Every now and then, somebody will ask me what my favorite Bible verse is. But you know, I don’t tend to like that question, because, quite frankly, Bible verses aren’t what make me love the Bible. 

The stories of the Bible are what made me fall in love with Holy Scripture. Now, some of you might find it odd that I would pick this day to talk about my preference for stories over sound bites, because in our gospel reading we have perhaps the most well-known one-liner in all of scripture: “For God so loved the world the he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but have eternal life.” But when I was a child in Sunday School, we learned Bible stories, not Bible verses. And as great as John 3:16 is, it has never captured my imagination like a good story.

When I was a child, the stories of David and Goliath and blind Bartimaeus stuck with me. Bible memory verses never did. For me, the power of narrative has the power to transform because I can usually put myself in the story, and thus draw meaning from it. So if I were an unchurched person and you were going to try to talk to me about salvation, I’d much more likely be drawn in by the story of the transformation of Nicodemus throughout the gospel of John than I would you telling me that if I believed in Jesus I wouldn’t perish.

I mention Nicodemus because that is who Jesus is talking to when we hear today’s gospel reading. The context within which our gospel reading falls is a rather intriguing conversation between Jesus and the Nicodemus. It appears that Nicodemus, who was a Pharisee, was wrestling with what to make of Jesus – this teacher, healer, and prophet who was embodying an entirely new way of interpreting the Law. Jesus was taking Nicodemus and the Pharisees’ entire way of being faithfully Jewish and turning it upside down.

But what is remarkable to me is that Nicodemus chose to engage Jesus in an entirely different way that the others. It appears that he was interested in having a conversation with Jesus, so he approached Jesus with genuine curiosity, not animosity. Unlike the other Pharisees we see in scripture, he wasn’t trying to trap Jesus, or engage him in a public debate. And I believe that it was Nicodemus’ non-antagonistic approach to dealing with Jesus that in the end made room for his transformation, conversion, and indeed his salvation. And as the Body of Christ, I think we can learn a lot by examining how Nicodemus wrestled with the issue of salvation by engaging Jesus in a conversation, not an argument.

The first thing he says to Jesus is, “Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher who has come from God; for no one can do these signs apart from the presence of God.” Jesus responds by telling Nicodemus that in order to see the kingdom of God, one must be born from above, or born anew. Of course, this was an odd way of understanding salvation for a Pharisee, because for them, strict adherence to the Law was what mattered the most. 

But rather than screaming “blasphemy!”, Nicodemus asked a question. He wanted to know how the heck somebody could be born after growing old. What do they do, crawl back into their mother’s womb?!  Interpreters of scripture usually read this response from Nicodemus, and because he is a Pharisee, write him off as too stuck in his ways to understand Jesus’ new way of seeing the kingdom of God. He is blinded by his narrow mindedness. For us in the South, “born again” language is simply part of the DNA of our culture. Even if we’re not Baptists, we’ve heard it and know what it means. But for a first century Jewish Pharisee, being “born again” wasn’t everyday language. So I don’t blame Nicodemus for his confusion.

Jesus attempts to explain what he means by being born from above, but Nicodemus remains perplexed, and asks Jesus, “How can these things be?” And again, I don’t blame him for asking. If we’re honest with ourselves, we all should be perplexed, dumbfounded, and amazed by the audacity of God’s saving grace for all of God’s people.

The reason I am going backwards in scripture this morning to rehash the encounter between Nicodemus and Jesus is that I feel like we are done a disservice by only getting verses 14-21 of the story. Without the context of Nicodemus having a transformative conversation with Jesus, all we get is Jesus waxing poetically into thin air about salvation. I need the larger story of salvation told to me through many smaller stories; through holy conversations with other people who like me oftentimes wonder how these things can be. 

Remember, when Nicodemus approached Jesus in the night, Jesus knew that he was a Pharisee. For all Jesus knew, Nicodemus could have been coming to turn him over to the authorities. And on the flip side, Nicodemus perhaps could have been condemned for having a secret meeting with the enemy.

But Nicodemus and Jesus were willing to take the potentially life threatening risk of meeting together that night. Nicodemus had the courage to go. Jesus had the courage to invite him in. And the courage that they both showed ended up being a story of salvation, not just for Nicodemus, but for the countless number of people who have heard and been transformed by Jesus’ words to Nicodemus that evening.

One thing that has always frustrated me about this story is that we don’t hear how Jesus and Nicodemus wrap things up. After Jesus finishes a brief homily on matters of salvation, the story abruptly ends. No response from Nicodemus, and no parting words from our narrator John. I mean, come on! Did Nicodemus immediately drop to his knees and say that he believed that Jesus was the messiah and get saved?  The text remains silent for the time being, which I have now come to believe is brilliant on John’s part.

We next hear from Nicodemus in chapter seven, when the Pharisees are upset with the chief police for not arresting Jesus. Out of nowhere, Nicodemus says, “Our law does not judge people without first giving them a hearing to find out what they are doing, does it?” It appears that his conversation with Jesus had indeed been a transformative one for Nicodemus. His wheels were turning. 

We only hear about Nicodemus one more time in John’s gospel. But this time, he doesn’t say a word. But his actions speak much louder than any words he could have said.  It was Nicodemus the Pharisee who, along with Joseph of Arimathea, asked Pilate if they could remove Jesus’ body from the cross to give him a proper burial. And it was Nicodemus the Pharisee who brought 100 pounds of myrrh and aloes to use to treat Jesus’ body for burial. This is the same Nicodemus who was perplexed when Jesus told him about being born from above. This is the same Nicodemus that asked Jesus, “How can these things be?” 

My guess is that Pilate and those around the crucifixion site asked the same question when Nicodemus the Pharisee removed Jesus’ body from the cross and began treating it with spices for burial. “How can these things be?”

Now that is a great story. It is a great story about two people coming together from opposite sides of the aisle so to speak and having a conversation about things that really matter. My guess is that if Nicodemus had immediately confessed that Jesus was the Messiah, John would have told us about it by giving us a sound bite. But we don’t get a sound bite from Nicodemus. But we do get snapshots of his transformation.   

And that is why this story is so powerful for me. My faith journey wasn’t ignited by a one-time, mountaintop moment where I went from total unbelief to total belief. As an adult, my faith journey has been a lot like Nicodemus’. I had a lot of questions that I wanted and that I still want to ask Jesus. I needed time and experiences to draw me closer to Jesus. I’m certainly not where I was ten years ago and I’m not even where I was one year ago. And I am still perplexed by so much of what I encounter in our Holy Scriptures.

But the story told in the 3rd chapter of John’s gospel gives me permission to be perplexed, and to ask, “How can these things be?” No, the whole story won’t fit on a bumper sticker, on a sign at a football game, or under an automated email signature. But if we take the time to be curious, to ask the tough questions, and to risk being transformed by the answers, we too will have our own transformative story to tell.

There is a fascinating connection between the first Creation narrative in Genesis and the Decalogue - more commonly known as the Ten Commandments. In both stories, God speaks the exact same number of times. Making note of this connection, Canadian priest Jeff Boldt points out that “[God’s] commandments - his words - shape everything from formless matter. And, therefore, when humanity breaks the commandments, creation returns to its formless state.”

Boldt goes on to talk about how, through the creation of the world, and later the giving of the Decalogue to his people, God was asserting the need for boundaries. In creation, God drew boundaries between the heavens and the earth, night and day, darkness and light, water from above and water below, dry land and sea, and humankind and other creatures. What was once a “formless void” now had form and structure. There were boundaries. As such, God’s creation was poised to thrive as God intended.

The second creation narrative - the story of Adam and Eve - also uses boundaries as a way of revealing God’s purposes for God’s creation. In this narrative, the boundaries are drawn between the Garden - called “Eden” - and the land that was “East of Eden,” as well as male and female, humankind and other creatures, and what belonged to God and what belonged to humankind. There wasn’t exactly a “formless void” mentioned in the beginning, but the premise still holds true. Before the creation, in both narratives, there was nothing. After the creation, God’s abundance was revealed and experienced in large part through boundaries, or put another way, God’s abundance was revealed and experienced through separate places, matter, and things.

The second creation narrative more explicitly tells the story of the consequences of our violating the boundaries that God has established for us. When Adam and Eve violate the boundary that was established for them by eating the fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil - God expels them from the Garden with the words we recite on Ash Wednesday - “...remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” In other words, the destiny of humanity reverted to our pre-creation state - a formless void. As Jeff Boldt points out, then and now “chaos follows disobedience.” But the chaos isn’t just disturbance or inconvenience, it is a dis-integration of God’s created order. And the boundaries that hold together God’s created order are physical boundaries and they are moral boundaries. And they are inseparable. As was the case in the Garden, where there was moral decay, and physical decay followed.

Those of us who are parents, teachers, musicians, or coaches know that boundaries aren’t just a good idea, they are essential. As a parent of a 2 and 4 year old, I know well that a lack of structure quickly devolves into a formless void and decay. And the violation of moral and physical boundaries begin to blur. Indeed, chaos follows disobedience. 

When implemented justly, boundaries promote freedom, whether for toddlers, teenagers, or adults. In a sermon for the 3rd Sunday in Lent, Fleming Rutledge pointed out that St. Augustine called the Decalogue “the Christian’s charter to freedom.” She then points us to Paul Lehman’s assertion that, “The tonality [of the Ten Commandments] does not sound like, ‘This you do or else.’ It sounds, rather, like ‘Seeing that you are who you are, this is the way ahead, the way of being and living in the truth, the way of freedom.’”

“Seeing that you are who you are…” That to me is the critical point. The Decalogue isn’t a general listing of wise sayings; it’s not natural law; it’s not conventional or folk wisdom. To use Fleming Rutledge’s phrase, it is not prescriptive, but descriptive. [The Decalogue] shows the way of life for God’s children.” 

When the people of God first received these commandments, they were doing so as a people who had recently been liberated from slavery. The Israelites had been held within the boundaries of enslavement for generations. But after their celebratory freedom dance, they had begun to lose their way in the wilderness. Their lack of boundaries - their disobedience - led to chaos. 

And so, the Decalogue begins with God saying, “I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery…”. So God was calling upon his people to remember from where they came, remember who God is, and that this same God had released them from the chaos of bondage. As such, God was asking them to trust him as he gave them these new boundaries - this new creation - within which they were to live. He was inviting them to recognize that what might initially seem restrictive would actually be liberating, and would put them back on course. This new law would prevent them from slowly decaying into the formless void out of which they were created and to which they were headed. Why? Because God gave this law to them. And they are God’s people. As such, they are to trust and obey God. On a much smaller scale, it is the same reason I respond to my inquiring children with, “Because I am your parent, and I know what is best for you.” 

Healthy boundaries are essential for all people to thrive in community. That is why we value the best of what we understand as law and justice in our secular society. In our religious context, we also need the boundaries that God set forth for us to thrive. And as Christians, we have to be careful not to ignore the Law as given in the Ten Commandments because, after the Christ event, we are freed from the Law. Rather, as Christians, we are to read and follow the Commandments through the lens of Jesus Christ. We are to recognize that it is only through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ that we too are invited to be a part of God’s covenant people. It is by grace alone that we are incorporated into the family of God. 

I love that in generations past, during Lent and at other times throughout the Church year, churches in the Anglican tradition would begin worship services with the Penitential Order and the Decalogue like we did today. And while we do not do that very often these days, I think that we should. As Christians, we owe it to God and to ourselves to know the Ten Commandments and teach them to our children. And what I love about the full reading of the Decalogue in the Prayer Book is that after each commandment, we respond with “Lord have mercy upon us, and incline our hearts to keep this law.” In these responses, we are recognizing that the only way that we can avoid the moral and physical decay that comes with the dissolution of boundaries that God gave us is to rely solely on God’s grace and mercy. If left to our own devices, we, like the Israelites in the wilderness, will lose our way, our form, and our structure as the people of God. But through God’s grace, we have been given the gift of boundaries that hold us together. Lord have mercy, and incline our hearts to keep this law.

God's third enunciation of the covenant with Abram gives both Abram and the eavesdropping congregation a chance to explore the difference between faith and knowledge. The writer of Genesis made a point of telling us that Abram was seventy-five years old when God first came to him in Haran back in Chapter 12. Abram was eighty-six when Ishmael was born, the heir apparent of God's promise, renewed in Genesis 15. Now Abram is ninety-nine years old, listening to God repeat the promise of a son for the third time (nullifying Ishmael in the process). Twenty-four years have passed since Abram first heard this promise. If God had taken this long with Mary, she might have had gray hair by the time her baby came.

Abram and Sarai have not been sitting still through this long period. They have had ample opportunity to learn to trust God without knowing for sure how things will turn out. This trust led them to leave their home in Haran without a map to the land of promise. It allowed them to endure the grim vision of what lay in store for their descendants in the land of Egypt. It may even have been what saved their marriage after Abram convinced Sarai to lie to and with) Pharaoh in order to protect Abram's life!

This old couple is deeply flawed, yet they have remained faithful to God's promise. With no evidence that they will ever be parents of a single child, much less the parents of a nation, they have continued in relationship with God and one another. Their trust is unconditional. In years to come, three distinct religions will spring from this trust, claiming Abraham as their grandfather in faith. Their grandmothers will be different, but not their covenant with God. God will be their God, and they will be God's people.

In today's theophany, Abram and Sarai receive the divine renewal of that covenant, along with brand-new names: Abraham, father of a multitude; and Sarah, princess. For once, Sarah's participation is neither assumed nor implied. God makes her a full partner in this enterprise, both by giving her a name and by promising her a blessing of her own.

She is ninety, by biblical reckoning. Her husband is ninety-nine. Yet only now is their long engagement with God nearing its end. Their name changes signal both the ripeness of the relationship and its permanence. Biblical parallels include Jacob (renamed Israel) and Hoshea (who became Joshua). Contemporary parallels include not only marriage but also religious naming ceremonies at birth, circumcision, baptism, and puberty. Kings, queens, and popes often take new names to signify their new status, as do those who enter religious life through the profession of monastic vows. In every case, the new name signals new purpose.

Abraham and Sarah have no say-so in the matter. They do not choose their new names; God does. Yet God does not stand aloof from the name-change ceremony. "I am God Almighty," the Lord says to Abram at the opening of this chapter. English readers who check their footnotes will discover that this is the traditional rendering of the Hebrew El Shaddai, used here for the first time in Torah. Thus God gains a new name along with God's covenant partners ("I, El Shaddai, take thee Abraham and Sarah …"). In short order, this union will produce a son, the long-awaited Isaac.

This is the front story in today's passage, but there are backstories as well. In one commentary on Genesis, Terence Fretheim suggests that this is not a renewal of the covenant with Abraham but a revision of it. Ishmael has been Abraham's only son for thirteen years. For undisclosed reasons, he and his mother Hagar are now being replaced. Sarah is about to become the mother of note. Yet even as the biblical writers describe Hagar's and Ishmael's displacement, God's care for them remains consistent. Although Sarah will see to it that they are banished from Abraham's tent, God promises them a future too. God has more than one blessing to bestow.

Another backstory is the establishment of male circumcision as the sign of the covenant. The first two iterations of the covenant largely concern what God will do for Abraham: God will show him the way to a new land, will make of him a great nation, will bless him and make his name great. God will give him descendants as numerous as the stars. Only here does God mention what Abraham and his descendants will do for God: "Every male among you shall be circumcised". Torah offers no rationale for this commandment, but it is nonnegotiable. Those who fail to be circumcised will have broken the covenant .

One can only guess why these verses have been left out of the lectionary. Perhaps the subject matter was deemed too explicit for public worship? Whatever the reason, the omission deprives hearers of imagining Abraham's response to this new development in the covenant. His faithfulness will now require more of him than simply answering to his new name. He is about to become bodily involved. On the second Sunday of Lent, this point merits attention. We do not head straight to Easter from the spa or the shopping mall. Instead, we are invited to spend forty days examining the nature of our own covenant with God. Upon what does that relationship depend? What do we trust to give us life? What concrete practices allow us to become bodily involved with God? If we were to ask God for a new name, what might that name be? What new purpose might that name signify?

While Lent focuses naturally on the example of Jesus, Jesus focused just as naturally on the example of Abraham. Like his forebear in faith, Jesus walked toward God's promise with steady trust, leading God to give him a new name too: "You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased."

One of the most memorable and quotable  phrases from the marriage liturgy is “until death do us part.” I quoted the older version because that’s the one that we remember. Elizabethan English is as elegant as it is effectual. Sadly, some marriage rites these days have revised it to where it now says something to the effect of, “until we decide otherwise.” I kid you not.

When you think about it, that phrase “til death do us part” expresses a fundamental need that we human beings experience beginning at a very young age. I know a young couple who decided to become Foster Parents to a young boy. Well, a few months into this new relationship, it became clear that this boy’s home situation was not going to improve. His biological mother was unable to do the necessary things to regain custody of her child. So after much prayer and discernment, my friends agreed to adopt him. After a while, the boy began uncharacteristically acting out at home and at school. When I heard this, I wondered if his acting out has to do with his possibly being afraid that they won’t stay with him forever. It is as if he was testing them, trying to see if he could do something that would make them abandon him. I think, whether he knew it or not, he was probably questioning their love and commitment to him. And I don’t blame him one bit. Sadly, he is not the only person who has experienced the heartbreak of abandonment from somebody they thought would stay with them forever. 

I wonder what Noah and his family were thinking there on the ark, floating safely on the very same water that God had used to destroy everybody else. Were they feeling grateful? Scared? Guilty? I know when I was a child and I saw one of my friends getting paddled or switched, I was grateful that it wasn’t me; but I was also very aware that I could be next! So it was more like a cautious gratitude that I felt.  

Noah and his family survived the flood, but what next? Clearly, their God was capable of wrath and vengeance. What if they were to fall out of favor with God next time around? Likewise, once the honeymoon period was over, perhaps the little boy I mentioned earlier was afraid that he had fallen out of favor with his adoptive parents.  

It sure seems like God wanted to stay with Noah and his descendants forever when he says, “As for me, I am establishing my covenant with you and your descendants after you…I establish my covenant with you, that never again shall all flesh be cut off by the waters of a flood, and never again shall there be a flood to destroy the earth.” In other words, no matter what, I will stay with you forever. 

When I read this text, I also wonder if God might share in humankind’s tendency to need reminders from time to time. But how could an all powerful, all knowing God need to be reminded of something? I have no idea, but not once, but twice God says that when he sees the bow set upon the clouds, it will serve as a way for God to remember the covenant he has made with Noah and his descendants. We must assume that God is a person of his word. The covenant had been made between God and Noah. It is there in scripture for us to read. But we still need signs that we can see here and now. We still need that beautiful reminder in the sky. That reminder makes the covenant that much more real to us, and for God. 

Emily and I know that we  stood at an altar and exchanged vows, establishing a lifelong covenant with one another and with God. We even have the paperwork and photographs to prove it. But sometimes we still need to be reminded of that promise. We need to hear, “Yes, I will stay with you forever. Until death do us part.” 

The little boy was there at the courthouse when my friends adopted him. They have the paperwork and pictures to prove it. But through his entire childhood and adolescent years, he will need reminders from them that they will not do to him what his biological parents did to him. They will stay with him forever. 

So far, God has made good on his promise to humankind. God has stayed with us, in spite of our constant turning away from him. During the season of Christmas, we remember and celebrate the very incarnate reality that Jesus is Emmanuel - God is with us. Every week when we celebrate the Eucharist, we do so in remembrance that Christ has died, Christ is risen, and Christ will come again. Like his Father in Heaven did with Noah, Jesus knew that we would need a tangible reminder of his merciful, saving grace. But this reminder is not only one that we can see – it is one that we can touch and taste; it is a reminder in which we partake.  

On Ash Wednesday we received a reminder in the form of ashes sprinkled on our heads. We were reminded of our mortality - that we are dust and to dust we shall return. Now the season of Lent is upon us, we are reminded of our call to repent – to turn away from living only for ourselves and to turn back towards God. Turning towards the all-powerful, all knowing, almighty God can be a frightening thing. After all, this is the same God who sent the great flood. But this is also the same God who vowed to never do that again. This is the same God who made a covenant with Noah, and a covenant with us. And this is the same God who chose to be with us, in flesh and blood; to live and die as one of us, for all of us, reconciling us to Him, not because of who we are, but because of who God is.  

As we receive the Holy Eucharist this morning, let us taste and see that the Lord is good, and be empowered to turn around and face the God who is calling us back to Him; the God who has promised to stay with us in this life and in life everlasting.

It can take years - even decades - for new rituals to take hold and become a custom. But after we have wrestled with the meaning and purpose of these new rituals and they become a part of our routine, they can end up taking on an unintended life of their own. That certainly is the case in the Episcopal Church. The 1979 Prayer Book, among many things, introduced some new rituals into our worship - particularly as it pertains to Lent and Holy Week. Never before until the 1979 Prayer Book had there been the option to come to church, take your shoes off, and have somebody wash your feet. This particular ritual was met with a good bit of trepidation before it became a custom. After all, if we Episcopalians are anything, we are dignified and decorous. But after a few decades, the Maundy Thursday liturgy has now become known to many as the “foot washing service.” And people have come to expect to have their feet washed - and to wash someone else’s feet - when they come. 

A consequence of our being caught up in all of the hoopla around washing feet - whether we were advocating for it or against it - was the fact that the primary ritual we celebrate on Maundy Thursday is the Last Supper, and the resulting institution of the Holy Eucharist. But somehow, believe it or not, the Last Supper narrative has fallen in the shadows of foot washing on Maundy Thursdays. And so we now are moving towards having a “foot washing service” with an incidental celebration of the Eucharist.

And the same goes for Ash Wednesday. The 1979 Prayer Book’s introduction of the imposition of ashes was also met with a great deal of resistance. Along with going against our proclivity for dignity and decorum, it also just seemed far too “catholic” for the Episcopalians who leaned more to the Protestant side of the Anglican spectrum. No explanation for one’s disapproval was necessary beyond “it’s too catholic.”

But now, after a few decades, the imposition of ashes - like foot washing - is one of the newly-introduced rituals that has evolved into a custom. Nowadays, in the days leading up to Ash Wednesday, folks now call the church and ask, “when can I come get my ashes?” And of course in our context now, the questions and resulting essays and blog posts have been geared towards “how can we safely administer ashes during a pandemic?”

What all of this tells us is that the 1979 Prayer Book experiment as it pertains to Ash Wednesday and Holy Week worked. What once once met with resistance and apprehension has now become a custom in most churches. But as I mentioned before, there have been some unintended consequences in our adaptation of these “new” rituals.” We have never had anyone call the church and ask, “when can I come participate in the Litany of Penitence?” or “what time is the invitation for us to begin our observance of a Holy Lent?” 

We must remember that the Gospel reading for Ash Wednesday came centuries before the custom to put a cross of ashes on our foreheads. It reads, "And whenever you fast, do not look dismal, like the hypocrites, for they disfigure their faces so as to show others that they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, so that your fasting may be seen not by others but by your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.” That is why the original practice was to sprinkle a small amount of ashes on top of one’s head - so that the person receiving the ashes could hear and reflect on their own mortality in hearing the words - “remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return,” but they wouldn’t run afoul of Christ’s instruction to refrain from displaying our penitential practices to others. 

So, given our context today, we have been given the opportunity to try a new ritual - which is actually a very ancient one - and some would argue the proper way to observe Ash Wednesday. Regardless of our opinion on how we are administering the ashes today, my hope is that in our wrestling with this issue, we will not lose the forest for the trees. Our worship service today is first and foremost a way of ritualizing the beginning of the holy season of Lent. 

The Prayer Book’s invitation to a holy Lent tells us that in generations past during Lent, “the whole congregation was put in mind of the message of pardon and absolution set forth in the Gospel of our Savior, and of the need which all Christians continually have to renew their repentance and faith.” As such,  “We are invited, in the name of the Church, to the observance of a holy Lent, by self-examination and repentance; by prayer, fasting, and self-denial; and by reading and meditating on God’s holy Word.” 

The primary way that the Prayer Book invites us to begin this practice is through the public recitation of the Litany of Penitence, which we will do in a few moments. Sadly, if this part of the service were removed, I likely wouldn’t get any complaints - many might not even notice. But this litany is essential to the Ash Wednesday liturgy. Yes, we are tactile, sensual people, and physical rituals help us embody the words that we recite. That is why we eat bread and drink wine after the prayer of Great Thanksgiving. And that is why we impose ashes on Ash Wednesday - regardless of the manner in which we do so. 

But let us not forget that ever since Adam and Eve disobeyed God in the garden, and God cast them out with the words “remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return,” we too live East of Eden. And we too are dust, and to dust we shall return.

But after the rather long and sobering Litany of Penitence, I will offer the words of absolution. On behalf of the Church, I will say, “[God] pardons and absolves all those who truly repent, and with sincere hearts believe his holy Gospel.” I will ask God to “grant us true repentance and his Holy Spirit, that those things may please him which we do on this day, and that the rest of our life hereafter may be pure and holy, so that at the last we may come to his eternal joy.” 

So in the midst of our reflection on our own mortality; in the midst of our being reminded of humankind’s fall and subsequent residence East of Eden, we are also reminded of God’s everlasting grace and mercy through the passion, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Let us faithfully repent; and let us faithfully live into the great Good News of God’s grace and pardon. 

Christ the King Episcopal Church

Rector’s Address for 2021 Annual Parish Meeting - 2/14/21

The Rev’d Richard G. Proctor, OA

“For it is the God who said, ‘Let light shine out of darkness,’ who has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.” This is a perfect reading to pair with the Transfiguration narrative for the Last Sunday after the Epiphany. Indeed, ever since the beginning of creation, God’s people have longed for God’s “light to shine out of darkness.” And when God’s light does shine - when God’s glory is revealed - we are forever transformed. 

While certainly timeless, today’s portion of Paul’s Second Letter to the Corinthians is particularly suitable for this moment on this day. The past year, in many ways, has been a dark one. The gospel has been veiled to many who have felt isolated and disconnected from their parish during the covid-19 pandemic. Much of what we love about our life together at Christ the King has been either put on hold, or drastically changed. Though we have been blessed to be able to worship (and attend meetings) via livestream and in person for those who choose to, the incarnational nature of being one Body with many members has been diminished. Some of us have even felt - to use Paul’s words - like we are perishing in the midst of this veiled life we have been living. 

Indeed, if it were ourselves that we are called to proclaim, the darkness of 2020 would have perhaps been too much to bear. But to use Paul’s words, “... we do not proclaim ourselves; we proclaim Jesus Christ as Lord and ourselves as your slaves for Jesus’ sake. In an age when many, many idols seek to hold claim on our hearts, minds, and resources, through our baptisms, we are called to proclaim Jesus Christ as Lord. And the churches who, in the midst of this terrible pandemic, have been able to proclaim Jesus Christ as Lord, and who have sought to shine his light in the midst of the darkness are the churches who have not only been able to survive, but also thrive. And thanks to God’s grace and the courageous, flexible, faithful, and generous people that are Christ the King Episcopal Church, God’s light has shined in the darkness, and Jesus Christ has been proclaimed as Lord. 

If you will turn to page 11 in your worship bulletin, you will see Christ the King’s 5 Core Values: Worship, Outreach, Community, Christian Formation, and Strategic Growth. These are the marks that I would like to use as I invite you to reflect on 2020 with me. 

First and foremost, worship was deeply affected by the pandemic. Public worship was shut down from March 16 through May 30. When we re-opened on Sunday, May 31 - which ironically was the Bishop’s visitation Sunday, we were greatly limited in our capacity. We had to adjust and be flexible, wearing masks, sitting 6-feet apart from one another, not shaking hands or hugging, and perhaps most difficult of all, not singing. While all of these restrictions have been difficult for those of us here, it has been equally difficult for those who have not yet returned to public worship, if not more. We are an incarnational people, and our worship is infleshed in our own bodies, as well as when we partake in Christ’s Body in the eucharist. So when that incarnational piece of our religious life is removed or altered, it is deeply disorienting.

But the light that has shined in the darkness as it pertains to worship is that the folks at Christ the King have been flexible, faithful, and resilient. David Ott brought in the magnificent tenor Peter Lake to sing during worship, and he shared the instrumental music duties with our classical guitarist Scott Gilmore, who used to only play at the 8:00am service. 

Our vestry has carried the load in terms of serving as ushers, greeters, and temperature checkers for worship, and they have been remarkably faithful in those challenging duties. Who knew that Jerry Morton, Tom Potts, and Bryan Whitehead would become experts with thermometers and contact tracing methodology? They have handled their duties with grace, flexibility, and most importantly, a good sense of humor. 

The good news is that we were planning to begin live streaming in 2020 before we even knew what covid-19 was. Our goal at the beginning of the year was to launch our first livestream on Easter Sunday. The initial investment had already been made, but more investment was required throughout the year for both the sanctuary and Sandefur Hall. We have spent around $54,000 over the past few years to get to the place where we can live stream both in the church sanctuary and Sandefur Hall. There is no question that this was and will continue to be money well spent. When this pandemic ends, we will still live stream our 10:30 worship services. 

We are able to count the number of people who tune in to our live stream service each week via our website, Facebook, and YouTube, and when you add those numbers to those of us who are here in person, our average Sunday attendance actually increased during 2020. So the value of live streaming is clear - we are able to connect with those who for whatever reason are unable to worship here in person, but who are still feeling called to “be” with us during worship. Our seasonal visitors are now worshipping and doing Men’s bible study with us year round, and that has been a mutual blessing. Not to mention that my parents can now worship with us every week from Tallahassee!

It is also important to me that we are a parish that doesn’t limit our public worship to Sunday mornings and a weekday Eucharist. The pillar of the Anglican tradition is the Book of Common Prayer, and the pillar of the Book of Common Prayer is the Daily Office. The public Daily Office is prayed at Christ the King in the form of Morning and Evening Prayer every weekday, and Noonday Prayer via Zoom on Wednesdays. This daily discipline of public prayer - where the parish prayer list is prayed within the context of psalms, canticles, and scripture lessons - has made this campus a holy sanctuary of intentional prayer every day. Sometimes I find myself feeling like Peter on the top of the mountain - I just want to pitch my tent and dwell in the holiness of this beautiful sanctuary. I encourage you to come pray with us at 9:00am or 4:30pm during the week. Bookending my work day with the Daily Office has sustained me during these challenging times. And it has had a profound impact on my own spiritual life. 

Our second core value is Outreach. In a year of financial challenge and uncertainty, Christ the King actually increased the amount of money we gave to Outreach from what we have contributed in years past. In addition to giving 10% of our income to our Diocese,  we gave over 10% to local, regional, and international efforts - a total of over $55,000. This radical generosity speaks to the faithful people of Christ the King recognizing that our God is a God of abundance, not scarcity. If we give abundantly to those in need, even in a time of perceived scarcity, God’s blessings will abound in ways that we could never imagine. And as we say every Sunday, “All things come of thee, O Lord, and of thine own have we given thee.” Christ the King beared witness to that scriptural truth in 2020, and for that I feel humbled and grateful.

A big piece of recent news is that the Rev’d Deacon Ed Richards was assigned to our parish towards the end of 2020. We did an interview and a Q&A with him when he came on board, so I encourage you to look that up on our YouTube Channel. The mission of the diaconal ministry is to take the gospel beyond the church’s walls and out into the world. So this will have a huge impact on our outreach ministries going forward. It has been such a blessing to have a clergy colleague in our midst to help us broaden the scope and geography of our ministries here at CtK. 

I encourage you to read the report from the Commission on Outreach & Mission in the Annual Parish Meeting packet. And I also encourage you to read the monthly CtK Cares newsletter that typically goes out the 2nd Friday of each month. The chairperson of that commission, Tommy Fairweather, has done an incredible job of leading that group. Tommy is a living and breathing example of someone living out their Baptismal Covenant in a way that makes way for God’s light to shine in the darkness. She has removed the veil from the gospel and is sharing it faithfully, selflessly, and courageously.

Our third core value is Community. Along with worship, community has been the area most affected by the pandemic. Our description in the bulletin says, “A sense of belonging, feeling connected, and loving and caring for one another is a large part of who we are and what makes Christ the King feel special.” We all long for the safe return of coffee hour in Sandefur Hall after worship, an eggs and bacon breakfast to accompany our Men’s Bible Study on Friday mornings, singing in the choir again, in-person meetings and fellowship, and other ways that we connect socially with one another. 

But one interesting side-effect of our virtual gatherings has been new relationships being formed. We currently have more people participating in adult formation classes than we ever have had. And while the main purpose of these classes is Christian formation, a close second is fellowship and community. Some have even commented that they have gotten to know folks better through these Zoom classes. Nothing can replace in-person small group gatherings. But I imagine that we will now always offer some online options for classes - perhaps a hybrid of in-person and online like we are doing now with our Men’s Bible Study.

Our fourth core value is Christian Formation, which is the area of ministry about which I am most passionate, as well as what I most enjoy. My life was forever changed when I joined an adult formation class in my mid-20’s when I was an insurance agent. God used that class to plant the seed that led me to where I am standing right now. If you are not currently participating in one of our adult formation offerings - which are on every Monday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, I encourage you to do so. But be careful, you might have a mountaintop experience like Peter, James, and John did in our Gospel lesson today. And as I said before, I am living proof of that.

As I mentioned before, some of our adult formation offerings have benefitted from our capability of going to an online format. Not all of the classes work in that manner, so two of them - the Women’s Study Group that meets on Mondays and the Centering Prayer and Contemplative Christianity Discussion Group that meets on Thursdays had to, at times, suspend their meetings in 2020. The Monday Group is currently meeting again in the Hughes Library, and the Thursday Contemplative Christianity group will resume meeting  this coming week via Zoom.

What all of these class leaders and participants have shown since last March is what I like to call a tenacious flexibility, which is essential for our lives as Christians. Again, I encourage you to check your bulletin insert, the Monday Weekly Herald e-newsletter, and the once-a-month Friday Formation newsletter for information on these various Christian Formation offerings. 

One of the biggest things that happened to us this past year at CtK was the work we did to create a full-time staff position for Family Faith Formation - which serves our families with children from birth to age 18. This decision was the culmination of an 18-month discernment process with a consultant from Ministry Architects out of Nashville. That process led to the creation of a Search Committee, which conducted a nationwide search, which led Dani Robertson to become our first-ever full-time Director of Family Faith Formation. I encourage you to read Dani’s report in our Annual Parish meeting packet, as well as the Friday Formation newsletter that goes ourthe last Friday of every month. Dani and her husband Scott and their beagle Jackson have hit the ground running since their arrival here last summer, and we have big things in store for this coming year and the years to come. 

When we hired Dani, I remember telling Emily that this was the proudest moment of my career as a priest. I have never worked so hard on a project or initiative in my professional life, and it feels so good to see the hard work from so many people bearing fruit.

The other component of our commitment to Christian Formation is our Parish Day School - the Tree House Episcopal Montessori School. One of the highlights of my week is when Dani and I do Story Time with the Pre-Primary Class and Godly Play Chapel with the Primary Classes. Godly Play - which is a Montessori-based Christian Formation curriculum, has been a real game-changer for us. These children aren’t just hearing Bible Stories, they are engaging them on a much deeper, transformational level.

And lastly, our 5th Core value is Strategic Growth. It is no mystery that our parish and our parish day school are growing - in the number of people we employ, disciple, and serve. In this era of declining numbers in the mainline churches, our growth is bucking the trends. In our gospel lesson today, when Peter experienced the transfiguration of Jesus, he was so awestruck that he offered to pitch a tent for Jesus, Moses, and Elijah so they could dwell right there on the mountaintop. Why leave? Why move forward? Peter wanted to bask in Christ’s glory, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. But Jesus had a different vision for the future. Jesus was committed to the mission and journey that lay ahead - his journey to the cross. So while it may have been nicer, safer, and more comfortable up there on the mountaintop, Jesus had the courage and vision to keep the mission moving forward.

But growth and movement can have a shadow side. Our growth must be within the realm of our mission statement, core values, and resources. And our growth has to be measured, realistic, wise, and sustainable.

There were times during our Ministry Architects Children & Youth Ministry Renovation & Search Process that we grew discouraged because it felt like the process was taking too long! But we needed the time to make sure that Christ the King was ready, willing, and able to invest in this ministry for the long-term, so that when our new Director arrived, we had a strong foundation upon which she could help us build.

The bottom line is, things that really matter oftentimes take a long time to materialize. Christ the King worshipped in a doublewide trailer for ten years before we built this magnificent campus. The 10 acres upon which our new school building is being built was gifted to us back in 2012. It will have taken nearly ten years for the dream and vision of a stand-alone school building to become a reality. 

And finally, for us to move forward into the next phase of our strategic growth, the vestry has determined that the best way to ensure a stable foundation for the years to come is for us to engage in a Capital Giving and Legacy Campaign. I encourage you to read the report in our Annual Parish Meeting packet submitted by our campaign co-chairs, Travis and Rachel Meyer. The campaign is entitled “Rooted + Grounded in Love,” which is a nod to our commitment to measured, wise, and sustainable growth. We will send a monthly “Rooted + Grounded in Love” campaign newsletter so you can stay tuned in to the latest news regarding the campaign. This campaign is a helpful reminder for us that all that we do at Christ the King has been and will continue to be rooted and grounded in Christ’s love. 

I feel energized, excited, motivated, and called to move forward with you into this next phase of our life together here at Christ the King. I feel so blessed, grateful, and humbled to serve as your priest and pastor. Emily, Julian, Madeleine and I absolutely love Christ the King Episcopal Church and the Tree House Episcopal Montessori School. And we love our local community here. Thank you for your continued love and support of my family and me. God bless you, and I look forward to the days, months, and years that lay ahead so that we can continue to be bearers of Christ’s light in the world.

If your bible is like the one that I use, it has section headings. The section heading for today’s reading from Paul’s 1st Letter to the Corinthians is “Food Sacrificed to Idols.”  And if you are like me, and you come to a section heading like this, you are tempted to skip over it. After all, whether or not we eat food sacrificed to idols isn’t something we as individuals or we as a parish community are wrestling with. 

The issue at stake is whether or not the Christians in the church that Paul founded in Corinth can or should eat food sacrificed to idols. Remember, at this point in history, there were no life-long Christians. If you were an adult Christian, you were either a Pagan or Jewish convert. If you were a member of Paul’s church in Corinth, you were most likely a Pagan convert. So you grew up eating food that was sacrificed to idols. 

Apparently, some of the Corinthian Christians continued to eat meat sacrificed to idols. They understood that as Christians, they were not bound to the Jewish law. And since, as Christians, they were to believe that there is only One God, worrying about food sacrificed to “idols”was simply superstitious and frivolous. They were above such petty nonsense as worrying about the type of food they were eating.

On the other hand, other Corinthian Christians felt like eating food sacrificed to idols was a sin, and should be avoided. They took a narrower view of what it meant to be a Christian, and they looked for “the letter of the law” to guide them in their decision-making. Perhaps they were less comfortable with reason, nuance, and the like. Like little children, these “young” Christians needed clear rules to guide them.

Remember, at this point, Christianity was a new religion. So these communities were still wrestling with their newfound Christian identity. In the more basic sense, they were asking “What are we and are we not allowed to do?” Many of them had not yet begun wrestling with the deeper question of “What does it mean to live a Christian life? 

So, the Corinthian church was growing divided over this one issue. But really, the presenting issue -food sacrificed to idols - was a symptom of a deeper issue and conflict. And as their leader, Paul was faced with trying to build up and repair a community that was becoming divided, which is no easy task.

Personally speaking, Paul was fine with the idea of purchasing and eating food that had been sacrificed to idols.He had a mature understanding of his Christian faith. What type of food one ate wasn’t, as the saying goes, “a matter of salvation.” But, as a leader, Paul recognized that not everybody was where he was in his understanding of Christianity in general, and on this issue in particular. So, rather than shaming those who were not as sophisticated or mature in their faith as he was, he met them right where they were. If eating meat sacrificed to idols was going to be a stumbling block to his new Christian community, then he would personally refrain from doing so, and he urged the others to do the same.

As I mentioned at the beginning of the sermon, upon first glance, this particular issue is irrelevant to us and our context. We might even skip over this section in our bible. But, while the presenting issue might be irrelevant, it is extremely relevant for any church that is made up of people. This text isn’t about meat, and it isn’t about idols - it is about what it means to be a Christian in community with one another. The question for us as Christians isn’t, “As a Christian, what am I – and what am I not - allowed to do?” Rather, the question is: “Through my baptism, I have become a member of Christ’s very own body – the Church.  What then, does it mean to be one part of a body that has many members? In other words, what does it mean to be the Church?  

In one way or another – whether intentional or not – I think all local churches wrestle with this question. Back in 2016, our Strategic Visioning Process at CtK identified Community as one of our 5 Core Values. You can see the listing of our 5 Core Values on the last page of our bulletin. You will see that it reads:

Community: While our worship is directed towards loving God, and our outreach is directed towards loving our neighbors, we also value the relationships we have within our own parish family. A sense of belonging, feeling connected, and loving and caring for one another is a large part of who we are and what makes Christ the King feel special. 

What the Apostle Paul noticed at the church in Corinth was that those less spiritually-mature members of the Corinthian church were being shamed and excluded by those who were feasting on meat. And we must keep in mind that oftentimes one’s theology is informed by their own personal preferences. Thus, it is no accident that those who had no problem with eating meat sacrificed to idols were those who could afford to buy meat. And those who refrained were those who had no choice in the matter because they couldn’t afford it. 

The way that Paul chose to handle this dispute was to seek a way to build up the community rather than divide it. Time and time again, as learned and sophisticated as Paul was, he always seemed to hold community as his number one core value. His theology of the Church – his ecclesiology – seemed to hold a high place of authority for him - perhaps the highest. And there’s a lesson to be learned for us here: The Church isn’t a community that exists for our own personal needs to be met in a vacuum. It indeed is hopefully a place where our needs do get met, but only within the context of community.  

By personally giving up eating meat so as to not serve as a stumbling block to others, Paul shows us that he put the needs of the community before his own personal preferences. Paul had a wider, deeper, longer view of Christian community. He realized that if the church in Corinth hunkered down and drew up battle lines on the issue of eating meat or not, there would never be a winner. A particular side might “win,” but the community would lose. 

I think the reason that the church survived those earliest decades was because Paul held them together with his emphasis on community over-and-above the letter of the law. Maybe he knew that in the centuries to come, there would be plenty of debating over doctrine. But before they could even make it as far as the Council of Nicaea, they would need to establish a strong sense of community first.

Of course, the question we must ask ourselves here and now is, “What issue or issues are dividing us as a congregation - or perhaps, what issue or issues might potentially divide us?” and the follow up question for us to consider is, “How might we learn from Paul’s wise teaching to his congregation in Corinth?” My hope and prayer for us here at Christ the King is that we can hold community at the center of all that we do. If we build one another up with the love of Christ, nothing or nobody can tear us down. 

“After John was arrested.”

This line should arrest us where we stand. John’s arrest happens just moments after John the Baptizer baptizes Jesus in the Jordan River and Jesus is driven into the wilderness to be tested by the Devil.

And then John is arrested. Arrested. He’s stopped in his tracks. That’s what the word “arrest” means—to be stopped.

An arrest on the side of the highway gets our attention. Cars slow down and sometimes stop to see who it is being arrested. An arrest makes the news if it’s a high-profile person. Everyone stops to see who’s been nabbed. An arrest not only stops the person arrested, it stops everyone.

After John was arrested.

We were arrested.

We were stopped, arrested by this news. An order was issued from Herod to his soldiers to go arrest John the Baptist. The movement John started in the desert—a movement of confession, repentance, and renewal by baptism came to a sudden stop.

After John was arrested, we were devastated.

John had been preaching repentance for all, from the least to the greatest. Messages of repentance in our day are often a call to join a new church or religion, but John was not calling them to join a new church or religion. He was calling his people to return to the covenant of Justice and Mercy. He was inviting them to come home.

And we heard this message in Advent, too—this invitation to come home to God. Did we? Did we respond? Did we renew our trust in God’s faithfulness? Did we start that journey toward home?

And now, after John was arrested, we don’t know where home is.

But then we remembered John’s message. We remembered how he told us the Messiah, Jesus of Nazareth was coming—is coming.

And Jesus is here.

After John was arrested, “Jesus came to Galilee, proclaiming the good news of God.”

John’s arrest was a huge blow to his followers and disciples. They lost so much when John was arrested by an insecure and vindictive tyrant, Herod. But there, in this gaping hole, steps Jesus, proclaiming the good news of God.

And this is the good news for us today. The good news is found in the gaping holes of life, in the disappointments, in the blows and losses, in the sadness and grief. The good news is always found in these moments, at the eleventh hour, when all hope is lost. This is when we are ready to receive good news.

This is when Jesus comes to us, proclaiming the good news of God.

Jesus’ life, as recorded in the Gospel of Mark, follows this pattern of life, death, and resurrection. After John was arrested, we died a little, and then Jesus came with good news. This pattern will play out when Jesus goes to the cross at the end of Mark’s Gospel, too.

And this pattern will play out in your life, and our life together.

After John was arrested, we heard the good news. After our dreams had died, we heard about new life, new dreams.

Jesus is very clear in his message, that we are to repent and believe. We are to come home to the God who loves us and announces a kingdom of love and peace. But this kingdom only comes after John is arrested, after our dreams die.

And Jesus, who comes to us after John is arrested, comes to us in our fishing boats.

Jesus walks along the Sea of Galilee and sees Simon and Andrew, James and John fishing, so he calls them to follow him.

And they do follow him.

In this account, it never says why these disciples leave their fishing boats and their fishing nets and follow Jesus. Why would these young men leave their family businesses and follow this wandering rabbi, who is just getting started himself?

Mark doesn’t tell us. He leaves that as a mystery.

After John was arrested, we followed Jesus.

The juxtaposition in the text of John’s arrest and these disciples following Jesus is not a mere coincidence. It is the very heart of the good news—the gospel Jesus is preaching. It is in the midst of loss and heartache that we find hope and purpose in Jesus.

In my experience working with men and women in prison, it is frequently that after their arrest, conviction and sentencing , they are ready to receive good news. Usually the good news they are looking for is that there was an error in their trial and because of that they are going home. Sometimes just sooner than expected or sometimes right away. However, that is not the Good News that the groups I have worked with offer. We offer the Good News of Jesus Christ, crucified, and reborn. We spend quite a bit of time talking about repentance (turning around) and finding God in the midst of a very lonely place (even though most prisons are crowded and holding more folks than they were designed to hold). For some the hope proclaimed in the Good News of Christ is the only hope they have. They have done some very bad things and are never going home. But that does not mean that they are without the hope and love that comes to the followers of Jesus. In those dark places the light does come and shine. And when it is ignited, despite all attempts, the darkness cannot overcome it. For it is the light of Christ, available to all who simply turn to him and ask for forgiveness. Seeing this is why I do what I do. I see lives change for the better and the love of Christ shine.

And maybe we aren’t quite sure why we are here today, to gather as followers of Jesus; we are not always sure of our motives for doing anything. But like those disciples in their fishing boats, something about Jesus’ call to us made sense—it resonated with us. Like many formative events in life, it’s a bit of a mystery. We don’t fully know how or why a relationship started. All we know is that it did indeed start, that it continues, and that it gives us hope for the future.

So, come and follow Jesus. Come and fish for people with the good news.

We Americans not only love freedom, we expect it. Many, if not most, citizens of the United States would say that freedom is the most essential value of our culture. As our nation celebrates Martin Luther King, Jr’s birthday tomorrow, we will hear a lot about freedom. In his most famous speech, the line we remember most is “Free at last, free at last, thank God almighty I’m free at last.”

Much of the recent debates and conflict in our nation – whether it is related to wearing a mask, voting by mail, or posting on social media – has been, at the core, related to our understanding of freedom. Today’s epistle from Paul’s 1st Letter to the Corinthians is also about freedom. In many ways, the freedoms that the Corinthians Christians were claiming for themselves were like the contested freedoms we are reading about in the news. At the end of the day, whether we are a 1st-century Corinthian or a 21st-century American, we not only value our freedom, we expect it, and we even demand it.

New Testament Theologian Richard Hays’ commentary[1] on today’s reading from 1st Corinthians has shone a new “Epiphany” light on this passage for me. He points out that one thing to note when looking at this passage is that Paul is using the diatribe technique, where he starts with an argument that has been made – which we see in quotes – and then he responds. It’s like when Jesus, in the Sermon on the Mount, said, “You have heard it said…but I say…”

In the NRSV translation that we read, the opening sentence is what the Christians in Corinth have reportedly been saying - “All things are lawful to me” – to which Paul responds, “But not all things are beneficial.” Hays points out that the New English Bible translation is more accurate and useful. It translates the passage as, “I am free to do anything.” And this translation gets at the heart of what Paul was dealing with in his Corinthian congregation.

The newly converted Christians in Corinth were basking in the joy of their newfound “freedom in Christ.” The only problem is, they were basking in a flawed understanding of that freedom. Indeed, whether it was to his churches in Corinth, Galatia, or Rome, Paul preached and wrote a lot about our freedom in Christ. To the Galatians, Paul wrote “For freedom, Christ has set us free.” (Gal. 5:1) But the Christians in Corinth who had converted from Judaism, particularly the men, had come to take this teaching to mean that they were no longer under the rigid, oppressive rules of the Jewish law. Such teaching was common in the Greek philosophical schools that were prevalent – especially the dualistic wisdom tradition of sophoi. “They taught that the physical body was merely transient and trivial, thus concluding that it makes no difference what we do with our bodies. If we are hungry, we should eat; if we desire sexual gratification, we should seek it. None of this matters, they say, because it concerns only external physical matters, which are of no lasting significance.”[2]

Of course, Paul himself was trained in the Greek philosophical tradition, so he was up for the debate. His first response was, “Yes, all things may be lawful for you, but not all things are beneficial.” Paul understood that these newly converted Christian men were mistakenly interpreting what their newfound freedom in Christ meant for them as individuals as well as for their community. So much of what goes astray in Christian communities simply has to do with a combination of poor interpretation of our scriptures and tradition and poor teaching and leadership from those who are called to be in those positions. So as their teacher, preacher, and pastor, Paul was emphatic about correcting this dangerous strand of thought that was infecting the Corinthian Christian community.

The primary misunderstanding that Paul was seeking to correct was their understanding of what “freedom in Christ” really meant. And it certainly didn’t mean that “I am free to do anything I want.” Isn’t it interesting that 2000 years ago, in a land and culture far removed from ours today, Christian communities were struggling with the same sort of issues? Of course, in our context today, most of us tend to frame our understanding of freedom within the framework of the U.S. Constitution, not the Bible.

Whether we are liberal or conservative, the last thing we want somebody to do is tread on our freedom. Gay couples want the freedom to go to any bakery of their choosing and have a wedding cake made for them, no questions asked. Bakery owners want the freedom to decide whether they bake such a cake. They own their own business after all. Shouldn’t they be able to decide who they serve, and let the free market determine whether that is a good business decision or not?

In the spirit of free speech, folks want the freedom to write or post whatever they want on social media, regardless of the consequences. Owners of social media companies want the freedom to decide what is acceptable on their platform, and, like the bakery owner, they want the freedom to let the free market determine whether their decision to block certain content is a good business decision or not.   

In all of these cases, each side is arguing for their rights and their freedoms. In 21st-century post-modernism, I think that it can be argued that the god that is most worshipped by both liberals and conservatives is the God of “me and my rights.” In 1st-century Corinth, since prostitution was not only legal, but also a widely accepted practice, the Corinthian Christian men were claiming their “right” to participate in it. After all, this new religion of theirs – Christianity – was great because it wasn’t rigid or legalistic! Didn’t Paul himself love to talk about our newfound “freedom in Christ?”

Richard Hays asserts that Corinthian Christians who were unrestrained in their sexual activity were each asserting their freedom under the misguided belief that their own bodies, as well as the bodies of the prostitutes, belonged to them. Hays understands Paul’s teaching as being grounded in the fundamental Christian belief that The Body is the Lord’s. And Hays believes that Paul’s point is what contemporary Christians in our context struggle with most today. He concludes that “In Western culture today, most discourse about issues of sexual and reproductive ethics is dominated by post-Enlightenment categories that sound eerily like a reprise of the Corinthian slogans: ‘rights,’ ‘freedom of choice,’ ‘self-determination,’ [and] ‘autonomy.’… How might our contemporary debates change if we would stop shouting such slogans for a while and listen to Paul? Do you not know that you are not your own? For you were bought with a price; therefore glorify God in your body. Such an approach would of course not settle questions about legislation in the secular world, but it might change the texture of the debate within the church.”[3]

What might it look like for us as Christians if we truly believed that through our baptisms, where we are grafted into Christ’s very own body, and that our physical body is no longer ours, but part of Someone and Something much larger than we are? What if our vision for life together as a Christian community recognized that when we devalue our bodies and those of others – even if the secular law says we are free to do so, and even if we chose to do so – we are devaluing our Christian community, the very own Body of Christ? It goes without saying that these principles apply to scenarios far beyond sexual ethics.

I recognize that it can be very dangerous for man to stand up and start talking about bodies, and who they belong to. The reason is, throughout history, men in positions of power have oftentimes abused that power, with women and children oftentimes being the victims of such abuse. No secular or religious law should permit such abuse of power. That should go without saying.

But from a Christian standpoint, the primary corrective to such abuse is not in what is rightfully mine vs. what is rightfully yours. As Christians, we believe that none of what we have or what others have – including our very own physical bodies – belong to us. Paul says, “[Our] bodies are members of Christ” and that our “body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within [us], which [we] have from God, and that [we] are not [our] own. [We] were bought with a price; therefore, glorify God in [our] body.”

This is unsettling, even radical language that Paul is using. Lest we be reminded that Paul wrote in a particular place and a particular time, Paul employs slavery language to further illustrate his point. Today, most recognize the idea that one person can own another person’s body is abhorrent. But that is exactly the tragedy of slavery – the fact that someone’s very own body could be purchased for a price by another person. And in that system, the slave’s own body would thus belong not to the slave, but to the owner. Corinthian Christians would have understood that illustration because slavery was a part of their culture.

But the corrective metaphor that Paul is offering is that as Christians, we are to understand ourselves as slaves. We don’t own our own bodies. Nor does any other human being. Our bodies were “bought with a price” – and that price was Christ’s very own crucified body on the Cross. As such, and through our baptisms into Christ’s death, we are no longer in full possession of our bodies, and we can no longer claim possession of someone else’s body. We are all a part of the Mystical Body of Christ, which is the Christian Church.

But not only are we baptized into Christ’s death. We are also baptized into his resurrection. So, our bodies belong to Christ in both our lives here on earth as well as our resurrected, eternal lives. As such, our bodies being possessed by Christ is a now thing and a forever thing. And for that, I will gladly hand over “me and my rights” to Christ.

I think that Martin Luther King, Jr. was able to have such a huge impact on the Civil Rights Movement because for him, he understood the difference between freedom granted by the State and freedom in Christ. Ultimately, King wasn’t going to let himself be defined by the freedom that the U.S. Government was or was not going to grant him. While being critically important for the very soul of our nation, King knew that how other people saw him was a temporal matter. King’s ultimate freedom was defined by his freedom in Jesus Christ. And that is how and why he was such a remarkable person. His grounding, wisdom, courage, and power were coming from Someone and Something much bigger than the U.S. Government. He truly understood freedom from a Christian perspective.

As such, when we as Christians can embrace our freedom in Christ we will be better able to see our bodies as Christ’s Body, and thus Christ’s possession. When we are able to make the move from “free to do anything I want with my body” to, as Paul says, glorify[ing] God in our bodies,” we will truly live as an Epiphany people “shin[ing] with the radiance of Christ’s glory."

[1] Hays. Richard B. “First Corinthians” in Interpretation: A Bible Commentary for Teaching and Preaching. Westminster John Knox Press. 1997.

[2] Hays, p. 103.

[3] Hays, p. 109

A lot has been said and written about the events that took place at the capitol in Washington, DC last week. From a church perspective, I don’t think anybody has spoken as prophetically and pastorally as our own Presiding Bishop, Michael Curry. So, if you haven’t seen or heard his response, I commend that to you.

One thing that I think is abundantly clear right now is that partisan politics are at an all-time high right now. Prior to 2020, many, if not most of us in our context here were content with a sort of “don’t ask don’t tell” approach to politics. But the covid-19 pandemic forced the issue in many ways, as we wore our politics not on our sleeves, but on our faces. It was abundantly clear for us to see how someone felt about a particular issue simply by looking at them.

On top of how covid-19 brought a new wrinkle to the political landscape in 2020, it was a presidential election year, and with the events that took place at the capitol last week, it was clearly the most bizarre one that I’ve ever encountered.

The last few months have “forced the issue” on where we stand in many ways. It has been more difficult for us to follow the “don’t ask don’t tell” approach to friendships and community. People are coming out of the closet on social media and in person, laying claim to where and with whom they stand. 

But aside from the covid-19 pandemic and the 2020 election cycle, we have always had our ways of claiming our identity. As I was writing this at my desk in my office, I looked behind me, and saw up high three framed diplomas hanging prominently on the wall – one from college and two from seminary. Below those three diplomas are two framed ordination certificates – one to the diaconate and one to the priesthood. And to my right, there is a framed Letter of Institution indicating that I am the Rector here at Christ the King. So, as I sit at my desk in my office at the church every day, I am claiming at least a part of my identity. And any place I go with my clerical collar around my neck, I am claiming my vocational identity without even saying a word. In many professions, educational and professional credentials are important., if not essential. So, claiming my educational, professional, and vocational identity aren’t necessarily a bad thing. But hopefully there is an identity within me that runs deeper than those diplomas and certificates on the wall.

One identifier that I think that many of us take for granted are our government-issued identification cards, - our social security cards, driver’s licenses, voter registration cards, and the like. I have all of those. And I rarely think about it. But for some, receiving or holding on to such identifiers are almost a matter of life and death. They are necessary for survival. If my house caught on fire, those cards are not the first thing I’d grab on my way out. But I have spoken with folks who have told me that those means of identification are absolutely what they would grab first. So, what some of us might take for granted, others see as essential as it pertains to their identity.

Of course, there are other much more obvious identity markers that I carry with me wherever I am – I am a middle-aged, white, English-speaking male from the American South. Without even trying, that is what I lead with whether I intend to or not. I can’t change that about myself, and I don’t want to. It is simply who I am.

I could go on and on about how we identify ourselves, whether explicitly or implicitly. And I haven’t even spoken about college football allegiances.

But our gospel lesson today serves as a reminder for us as to what is most essential about our identities. You probably know me well enough to know that I rarely speak, preach, or teach in absolutes. But today I am reminding us that the absolute most important identity that we bear is the cross on our foreheads that was given to us in baptism. As Christians, we must lead with our baptismal identity. As Christians, we must lead with our Baptismal Covenant. As Christians, we must lead with what Bishop Curry has called the “the loving, liberating, life giving, way of Jesus Christ.”

The context of today’s gospel lesson is the inauguration of Jesus’ public ministry, where he was sworn-in by submitting to John’s baptism in the Jordan River. And in this moment, his identity was revealed by the voice from heaven that declared, “This is my Son; the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”

And since humankind was reconciled to God through the life, death and resurrection of Jesus, when folks are  baptized, the heavens open up as well, and God claims them  as God’s beloved child. Think about that for a second. Through the sacrament of baptism, we are adopted as children of God into the household of God. Our primary identity is no longer our family’s last name or our race, gender, education level, profession, socio-economic status, or nationality.  

Christian ethicist Stanley Hauerwas has noted that one problem with Christianity in the United States is that many of us seek to make Christianity more American as opposed to making America more Christian. In other words, many of us lead with our nationalistic identity, not our baptismal identity. Dare I say that many of us are much more articulate sharing what we love about the presidential candidate we voted for and our country than we are at sharing what we love about Jesus and our church.

I recognize that the distinction between identities can get blurry. After all, categories are never fully separate, clean, and defined. My fullest self is a combination of all of my identifiers and identities. But I achieved a moment of clarity yesterday in regard to identity when I was listening to Bp. Curry’s “The Way of Love” podcast. He was interviewing Ruby Sales, an African American activist whose work began in the Civil Rights Movement in the 1960’s. In his interview with her, Bp. Curry asked her about her decision to enroll in the Episcopal Divinity School at Harvard years ago. She said that she had an epiphany of sorts one day when she had a conversation with the daughter of a friend of hers. This young woman had been suffering quite a bit, and was wrestling with feelings of deep despair and hopelessness. Ruby asked her, “Where does it hurt?” When reflecting on the young woman’s answer to her question, Ruby said, “I realized that it was deeper than what Civil Rights could respond to. I realized that I needed a larger language to deal with my call.” And so Ruby Sales went to seminary to engage in the “larger language” of the Christian tradition as part of her call to bring about healing and reconciliation in the world. The secular language and framework of the social justice movement didn’t run deep enough for her. And it doesn’t run deep enough for us.

My friends, we all need the larger language of the Christian tradition to heal the wounds of our nation and our world today. Whatever  your favorite cause or movement may be, none of these movements have, on their own, a language that is large or deep enough to ease the pain, grief, despair, anger, or hopelessness, that we may be feeling as individuals, communities, and as a nation right now. And none of them have a language that is large or deep enough to bring about the love, hope, justice, and mercy that are essential in building a truly Beloved Community.

We need a larger language, a wider scope, and a deeper identity to be the Beloved Community that Gods calls us to be. And as Ruby Sales discovered, that larger language comes from the Church. As such, we Christians are called to lead with our baptismal identity over and above any other identity we may claim. The kingdom of heaven and the Beloved Community will not be brought about by the most righteous movement of the day. It can only be brought about by the most righteous person, Jesus Christ, who lived and died as one of us to reconcile us to God. And he has brought us into himself through the sacrament of holy baptism. Through our baptisms, we have been grafted into Christ very own Body, and as the Church, we are now Christ’s Body in the world.

There is a voice in my head that sounds a lot like my wife Emily’s voice, but alas, we were trained by the same preaching professors in seminary, so that makes sense. We were trained to not only to say what the think the text means for us today, but to also give an example of what that looks like. The answer to “what does leading with our baptismal identity look like” will be embodied in a few moments when we stand and renew our own Baptismal Covenant. When we do so, we will first and foremost profess our belief in the One Triune God – Father, Son, and Holy Spirt. All of what follows in the Baptismal Covenant is grounded in and flows from the profession of our belief in the one Triune God.

Then we will profess our commitment to continue in the apostles’ teaching, fellowship, breaking of bread, and prayers. We will re-commit to our perseverance in resisting evil, and whenever we fall into sin – and that is every day by the way - we will repent and return to the Lord.

Then we will re-commit to proclaiming by word and example the Good News of God in Christ, we will continue to seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving our neighbor as ourselves. And we will re-commit to striving for justice and peace among all people, as well as our call to respect the dignity of every human being. And as the covenant says, none of these commitments are possible without God’s help. We can’t do these things alone. And again, that was the epiphany that Ruby Sales had when she was talking to her friend’s daughter that day. We need the deep, large language of our Christian faith to bring about healing and reconciliation in the world. And this, my friends, is what leading with our baptismal identity looks like.

Perhaps a visual aid might be in store. Here is one of the aforementioned framed ordination certificates that hangs behind my desk in my church office. As you can see, it is large, prominent, and perhaps even impressive looking. Well, the other evening, I was going through my old baby book with Emily and our children, showing them what I looked like when I was their age. Then all of the sudden, my heart dropped. There it was - my baptism certificate! And here it is. Of course, you will notice how it pales in comparison to my ordination certificate. And that is a shame. Because the essence of my identity, above any- and everything else, is my baptism. That is who I am, regardless of what my vocational calling is. One of my mentors – Jon Coffey – had his tiny little baptism certificate framed and hanging prominently on his office wall. Ordination certificates and college and seminary diplomas were nowhere to be found. I asked him about that, and he simply said, “My baptism is the only thing that really matters.” Now that I have found my certificate, I plan on doing the same.

So, let us go forth from here, leading with our baptismal identity. Let us lead with the commitments we make in our Baptismal Covenant. And let us lead with the “the loving, liberating, life giving, way of Jesus Christ.”