, and to love our neighbors as ourselves. If we truly did these two things, we would make the world around us a much better place. But the fact is, we are sinful human beings, and no matter how hard we try, we cannot follow these rules. The Israelites promised that they would obey God there at Mount Sinai, and the Old Testament recounts over and over again the stories of their transgressions. We have our own “mountaintop experiences” – perhaps a particularly stirring sermon or an amazing spiritual retreat – and we resolve to become better people. But we can never quite follow through the way that we want. This is why God’s law is a ministry of condemnation: once we hear it, we are condemned by it, because we are unable to uphold it. If the Bible left us with only the mountaintop experience of Sinai, it might feel hopeless. But that’s where the revelation of God’s Son comes in. Jesus’ divinity allowed him to live the perfect human life, or perhaps to perfect the human life. He followed all the commandments given at Sinai – loving God and loving his neighbor perfectly all the time. But then, despite the fact that he was NOT condemned under the law like the rest of us, he was crucified. He died for us, so that we might be forgiven for not following the law perfectly. His perfect life stands in place of our imperfect lives, his undeserved death stands in place of our deserved deaths. This is the ministry of justification. This is the ministry where God looks at each of us and says, “Well done, good and faithful servant” because when God looks at us, God sees Jesus’s life instead of ours. In this ministry, our mountaintop experience happens not when we resolve to be better people, but when we kneel at the foot of the cross, humbled by the gift Jesus offers us. God’s Son is more glorious than God’s law. The apostle Paul puts it this way: “ ” Jesus’ glory, found both on the cross and in the transfiguration, is permanent glory. The gift offered to us in his life, death, and resurrection can never be lost. Once we accept this gift, we are free to love God and love our neighbor, not in a doomed attempt to follow the law perfectly, but out ofthanksgiving for what God has done for us in Jesus Christ. May God’s light shine For if there was glory in the ministry of condemnation, much more does the ministry of justification abound in glory! 10 Indeed, what once had glory has lost its glory because of the greater glory; 11 for if what was set aside came through glory , much more has the permanent come in glory! “in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.” Amen. Rev. Mary McCue We have celebrated the epiphany of the shepherds coming to the baby Jesus in his manger, and returning to their homes, glorifying God for all that they had seen. Our Gospel today also tells us of epiphany. It is the feast of the Presentation of Our Lord in the Temple, moved to this Sunday, so we can celebrate it together. It is an important feast in our liturgy and one of 13 Great Feasts in the Orthodox Church.
In today’s Gospel, Jesus’s parents have brought him to Jerusalem for their purification according to the Law of Moses. It was a solemn ceremony, marking presentation of the newborn to the Lord. As a first-born male child, he was designated as holy to the Lord, destined for the priesthood. The ritual for doing so was well enshrined in the law. So was the offering to be made in honor of the Lord. For less well-off families, it was the sacrifice of a pair of turtledoves or two young pigeons. When they brought Jesus into the Temple for the ritual, they encountered a holy man named Simeon. Simeon is described as righteous and devout. “Righteous and devout” – those two words tell us a lot about Simeon. He was probably not a young man. He was probably spending most of his time praying. He had probably been waiting a long time for the consolation of Israel. And he had been made a promise by the Holy Spirit, an important concept in Luke’s Gospel. Simeon trusted in the Holy Spirit, which had revealed to him that he would not die before he had seen the Messiah – the Messiah the Jews had been waiting for for hundreds ofyears. This day, his faith in the Holy Spirit is rewarded. Guided by the Spirit, he came into the Temple as Jesus was brought in by his parents. Guided by the Spirit, Simeon recognizes him. His recognition is so strong and so complete that he prays the beautiful Nunc Dimittis prayer, saying that “Master, now you are dismissing your servant in peace, according to Your word, for my eyes have seen your salvation which you have prepared in the presence of all peoples; a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel.” It’s a prayer that we pray today, in Evening Prayer and in Compline. But Simeon was not the only one. Anna, a widow, never left the Temple, but worshiped and prayed there day and night. Anna, too, recognized the child, praising God and to speak about the child to all who were looking for the redemption of Jerusalem. Not one, but two Epiphanies, to devoted, holy people. Both were people devoted to the law and religion – as were Jesus’ parents. Simeon, though, sees a vision beyond the law. He says, “This child is destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed, so the thoughts of many will be revealed.” He adds a poignant word to Mary – “a sword will pierce your own soul, too.” What did Simeon see in Jesus’ face that caused him to pray the beautiful prayer about the ending of his life? ...In the face of an infant. What did Anna see in that face that caused her to proclaim the redemption of Israel? ...In the face of an infant. What did the apostles see in that face that caused them to drop their nets, give up their livelihood and their way of life to follow him? ...In the face of a young man? What a beautiful, arresting face it must have been! It must have been infused with the Holy Spirit, with Grace and with Light. How appropriate. Another name for this Sunday is Candlemas – a feast of candles and thus of light. Jesus is the light in our dark world. He brings us light, and into the light. Can we see the light? I think we can. A wise man once said, “You’ll never meet a person that God doesn’t love.” As Simeon, Anna and the Apostles saw in Jesus, we can see Jesus in every person we meet – young, old, troubled, wise and not so wise. We can see the light when we pray to Jesus. We can see it when we Trust in Jesus’ love to us – what Simeon must have seen – what Anna must have seen – what the apostles must have seen. We can see it in the face of each other. We can see light, and love, because Jesus has shown us the way. And we can follow that way. As the Collect for today says, “...as your only-begotten Son was this day presented in the temple, so we may be presented to you, with pure and clean hearts by Jesus Christ, our Lord...” Amen. (Feast of Saint Agnes, Virgin and Martyr) Rev. Dominique Peridans We find ourselves in chapter 18 of Matthew’s gospel. Much has happened in Jesus’ public life between Nazareth and this exchange: soaring sermon, multiple miracles, calling and commissioning and confession, predictions of Passion, Transfiguration and teaching on the need for complete surrender for a disciple.
And now: an intriguing question, a question that makes one wonder if the disciples are truly paying attention: “Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?” To help answer the question, Jesus “calls a child, whom he puts among them”. Jesus has a huge soft spot for children. Why? Children typically have open hearts. And Jesus gravitates towards open hearts; it brings Him joy to indwell them. Indeed, “The Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head” (Matthew 8:20; Luke 9:58)--save the human heart. Our hearts are Jesus’ pillow, if you will. Children’s hearts are really Jesus’ pillow. The child also serves as a living metaphor. Jesus chooses, as St. Jerome (+420) says, “one whose tender age should express to them (disciples) the innocence which they should have.” Indeed, Jesus says: “Unless you change and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” Humility is the fitting internal disposition before a great God, in Whose life we participate. And there are, of course, great benefits to being genuinely humble: we learn to be sensitive and to be grateful, to admire and to welcome... But, this is more than a lesson in humility. This is really about divine love. The kingdom of heaven is one of love and only love can enter Love. The same St. Jerome articulates a few qualities of a child, which speak to divine love and reveal what happens in a disciple of Jesus when transformed by divine love. A child
If any of you put a stumbling block before one of these little ones who believe in me, it would be better for you if a great millstone were fastened around your neck and you were drowned in the depth of the sea. Today, we celebrate our very special child-like sister in faith: Saint Agnes, our patroness, our friend. She was no better equipped than us to do what Jesus asks. But she said “yes” and, by virtue of divine love, she lived and loved heroically, and, by virtue of divine love, she journeys with us. In the ancient Roman calendar of the feasts of the martyrs dating from 354, her feast is assigned to January 21. We moved it to today, so that, together, we be able to celebrate! She was martyred in 304 at the age of twelve for resisting sexual assault. She is, understandably, patron saint of young girls and girl scouts, and of those seeking chastity and purity. According to an account by St. Ambrose, born in what today is Belgium, Bishop of Milan, Doctor of the Church, died in 397, Agnes told the judges during her trial, “He who chose me first shall be the only one to have me.” Hername is derived from a Greek adjective meaning “pure, sacred”. All accounts unanimously point to her heroism under torture so to preserve her virginity in the name of her faith and her Lord. The accounts vary regarding what exactly took place. In one account, the Roman Prefect Sempronius condemned Agnes to be dragged naked through the streets to a brothel. In another account, a fellow lusting after her during her trial was struck blind. In another account, she was tied to a stake but the flames parted. Many agree that she died by the sword. What is certain is that the One who chose her first was the only one to have her. Let us, with her, with humility and forgiving and pure hearts, approach the Eucharistic table, in person or by desire if viewing livestream, and enter the kingdom of heaven. (THE SECOND SUNDAY AFTER THE EPIPHANY) Molly Jane Layton Come and see! the young girl says to her mother, impatient to display her fingerpainting.
Come and see! the teenage skateboarder says to his crush, eager to show off his newest trick. Come and see! the research assistant says to her stern supervisor, hopeful to gain approval. Come and see. Three words full of invitation and hope in the speaker. And three words which can spark everything from wonder to skepticism in the hearer. What will that mother find at the fingerpainting table? A masterpiece or a mess? Is that crush open to being impressed? Or annoyed at being called away from her girlfriends? Will the discovery be enough to crack through the supervisor’s hard outer shell? Regardless, the invitation still stands. You could perhaps make “Come and see” the slogan of the whole season of Epiphany, which we are in right now. Epiphany comes from the Greek word that means “a coming to light” or “an appearing.” 1 At Christmas, Jesus, the Son of God, appeared as the Savior of the world. And now, in Epiphany, our gospel texts center around important moments in Jesus’s ministry where aspects of his identity are revealed to us, such as his baptism last week. We are invited, along with the disciples, the crowds, and the religious leaders, to come and who this Messiah is. Our gospel reading today describes the calling of Philip and Nathanael, two of Jesus’s disciples. Philip is so excited about who Jesus is that when Jesus asks him to follow him, he immediately runs off to find Nathanael to get him to join, too. Nathanael, however, is a bit more skeptical. “Wait – you said he came from Nazareth? Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” Nazareth was a small, backwater town in Galilee, an out of the way region not particularly known for anything besides its fishermen and its tendency to produce revolutionaries. This is why Nathanael doubts that the one written about by Moses and the prophets could possibly come from there. Certainly he would come from somewhere a bit closer to Jerusalem, right? Actually, no. Jesus came from Nazareth. And the fact that Jesus came from Nazareth reveals to us something important about God’s love for the world: God does not send his Son into the circles of power, into the places where it looks like everyone has their act together, into the places where he can make the right connections and get ahead. God sends his Son to minister to the people at the margins, to the places where people struggle to make ends meet, to the places where people are more likely to spend all night fishing than to loudly drop lots of coins into the temple collection plate. When Nathanael meets Jesus, his response to him shifts from skepticism to wonder. Although they have never met before, Jesus displays intimate knowledge of Nathanael’s character and his actions. This blows Nathanael’s mind. His skepticism now completely gone, he acknowledges 1 Liddell and Scott’s Intermediate Greek-English Lexicon Jesus as both the Son of God and the King of Israel, which is a pretty amazing declaration for an Israelite to make. But instead of patting Nathanael on the back, Jesus gently chides him. “That’s all it took for you to believe? You will see far greater things than that! Even angels ascending and descending on the Son of Man!” Although a bit more cryptic, this revelation is just as important as the previous one. Jesus alludes to the story of Jacob’s ladder in Genesis, where Jacob dreamt about angels ascending and descending on a ladder between heaven and earth. Thus, Jesus identifies himself with the ladder, as the locus of contact between heaven and earth, the place where earthly humans find the connection to their heavenly Father. Furthermore, New Testament scholar Raymond Brown points out that the phrase “greater things” in other places in the Gospel of John refers to Jesus’s death, resurrection, and ascension. 2 Thus, Jesus is obliquely telling Nathanael to “hold his horses” because the best is yet to come. It’s too much for the disciples to handle right now, so Jesus doesn’t spell it out clearly. But Jesus knows what is coming and is already preparing them to understand the climax of his ministry. Through his passion, death and resurrection, Jesus becomes the very way to God. This, truly, is worthy of our wonder. Friends, these revelations about Jesus are good news for us today. Our skepticism may sound different than Nathanael’s, but it is still just as real. Can anything good come out of a global pandemic? Can anything good come out of political violence? Can anything good come out of a country with a brutally racist past? We need to know that Jesus, by being our way to God, can heal and redeem our lives and our world. And so, the invitation stands. Come and see, that Jesus does not shy away from the hard places in our lives. Come and see that he does not abandon us for the circles of power or leave us for people who look like they have it all together. Come and see that he is present with us in our struggles and in our pain and in our fear. Come and see how he is our pathway to God’s love and affection. Come and see how his death, resurrection, and ascension are our hope and our light in the midst of the darkness. Come and see. Amen. (The Baptism of the Lord) Rev. Dominique Peridans Four churches in a small Ohio town:
Presbyterian, Methodist, Catholic and Episcopal. All four, oddly, overrun with pesky squirrels. The Presbyterians, after much prayer and consideration, determined that the squirrels were predestined to be there, and they shouldn't interfere with God's divine will. The Methodists had to deal with the squirrels having taken up habitation in the Baptismal font. They opted for a very practical approach: secure a cover on the font. The squirrels, however, somehow managed to move it and there were twice as many squirrels the next week, having a font party. The Catholics decided that they were in no position to harm any of God's creation. So, humanely, they trapped the squirrels and set them free a few miles outside of town. Three days later, the squirrels were back. The Episcopalians came up with the most effective solution: they baptized the squirrels and registered them as members of the parish. Now they only see them on Christmas and Easter. Baptism. In his Catechism, published in 1538, John Calvin asks, “How do you know yourself to be a child of God in fact as well as in name?” Answer: “Because I am baptized in the name of God the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.” Baptism, as we Episcopalian Christians know and experience it, that is to say, as a guaranteed encounter with the Triune God, finds its source in the Baptism of the Lord, the author of Baptism because the “author of our salvation”. It is odd that Jesus be baptized, however, for He has no need for Baptism. Jesus had no need for Baptism, for He is “full of grace” (John 1:14), and grace is what we believe Baptism confers. If Jesus has no need for Baptism, then why was He baptized? To make John the Baptist feel that his ministerial labor is worthwhile? Because He couldn’t resist the cool waters on a hot day? Jesus can only be baptized if He is to make use of John’s Baptism, the Baptism that stands at the threshold of the New Covenant. Jesus does make use of John’s Baptism to institute a Baptism which confers grace, the Baptism. As St. Ambrose, 4 th century Bishop of Milan, says: Our Lord was baptized because He wished, not to be cleansed, but to cleanse the waters, that, being purified by the flesh of Christ that knew no sin, they might have the virtue of baptism. In being baptized, Jesus makes a promise: to use the simple element of water to communicate divine life in a special way. A guaranteed encounter with the Triune God. So guaranteed, that it led Saint Isidore, ancient Christian philosopher, Bishop of Seville, Spain, who died in 636—and who, by the way, invented the period, the comma and the colon—to say that “Baptism is not the work of man but of Christ, and this sacrament is so holy that it would not be defiled, even if the minister were a murderer.” Those Baptismal waters… Those Baptismal waters led Lutheran pastor Nadia-Bolz Weber, whom I quoted last Sunday, to say, “Many of us would pray not to die in a car crash before we were baptized, like other people pray not to get sick before their employee benefits kick in.” Those Baptismal waters led contemporary theologian Carrie Underwood to sing, I followed that preacher man down to the river. And now I'm changed, And now I'm stronger. There must've been something in the water. Those Baptismal waters led another singer of another generation of another musical genre, Nina Simone, to sing Take me to the water To be, to be baptized I'm going back home, going back home Gonna stay here no longer I'm going back home, going back home Baptism confers grace to us, and grace grants us a share in God’s life, home. Indeed, the Baptism of Jesus reveals this. Jesus comes to be Baptized in the Jordan, through which the Israelites entered the Promised Land. By grace, and thus through Baptism, we enter the “Promised Land”. The “Promised Land”, for us, is nothing less than God’s life. Finally, the Baptism of Jesus reveals the mystery of God, “the heavens torn apart”. The Holy Spirit, like a dove, that is to say, full of gentle love, descends, confirming the divine origin of Jesus. Then, “a voice came from heaven”, expressing divine delight: the Father. Son, Holy Spirit, Father. This epiphany is not only of Jesus but of the Trinity. It is the first explicit New Testament revelation of the Trinity. Today, we celebrate Jesus as God God as Trinity ourselves as beloved children of God Jesus is the Beloved, in whom, we are the beloved. Each of us is a beloved child of God. God has given us everything, so that we be born again and live His very life —which means: a happiness deep in the heart that no one/nothing can take. We must, of course, cooperate with grace. We do so by seeking God and letting ourselves be found by God and by stepping out in faith to love our neighbor. Loving neighbor is intrinsic to our relationship with Christ. Worry not, however. Christ makes this possible: grace upon grace… (John 1:16) (FEAST OF THE EPIPHANY) Rev. Dominique Peridans The feast of the Epiphany.
Early on, the Church had a sense in faith that this merited a special celebration. Saint Clement of Alexandria (Egypt, not Virginia!), prominent theologian, who died in 215, mentions it. There is written and historian Ammianus Marcellinus, in 361. “Epiphany” means manifestation. We celebrate God incarnate, the Word made flesh, made manifest to the Gentiles (i.e., to the rest of the world, beyond the Jewish community), in the persons ofthe Magi. The first to visit the Christ-child were the shepherds, simple and lowly, who were Jews. The second to visit the Christ-child were the Magi, these other mysterious figures, who represent the learned pagan world. The first reading (Isaiah 60:3) speaks prophetically of them: “Nations shall come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your dawn.” This passage from Isaiah has led many to conclude that the Magi were, in fact, kings. It is unclear who they are. The term Magi comes from a Persian term, “mag” for “priest”. Lutheran pastor, Nadia Bolz-Weber, says, reference to this feast by Roman soldier “Three kings from the Orient bringing gifts to Jesus in a manger is a charming story, but it’s not actually the one we find in the Bible. A closer reading ofMatthew shows that we have no idea how many people were there, and we don’t know how far east they came from. Was it the Orient? Was it New Jersey?... And most importantly, they were definitely not kings.....They were Magi, as in magicians, and not the cute kind you hire for your kid’s birthday party. Yet history made them out to be kings, maybe because the reality that they were magicians is too distasteful, since no one really wants the weird fortune-teller lady from the circus with her scarves and crystal balls to be the first to discover the birth of our Lord. So, the story has been nicened up into an idealized picture ofmulticultural diplomacy. But the Epiphany story ofHerod and his infanticide reveals a God who has entered our world as it actually exists, and not as the world we often wish it would be.” The exact identity ofthe Magi is indeed difficult to specify. Whatever the case may be--pagan priests or magicians, both astrologers, three or more, named or unnamed, they are traditionally portrayed as coming in full regalia, with gifts. They come with all their learnedness, rather moved in their minds. Theirs is an attraction of which we may not often think. The simplicity of the shepherds, moved in their hearts, seems more accessible. The Magi, sometimes called the wise men (not wise guys!), are mysteriously moved in their minds. They come reading the stars: in this case, a star, indicating the birth of a king. Given what they say, we may presume that they came expecting divinity: a king from above. “Where is the newborn king of the Jews? We have seen his star at its rising.” We can perhaps say that they come because they have been given a gift from Christ, before even seeing Him: faith. This they are given, not because of privilege, but because they are seekers. God likes seekers. God extends Himself to those who seek. Faith is a gift, freely given, which entails a very subtle attraction to God, enabling us to discern mystery from above. It is interesting and important to note, also, that faith does not eliminate the use of the mind. Indeed, the Magi come moved by faith, all the while reading the star... St. John Chrysostom (+ 407), in a commentary on this, says, “Since they sought a heavenly King, though they found Him in no signs of royal pre-eminence, yet, content with the testimony of a star alone, they adored.” Saint Augustine and Saint Jerome support the understanding of magician. No Church Father holds the Magi to have been kings. Additionally, the Gospel narrative fails to mention the number of the Magi. Some Church Fathers speak of three Magi, likely influenced by the number of gifts. The Gospel narrative also fails to mention the names of the Magi. In the Western part of the Church, from the seventh century, we find slight variants of the names, Gaspar, Melchior, and Balthasar. With the eyes of the body , they see a fragile infant. With the eyes of faith, they “see” God. Only faith can bridge the apparent abyss between child and God. It is very much like our situation regarding the Eucharist. Only faith can bridge the apparent abyss between bread and God. The Magi come and find. They find what they were seeking in faith, and they are filled with joy. The first thing that they do upon seeing the child is to adore. They “prostrated themselves and did him homage.” (verse 11) Adoration is always the first, fundamental act in the presence of God. They also offer gifts, gifts in keeping with the reality of this child. The gifts are revealing for us:
“gold, as to a king; myrrh, as to one who was mortal, and incense, as to a God.” More things will later be revealed about the Christ. But this is the initial revelation to the world, through the Magi. Revelation is not a shop window display. It is sharing that invites experience. Let us adore and experience Jesus, our King of Kings, our God, the Lamb, Who comes to us now in a special way in the Eucharist. (FIRST SUNDAY AFTER CHRISTMAS) Rev. Mary McCue What a beautiful Gospel to have before us just after we’ve celebrated Christmas – the season ofLight. And what beautiful lessons John teaches us in this Gospel.
John’s Gospel begins in Heaven – the only Gospel that does so. And it is what scholars have called a Gospel of Transformation. It is not as focused on miracles as other Gospels. Only seven are mentioned in it. It is more about Jesus’ great love for us. Jesus makes God known to us by his example in this Gospel. And it invites us in to experience that love. It can happen. Ignatius of Loyola experienced that love as his life was transformed. Ignatius had been a warrior, a soldier in northern Spain. Severely wounded in battle, he had to remain in bed for several months. During that time, he began to read books about Jesus and the saints. And he let his imagination run free. He began to imagine himself as present at the Transfiguration – at the raising of Lazarus – at the Last Supper. He began to imagine the kinds of questions that he would ask at those events. And he began to experience the Holy Spirit as he imagined, read and prayed. And he became convinced that he could be a warrior of a different kind – a warrior for Jesus. His Spiritual Exercises grew out of his experience. He used them to instruct thousands of people on how to meet Jesus through the Gospels. They are useful aids to prayer to this very day. Ignatius’ personal relationship with the Gospels led to his transformation. It can be transformative for us, too. By careful reading of this Gospel, by deep prayer, we can experience the deep love that Jesus has for all of us. It can lead us to explore and deepen our individual relationship with Jesus. We can concentrate our thoughts on the love that Jesus shows in his actions and his deeds. By those actions and deeds, Jesus is making God known to us. We receive grace upon grace. Imagine yourself, as Ignatius did, being there for episodes in the Gospel. 1 What questions would you ask of Jesus? In today’s Gospel, often called the prologue, John lays out for us his mystical vision. It begins with the Word, logos in Greek. Ancient Greek philosophers also interpreted logos as the principle of cosmic reason. In Jewish literature, it is virtually synonymous with Wisdom. John tells us that the Word was with God and the Word was God. All things came into being through him and without him, not one thing came into being. That’s pretty cosmic! And very wise. And it guides us to remember that all things are from God, and with God, and through God. In this Christmas season, this is a great gift. Let us be thankful for it. And let us rejoice in the never-failing love of Jesus Christ for all of us. Amen. (THIRD SUNDAY OF ADVENT) Rev. Dominique Peridans Samuel (Sam) Taliaferro Rayburn, from Texas, served in the House of
Representatives for 49 years, from 1913 to 1961. He was Speaker of the House three times for a total of seventeen years. As such, he wielded incredible power and prestige: third in line of succession to the presidency . One day, he learned that the teenage daughter of a friend had tragically died. Early the next morning, Sam knocked on the door of his friend and, when opened, asked if there was anything he could do. His friend stammered and replied, “I don’t think there is anything you can do. We’re making all the arrangements.” “Well, have you had your morning coffee?” Sam asked. “No. We haven’t had time.” “Well,” the Speaker of the House replied, “I can at least make the coffee.” As he watched this powerful man make him coffee, the grieving father suddenly remembered. “Mr. Speaker, were you not supposed to have breakfast at the White House this morning?” “Well, I was, but I called the President and told him I had a friend in trouble, and couldn’t make it.” A right disposition of heart... On this third Sunday of Advent, we again encounter John the Baptist— apparently an important figure on our path, perhaps an unusual friend. We are likely safe in concluding that Jesus would like us to engage John the Baptist. Recall that the saints are not distant, folkloric, decorative figures whom we are to emulate with varying degrees of failure. The saints are first and foremost divine friends who know us, are present, are active and can act all the more if we invite and let them. Who is John, whose impact was so great that he came to be called “the Baptizer”? “He was not the light but came to testify to the light.” John the Baptist is all about testimony--which means other-centered. John the Baptist prepares the way for an-other: Jesus, the light. John the Baptist exercises a mysterious attraction upon people, disturbing to the priests and Levites who thus come to interrogate him in the desert. “Who are you?” they ask. And he seems never to really answer: “Oh, I’m John. I hail from _____. I have a degree in _____, a great job at_____ and I’m very happy to meet you.” He only states who he is not: not the Messiah, not Elijah, not the prophet. The only substantive thing that he says--if you can call it substantive, is “I am the voice of one crying out in the wilderness.” Try that for a Facebook profile! None of the information that he gives can be put on his ID card! A dreadfully disappointing response, and so, the question shifts from identity to activity. “Why then are you baptizing if you are neither the Messiah, nor Elijah, nor the prophet?” And John simply points to Jesus, declaring how great Jesus is. In John the Baptist, we see the right disposition of heart if we are to discover how great Jesus is: grateful humility, childlikeness, a sense ofawe-full unworthiness. We see it in the centurion, in Matthew 8, who appeals to Jesus to heal his servant: “Lord, I am not worthy to have you come under my roof; but only speak the word, and my servant will be healed.” This is indeed the fundamental disposition of heart, which is why we repeat these words for ourselves every time we are on the threshold of encountering Christ in the Eucharist “Lord, I am not worthy that thou should come under my roof, but speak the word only and my soul shall be healed.” This disposition comes not so much in realizing how imperfect we are, but in realizing how perfect Jesus is, i.e., how overflowing is His love. When we recognize, for example, that, strictly speaking, when it comes to Jesus, we have no right to be here--because nothing we can do adequately corresponds to the greatness of Jesus’ gift, then we are deeply humbled and grateful and tumble into an abyss of awe. Such is the disposition of heart that rightly prepares Christmas: opening us to the mystery of the Incarnation and to Christ’s Second Coming. Let us ask the Holy Spirit to grant us such faith insight, and to refashion our hearts, that we may be humble, childlike and full of awe--and joy on this Gaudete, “Rejoice”, Rose Sunday. Zachary Baker Rodes Oh Lord, help us always to seek the truth, whence it comes, cost what it may. Amen.
When I was young, I was visiting downtown Detroit at night with some family members during a time in that city’s decline in which the city center was devoid of life and light. I remember looking up at the J.L. Hudson’s building, once Detroit’s premier department store nd once the tallest department store in the world. It was now empty, its doors boarded up and its windows shattered out. The massive hulk at night was intimidating. What was once one of the busiest street corners in the world because of this building, was now a distant memory. Today that building is gone, and in its place a new development which many are hoping will lead a further resurgence in the city. The ever-promised comfort of development and urban renewal. Comfort is a theme found throughout the second half of Isaiah that starts here. But this comfort is not just anyone’s comfort, but God’s comfort. But what is God’s comfort? It is not simply comfort bathed in rest and relaxion. This is about consolation and the deep, holy embrace God gives us and he desires for us to seek, in prayer, in worship, in relationship with others, and in repentance. In Hebrew this word does convey a feeling of repentance. In the Biblical narrative, the Babylonian exile is punishment for idolatry. In that narrative, found at the end of Second Kings, Jerusalem is utterly destroyed by the Babylonian armies. Not simply attacked, but wiped out, the houses flattened, and the city walls toppled. Jerusalem is left in ruin. The exile has begun. But then! “Speak tenderly to Jerusalem!” God declares. Wait, wait. Speak tenderly? God allows for Jerusalem’s destruction and her residents whisked away to another foreign land and suddenly Jerusalem is now to be spoken to with tender, loving care?! Remember, God is not talking to the residents of Jerusalem, not primarily at least. God personifies the city and speaks directly to her. He stirs up for her a divine redevelopment. This tenderness though isn’t about simply talking nicely or sweetly to Jerusalem. A straighter to the point translation might be, Speak to the heart of Jerusalem.” What is this heart? The heart of Jerusalem is who she is. Jerusalem is a city. Built by man. Adopted and ordained by God. And cities, Jerusalem not exempted, have a complicated relationship with God. So why does God care about the city? Because he cares about Jerusalem. David chooses Jerusalem, God adopts her. This city of David is God’s city because it is used as a piece of the plan of God’s salvation. And as this piece, like no other city can do, Jerusalem acts as a witness both to God as a city of man and to man, as the city of God. We need to remember, however, that the city is man’s creation. Cain is the first to build a city; in fact, it is the first thing he does after starting a family. Genesis states, “Cain knew his wife, and she conceived and bore Enoch; and he built a city and named it Enoch after his son[.]” He builds himself the security lost by his parents. Thecity is the physical reality of man’s security on earth. It is where we live and make and have our physical being. In the city man has substituted Eden, which was God’s protection, for his own. Oh, how our cities need this comfort from God! God not only offers comfort to Jerusalem but to all cities. This is the divine redevelopment of the city for she is saved! Our cities which we decry full of grittiness, crime, and inequality are our making. Gentrification and the ghetto are inherently man’s developments. Who becomes our neighbor when self-interest and profit reign supreme instead of engagement and humility? Who was hurt when the urban freeway made straight a path into people’s homes and lives? Budgets are needed but if that means weekend service cuts to Metro at the expense of the working class and vulnerable, then what becomes of our Christian service? And we need to call into question where God is found in institutions and developments that seek to propagate power and privilege both at the expense of residents and the homeless. His comfort and love are found in the divine redevelopment that God offers us through Jesus Christ. This isn’t to say that the city is not full of excitement or good things. But our cities today need comfort, they need healing. And that starts with the comfort of neighbors and the comfort to all those around us in this city life. Butthat’s the problem. Our comfort is good and holy, but it is not perfect. There is everything we can do to work at healing urban life to today, but as Christians, it is not without understanding that Christ is the chief cornerstone, that Christ is the temple, and that in Christ everything that Jerusalem meant to God’s people is now passed to Jesus Christ. The true healing of our cities will not come about until Christians witness to the divine redevelopment that takes place within us through Jesus Christ. This then leads us to the divine redevelopment of our cities. Placing Jesus Christ as our chief cornerstone. Jesus Christ is, as our temple, the focus of our city. Our true Lord Mayor. The King of Kings. I am not speaking about man’s theocracy (Heaven help us from that heresy), but I am speaking again to the heart of American society. Jacques Ellul comments, “Man sacrifices man to build his cities, instead of accepting the only sacrifice which would enable him both to found them in truth and purify them of Satan’s presence.” This divine redevelopment starts here at the ONE table in which we find truth and the purification of God’s love. It starts here that through remembrance of and witness to Jesus Christ as the focus of our city life so that we may continue to be focused on the New Jerusalem. From the city to the wilderness, the writer takes us on a small road trip. A voice calling out from the hinterlands. Make a highway. Make straight a path for our God in which His glory is revealed. The word for valley is much more than just a valley, but a valley of death that is raised up. And mountain here is much more than a tall peak, but one of power and prestige, brought low. And where else in cities do we slow down? Do we take a break and think? But in green spaces, ofcourse! And here, a green space is opened for us to remember our mortality. Jesus Christ becomes grass like us. Appearing to us like we appear. First, as a baby. In a manager. Comforted by his mother and father. Understanding it is He who comforts them because of who He is. He is the God the Son. The eternal Word, fulfillment of the Jerusalem that will stand forever. We take comfort in this season of Advent. We take comfort in listening to Christmas music, baking goodies, doing some downtown shopping, and hopefully again soon, traveling along that highway to a loved ones house in which God’s love is shared. But we also take to heart the consolation and the penance found in God’s comfort given to us. In all these things, midst a busy city life, may we bring heralds of good tidings to all and lift up the divine redevelopment in our lives so that comfort and love of God reign supreme. May it be so, Amen. |
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