It wasn’t until I became the rector of a parish that I began to fully appreciate depth and breadth of the ministry of the Apostle Paul. Prior to my time with you here at Christ the King, I saw him as the first and greatest theologian of the Christian Church. I saw him as a brilliant thinker and writer – with letters like the one to the Church in Rome simultaneously inspiring and baffling me. As such, I oftentimes held him at arm’s length, and I rarely preached on his epistle texts, due to their emphasis on doctrine combined with their lack of compelling stories.

But once I became a rector of a parish, I began to experience Paul’s letters differently. I slowly began to see Paul not only as a brilliant theologian whose writings I should study, but also as a committed, faithful pastor whose ministry I should attempt to emulate. Once I began to connect these dots, and see Paul in all of his fullness, I gained a new friend; a peer; and a colleague in ministry.

And as we embark upon a new year on the secular calendar, I feel so blessed to have this section from Paul’s letter to the Ephesians as one of our readings. Paul opens up this letter with gratitude for God and for his flock. One thing I have learned about Paul is that more often than not, Paul leads with gratitude. And I don’t think that is because Paul was a nice guy. Paul had many gifts, but niceness wasn’t one of them.

So Paul led with gratitude not because he was nice, but because he was a spiritually mature person. He profoundly understood “where he stood” with God – a sinner who received the free gift of God’s unmerited grace and redemption. He understood that Christ appeared to him on the road to Damascus – which led to his conversion to Christianity – not because Paul deserved it. Given Paul’s violent persecution of Christians it was quite the opposite. So Paul’s entire ministry was one that was steeped in gratitude. And his deep gratitude for God’s grace, mercy, and blessings carried over to those to whom he ministered. In other words, his spiritual discipline of gratitude towards God was contagious, and spilled over into his relationships with people.

I have used the phrases “spiritually mature” and “spiritual discipline” intentionally. To be a spiritually mature person requires intentional spiritual discipline. For many of us, including my self, gratitude doesn’t come easily. For those of you who are familiar with the Enneagram Personality Assessment, I am a 7, which is nicknamed “The Enthusiast.” There are a lot of positive attributes of 7s. But when we are at our worst, we are never satisfied. We don’t lead with gratitude and contentedness. We are always looking for ways to improve upon what has just been accomplished. So for 7s, we have to discipline ourselves to hit “pause” and simply be grateful for our present situation. And that requires intentional spiritual work. And this sort of work is what leads to spiritual maturity. 

So when I consider the Apostle Paul, and read the introduction to his letter to the Church he founded in Ephesus, I am both inspired and challenged. As we look back at 2020, there are many ways that we could struggle to lead with gratitude. For many people all over the world, it was hands-down the worst year of their lifetime. It was especially a difficult year for churches, for a whole host of reasons. And ours was no exception. But we must remember that Paul was no stranger to  suffering, imprisonment, and persecution. Perhaps his most joyful letter – the one to the Philippians – was written from a prison cell! So, he wasn’t a grateful person because he lived a prosperous, charmed life. Again, it was quite the opposite. Note that in the opening sentence of today’s letter, Paul writes, “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in Christ with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly place…”. Paul is reminding us that the ultimate blessings from God are spiritual, not material.

On New Year’s Eve, a priest I follow on Twitter posted a fill-in-the-blank question: “I wouldn’t have made it through 2020 without _______________.” My reply was “The Daily Office.” The reason I believe that it was my discipline of praying of the Daily Office from the Book of Common Prayer that sustained me last year is that by doing so, every day I was engaging the spiritual discipline of gratitude. The entire opening segment of Morning Prayer is grounded in grateful praise to God. Like I said, on my own, I am not inclined to lead with gratitude, much less first thing in the morning.  At Evening Prayer, the very last prayer we pray is the General Thanksgiving, which is probably my favorite prayer in the Prayer Book. So, if you pray Morning and Evening Prayer, you are bookending your day with gratitude. In a year like 2020, it was those bookends that held me together.

One thing we must recognize about Paul’s spiritual discipline of gratitude is that it is never stagnant - it doesn’t only look backwards from the present moment. Paul’s profound gratitude serves as a springboard for hope, which is another spiritual discipline that leads to spiritual maturity. Hope is grounded in gratitude. A person who is not grateful will always struggle to be hopeful. And Paul models for us how these two disciplines feed off of one another.

After leading with gratitude in today’s reading, Paul then turns to hope when he writes, “I pray that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ…may give you a spirit of wisdom and revelation as you come to know him, so that with the eyes of your heart enlightened, you may know what is the hope to which he has called you…and what is the immeasurable greatness of his power for us who believe.” In other words, we don’t stop with gratitude, but rather, our gratitude empowers us to move forward in hope. Could we have had a more perfect scripture lesson to begin 2021?

I, for one, am deeply grateful for God’s many blessings – spiritual and material – that God bestowed upon us last year. In an odd sort of way, it was the most rewarding year I have had with you at Christ the King. I feel that way because so many of you have been so supportive, flexible, helpful, and faithful during this terrible pandemic. Out of necessity, lay leadership has risen to a whole new level of engagement and responsibility. Our staff has grown in number and level of responsibility and engagement. And the fact that we will have created a new full-time position for Family Faith Formation, built a new school building, ad launched a capital campaign during a global pandemic is a testament to the steadfast faith and hope of the people of Christ the King. All of those bold, forward-thinking initiatives were grounded in the profound hope and belief that God will provide.

Both Morning and Evening Prayer end with the choice between three sentences of scripture, all from Paul’s letters. While all three are a perfect way to wrap up the service, in 2020 I found myself being drawn to the second option, which is from Paul’s letter to the Romans. It reads, “May the God of hope fill us with all joy and peace in believing through the power of the Holy Spirit.”

Christian hope is not wishful thinking. It is as much about who as it is about what. The “who” of course is Jesus Christ, in whom we live and move and have our being. And when we, grounded in gratitude, engage in the spiritual discipline of hope, we, like Paul says, will be filled with joy and peace. Let us carry that grateful hope with us into 2021.

The Same Story, Christmas 1 - 2020

Have you ever noticed that when you get together with your family and start telling stories about when you were growing up, or what happened years ago, the same events sound very different as different people tell the story? Depending on who’s describing it, the guy who used to live across the street was a scrooge or a saint. Moving from one town to another was either a disaster, a wonderful escape, or a thing indifferent, hardly noticed. Same event, different folks in the family, different point of view, radically different ways of telling the same story.

Consider the wonderful poetry of those first 18 verses of John’s Gospel we just heard. This is the Christmas story, the third time the Bible tells it. It is the same story we may have heard on Christmas Eve—the story of the manger and the shepherds and the angels—and it’s the same story Matthew tells in his gospel—with Joseph’s dreams, the wise men and the flight to Egypt. But the point of view is different, and John’s Gospel sounds strange to ears more accustomed to crowded inns and angel choirs. That’s because different folks in the family are telling the same story.

You see, Luke, who wrote the familiar story of Christmas Eve, was a bit of an historian. He was very concerned with getting the dates and rulers right, and with locating everything in time and space. Also, he may have been a gentile convert, and he was very concerned about the role of people who, like him, were considered outsiders. So, Luke is more concerned with shepherds—who were social outcasts—than about kings. And Luke focuses on the perspective of Mary—a radical move since women were even lower on the social ladder than shepherds.

Matthew is more traditional. He was certainly a Jew and may have been a scribe. He was very concerned with making it clear that Jesus fulfilled all of the Old Testament prophecies as Messiah, King of Jews. So, shepherds didn’t interest him as much as the royal wise men, and he paid a lot of attention to the flight to Egypt because of the parallel between the Exodus led by Moses and Jesus’ own return from Egypt to Israel. Also, the more traditional Matthew tells the story of Jesus’ birth from Joseph’s point of view.

Then there was John. John may well have read Matthew and Luke and, if so, he assumes that we have, too. But John is a theologian and a mystic. So, he isn’t concerned with historical details. Instead, he writes of the meaning of Jesus’ birth, and he writes from his theology, and from the holy imagination of his prayers. But he is still telling the same story—all three are talking about the same birth—all three are saying the same thing.

John begins the story earlier—he reminds us that Christmas really begins where Genesis begins—in the beginning, with God in creation. So, using language evocative of the first verses of Genesis, John begins by talking about the beginning, and about the Word of God. “The Word” here is God in action, God creating, God revealing himself. The Word was with God, and the Word was God. Then he tells the Christmas story—in nine words (in the Greek and English). “And the Word became flesh and lived among us.” He who was with God in creation, the one who is God revealing himself to humanity—this one became a person, became flesh—as completely human as you and I. Not God with a people-suit disguise on; not a really good person who God rewarded and made special; not a super angel God created early and saved up for Bethlehem.

But a person, who was the Word—who was God’s own self. (A chip off the old block.) Soaring words for the most down-to-earth thing that ever happened. But it’s still the Christmas story, still the story Matthew and Luke tell—the story of the birth of Jesus.

In addition to telling the same story, Matthew, Luke, and John also share one special way of telling it—there is one image, one symbol, and only one, that they all use to talk about that birth in Bethlehem. (Can you think of what it is?)

They all talk about light—the light of the star, the light that shone around the shepherds, the true light that enlightens everyone. They all continue Isaiah’s vision of light shining on those who live in darkness. Where Christ is, people who understand talk about light. They have to—there is no better image of what is going on. The light shines in the darkness—John proclaims. And somehow, we understand this and we understand that this truth cannot be better expressed in any other words.

In large part, we understand this because we know about darkness—we know what it is like to live in and with darkness. Remember what it’s like to try to walk through an unfamiliar place when it’s really dark—or to wake up confused in the middle of the night in someone else’s house, trying to get somewhere? We know what it’s like when we don’t know where things are, and we don’t know what we have just bumped into, or whether we’re going to get where we want to go, or if the next step will be OK or if we will break something and make a mess. We know how easy it is to go in circles in the dark and to get turned around and to stub a toe and get angry and hit whatever is handy.

And we know what it is like to live like that in broad daylight.

What John and Luke and Matthew all say about Christmas is that a light begins to shine—suddenly, quietly, but with absolute certainty. And by that light, we can begin to see. By that light, we can begin to see who we are and who we are created to be. For it is in the person of Jesus that what it means to be fully a human being is finally made clear. In him, we see that our lives are made whole as we surrender them in love and service; in him, we see that really being alive means risking everything for—and because of—the love of God and the Kingdom of God. In him we see that hope need never be abandoned—never—and that we contain possibilities beyond our imagining.

Also, by that light that has come into the world, we begin to see God clearly for the first time. “No one has ever seen God,” John reminds us. But God is made known to us in Jesus. So, everything we thought about God, everything we had figured out, everything that we were sure we knew about God—all of this is put to the test in Jesus. Who God is, in relationship to us, is fully revealed in Jesus. Not in one saying or one parable or one miracle—but in all of him: in his life, ministry, death, and resurrection. Through all of these together, we finally have the light to see God.

The light of Christ, the Word made flesh, comes among us at Christmas—and we celebrate its coming into the world. God had revealed himself and his love to us in Christ. That first Christmas, the stable stank but the light shone—and it continues to shine. It continues to allow us to see—and to show a world living in darkness what we have seen. For by that light we have been given power to become children of God—and to take our places with the light. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.

On this most holy and joyful feast day of the Church, it can seem a bit odd that we come right out of the gate with the prophet Isaiah reminding us about “the people who walked in the darkness.” And if you are like me, when you hear sober passages from scripture like this on a day like Christmas, you might not want to linger too long “in a land of deep darkness.”

But before we get to marvel at the wondrous miracle of baby Jesus in the manger, our Church tradition presents us with the “rod of the oppressor” and “boots of trampling warriors.”  Without the darkness, violence, and oppression that Mary, Joseph, and their ancestors experienced, the light that emerged from the manger wouldn’t have been necessary and so profoundly bright. Indeed, the darker the darkness, the brighter the light.

I have oftentimes remarked that it really is a wonder how any of us here and now are Christians. Our holy scriptures were written by oppressed, marginalized people, and their original audience was the same. In what we call The Song of Mary - or The Magnificat - Jesus’ mother Mary sang about God casting down the mighty from their thrones, lifting up the lowly, filling the hungry with good things, and sending the rich away empty. So, as people of relative privilege, what are we to do with this ever-present and fundamental scriptural theme of God liberating the oppressed? Can these stories be our stories too? With my list of first-world problems, what am I to do with a Bible that confronts me as often as it comforts me? Even on the joyful feast of Christmas, must I journey with the oppressed  through the harrowing darkness in order to arrive at the manger?

The short answer to that question is yes. We must travel through the darkness - and arrive at the closed, locked doors of the Innkeepers - before we can bask in the light at the foot of the manger. And while I recognize that here in the 21st century United States, we, in many ways, have it much better than the ancient Israelites of our scriptures, I think it is short-sighted and uncharitable to assume that none of us, in spite of our relative privilege, are immune to the darkness and therefore not in need of the light of Christ.

We aren’t living under the heel of oppressive, tyrannous empires such as Babylon or Rome. But all of us have been through or are currently living in some sort of darkness, and we are all in - in one way or another - in  desperate need of God’s light to shine. If there has ever been a time when we have longed for God’s light to shine, it is now. 2020 has been a dark year in many ways for so many people all over the world. I don’t know about you, but I am tired. I am tired of this pandemic. I am tired of wearing a mask. I am tired of having to ask you to wear a mask. I am tired of limited gatherings. I am tired of the social awkwardness that comes with no hugs, no handshakes, and no visible smiles. I am tired of partisan politics, division and conflict. I am tired of being constantly manipulated by the news and social media industries. I am tired of not being able to visit people in the hospital and in their homes. There are many more things that are making me tired right now. No, I did not walk barefoot and pregnant from Nazareth to Bethlehem in the cold and dark because the government required me to, only to find no place to stay. But I am nonetheless tired. And I suspect that many of you are too. 

What this general, widespread fatigue tells us is that we too have experienced and are experiencing the darkness that we read about in scripture. Just because some of our problems might be considered first-world problems doesn’t mean that we aren’t in profound need of God’s light to shine in our lives. Think about it, what does it say about God if my problems aren’t big enough for God to care about? If I am not as oppressed as those about whom we read in our scriptures, am I disqualified from receiving God’s light? If so, what does that say about God if I can’t receive his grace, mercy, love, and redemption? 

And of course, many of our problems can’t just be sloughed off as first world problems. Our relative privilege doesn’t make us immune to death, divorce, broken relationships, and serious illness, all of which we have experienced in our parish family this year. And one thing is for certain - regardless of who we are, where we come from, and what our situation is, we are all affected by the ultimate problem - humankind’s broken relationship with God. Dare I say the word “sin” at a Christmas Eve service? God didn’t become incarnate in Christ to become our therapist or even our pastor. God became incarnate to reconcile all of humankind to himself. As NT Wright says, in Christ, God was on a rescue mission. The letter to Titus framed it this way: “He it is who gave himself for us that he might redeem us from all iniquity and purify for himself a people of his own who are zealous for good deeds.” 

A fairly common response to the question “How are you doing”  - at least from folks who either knowingly or unknowingly are influenced by the theology of John Calvin - is to say “Better than I deserve.” That response is indeed theologically sound and true. But the thing about that response is that it applies to everybody. God doesn’t bless us because we deserve it. God doesn’t bless us because of who we are or what we have done. God blesses us because of who God is and what God has done. And this a day when we joyfully celebrate what God has done.

And God didn’t choose to become incarnate in Jesus Christ to reconcile this fallen world to himself because we deserved it. But God chose to become human - to live and die as one of us - because God loves each of us more than we could ever imagine. Simply put - with God, there is enough love, mercy, and grace always and forever and for everyone. As our reading from Titus says, “For the grace of God has appeared, bringing salvation to all.” God chose to not only shine the light in the darkness but also to be the light in the darkness for the Jew and the Gentile, the slave and the free, the male and the female, the rich and the poor, democrats and republicans, people with first-world problems and people with third-world problems. All of us - whether we know it and feel it or not - are in need of Christ’s light to shine and illuminate the path that lies in front of us. And because of the person whose birth we celebrate today - Jesus Christ - none of us are disqualified from receiving it. And that is Good News indeed. Thanks be to God, and Merry Christmas!

 Since the beginning of Advent, our weekly Tree House chapel services have been focusing on time – namely, how the Church tells time. We have been exploring how the Church uses liturgical color, the stars, the smell of incense, and the Advent wreath to tell time. We are also exploring how we tell time with the sacred stories of Holy Scripture. These curious children are becoming more and more “tuned in” to the season of Advent. 

Our weekly Adult Formation class that meets at 12:00 on Wednesdays has also been learning about how the Church tells time. We just finished an entire unit on how we use the Book of Common Prayer to tell time – namely through the calendar of the Church year and the cycle of Collects that we pray.

So, my hope is that all of us – regardless of our age – are becoming more attuned to the seasons of the Church year, and how we use that to tell time. As Christians, we believe that we are not on some sort of random, linear trajectory. While we indeed are moving forward in chronos – or chronological time - we believe that we are a part of God’s more circular, eternal time, which we call kairos. 

Advent is perhaps the season when we are most conscious about telling time. Part of that is because we are coming off almost six months of Ordinary Time, where not much happens or changes in terms of our liturgy, music, and traditions. So, when Advent finally comes around, we are very cognizant of the many changes we see, hear, and smell. We even have a large wreath up front that acts as a very visual reminder that we are telling time by lighting a new candle each week. 

And by now, you have all noticed that the 3rd week in Advent adds a bit of a wrinkle in our time-telling, as we light the rose-colored candle and adorn our church and clergy with rose-colored vestments. The 3rd Sunday in Advent is known as Gaudete Sunday – which is the Latin word for “joy.” The theme of joy aligns with the third component of the Four Last Things that we study in Advent – death, judgment, heaven, and hell. 

The third Sunday in Advent invites us to pause – and even take a reprieve from - our focus on the rather dark, harrowing themes death and judgment. Yes, our days are shorter, darker, and colder. Yes, there will come a time when we will die. And yes, there will be a time when we will face our final reckoning when Christ comes again to judge the quick and the dead. All of these things are true, and we use the Season of Advent to better prepare ourselves for these temporal and existential realities.  

But the season of Advent also reminds us that in the midst of these harrowing realities, we, as Christians, can face these realities with a solemn, hopeful joy that is grounded in our belief in the implications related to our proclamation every week during the Holy Eucharist that “Christ has died, Christ is risen, and Christ will come again. 

Our scripture lessons today point to the solemn, hopeful, heavenly joy of GaudeteSunday. The prophet Isaiah uses the language of poetry to speak of Israel’s return from exile:

I will greatly rejoice in the LORD,
my whole being shall exult in my God; 

for he has clothed me with the garments of salvation,
he has covered me with the robe of righteousness… 

…For as the earth brings forth its shoots,
and as a garden causes what is sown in it to spring up, 

so the Lord God will cause righteousness and praise
to spring up before all the nations.

Regarding the use of this text for the 3rd Sunday in Advent, a commentator for The Living Church magazine says that:

“After God’s people had suffered the loss of their homeland and temple, they were finally allowed…to return home from their captivity in Babylon. Arriving, they saw devastation and waste on all sides... Their migration home, of course, brought moments of joy and hope, but the vision of a homeland laid waste by war and neglect shook them deeply, so much that they had little choice but to fall upon the faith they had long known, and wait for the Lord…God was faithful and just... God acts to provide for those who mourn, and not, of course, only for those in the sixth century B.C. in the land of Israel. In every age and every place, the Son of the Father says, “Blessed are those who mourn.” Their comfort is the action and grace of God in Christ…”

Just as the ancient Israelites were living in the time between exile and the coming of the Messiah to redeem and restore Israel, we too are living in that in-between time of the already and the not-yet. Yes, the messiah has come to inaugurate God’s kingdom here on earth. But we still wait in hope for the final consummation of God’s kairos time.

On this text from Isaiah, Episcopal priest Craig Uffman points out that we Christians:

“…live between times — between the dawn of the world’s redemption and its fulfillment. We rejoice now not because we are deaf to the cold, harsh word of the world, but because we are filled with the grace of God’s counter-Word. We rejoice because we’ve been blessed with eyes to see beyond the dark shadows of a world that’s forgotten its Creator. We rejoice not because of what is, but because of what is becoming. Our joy is not conditioned upon the vagaries of this world. It bubbles up in us as our act of faith in God’s promise. In God we trust.”

The stories of how our spiritual ancestors lived in “between the dawn of the world’s redemption and its fulfillment” is most consciously told during the season of Advent. During this holy season, we are invited to join our ancestors in the steadfast, faithful, hopeful waiting that is one of the foundational elements of our religious life. And though we are not ancient Israelites waiting to be released from Babylonian captivity or oppressive Roman rule, we are still living in the need and hopeful anticipation of both temporal and existential release and redemption. 

Waiting for existential, eternal redemption can seem understandably opaque – after all, who knows when Christ will come again? But the Advent discipline of waiting in hope can easily be appropriated to our this-worldly, temporal context. 2020 has been a year of living in exile for most all of us. Many of us have not seen our family members who live out of town or in nursing homes. Many of us have not worshipped in our beloved, sacred church buildings. Many of us have been in and out of quarantine due to exposure to someone with the virus. Many of us are home-schooling our children for the first time in our lives. Many of us have had to learn algebra or geometry or world history or biology through a computer screen. Many of us have had to close or reduce the scope of our businesses. Many of us haven’t eaten out at our favorite restaurants. The list goes on for the many ways that the covid-19 pandemic has imposed upon us either a voluntary or mandatory exile. Like our spiritual ancestors, this new way of living has disoriented us. We have had to find new ways of praying, worshipping, and connecting with God and our fellow sojourners. And we have had to find new ways to live our lives. 

And when we watch or read the news – regardless of the network - we are oftentimes being made to feel less hopeful, not more. That is because bad news and conflict generate many more clicks and therefore much more advertising revenue than good or even pragmatic news. So, our waiting can and has felt hopeless this year.

This past Friday, we were given the very hopeful, good news that the covid-19 vaccination has been approved by the FDA and will soon be put into circulation. For me, this was a very welcome bit of tangible hope in the midst of several months of intangible, not-knowing. What exactly is this virus? How did it get out? How do we treat it? Who and what do we believe when we seek reliable information about it? When will it end? To me, the news of an FDA-approved vaccine that is ready for distribution is very tangible, hopeful news, however you choose to answer the questions I just asked. 

Yet, in spite of this very tangible, hopeful news that our covid-19 exile will come to an end in the foreseeable future, we find ourselves in the midst of the deadliest phase of the virus. I recently saw a statistic posted last Wednesday that listed the deadliest days in U.S. history: 

1.    The Galveston Hurricane (1900)

2.    The Battle of Antietam (1862)

3.    September 11, 2001

4.    Last Thursday 

5.    Last Wednesday 

6.    Last Tuesday 

7.    Last Friday

8.    Pearl Harbor (1941)

Indeed, even with a light shining at the end of the tunnel, we are in the thick of the covid-19 exile. Many of our Christmas celebrations this year will be muted due to the virus. Many of us will stay home rather than visiting with extended family. Many of us will, perhaps for the first time ever, spend Christmas Eve celebrating the incarnation of God in Jesus Christ on a computer screen. In a cruel sort of irony, this Advent just might be the most authentic Advent of our lifetimes. We are most certainly in the darkness of exile, but with light peeking through. But we must be careful to remember that the messiah we are waiting for is not a vaccine, a presidential candidate, or anything or anybody else other than the One whose second coming in glory we await, Jesus Christ. So, while we will celebrate the release from the exile of the covid-19 pandemic, we will still be called to faithfully await the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ. But as people of faith, like those who have gone before us, our waiting is not in vain. And we are called to wait hopefully and joyfully. And the Third Sunday of Advent helps remind us that we are called to be a joyful people. The apostle Paul was indeed an Advent apostle, and his words to the Church is Thessalonica were Advent words of hopeful, joyful waiting:

“Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you. Do not quench the Spirit. Do not despise the words of prophets, but test everything; hold fast to what is good; abstain from every form of evil.

May the God of peace himself sanctify you entirely; and may your spirit and soul and body be kept sound and blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ. The one who calls you is faithful, and he will do this.”

Right now, one of my favorite preachers – as well as one of my favorite persons to follow on Twitter – is Fleming Rutledge. If you aren’t familiar with her, look her up. She is a remarkable preacher, theologian, writer, and priest. She also was one of the first women to be ordained to the priesthood in the Episcopal Church.

Her wonderful book - “Advent: The Once and Future Coming of Christ” - is a collection of sermons and other writings related to the season of Advent. I highly encourage you to pick up a copy so you can experience the blessing to the Church that is Fleming Rutledge. One thing that she laments as it relates to Advent is the Church’s discontinuation of using the four weeks of Advent to explore the more deeply the biblical and theological themes of death, judgment, heaven, and hell. A while back, churches changed these admittedly dark themes to the more palatable themes of faith, hope, joy, and love. Of course, these “new and improved” themes aren’t bad things to celebrate – and they are part of the Christian story. But they are not what the church traditionally has explored and engaged during the four weeks of Advent. 

Rutledge fears – and so do I – that the present-day Church’s reticence to engage themes that don’t feel “positive” is a disturbing trend. If the church can’t give us the language and framework for understanding and coming to grips with the realities of death, judgment, heaven, and hell, then who or what will? Or to whom or what will we seek our answers?

So, in the spirit of the traditional theme of the 2nd Sunday of Advent, as well as in the spirit of our Collect of the Day and assigned scripture lessons, I 

would like to talk about judgment. In the Judeo-Christian tradition, the warning of judgment was a vocation designated for the prophets. In

today’s case we hear from the prophet Isaiah: “A voice cries out:

‘In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord,
make straight in the desert a highway for our God.’”

In our gospel lesson today, Mark declares of the fulfillment of Isaiah’s prophecy when he writes, “John the baptizer appeared in the wilderness, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins… And people from the whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem were going out to him, and were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins.” But we must remember that as Christians, the theme of judgment must always be understood through the lens of the One for whom John the Baptizer was preparing the way  – the One who saves us from sin, evil, and death. Judgment and Jesus are never to be held separately. This truth is what allows us to engage the topic of judgment faithfully and – ultimately - without fear.

The authors of The Living Church Magazine’s “Anglicans Believe” pamphlet series remind us that “one of the most fruitful characteristics of medieval theology was the struggle to demonstrate how justice and mercy, both found supremely in God, are not contradictory, even if we find it hard to see how.”[1] Indeed, as Christians we are to believe that we can’t have justice without mercy, nor can we have mercy without justice. But what does that look like?

Over the past few days, we in the Diocese of the Central Gulf Coast celebrated our 50thanniversary by means of a virtual revival. The theme that we have been celebrating all year has been Jubilee, which is a nod to the Levitical law that says, 

“And you shall count seven weeks of years, seven times seven years, so that the time of the seven weeks of years shall be to you forty-nine years… And you shall hallow the fiftieth year, and proclaim liberty throughout the land to all its inhabitants; it shall be a jubilee for you, when each of you shall return to his property and each of you shall return to his family.”[2]

So, consistent with the jubilee theme of restorative justice, the name of this weekend’s revival was Just Mercy, Just Jesus, and the special guests were our Presiding Bishop – Michael Curry – and Bryan Stevenson, the founder of the Equal Justice Initiative and author of the book which has recently been made into a movie - “Just Mercy.” We recently read and discussed “Just Mercy” for our Adult Formation class here at Christ the King, so it was great to have Stevenson at our Jubilee revival. In a recent interview with Krista Tippett, Stevenson discussed how his growing up in the Christian tradition helped form his understanding of mercy and justice: 

“…In the faith tradition I grew up in, you can’t come into the church and say, ‘Oh, I want salvation and redemption and all the good stuff, but I don’t want to admit to anything bad. I don’t want to have to talk about anything bad that I’ve done.’ The preachers will tell you, it doesn’t work like that. You’ve got to first repent, and you’ve got to confess. And they try to make you understand that the repentance and confession isn’t something you should fear, but something you should embrace, because what it does is open up the possibility of redemption and salvation. And we have a very religious society, where we talk about these concepts on Sundays, on Saturdays, whatever, but we haven’t embraced them. We haven’t employed them in our collective lives. And I think that has to change.”

Stevenson went on to say that, “It’s necessary to recognize that we all need mercy, we all need justice, and — perhaps — we all need some measure of unmerited grace.” 

With words like that, the more I read and listen to Bryan Stevenson, the

more convinced I am that he truly is a modern-day prophet – someone who 

God sent to shine a light in the darkness, and to help “prepare the way of 

the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway for our God.”

Perhaps the folks who are best able to authentically understand God’s

judgment in a healthy, theologically grounded way, are those who are active  

in 12-Step programs. Bryan Stevenson pointed this out when he said, 

“Twelve-step programs are built on this idea that first, you have to 

acknowledge the problem. [You begin with] confession: ‘I am an alcoholic.’ If 

you’re unwilling to say that, AA can’t help you.” 

Again, Stevenson’s words are profoundly prophetic and timely for all of us. 

Today’s gospel lesson proclaims for us that as Christians, we are 

always to begin with confession: “I am a sinner.” If we are unwilling to do 

that, Christianity cannot help us. We’d be better suited for Moral 

Therapeutic Deism, self-help books, or some other new age spirituality.

As Christians, we are invited in a life that is deeper, denser, and 

simultaneously more challenging and rewarding than what an easier, lighter, 

“less judgmental” spirituality has to offer. And Advent is a season that 

highlights this sort of Christian calling to enter into the darkness so that we 

may better see the Light. The season of Advent is the time for us to first 

enter into and explore the darkness that resides within and beyond us, so 

that when Christ’s light comes, we will be ready “to heed [the prophets’]

warnings and forsake our sins, that we may greet with joy the coming of 

Jesus Christ our Redeemer.

[1] “Four Last Things: Death, Judgment, Heaven, and Hell”. from the “Anglicans Believe” pamphlet series published by The Living Church magazine.

[2] Leviticus 25: 8-10

Advent 1B: November 29, 2020

What are you waiting for? How are you waiting?

These are the two questions that Katharine Jefferts Schori asked in her Advent message when she was the Presiding Bishop of the Episcopal Church. And I think that these questions are still deeply relevant for us as individuals and as a community now that the season of anticipatory waiting is upon us.  

One way to answer the first question is simply to say that we are waiting for Christmas. And if that is our answer to the first question, then the answer to “how we wait” can be seen and heard in shopping malls, the internet, and homes all over the country as the Christmas trees go up and, in our neighborhood at least, the inflatable Biker Santa. 

Setting our sights on Christmas makes perfect sense. We know what to expect and when to expect it. And, if we concentrate on the faith-based meaning of Christmas, the birth of Christ, why wouldn’t we get all geared up for celebrating the incarnation—God’s in-breaking into the world to walk and talk and live and die as one of us, ushering in God’s Kingdom here on earth?  

Yet, an often-neglected aspect of the Advent discipline of waiting is the perplexing doctrine of the second coming of Christ. But how do you exactly wait or plan for Christ’s second coming? 

I certainly don’t see many folks lining up to organize decorations or holding pageant rehearsals for that one! And quite frankly, I’m not sure if the consummation of all creation is something that I particularly am looking forward to. I much prefer the thought of Christmas, where we celebrate Christ as a baby wrapped in swaddling clothes, as opposed to the second Advent, where Christ will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead. 

Now there are some Christians who are indeed very interested in the end times. Volumes of books and articles have been written, taking painstaking attempts to decode the Bible for the clue as to when the end will come, and who will be taken up in the rapture, and who will be left behind to suffer eternal damnation. 

I struggle with this sort of spirituality, because I think these folks are asking the wrong questions. They want to know “when exactly.” They want to know “who’s in and who’s out.” And that brings me back to the questions posed by Katharine Jefferts Scori: What are you waiting for? How are you waiting? 

So far, I have answered these questions in both positive and negative ways. The positive way is simpler: we are waiting for Christmas and we do that in a number of ways, ranging from the spiritual to the task oriented. The negative way was my admission that I honestly do not find myself waiting and planning for the second coming of Christ, and I think that those who do are oftentimes misguided.  

But what if we were to ask ourselves as individuals and as a community, not just “What are we waiting for,” but rather, “Who are we waiting with?” This is a question that I can wrap my head around a little easier. I certainly do not know when the second coming will be or what it will look like, and if I were a betting man, I would bet that it wouldn’t happen in my lifetime. 

And yet I do believe that certain glimpses of the consummation of God’s creation can be achieved in my lifetime. I believe that in specific situations peace can be procured, diseases can be eradicated, and restorative justice achieved. But rather than asking how I will wait for these things (and others), perhaps the better question is, “Who will I wait with?” 

The quick answer for me is that right now, at this point in my life, I am waiting with you. So together we wait.   

Together we wait for a hopeful sliver of light to shine through the        darkness brought about by the death of a loved one. 

Together we wait for an effective and accessible vaccine in the midst of a global pandemic.  

Together we wait for a long illness to end, so that life eternal can begin. 

Together we wait for the days to grow long again, when light will once again outlast the darkness.  

Together we wait for relationships to be reconciled.  

Together we wait for love to conquer hate.  

Together we wait to be reunited with our families and friends who we have not been able to see during this pandemic.

In all of our imperfection, in all of our brokenness, 

In all of our joys, and all of our hope, we wait. Together.

While the Church cannot predict exactly how or when all things will come to be, I am convinced that the Church CAN provide us the assurance that we will never wait alone.

We wait with Jesus and for Jesus and with one another, as one body. 

Doesn’t it go without saying, at least within the context of Christianity, that Christ is King… all the time? If so, then why does the Church feel compelled to set aside one particular Sunday every year to remind us of the very foundation of our faith: our belief that Jesus Christ is the King of kings and Lord of lords? 

Or, if we do need the reminder, then why is this Feast Day so underwhelming compared to, say, Easter, Pentecost, Christmas, or the days when we bless animals and backpacks? 

Well, there are likely a number of reasons why Christ the King Sunday flies under most people’s radar, but let me first share with you the origins of this Feast Day, and perhaps that will help us understand why I think it is still relevant for us today.

Within the overall context of Christianity, Christ the King is a relatively new Feast Day… it is less than 100 years old. The first one was in 1925, as a result of a papal encyclical by Pope Pius XI. Like many things in the Church, this decision had as much to do with politics as it did theology.  

In the 1920’s, Italy was in political turmoil with the rise of Mussolini’s fascist regime. At the heart of fascism was secularism – the belief that all wisdom, power, and authority come from the State, not the Church or anywhere else.  Secularism was on the rise all over Europe, and the potential for irrelevance was beginning to loom large over the Roman Catholic Church. For Pope Pius XI, the most tangible threat came when the fascist regime threatened to take away land and property from the Vatican. Vatican City was under siege. Jesus Christ was under siege.

So, Pius XI issued a Papal Encyclical to address the threat of increasing secularism brought on by fascist regimes. The encyclical mandated that the Church would institute the “Feast of our Lord, Jesus Christ, King of the Universe.” Not much beating around the bush with that name! The purpose of the feast was to ensure: 

            1. That nations would see that the Church has the right to           freedom, and immunity from the state.
            2. That leaders and nations would see that they are bound to give        respect to Christ.
            3. That the faithful would gain strength and courage from the    celebration of the feast, as we are reminded that Christ must reign    in our hearts, minds, wills, and bodies.

Did it work? Well, I’d say yes and no. Did the Vatican keep their land and property? Yes. Does Christ truly reign in all of the hearts, wills, minds, and bodies of all people in all nations? Not yet; and perhaps, not even close if we’re truly honest with ourselves.

So, while Christianity is perhaps no longer under attack from totalitarian regimes in Europe like it was in the 1920s, I do feel like it is under attack…and it has been for a while. As we get closer to Christmas, no doubt will we begin hear the media pundits lament over how Christ has been taken out of Christmas. Secularism, pluralism, liberalism, and political correctness will be the Grinches that are stealing the baby Jesus out of Christmas. Heck, if you gave them the chance, they’d try to steal the whole tableau!

But I will go out on a limb and say that I don’t think these forces are causing a threat to the Kingship of Christ. Whether you agree with them or not, these forces are simply seeking to redistribute power. And those who have the power usually don’t like giving it up. And for most of our nation’s relatively short life, we Christians have been the ones in power. So, when the demographics change and we have to begin considering the fact that Christianity cannot be assumed to be the norm for all people, it can be difficult for us. 

But I think that it is much more difficult for us than it is for Christ. My guess is that terms like “Winter Vacation” and “Happy Holidays” bother us much more than it bothers him. He grew up in a world where his people – the Jews – had no power in the political sphere. He lived his entire life on the margins of both the political and religious powers-that-be. He spent his entire public ministry challenging the power systems that were in place – oftentimes turning them on the heads, proclaiming that the last will be first and the first will be last. 

But his goal wasn’t to topple the powers of this world so that he and his followers could hop in place and begin to act just like the regime they overthrew. If that were the goal, there would have been no triumphal entry followed by death on the cross. There would have been triumphal entry followed by a military coup.

So as unappealing as many of us might find the forces of secularism, pluralism, liberalism, and political correctness to be, I don’t think that they are a threat to the Kingship of Christ. They may be a threat to Constantinian Christianity in the spirit of Constantine, but not in the spirit of Jesus Christ. I believe this because I don’t think Christ’s understanding of power is the same as ours. While we in this country find ourselves either grabbing for or trying to hold on to power, Christ wanted to redefine it. This self-emptying way of being the King of kings and Lord of lords was scandalous not just to his followers but to his opponents as well. Peter, Judas Iscariot, and Pontius Pilate were all perplexed and scandalized by Jesus’ understanding of kingship and power. And if we are honest with ourselves, so are we. 

With the Papal Encyclical of 1925, I think that Pius XI was fighting fire with fire so to speak. If the fascists were going to try to take over Europe, they were going to have a fight on their hands from the Church. And while I agree whole heartedly with the three principles of the encyclical, once the fascists and communists were finally defeated in Europe, can we say that Christ truly began to reign in the hearts, minds, wills, and bodies of all Europeans? Or does the struggle for power and kingship continue? I think the power struggles will always continue – in Europe and all over the world – as long as we continue to grasp for or try to hold on to the power and kingship of this world. The stakeholders may change, but when the rules stay the same, there is no opportunity for the seismic shift of Christ’s kingship to take hold in our hearts. That is why Jesus scolded Peter for cutting the ear off of the soldier who arrested him. And that is why, when Pilate asked Jesus if he was king of the Jews, he replied, “My kingdom does not belong to this world. If my kingdom did belong to this world, my attendants would be fighting to keep me from being handed over to the Jews. But as it is, my kingdom is not here." So, Pilate said to him, "Then you are a king?" Jesus answered, "You say I am a king. For this I was born and for this I came into the world - to testify to the truth.”

So, what sort of King is Christ? If not Constantine, or Mussolini, or FDR, or Churchill, or even Pope Pius XI, then who? Our gospel lesson for today gives us a glimpse of what Christ the King looks like, and what his kingdom looks like. A King who demands that we care for the hungry, thirsty, naked, and sick; and that we care for the stranger and the prisoner is the sort of ruler Christ is. Quite frankly, if I’m truly honest with myself, in the short term I’m much better off with whoever we put in the Oval Office, regardless of their political party. Because no matter who it is, he or she will demand a lot less of me and my fellow Americans than Christ does. If we take our calling as Christians seriously, and if we take the Bible seriously, being a disciple of Jesus Christ is the most insanely difficult thing we could ever be called to do. And don’t let Moral Therapeutic Deism movement try to convince you otherwise. But as our gospel text reminds us, the reward is great for those who are up for the challenge.

Five days after Christians all over the United States proclaim Christ as their King, and two days before the First Sunday of Advent, the season when we are called to prepare ourselves the way of the Lord, millions of Christians will be lined up at Wal-Mart, Target, Outlet Malls, Shopping Centers, or online, paying tribute to their king. Fights will break out, quality time with the family will be sacrificed, and crippling consumer debt will be taken on, all in the name of shopping for Christmas. Meanwhile, televisions will broadcast laments from Christian talk show hosts that Christ has been taken out of Christmas because of phrases like “Happy Holidays” and “Winter Vacation.” 

My guess is that Christ the King is watching us and agreeing that he is missing in many of our lives. No nation has gotten it right in the 2,000+ years since Christ rose from the dead. But that doesn’t mean that we should stop trying. Perhaps we should start with the words from the  Psalm that was appointed for today: “Know this: the Lord Himself is God.”

And then, taking a cue from the Apostle Paul, “Let’s pray that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of Glory, may give us a spirit of wisdom and revelation as we come to know him, so that, with the eyes of our hearts enlightened, we may know what is the hope to which he has called us.”  

Indeed, Christ is King. Let’s make him our King.  

One way that I usually begin my sermon preparation is to go back and read sermons I have written for the particular passage in the past. For one thing, it is very interesting to see what I wrote three or six years ago. My response is usually somewhere between “That sermon was actually pretty good” to “Wait a minute…I preached that sermon?” 

This week, my search came up empty. I’ve never preached on the Parable of Talents, but can you blame me? Every church I have served has been primarily made up of folks for whom our country’s socio-economic system has worked well. In places I’ve served, most of my parishioners don’t need reminding that wise investments can be rewarding and typically generate more money with which one can make more wise investments. 

If anything, I believe that we – and I put myself at the top of the list - need to be continually reminded of our Christian duty to care for those who have less resources than we do, for whatever reason. And I believe that we should err on the side of not blaming those who are less fortunate than we are for their struggles, just as we shouldn’t congratulate ourselves for our own success. The easiest way for us to hoard our resources is to believe that we got what we deserved, and others get what they deserved. When we get into those sorts of scenarios, we essentially become functional atheists, because we eliminate God’s grace, mercy, and providence from the conversation. 

On the surface, the Parable of Talents seems to encourage this sort of atheistic self-sufficiency, and that is likely why I have always avoided preaching on it. But an article by Min-ah Cho[1] in Sojourners’ magazine helped me think about this passage in a new way. She points out that “if we read the text in relation to the overall theme of Matthew’s gospel, the parable shows us something consistent with the rest of Jesus’ teaching. What the third servant lacks is reflective thinking. He didn’t make an effort for joyful kingdom participation, because he didn’t trust the master as much as his own ability to be part of the master’s plan. Instead, he locked himself into a closet of mistrust and doubt, while complaining and grinding his teeth.” In other words, he had already cast himself into the “outer darkness” that Jesus was speaking of.

Of course, I have to be careful using this imagery, especially since the covid-19 numbers are rising at a frighteningly fast rate. Many people feel like being locked away in a closet these days is actually the wisest thing to do, and who can blame them? For the most vulnerable among us, self-quarantine may be the wisest investment for the future. 

Regardless of how we are personally choosing to deal with the covid-19 pandemic, one thing that applies to all of us is Paul’s message to the Church in Rome that “the gifts and calling of God are irrevocable.” When we are baptized, we are sealed by the Holy Spirit in baptism and marked as Christ’s own forever. But with this holy gift comes responsibility and accountability, whether we are out and about or we stay home. 

In another Sojourners’ article, Robert Roth points out that in today’s section of Paul’s letter to the Thessalonians, Paul is appealing to their common interest in mutual accountability, using the image of the “breastplate of faith and love.” “Therefore,” he writes, “encourage one another and build up each other.” These words couldn’t be more appropriate for us today. In an era when it is common to witness the tearing down of one another, our Christian calling is to encourage and build up, not discourage and tear down. 

Roth goes on to assert that “at face value and out of context, the Parable of the Talents might read like a preamble to get-rich prosperity theology… In context, the talents represent any resources that might be expanded in the service of God’s providence and rule. We must own our own collective values, decisions, and stewardship. Like those slaves, we are entrusted with much of sacred value. And also like them, we are accountable.”

So, what does encouragement, mutual building up and accountability, and stewardship of the gifts we have been given look like in this very strange time in which we live? Can we, if we choose to remain mostly away from other people – and our church - still use our gifts that God has given us? Can we still remain accountable to God and our neighbor? My answer is a resounding “yes!”, and Christ the King Episcopal Church is living proof of that. One rightfully could say that 2020 might be the worst year of their lifetime. Churches all over the world can rightfully claim that 2020 has been a crippling year for their mission, ministries, and even their mere survival.

But whenever this pandemic ends – and hopefully the Pfizer vaccine will prove effective and accessible sooner rather than later – we at Christ the King can look back and take account of how we have stewarded the gifts we have been given. During this God-awful pandemic, our vestry has moved forward with two of the initiatives that were already in the works – the construction of a new building for our Parish Day School and the hiring of our first-ever full-time Director of Family Faith Formation. These two initiatives were initially made possible by generous financial gifts. But rather than burying these gifts in the ground and hunkering down until the pandemic passed, our vestry boldly chose to continue the momentum we already had and move forward with these initiatives. They chose to take a leap of faith, trusting that God’s providence and our faithful use of these gifts would prevail, as has been the case in years past here at CtK.

Deacon Ed Richards’ several-year tenure of serving our sister parishes in Panama City Beach ended a couple of weeks ago. Ed could have easily just retired, or at least perhaps taken a break until after the pandemic ended. He certainly has earned a break! But when Bishop Russell appointed Ed to our parish, Ed boldly and faithfully accepted to call – and he did so a week early! Ed chose not to bury the gifts of his call to diaconal ministry and he is modeling for us the faithful stewardship of the gifts with which God has blessed him. And because of this, incarcerated people in the Florida panhandle are still being ministered to by Ed and his prison ministry colleagues in a time when they need it most. With that bold, faithful approach to ministry, Ed will no doubt fit in well and inspire us here at Christ the King.

So, when folks who have been away for most of 2020 return to Christ the King sometime next year, they will be greeted by a beautiful new school building, a thriving new children’s and youth minister and program, and a Deacon helping us broaden our mission out into the world. To use Min ah-Cho’s words, the folks at Christ the King are “mak[ing] an effort for joyful kingdom participation,” and we are trust[ing] the master’s plan over our own. We have chosen not to lock [ourselves] into a closet of mistrust and doubt, while complaining and grinding our teeth.” While many of us have wisely chosen to stay home for our own health, as a whole, the mission and ministries of Christ the King have not only continued, they have expanded and thrived. And that is evidence of a parish who has been faithful stewards of the gifts with which God has blessed us. And that is evidence of a parish made up of people who choose to not be dominated by fear and anxiety. Or to use Mon ah-Cho’s words, we are operating under an ethic of “common interest in mutual accountability.” It is as if our mantra this year has been Christ’s words in today’s parable” “For to all those who have, more will be given, and they will have an abundance.” 

In my preaching, teaching, and leadership, I tend to err on the side of challenging, nudging, and even prodding. Sometimes I perhaps am a little too relentless in that regard. But as we begin wrapping up a year that has been marked by an unexpected, unprecedented, horrific pandemic combined with the most divisive political climate in my lifetime, I can also say, surprisingly, that it is perhaps the most gratifying year that I have ever had as a priest in the Church. And that is in large part because of you – those of you here today and those of you who have been faithfully participating from afar. By God’s grace, the people of Christ the King have navigated this challenging year with grace, fortitude, forgiveness, hope, flexibility, and steadfast faith. You have learned to use Zoom. You have learned to appreciate worship on a computer screen even though it wouldn’t be your first choice. You have learned to hum along with a hymn through a mask when you long to sing. You have learned to pass the peace with a nod of the head instead of a handshake or hug. You have paid your pledge even if it has been a financially tough year. You have done countless things that embody Christ’s call for us to be good stewards of the gifts we have been given. You have stepped out in faith, hope, love, and charity. And for that I am grateful. And for that I am not only blessed and humbled – I am overjoyed to serve as your rector. Thank you for joining God in motivating and inspiring me to do the work I have been called to do at this place and at this time. This is truly an exciting time to be here at Christ the King. I truly believe that God will continue to bless us so that we may be a blessing to our community, our diocese, and to the world. And for that, I am grateful.

[1] Assistant Professor of theology and spirituality at St. Catherine University in St. Paul, MN.

Sermon

Few human events are more weighted emotionally than weddings. Parents invest heavily—time, energy, creativity, resources, love, and hope—in the marriage ceremony for a beloved daughter or son. Because they are so loaded with emotional content, weddings are actually fragile events, with lots of potential for mishap, and even disaster. For one thing, the main characters—the bride, the groom, and their parents—are stretched thin, and deep feelings come easily to the surface. There are tears at weddings, and profound hope, but also sometimes anger, resentment, and frustration. In the midst of all that, things can go wrong and often do. In private conversations clergy share stories of wedding near-disasters: the best man got lost and never made it to the rehearsal, the bridal dress was the wrong size, the flowers were not delivered, the groom forgot the license.

It is significant that near the end of his life, at the time for summing up, Jesus chose this most human, emotionally loaded event as the context for a parable about the kingdom: "The kingdom of heaven will be like this."

It helps to know a bit about the wedding customs of the day. Weddings in Jesus' day were every bit as emotionally freighted as ours today, with the same potential for mishap. Guests assembled at the home of the bride and were entertained by her parents while waiting for the groom. When the bridegroom approached, the guests, including the bridesmaids, lighted torches and went out to greet him. In a festive procession, the entire party walked to the groom's home where his parents were waiting for the ceremony and the extended banquet that would follow and continue for several days. Jesus, his mother, and his disciples were guests at such a wedding in Cana. 

In this parable, for whatever reason, the groom does not show up on time; the hours pass, and many of the waiting wedding party fall asleep. Finally, at midnight, they are awakened with a shout, "He's coming." The bridesmaids leap into action, trim their lamps, and head out to meet him. Five of the ten have used up their oil and have no reserves. Their attempt to borrow some from their wiser, more prudent sisters is rejected. Frantically, they set out in search of oil, not easy at midnight, and in the process miss the procession. When they finally arrive at the groom's home, they are locked out and dismissed. "Keep awake," Jesus concludes, "You do not know the day nor the hour." Staying alert, waiting purposefully, being prepared, is the message here.

The early Christians had to adjust to the reality that Jesus did not return as they fully expected, and that their mission was to wait expectantly and in the meantime live faithfully, courageously, hopefully. It is our mission still. At the heart of our faith is the certainty that human history has a purpose and a goal and that it is moving toward eventual fulfillment and completion. We do not articulate it very well, and (in fact) sometimes we avoid this topic because of its abuse by popular eschatologists, who sell lots of books describing the end of history in graphic and (mostly) violent terms and who focus on the end times to the neglect of this time, this world.

That is not the point here. The point is living expectantly and hopefully. Christian hope rests on trust that the God who created the world will continue to love the world with gentle providence, will continue the process of creation until the project is complete, and will continue to redeem and save the world by coming into it with love and grace, in Jesus Christ.

Christian hope is as big as the whole sweep of human history, but also as small as each individual. Ultimate issues have been resolved for the human race, but also for each of us individually. In every congregation are faithful people genuinely frightened about where human history seems to be headed. Freedom, justice, and compassion seem fragile in the face of the forces of oppression, injustice, violence, and torture. Living in hope does not mean immunity to the harsh realities of history. On the contrary, it means living confidently and expectantly, trusting that the Lord of history continues to come into life with compassion and redemption and hope.

The challenge here is to keep enough oil on hand for the lamps when the bridegroom appears, to roll up sleeves and work for the kingdom that is always coming and breaking into history.

Also in every congregation are people genuinely afraid for their own personal future, perhaps facing serious illness, surgery, or loss of employment. They, and each of us, need to hear the good news that the bridegroom will come, that the love of God will continue to appear in our lives in surprising and unexpected ways:

• —Jesus Christ comes when Christian people live in hope and never give up.

• —Jesus Christ comes when faithful disciples express love and compassion and work for justice.

• —Jesus Christ comes when critically ill people know they are ultimately safe in God's love.

• —Heaven breaks into earth when faithful women and men live in hope and give themselves to the work of the kingdom.

Rainer Maria Rilke wrote a series of letters to a young military officer who wished to be a poet. In one of them he responds to the young man's lament that he had lost his belief in God:

“Why don't you think of him as the one who is coming, who has been approaching from all eternity? … What keeps you from projecting his birth into the ages that are coming into existence, and living your life as a painful and lovely day in the history of a great pregnancy? “

I’d like to begin this morning with a Prayer Book lesson. So, if you’ll humor me for a moment, please open a Book of Common Prayer to page 324. As you will see, this is the opening section of the Rite I service for the Holy Eucharist. The top of page 324 comes immediately after the Collect for Purity – “Almighty God, to you, all hearts are open, all desires known, and from you no secrets are hid…”. What comes next is a rubric that says:

Then the Ten Commandments may be said, or the following

Hear what our Lord Jesus Christ saith:
Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with
all thy soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and great
commandment. And the second is like unto it: Thou shalt
love thy neighbor as thyself. On these two commandments
hang all the Law and the Prophets.

The first thing we should notice is that we are not required to recite the Ten Commandments or the Summary of the Law. The rubric in italics says that we “may” say them. As the celebrant, I almost always choose to include the Summary of the Law. I believe that it’s simply too important - and too foundational to the Christian faith - to leave out. 

Now, turn to the opening section of the Rite II service for the Holy Eucharist, which is found on pages 355 and 356. Here, you’ll notice that we are not given the option of reciting the Ten Commandments or the Summary of the Law. And I think that omission is a grievous mistake. As I said before, I believe that it’s simply too important - and too foundational to the Christian faith - to leave out. 

Now, under normal circumstances, we typically have an 8:00 Rite I service and a 10:30 Rite II service here at Christ the King,. And since I am the only priest here, I have the privilege of serving as the celebrant at both services every week. And early on in my time here, I began notice and deeply miss the inclusion of the Summary of the Law in the Rite II service. So, at some point, I made the choice to include the Summary of the Law in every service we have – whether it is Rite I or Rite II. The bottom line is, we forget most sermons we hear. In the Anglican tradition, we believe that our primary vehicle for formation is the liturgy – as the saying goes – “our prayer shapes our belief.”  So, if you worship here at Christ the King regularly, if you remember only one thing, I want it to be Jesus’ Summary of the Law. I want you to hear, mark, and inwardly digest the two commandments upon which hang all the law and prophets. And I don’t want you to have to come at 8:00am to experience that.

Now that I’ve explained why I include it in our weekly celebration of the Eucharist – regardless of whether we are using Rite I or Rite II – let’s move on to the fact that today, we heard the Summary of the Law twice, as it was also in our Gospel lesson. And the timing of this Summary of the Law two-fer couldn’t have been more providential. This past Friday, we mailed the 2021 Annual Giving Pledge packets to the congregation. Please be on the lookout for it, and if you don’t receive one this week, please let us know and we will send you one. 

In last week’s Gospel lesson, Jesus told his antagonists that we are to give to the emperor what is the emperor’s and give to God what is God’s. And that is a classic text for a stewardship sermon, and it is timely, as most churches are thinking about stewardship this time of year. But I think today’s lesson is just as appropriate for helping us think about how we order our priorities as it relates to stewardship.

Like last week, Jesus has been put into a potential bind when his antagonists asked him a question that appears to leave no room for an acceptable answer. It’s like when someone asks who your favorite child is. But like last week, Jesus doesn’t take their bait today, and instead offers an answer that ends up being one of his most-quoted lines in all of scripture. Instead of neglecting to see the forest for the trees by trying to choose a most important commandment, Jesus is able to see the bigger picture and purpose of the Law. In his answer, Jesus is reminding his antagonists – and us – that at the end of the day, our religious life can be boiled down to two things – loving God and loving our neighbor – in that order. As a side note - I’m always nervous about preachers and churches who talk a lot about loving and doing nice things for their neighbors without drawing the connection to the Ultimate Source of love, God himself. So just like Jesus did, we are to first love God, and from there that love will extend to our neighbors. 

One of the essential elements of our religious life is stewardship. How we make use of – how we steward - the gifts we have been given by God is a true mark of our spiritual maturity as individuals, households, and as a parish church. And I think that Jesus’ approach to the Law can help us with our approach to becoming mature stewards of God’s gifts. Again, when Jesus narrowed the Law down to two essential elements - loving God and loving our neighbor- he was asserting the importance of priorities and perspective. And priorities and perspective are what stewardship is all about. When we are invited to make a pledge to our parish church, we are being invited to articulate and embody our love for God and our neighbor. If we say that we love God and our neighbor, but don’t make a sacrificial financial commitment to our church, then there is a disconnect that needs to be explored.

Though there are more non-profits competing for charitable gifts than ever before, I believe that the parish church is the best and most reliable vehicle for allowing us to embody our love for God and our neighbor. This is because the parish church is not asking us to be charitable. We are being invited into something much deeper than charity. We are being asked to faithfully, graciously, and sacrificially embody our love of God and our neighbor. As such, all of our missional outreach is grounded first and foremost in our love for God. Therefore, as Christians, the primary motive for serving others is gratitude, not guilt, pity, or even charity. This is because as Christians, we recognize that everything we have is a gift from God – the Great Gift Giver. So, our offering to the church is simply our grateful response to God. And we must remember that our outreach and mission to the world must always flow from the baptismal font to the altar, and from the altar into the world. 

When we look at our annual budget at Christ the King – when we look at the funding of our mission and ministries – we will see a reflection of our values as a parish church. A question we should always ask is, “Does this budget show a church that loves God and our neighbor above everything else?” Another way of talking about this evaluation is in terms of employing a Strategic Filter. Whenever we are faced with a large budgeting decision, a Strategic Filter that we could apply to the decision is – “Does this ministry expense assist us in furthering our missional priority of loving God and our neighbor?” 

And the same goes for us an individuals and families. What are our priorities? If someone were to look at my personal calendar and my household budget, what priorities would they see? Would they see to someone who is seeking to love God and their neighbor over and above anything else? Whenever Emily and I are faced with a big purchase, we oftentimes end up having to admit – if we buy this, we will not be able to afford our 10% tithe to the church. We can’t do both. And the tithe always wins out. And we have never regretted making our tithe a priority, because the more we give, the more gratified we feel. It helps us keep our priorities in line.

A fairly clever stewardship pamphlet published by Forward Movement draws a comparison between pledging to our parish church and tipping at a restaurant. It asserts that when we tip at a restaurant, we do so after we have received our meal, and we usually base it on how satisfied we were with the service and overall dining experience. Our tip is a conditional – “after the fact” transaction that says, “Thank you for your service.” 

Most of us begin our journey of financial giving to the church in a similar fashion – we may drop a “tip” in the offering plate on a Sunday if we are particularly moved by our worship experience. Our next step might be when we move from being occasional plate givers to pledgers. But our annual pledge still might be more like a “tip” for a job well-done by the church. In this scenario, the annual pledge is based primarily on one’s level of satisfaction with the clergy, staff, worship, and ministries of the church. The more satisfied we are - the more our personal needs and expectations are met – the more we will give. 

The previous two scenarios aren’t inherently bad -  we are all on the journey towards more faithful and sacrificial giving and none of us have fully “arrived.” But these approaches to giving back to God through the church aren’t where we should ultimately strive to be. Dare I say that our giving should be grounded not in how much we like our parish church, but rather, how much we seek to love God and our neighbor. Our parish church is simply the vehicle through which we are able to best embody our love for God and our neighbor. It is where we worship and commune with God through the sacramental life of the church. It is where we are able to share our love for God – as well as God’s love for us - with others. The parish church is where we are best able to be reminded of and embody our belief that “All things come of the Thee, and of Thy own have we given Thee.”  It is where God is best able to, as our Collect of the Day says, “… obtain what [God] promise[s],” and where God has chosen to  “make us love what [God] commands.” 

When you receive your Annual Giving packet in the mail this week, please prayerfully consider how God is calling you – and calling us as a parish church – to be faithful stewards of the gifts God has given us. And to echo what we heard today from the Apostle Paul in his letter to the Thessalonians, “our appeal does not spring from deceit or impure motives or trickery, but just as we have been approved by God to be entrusted with the message of the gospel, even so we speak, not to please mortals, but to please God who tests our hearts.”