The Rev’d Richard Gillespie Proctor

CtK Episcopal Church

3 Epiphany: 1/23/22

1 Cor. 12-12-31a

Two weeks ago, on the Feast of the Baptism of our Lord, we joyfully celebrated the baptism of three children, grafting them into Christ’s one holy and apostolic Church. In my homily that day, I focused on Isaiah’s prophetic proclamation to God’s people: “Do not fear, For I have redeemed you. I have called you by name, You are mine…Because you are precious in my sight, and honored, I love you. Do not fear, for I am with you.”

These words from Isaiah, along with the voice from heaven – “You are my Son, the beloved. With you I am well pleased” – are appropriate for us to hear and reflect upon within the context baptism. Today’s lesson from Paul’s first letter to the Church in Corinth is an invitation for us to continue our exploration of what it means to be baptized into Christ’s Body, the Church.

In Paul’s estimation, the Christians in Corinth were struggling to understand and embody what it meant to be unified as members of one Body. Not unlike today, factions had developed amongst them – including divisions among class lines. And he accused some of the Corinthian Christians of being “puffed up” and “arrogant.” I guess human nature is human nature, regardless of the time or place.

The week that we read of Paul’s plea for unity within the Church in Corinth just happens to be the week where we are celebrating the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity throughout the world. Of course, today, there are many, many more Christians and many, many more divisions among us than there were in Paul’s time. This week, Christians all over the world have been praying for unity amongst different traditions and denominations, in hopes that a more unified global Christian Church will have a greater impact on the well-being of God’s creation.

But pleas for global unity can be a bit overwhelming…it certainly is for me. My approach tends to be more along the lines of the well-known song “Let there be peace on earth, and let it begin with me.” It is easier for me to think and act on a smaller scale first, and that is what Paul is inviting us to do. On a similar note, the saying “Think Globally, Act Locally” comes to mind. If the Apostle Paul had a car, he very well might have had that sticker on the back of it.

Paul’s plea for unity within the Church – whether it was with the Corinthians, the Romans, or others to whom he wrote – is one of the primary themes of Paul’s letters. He knew that the only way for Christianity to thrive in a hostile environment would be for them to be unified in their worship, prayer, doctrine, and fellowship. Hostile divisions, factions, and conflict are the antithesis of our Christian baptismal identity, as Paul says, “For in the one Spirit we were all baptized into one body--Jews or Greeks, slaves or free--and we were all made to drink of one Spirit.”

The apostle Paul wasn’t a sociologist, anthropologist, or a psychologist, but his understanding of human communities, human culture, and human nature was profound. In addressing the fractured Corinthian community, he brilliantly chose the human body as an illustration for how they might think about their unity in Christ – “If the whole body were an eye, where would the hearing be? If the whole body were hearing, where would the sense of smell be? But as it is, God arranged the members in the body, each one of them, as he chose. If all were a single member, where would the body be? As it is, there are many members, yet one body.”

Paul used the interdependence of the human body to illustrate the necessity of the interdependence of the Body of Christ. His words to the church he founded in Corinth are as poignant for us here today as they were 2,000 years ago, whether we are thinking globally or locally. The bottom line is that for the Body of Christ to function as it was commissioned to do through our baptisms, we must recognize that it is essential for us to share our gifts with one another for the common good of the community.

When it came time to think about stewardship for 2022, the vestry and I decided to push back our campaign from the Fall to the early winter. We were very excited about launching a new approach to annual giving – a program that has been extremely successful in other parishes and invites us to look at annual giving through an entirely different lens. This new program that we were set to use relied primarily on a big event here at the church, which was to be Sunday, February 6. Well, given the surge in Covid cases, and the resulting drop in Sunday attendance, we determined that now was not the time to host a big stewardship event here at the church.

So, we will be sending out pledge cards in the mail in the coming weeks and ask that you return them as soon as you can. I bring this up within the context of this homily because I believe that stewardship is a very real and practical example of the importance of the interdependence of the Body of Christ. As many members of one Body, we are all expected to contribute in order for the whole Body to function well. Simply put, the Body needs each and every one of us to contribute our time, talent, and treasure in the way that we are able. Imagine the impact Christ the King could have on this community if we all contributed in the way that we have been called to do.

In the last part of our reading today, Paul points out the unique qualities of the members of the Body. Just as the human body wouldn’t function if all the parts were the same, such is the case with the Body of Christ. Paul asks, “Are all apostles? Are all prophets? Are all teachers? Do all work miracles? Do all possess gifts of healing? Do all speak in tongues? Do all interpret?” Of course, the answer to that is no. And such is the case for us here at Christ the King. We are one interdependent Body made up of many members, with many parts.

There is a lot of anxiety these days about the decline of the mainline church in general, and the Episcopal Church in particular. There are many theories about why this is so, as well as many theories of how the trend can be reversed. I certainly don’t have all of the answers to this issue, but I think my starting point would be the same as that of a physician - to look at the existing Body and see what is not functioning at its full capacity. And as we all know, if one part of our body is injured and not functioning well, it begins to affect other parts of the body as well, because those parts are having to work harder to compensate. So oftentimes, one illness or injury leads to another.

That is why I think Paul’s use of the human body to illustrate the functioning of the Body of Christ is so brilliant. We heard today that, “If one member suffers, all suffer together with it; if one member is honored, all rejoice together with it.”

There won’t be a magic program that will reverse the trend of decline in the Episcopal Church. And as excited as I was about the new stewardship program we were going to try, the bottom line is, it wasn’t going to be a magic fix either. I think the best stewardship program is simply to have every household participate in sharing their time, talent, and treasure with the church.

Right now, parts of our body are working extra hard to compensate for the parts of the body that are not contributing. You’ll notice the same people here on Sundays servings in worship and teaching Sunday School. And those are the same who are helping during the week as well. The old axiom that 20% of the people do 80% of the work is truer than ever. If the apostle Paul were to write us a letter here at Christ the King, my guess is that he’d bring that issue up with us. He’d tell us that our body isn’t working at full capacity, and he’d tell us that until we get to where we are functioning as one, interdependent body, we’ll never reach our full potential as a Christ’s Body here in this context.

So when you receive your stewardship packet in the mail in the next few weeks, please see it as an invitation to be a part of a larger body that needs you in order to function. Simply put, we are a healthier body when we all participate. We are better together. “For in the one Spirit we were all baptized into one body… and we were all made to drink of one Spirit.”

The Rev’d Richard Gillespie Proctor

CtK Episcopal Church

1 Epiphany: Baptism of Our Lord

1/13/19

“Do not fear,

            For I have redeemed you.

I have called you by name

                                                                        You are mine.”

God spoke these words to a people who had given up all hope…a people whose identity was grounded in despair. As a people living in captivity in Babylon, fear and anguish was all that the Israelites knew. Yet through the deafening silence, God’s voice finally appeared. And God wasn’t speaking words of wrath…he wasn’t reminding them of all the reasons that their ancestors had landed in exile. He wasn’t saying “I told you so” or “you got yourself in this mess, don’t expect me to get you out of it.”

Out of the silence came words of hope from a God who, in this particular poem,  wasn’t addressing Israel as a nation. He was addressing each Israelite who had the ears to hear. In this passage, when God says “I have redeemed you…I have called you by name… You are mine” he uses the 2nd person singular, not plural. Much of the time, when God speaks to Israel, it is to the nation as a whole. In other words, he speaks to y’all. But in this case, he isn’t speaking to y’all Israelites. He is speaking to you… to each Israelite who had given up hope; each Israelite who was living in fear, anguish, and despair.

Oftentimes we hear people delineate between the God of the Old Testament and the God of the New Testament. Many believe that the God of the Old Testament wields power and rules from far away. He is a wrathful disciplinarian type of God who expects his followers to obey strict laws. And he is not an intimate, personal, relational God like the God of the New Testament. Yet in this passage from Isaiah, this delineation proves to be false. We see an “Old Testament” God who is deeply intimate, personal, and gracious. It is a one-on-one conversation between God and the listener. God is speaking to the Israelite, and God is speaking to you and me, and God is saying,

“Do not fear, For I have redeemed you. I have called you by name, You are mine…Because you are precious in my sight, and honored, I love you. Do not fear, for I am with you.”

We hear this very same voice in our Gospel lesson today when Jesus is baptized. And just as it was when it was spoken to the Israelites in exile, it is a voice of intimacy and affection…a voice of relational love: “You are my Son, the beloved. With you I am well pleased.”

Much like the Israelites in exile generations before, Jesus needed to know that he was not alone and that he would not been forgotten. His baptism was the moment when he would begin his public ministry of reconciliation between God and God’s people. His Father in heaven knew that this ministry would be terribly difficult, and that he would oftentimes feel alone, hopeless, and afraid.

In both of these passages, God is making a promise. And this promise has to do with identity. The exiled Israelites had forgotten - rightfully so perhaps - Who they truly belonged to. They had lost their identity. They had gotten to the point where they believed that they belonged to their Babylonian captors. Their previous identity was gone and their current situation was one of fear, anguish, and despair. In the midst of that, God called out to them and said, “Do not fear, For I have redeemed you. I have called you by name, You are mine…”

Within the Jewish context, to be redeemed literally meant to be bought out of slavery or bondage by one’s own kin. This understanding goes back to the book of Leviticus. In those days, one could be put in bondage for an unpaid debt or for some other transgression. And the only way out would be to have your freedom purchased by your kinfolk. So when God uses this redemption language, it is indicating not just the action of freeing them from bondage, but it is also claiming a deeply intimate relationship. God is claiming kinship to the exiles. The distant God who had gone silent was now speaking, and he was speaking to them as a relative – even as a parent speaks to a child. 

These words from Isaiah prophesying the Israelites’ release from exile and reclaiming identity as God’s very own children are echoed when John baptizes  Jesus. Just as his ancestors had done before, Jesus passed through the waters and entered into new life…a new creation…a new identity. This time, Jesus is being baptized to ransom the captives from bondage. And this time, the bondage was imposed by the Israelites upon themselves. They had become captive to their own sinful ways.

And such is the case with us today. When we are baptized, we pass through the waters where we die to our old selves and are born anew. When we rise up out of the waters of baptism, we have a new identity. We are claimed by God as his beloved…as his children…with whom he is well-pleased. This new identity isn’t momentary – as we are sealed by the Holy Spirit in baptism and marked as Christ’s own forever. That being the case, one might ask why we need to renew or reaffirm our Baptismal Covenant, which we will do in a few moments. Our baptism isn’t like a Driver’s License or an automobile registration – it doesn’t expire. And we aren’t required to submit continuing education units to keep our baptism status current – although that might not be a bad idea! So why do we renew or reaffirm our baptismal covenant on days like today?

I think the main reason is that we are a forgetful people. It is like we are saying to God, “It’s not you, it’s me…I am the one who needs the reminder. I am the one who has forgotten my part of the covenant. But there’s one thing that I wish was included in the Baptismal Covenant. I wish that after all of the questions about what we believe and what we will do, I wish that there was another section based on today’s lessons from Isaiah and Luke. And that section of the baptismal covenant would go something like this, and I’d like you to participate in this part of the sermon with me. Just like in the baptismal covenant, when I ask the following questions, your reply is “I will with God’s help.”

·      Will you remember that God formed you, that God redeemed you, that God calls you by your name and that you are His? I will with God’s help.

·      When you pass through difficult, dangerous waters of life, will you remember that God will be with you, and that you will not be overwhelmed? I will with God’s help.

·      Will you remember that when you walk through the fires of illness, conflict, hopelessness, or despair, you will not be burned and that the flames will not consume you? I will with God’s help.

·      Will you remember that you are precious in God’s sight, and that God honors you and that God loves you? I will with God’s help.

·      “Will you remember that you are God’s beloved…God’s child, with whom God is well pleased? I will with God’s help.

My friends, as we continue through this season of Epiphany – the season when we celebrate the many ways that God reveals himself to God’s people - let us be mindful that the primary Epiphany – the primary revelation – is that God formed us, God redeemed us, and we are God’s beloved. And if we are able to live in to and embrace this Good News, we have no reason to be afraid.

Saint Stephen was one of the first ordained deacons of the Church. He was also the first Christian martyr. The Greek word from which we derive the English word martyr literally means witness. In that sense, every Christian is called to bear witness to Jesus Christ, in both their words and their actions. Not all are asked to shed their blood.

Those who do shed their blood for the faith are the greatest of witnesses. They have been especially honored since the very beginning of Christianity. Stephen was so conformed to Jesus in his holy life that his martyrdom was both a natural and supernatural sign of his love for the Lord. It also inspired the early believers as they faced the first round of brutal persecution.

His behavior, even forgiving those who were taking his life while he was being stoned to death, was a beautiful reflection of how conformed he truly was to the Lord Jesus Christ. It is recorded in Chapter 7 of the Acts of the Apostles (Acts 7:54-60), which immediately follows the Gospels in the New Testament.

The 6th chapter of the Acts of the Apostles contains an account of the choice of the first seven deacons of the Church. As the Apostles worked to continue the ministry of Jesus Christ as his elders, some of the Greek-speaking widows were being neglected in their practical needs. The Twelve decided to ordain seven deacons to oversee their care. In doing so, the deacons extended the pastoral care of the Apostles, the first Bishops of the early Church, enabling them to attend more to teaching.

Of the seven ordained, Stephen was the oldest and given the title of "archdeacon," the chief among them. Little is known about him before this account. Like most of the early Christian leaders, he was Jewish, but may have come came from among the Greek speaking or Hellenistic believers, the ones feeling slighted in the distribution of alms.

Great preaching and miracles were attributed to Stephen. The Bible records that Stephen "full of grace and power, did great wonders and signs among the people." Stephen s popularity created enemies among some Jews, members of the Synagogue of Roman Freedmen. They debated with him, to generate evidence against him in furtherance of their persecution of the early Church.

They accused him of blasphemy, of speaking against God and Moses. The charges inflamed the local populace which demanded he be tried and punished. When Stephen was put on trial, several false witnesses were brought forward by the Sanhedrin to testify that he was guilty of blasphemy. He was charged with predicting that Jesus would destroy the Temple and for preaching against Mosaic law.

Stephen was filled with wisdom from heaven. He responded by detailing the history of Israel and outlining the blessings God had bestowed upon his chosen people. He also explained how disobedient Israel had become, despite the goodness and mercy of the Lord. Stephen explained that Jesus had come to fulfil the law of Moses, not destroy it. He quoted extensively from the Hebrew scriptures to prove his case.

Finally, he admonished the Sanhedrin, saying, "You stubborn people, with uncircumcised hearts and ears. You are always resisting the Holy Spirit, just as your ancestors used to do. Can you name a single prophet your ancestors never persecuted? They killed those who foretold the coming of the Upright One, and now you have become his betrayers, his murderers. In spite of being given the Law through angels, you have not kept it." (Acts 7:51-53)

As Stephen concluded his defense, he looked up and saw a vision of Jesus standing at the right hand of God. He said, "Look, I can see heaven thrown open and the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God." That vision was taken as the final proof of blasphemy to the Jews who did not believe Jesus was the Messiah or Son of God. For them, Jesus could not possibly be beside the Father in Heaven. The crowd rushed upon Stephen and carried him outside of the city to stone him to death.

As Stephen was being brutally stoned, he spoke his last words, "Lord Jesus, receive my spirit. Lord, do not hold this sin against them." Words which echoed the very words of Jesus on the Cross. Following those words, Stephen died, in the Lord.

Watching the trial and execution was a Rabbi named Saul of Tarsus, a virulent persecutor of the early Church. Shortly thereafter, that Rabbi would himself encounter the Lord Jesus on the road to Damascus and be dramatically converted. His encounter is recorded in the 9th chapter of the Acts of the Apostles. He took the name Paul as a sign of his new life in Jesus Christ and went on to become the great apostle to the Gentiles.

Stephen was buried by Christians, but the location of his tomb is not specified in the New Testament and may have been forgotten for a time. In 415 a Christian priest claimed he had a vision of the tomb and located Stephen s remains. A name inside the tomb confirmed the find.

S t. Stephen is often depicted with stones, a Gospel Book, a miniature church and a martyr's palm frond. He is the patron saint of Altar Servers, bricklayers, casket makers and deacons and his feast day is celebrated on December 26.

Join with us in offering this prayer, written by Deacon Keith Fournier, seeking his intercession:

"Lord Jesus, Receive my Spirit" (St. Stephen, Martyr)

A Prayer by Deacon Keith Fournier

Lord Jesus, you chose Stephen as the first deacon and martyr of your One, Holy, Catholic and Apostolic Church. The heroic witness of his holy life and death reveals your continued presence among us. Through following the example of his living faith, and by his intercession, empower us by your Holy Spirit to live as witnesses to the faith in this New Missionary Age. No matter what our state in life, career or vocation, help us to proclaim, in both word and in deed, the fullness of the Gospel to a world which is waiting to be born anew in Jesus Christ. Pour out upon your whole Church, the same Holy Spirit which animated St Stephen, Martyr, to be faithful to the end, which is a beginning of life eternal in the communion of the Trinity.

One of the many blessings of Christmas is that it has inspired some of the most magnificent works of sacred art, music, and traditions. The Christmas hymns are my absolute favorite corpus of Christian music. And the lovely greenery, poinsettias, and wreaths that adorn our church remind me of how much I love the festive sights and smells of this holy season. And when we darken the sanctuary and light candles as we sing Silent Night, I will need no further reminder of why this season is so profoundly meaningful to me.  

A Christmas tradition I have developed a new appreciation for is nativity scenes. Since Emily and I have been married, we have in one way or another accumulated several nativity scenes. Some are hand-me-downs from when our parents downsized their homes. I love that Julian and Madelene have some of the same nativity scenes that Emily and I had growing up.

One thing about our plethora of nativity scenes is that they are entirely different from one another in terms of the size, shape, style, and culture they represent. Each one tells the story of the birth of Jesus in its own way, inviting us to repeatedly “ponder in our hearts” the miracle of Christmas during this holy season.

Another thing that I have recently come to notice about the nativity scenes in our house is how the supporting characters are arranged. That is part of the beauty of this sort of Christian art – we have the opportunity to tell and re-tell the story through the eyes of the angels, shepherds, magi, livestock, and the earthly parents of Jesus. And of all the Christian art we have in our home, the nativity scenes are the ones that elicit the most curiosity and interaction from our children. Somehow baby Jesus in a manger is more fun to play with than dead Jesus on a cross.

Lately I have been paying closer attention to the direction in which the supporting characters are pointed. Sometimes when our children play with our nativity scenes at home, the characters end up being are pointed outwards, away from the Holy Family. It is as if the characters were responding to a photographer who implored, “Hey everybody, turn around and look here… smile for the camera!!!” To make sure that all the characters’ faces can be seen, they have actually turned them away from the very king to whom they are paying tribute.

Perhaps I am looking too deeply into this phenomenon of outward-facing nativity scenes, but once I noticed one, I couldn’t help but to notice more and more beyond the walls of our home. And on a deeper, more introspective level, my mind then goes to the many dark forces that persistently draw our attention away from our saviour – sometimes to the point where we have completely turned our backs on him.  

Sometimes folks will ask me why I turn away from the congregation for the Collect of the Day and Hymn of Praise at the beginning of the worship service. The reason is that as much as possible, I try to face the altar and cross when I pray. I want my attention to be towards the primary symbols of our faith – the places where we meet Christ and where Christ meets us. And when I am facing away from you, hopefully it is drawing your attention away from me and towards Christ. He is much more worthy of our gaze than am I.

I imagine that when the shepherds ran “to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place, which the Lord ha[d] made known to [them],” their eyes and hearts – every ounce of their being - were fixed upon on the child…Emmanuel…who was God in their very own midst.

Clearly, from the gospel story we hear, the shepherds had not been distracted that evening. They didn’t turn their backs on the Messiah to go pet the farm animals or pull out their phones to take a selfie with Baby Jesus. The text tells us that after paying homage to the Christ-child, “The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, as it had been told them.”

And the story they told wasn’t about them. And it appears that they did a faithful job of not making it about them. The same goes for the Magi when they finally arrived to pay homage to Jesus three years later. But in both cases, those whom God called to bear witness faithfully responded. They went out and proclaimed the great Good News of a newborn king who was the fulfillment of Isaiah’s prophecy of “a child [who] has been born for us, a son given to us…Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.”

Now I understand that the playing field is not totally level; we are not comparing apples to apples when we place our 2021 selves alongside the shepherds who were in the same room as Jesus on the night when he was born. I get that. It’s harder for us to keep our gaze focused upon Jesus when he has ascended into heaven where he is now seated at the right hand of the Father. It’s easier to turn our backs on him and towards the masses like some of the nativity scenes I mentioned before. And one could argue that we have many more distractions this day and age than a first-century shepherd.

But I am still hung up on the outward-facing nativity scenes – the symbolism is just too profound for me to ignore. So much of the emphasis of the Christmas story is on the reverence and adoration of this child who was born – this child who is God in our midst. And that is why I think the Christmas hymns are so extraordinary. They so exquisitely capture the awe, wonder, and joy of the incarnation.

There are two long-standing traditions in Anglican worship that point to this solemn reverence and adoration for Jesus. In the Nicene Creed, the tradition is to bow at the mention of the incarnation when we say,

“For us and for our salvation
        he came down from heaven:
    by the power of the Holy Spirit
        he became incarnate from the Virgin Mary,
        and was made man.”

This simple-yet-profound act of reverence is not a requirement. And it is not meant to draw attention to ourselves. It is meant to solemnly and reverently draw our own attention towards the moment when God became incarnate in Jesus Christ. And it draws us into solidarity with the shepherds who kneeled in reverence at the foot of the manger on that holy night in Bethlehem.  

A similar tradition in Anglicanism is to make a slight bow of the head whenever we hear the mention of Jesus’ name in the liturgy. This is a nod to Paul’s letter to the Philippians, which says, “that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow.”

In the 17th century, Queen Elizabeth actually mandated this bow of the head at the mention of Jesus during the liturgy. Thankfully this act of reverence is no longer mandated by law. It is not meant to be a requirement, but rather a simple, humble act of reverence for Jesus. And again, none of our acts of piety should draw attention to ourselves, but rather, they should help us place our attention on the wonderful, sacred mystery of God incarnate in Jesus Christ. Just as those gathered around the Christ-child in the manger did.

These acts of reverence are just two of many different ways that we can respond to the “O come let us adore him” refrain we sing in the magnificent hymn “O Come All Ye Faithful.” Again, the labor of love for Christ that went into decorating the church is a great example of how we can faithfully turn our attention to Who and What matters the most. And the discipline of decorating our homes for Christmas can be a way to show our adoration for Jesus Christ. But as we decorate our homes and churches, let us always be mindful of why we are doing this. To what or to whom are we drawing attention? 

Exquisite worship in a beautifully decorated church, combined with the glorious music of Christmas all do what a thoughtfully laid out nativity scene intends to do – draw our gaze towards Jesus, “who gave himself for us that he might redeem us from all iniquity and purify for himself a people of his own.” As we focus our attention on Jesus on this holy day, may our hearts, minds, and souls be purified in such a way that when he comes again in glory, he may find is us a mansion prepared for himself.

Alleluia! Unto us a child is born: Come let us adore him! Alleluia!

4 Advent, Year C: Luke 1:39-56

Growing up as a broach-church Episcopalian in the deep South, “Hail Mary” was a football term, not a religious one. So, it might come as no surprise to you that I didn’t grow up with a high reverence for Mary, the mother of Jesus. One of the many things that the Protestant Reformation challenged was the Church’s seemingly idolatrous reverence for the Virgin Mary – manifested in its art, icons, prayers, and doctrine.  

While the last two Sundays of Advent have been all about John the Baptizer, the 4th Sunday of Advent is all about Mary. So, no matter how we were raised in terms of how we do or do not venerate the Blessed Virgin Mary, today we are invited to wrestle with it. In the first part of today’s gospel reading, Mary arrives at her cousin Elizabeth’s house, and Elizabeth reacts in a remarkable way. In the previous scene, Mary has just received the rather shocking news from the angel Gabriel that she would conceive and bear a holy child who was none other than the son of God. This news was scandalous enough in and of itself, but add to it the fact that the text tells us that Mary was a virgin, and though betrothed to Joseph, they were not yet married. When Mary asks the angel Gabriel how this could be so, Gabriel reminds her that nothing is impossible for God, and in case Mary needed more proof, he told her that Elizabeth - her old and barren cousin - was six months pregnant! Mary said, “Let it happen to me as you say,” Gabriel left, and Mary immediately took a four-day journey to go visit her cousin Elizabeth. 

Now a few things can be surmised about this trip that Mary took. In those days, it was common for women to visit their pregnant relatives during their last trimester of pregnancy to offer support to the expectant mother and to the whole household. And since Elizabeth didn’t have Facebook to tell the whole world that she was pregnant and to post pictures of every sonogram, Mary had to hear the news from an angel. And when she did, she immediately went to help her older cousin out. 

Another thing that we can surmise from Mary’s trip to see her out-of-town cousin is that upon hearing of her own rather exciting-yet-scandalous pregnancy, perhaps she felt it would be wise for her to get out of town and lay low for a while, before people started asking questions when she began to show. Surely her older, wiser cousin Elizabeth – who herself was miraculously pregnant - would serve as a good friend and confidant during this bizarre turn of events. In other words, while Mary was going to help Elizabeth, she indeed might have been seeking help herself. 

Well, after about four days of traveling – apparently by herself – Mary arrived at Elizabeth and Zechariah’s house to quite a greeting from Elizabeth:

“Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb.  And why has this happened to me, that the mother of the Lord comes to me? For as soon as I heard the sound of your greeting, the child in my womb lept for joy. And blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord.” 

What a remarkable prophesy from Elizabeth!  She was the one who was six months pregnant – against all odds – and yet she immediately turned her focus to Mary. She was a wise older cousin indeed. Perhaps Mary was feeling a combination of excitement and fear. What if Elizabeth and Zechariah didn’t believe Mary when she said that she and Joseph hadn’t been together? What if they didn’t take her in, for fear of the shame that it would bring to them having her there. What if she had to return home to the shame that awaited Joseph and her in their own town? 

But again, Elizabeth was a wise, faithful, and compassionate woman. She knew what it felt like to be judged by others. Being barren was judged as having fallen out of favor with God. And she was the wife of the high priest.  Can’t you just hear the rumors and conjectures that must have been spoken?

  To me, the remarkably prophetic thing that Elizabeth said was “Why has this happened to me, that the mother of the Lord comes to me?”

This was none other than the true claim that Mary was indeed pregnant with the Messiah. And Elizabeth was the first person to recognize and acknowledge this miracle.

But to me, the true wisdom of Elizabeth shined through not in her prophesy about Mary being the mother of the Messiah, but rather, in the remarkably pastoral sensibility she showed to Mary when she said,

            “Blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord.” 

Elizabeth honored Mary for believing that what the Lord said would happen would indeed happen. Most folks – myself included – simply wouldn’t have believed such shocking news. Yet Mary was able to believe that what the Lord said would happen would indeed happen - crazy as it seemed. And Elizabeth acknowledged Mary’s incredible faith.

Imagine how affirming that must have made Mary feel – remember she was only a teenager – in the midst of this bizarre, scandalous event that had just taken place. And when we continue further in the reading, we see the courage and confidence that Elizabeth gave Mary, for the very next lines in this scene are the Magnificat, where our scared teenager boldly proclaims, “Surely, from now on, all generations will call me blessed; for the Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is his name.”  I think that Mary was not only empowered by the message of the angel Gabriel, but also by the affirming message of her older cousin Elizabeth – “Blessed is she who believed.”

Elizabeth’s message to her younger cousin Mary couldn’t be more appropriate for us today. In the midst of the continued escalation of bi-partisan politics, violence, poverty, and the Covid-19 pandemic, many of us struggle to believe that there will be fulfillment of what is spoken to us by the Lord.  As we hang in there for one more week of this Advent season, it can be difficult to believe that on earth, peace and goodwill to all will arrive.

Remember, we are not only waiting for Christmas…we are waiting for the second coming of Christ, for the new heaven and the new earth, where all the tears will be wiped away. It’s easier for us to celebrate the birth of Christ because we know for a fact that it did indeed happen. And we celebrate the beginning of God’s kingdom on earth with the birth of Christ.  But do we believe that he will come again to set all things right? Do we believe that peace and love will finally win out over violence? In this day and age, it can be difficult to believe. So, we tend to focus our attention on the celebration of Christ’s first coming.  It’s more tangible, and as unbelievable as it was, it still seems more believable than the second coming.

But perhaps the story of the Blessed Virgin Mary in general - and today’s text in particular – can serve as a source of inspiration, comfort, and even empowerment, as we navigate what it means to be a Christian in this day and age. Perhaps those of us who are not inclined to say the Hail Mary as a devotional practice will consider it. And as we gaze upon an icon, statue, or painting of Mary, rather than feeling like we are being “too Catholic,” we might instead will be drawn to this person who, in spite of all the evidence to the contrary, still believed. Perhaps we will see in Mary someone who has inspired and will continue to inspire generations and generations of people to believe that there will indeed be a fulfillment of what has been spoken to us by the Lord. And perhaps we can put aside our enlightenment bias and join Mary in praying for those who need it the most, especially during this holiest of holy seasons. And perhaps, just as importantly, we will join Mary in praying that God will provide us with wise, non-judgmental, and sensitive people to receive them like Elizabeth received Mary – meeting us exactly where we are in our spiritual journeys, and having the vision to see God in others.

I’m guessing that for some of you, the first thing you noticed today was all the pink – on the altar, on the pulpit, on the Advent wreath, and on me. That is a good thing, because as Dani and I reiterate every week at our Tree House chapel service, the Church tells time with color. We always begin our lesson asking the children what time it is – and they enthusiastically say, “Green time, or Violet time, or Pink time.” When they say “pink” time, I then remind them that we actually use the word “rose” instead of pink.

So, today is “Rose time.” Through the incarnational beauty of color, we can see and tell that time has shifted a bit since we were last here. We have lit a 3rd candle – the rose candle – and the darkness of the season is getting a little bit brighter. The light of Christ is beginning to shine through the darkness. As we heard from Paul in his letter to the Church in Philippi this morning, “The Lord is near.”

The official name for this day as “Gaudete Sunday” – gaudete being the Latin word for “rejoice.” So, like the 4th Sunday in Lent, we adorn the church and our clergy with the color rose, the readings err more on the side of hope and joy, and in a nutshell, we lighten things up a bit.

The season of Advent invites us into the tension between already and not yet – we look backwards at the first coming of Christ while we simultaneously look forward to his second coming in glory. We are called to be more intentional about the spiritual practices of fasting, almsgiving, and prayer. But we are also called to rejoice in the great Good News that through God’s “bountiful grace and mercy,” Christ is coming to “speedily help and deliver us.”

Lest we forget that the prophets weren’t always announcing “doom and gloom,” the joy-filled, hopeful tenor of both of our readings from the prophets today – Zephaniah and Isaiah – are appropriate choices for Gaudete Sunday. Zephaniah proclaims,

“Rejoice and exult with all your heart,
O daughter Jerusalem!

…The king of Israel, the Lord, is in your midst;
you shall fear disaster no more.” 

And in similar fashion, Isaiah proclaims,

“Sing the praises of the Lord,

 for he has done great things, and this is known in all the world.
Cry aloud, inhabitants of Zion, ring out your joy,
for the great one in the midst of you is the Holy One of Israel.”

To be a faithful, mature Christian is to be able to recognize, admit, and lament the fact that we reside East of Eden, where sin and death abound - while also being able to boldly proclaim the Good News of Christ’s resurrection from the dead, as a solemnly joy-filled, hopeful people. We aren’t called to be puritanically dour, miserable, and pessimistic. But we also aren’t called to be naïve, “pie-in-the-sky” optimists who refuse to enter into and explore the darkness of seasons like Advent and Lent.

There are many ways that we Christians boldly proclaim the Good News that in Christ sin, evil, and death will never have the last word. We hope against all the evidence to the contrary. Not because we are naïve; not because our heads are in the sand. But because in Christ Jesus, we are empowered by a “faith that is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.”

So, on Gaudete Sunday, our scriptures and our liturgy remind us that as Advent people, we shamelessly look for and expect that in the midst of darkness, God’s light can and will shine. This reminds me of one of the opening lines of the Evening Prayer service is from Psalm 139:

If I say, “Surely the darkness will cover me, and the light around me turn to night,” darkness is not dark to thee, O Lord; the night is as bright as the day; darkness and light to thee are both alike.

A few years ago, when the remarkable British composer, violinist, and pianist Alma Deutscher was only 12 years old, she responded those who were critical of her compositions by saying:

“Some people have told me that I compose in the musical language of the past, and this is not allowed in the 21st century. In the past, it was possible to compose beautiful melodies and beautiful music, but today, they say, I’m not allowed to compose like this anymore because I need to discover the ‘complexity’ of the modern world, and the point of music is to show the ‘complexity’ of the world.

“Well, let me tell you a huge secret. I already know that the world is complex and can be very ugly, but I think these people have gotten a little bit confused. If the world is so ugly, what’s the point in making it even uglier with ugly music? … But I think most people go to concerts because they want to hear beautiful music, music full of melody that you can hum or sing, music that speaks to the heart, music that makes you want to smile or cry or dance. There’s enough ugliness in the world. I want to write beautiful music, music that makes the world a better place.” 

The then-12-year-old Alma Deutscher was wise beyond her years. What she was saying wasn’t that her music needed to be happy music – all in a major key. She was well aware of the “complexity” of the world. We might call it the Advent tension of living between the already and the not yet of the coming of Christ. The tension of the Kingdom of Heaven having been inaugurated but not yet fully realized.

And as we live in that tension, we break out the rose vestments, altar appointments, and candle. We celebrate the Eucharist with a hopeful joy in our hearts. We will have a concert here later today on “Rejoice Sunday” – Bach’s masterful Advent cantata “Sleeper’s Awake” because we believe that beautiful music makes the world a better place - not because we are afraid of the dark; but because we embrace the dark. We faithfully enter into the darkness believing that God’s light will prevail because our scriptures tell us that this is so. And that is good news indeed. This is the day that the Lord has made. Let us rejoice, and be glad in it!

Who Needs a Prophet?

 “In the fifteenth year of the rule of Caesar Tiberius—it was while Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea; Herod, ruler of Galilee; his brother Philip, ruler of Iturea and Trachonitis; Lysanias, ruler of Abilene; during the Chief-Priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas—John, Zachariah’s son, out in the desert at the time, received a message from God. He went all through the country around the Jordan River preaching a baptism of life-change leading to forgiveness of sins, as described in the words of Isaiah the prophet:

Thunder in the desert!
“Prepare God’s arrival!
Make the road smooth and straight!
Every ditch will be filled in,
Every bump smoothed out,
The detours straightened out,
All the ruts paved over.
Everyone will be there to see
The parade of God’s salvation.” (The Message)

Who needs a prophet anyway? Prophets have an annoying habit of pointing out our flaws, airing family secrets, and being all around nuisances. They love to call us out when we stray from God and when we have lost sight of truth. At best, they are a nuisance; at worst, they are meddling. Who needs these messengers of discomfort and sacrifice? What are they good for? Wouldn’t it be best for them to get on their soap boxes and protest and preach and prognosticate somewhere, anywhere else but here?

It is hard enough trying to be a good upright, churchgoing, tithe-giving, Sunday school-teaching person without one of these annoying prophets calling us to care for the poor, to look out for the downtrodden, to seek after justice and righteousness. Don’t we do enough already?

It would be nice if they would go bother the people in power, the people who can actually do something for the poor and the needy. Why do these prophets insist on bothering good people? But here they are, calling us once again to repentance, and forgiveness, and hope. You would think that they were broken records, spinning the same thing over and over and over again.

Here comes another one called John, son of Zechariah—John the Baptist, some call him. He’s no ordinary prophet; he doesn’t just preach that we need to repent, but he has the nerve to insist that people get baptized in the muddy River Jordan no less. It would be nice if John sang a different tune for a change. He is always running around, “Repent this! Prepare that!” Haven’t we heard this message before? And yet he persists. Like crazy old Isaiah preaching about paths being made straight, and valleys and mountains being filled and made flat.  The thing about straightening crooked places and valleys being filled and mountains being brought low is that we like our paths crooked, our valleys deep, and our mountains high. We like things the way they are and the way they have always been.

Who needs a prophet anyway?

We need prophets. The people who sit in darkness, in deep despair, they need prophets. The people who look around and see destruction and desolation, they need prophets. The people who have no voice, no rights, no hope—they need prophets, because prophets proclaim a new and better way. Prophets are truth-tellers to a world longing and praying and looking for glimpses of hope.

Our world needs prophets. Prophets are harbingers of hope and hope is found in the one whose coming we await. The message foretold by John breaks into our world with deafening silence and shatters the dark of despair with the light of love.

Who needs prophets? We need prophets. We need those annoying, nagging nuisances that call us to be better followers of Jesus. As Rachel Held Evans reminds us, “Biblically speaking, a prophet isn’t a fortune-teller or soothsayer who predicts the future, but rather a truth-teller who sees things as they really are—past, present, and future—and who challenges their community to both accept that reality and imagine a better one.”

We need the voice of one crying out in the wilderness because things happen in the wilderness. In the wilderness, the needs are raw and real, and sweet words and hollow sentiment are not enough. We need prophets especially when we have grown so full of ourselves that we neglect to see the orphan, the refugee, the migrant, the widow, and the stranger. We need prophets to call us back to God, back to a place where hope is found not only in church, but in the world around us—in the interaction of strangers, the joys of difference, and in the radicalness of love.

Like Jesus and John, we are tasked with holding lightly to the things that do not matter, in order to be open to a hope-filled future to which God calls us. Now more than ever, our communities, our nation, and our world are in desperate need of the glimmer of hope found in Jesus Christ. Now more than ever, we need to not only hear the cries of the prophets, but to take on the mantle of the prophets.

We, as the church, the people of God, the followers of Jesus, are called to claim our prophetic birthright and be the voice of the voiceless, the hope of the hopeless, the love of the loveless.

Often in the church, we can feel small and powerless, wondering how we will survive, being concerned about ourselves rather than those in need. But God’s prophetic grace often falls not on the powerful or the mighty, but on extraordinarily ordinary people who turn the world right-side-up. We are called to remember that we are not a group of people who believe all the same things; we are a group of people caught up in God’s plan of redemption and salvation with Jesus in the center.

The question facing us as Christians, who seek to follow where Jesus leads and to heed the call of John, isn’t “Do we need prophets?” The question we must answer is “Are we willing to be prophets?” Are we willing to let God’s light shine through us so much so that we can show the world a new and better way? Are we willing to be prophetic enough to walk out in faith and break bread with people who may not look like us, or talk like us, or vote like us or speak like us? Because that is the Good News that we have to share; that is the prophetic vision that has the power to transform our world. 

There are prophets in our midst. There is one sitting next to you right now. Look around. Listen. Keep awake. There is still darkness and despair and shattered dreams. There are still sins to be forgiven and enemies to turn into friends. It may not look like it, it may not sound like it, it may not feel like it, but in Jesus Christ, love has already won. The light of love and the glimmer of hope has broken through the gloom. The crooked places have been made straight, the valleys and mountains made smooth, the rough places made plain. Look and you will see the salvation of our God breaking through in a thousand pinpricks of light.

So, tune your ears to the voices crying from the wilderness, pay attention to the weirdos who speak of Good News and forgiveness and repentance and hope. Be the prophet who points to Jesus coming once more into our world. Amen.

The Rev’d Richard G. Proctor, OA

Christ the King Episcopal Church

1 Advent, Year C: 11.28.21

“The days are surely coming, when I will fulfill the promise,” says the LORD.

This prophecy from the prophet Jeremiah is a prophecy of anticipation.

One of the hallmarks of the Judeo-Christian tradition is the fact that we live in constant tension between looking forward in anticipation and looking back in remembrance. But Advent is the season for looking forward. And that is why I love the season of Advent.

Jeremiah’s prophecy of anticipation can be difficult to believe since so much time has passed since Jesus ascended into heaven with a promise to return to set things right for God’s creation.

And in our Gospel lesson for today, Jesus says, “Truly I tell you, this generation will not pass away until all things have taken place. Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away.” Since the timing of what Jesus calls a “generation” ended up being longer than one might have imagined, how do we undertake another year of remembering the story of our faith while authentically waiting in hopeful anticipation? Is our waiting in vain?

That is why our cycling back every year to tell the story over again is good for us. It allows us to remember Who it is and what it is we are waiting for. It helps us remember that it is Jesus for whom we are waiting; it is God – not the powers and principalities of this world, and not even well-meaning Christians – “who shall execute justice and righteousness in the land.” It helps us remember that the way things presently are will not be the way things end up. As God promised to Jeremiah, God’s promise will be fulfilled.

And that is why I find Advent to be the most theologically rich season of the church year. The scripture lessons, prayers, and hymns of Advent invite us to remember the bigger picture of God’s plan for creation. They remind us that the “here and now” is not all that there is – God’s creation is headed somewhere much more profoundly glorious than this. Through our baptisms, we are grafted into a family and a story that is much bigger than we are by ourselves. We aren’t on an individual spiritual journey seeking meaning for our own lives. We are sojourners as the people of God through whom God chose to enact his faithful righteousness for God’s creation.

I think that is what Paul was always trying to communicate to his churches when he wrote to them. He was always reminding them that their present circumstance was only a glimpse of God’s larger plan for creation. And even though they were Gentiles, through their baptisms, they too were the people of God, and could lay claim to God’s story as God’s people.

But these new Gentile Christians didn’t have the advantage of having grown up with the stories of their spiritual ancestors like Paul and other Jewish converts did. So, Paul had to tell them the story – the larger story of the People of God – so that they might come to understand the broader trajectory and arc of salvation history. And such is the case for us here and now. We also need to be reminded of this larger, ancient, and sacred story of which we are a part.

And nearly two thousand years after Paul was establishing churches among the Gentiles, we Christians continue to proclaim that Christ is going to come again “in a cloud with power and great glory” to set things right with God’s creation. And if you’re like me, this sort of watchful waiting for Christ to come again “any moment now” can seem at times to be unreal. Do we really think it will happen in our lifetimes? If we don’t, are we being unfaithful to our calling as Christians? How do we authentically and faithfully wait without going the route of creepy “End Times” books, prophecies, and the like?  

These sorts of questions are why I love Advent, and why I need Advent. I need to hear from the prophets like Jeremiah and Isaiah. They tell the truth and frame it in a way that pulls me beyond my tendency to look barely beyond the end of my nose. They remind us that we are still in an exile of sorts, waiting for things to be sorted out and made right by God. They give us permission to simultaneously lament and hope. They remind us of God’s covenant faithfulness as it relates to God’s larger plan for creation. “The days are surely coming, says Jeremiah, when I will fulfill the promise.” The way that things currently are aren’t the way that things will always be. God’s justice and righteousness will prevail over the darkness of this world as it is. The darkness of this age will not have the last word.

So, the season of Advent invites us to grapple with the much larger picture that seems so far away and perhaps entirely unreal in time and scope. It reminds us that there is a trajectory beyond the here and now and that we are waiting on something to happen and for Jesus to return to set things right once and for all. It reminds us that the whole point of being as Christian isn’t so that we will go to heaven when we die. It is much deeper, wider, and larger than that. Through the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, being a Christian is about being a part of God’s faithful plan for redeeming God’s fallen creation. So, as God’s faithful people, we are called to wait in hopeful expectation for Christ to come again to fulfill God’s promise for God’s people. And more than any other, the season of Advent is the time to focus on this hopeful, expectant waiting.

While we wait, the gift that the Church – the Body of Christ – gives us, is the comfort of knowing that we do not wait alone. Through our baptisms, we are invited through worship, Christian formation, and Christian community to wait in hopeful expectation as Christ’s Body in the world. And while we wait together in faithful community, we call upon God, as our Collect for the Day says, to “give us grace to cast away the works of darkness, and put on the armor of light, now in the time of this mortal life.”

But we must remember that while we don the armor of light to cast away the works of darkness, it is God who is ultimately in control. It is up to us to humbly, faithfully, and steadfastly respond to God’s call to wait in hopeful expectation for “the last day, when he shall come again in his glorious majesty to judge both the living and the dead.” God’s promise for us is that our hopeful, expectant waiting will never be in vain.

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: “The Lord is King; Ever since the world began, your throne has been established; you are from everlasting.”

And then, taking a cue from the Revelation to John, “’I am the Alpha and the Omega,’ says the Lord God, who is and who was and who is to come, the Almighty.”

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

Hoping Skills

Collect of the Day: Blessed Lord, who caused all holy Scriptures to be written for our learning: Grant us so to hear them, read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest them, that we may embrace and ever hold fast the blessed hope of everlasting life, which you have given us in our Savior Jesus Christ; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

If ever there were a Sunday for today’s opening collect, this is it. What a gospel lesson. Hear, read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest this gospel? It’s full of troubling images, images that cut too close to home, that sound too much like the atrocities we see in the news. 

But our collect reminds us that all holy Scripture was written for our learning and to lead us to the blessed hope of everlasting life. This morning, then, we are encouraged to hear how this gospel offers us hope. When we do, we will develop some very important skills, not just to cope, but, more importantly, to hope. 

Hoping skills are important because the situations Jesus describes to his disciples are ongoing. Those who first heard Mark’s story of Jesus would have nodded just as we do: people claiming authority they don’t have—yes, oh, we’ve seen it; wars—too many, Lord; famines, environmental disaster—will there ever be an end? People have tried to pin down texts like this to one date, one time in history or yet to come, as if Jesus were describing one particular false Messiah, war, disaster. But Jesus isn’t being specific, and, at the same time, he is. 

Specific: a time did come when the temple was torn down. Not specific: generation upon generation has experienced hardship. Most important specific: The God who was God then, the God who could be relied upon amidst chaos and loss, is still God now, here in the time of our wars, our environmental disasters, our famines, our false messiahs, our pandemic; and will be God in the future, and into the beyond-all-time time when, as we would read beyond today’s reading in Mark 13, “heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away” (Mark 13:31).

Our gospel lesson appointed for this Sunday is apocalyptic writing. The word apocalypse means an unveiling or uncovering of what was previously unknown or hidden. Apocalyptic literature abounds with bizarre visions and strange symbolism. Apocalyptic writing emerges especially when people are in desperate situations, in times of persecution, when their faith is under attack or in danger of being abandoned for the sake of safety. Because it’s written in times of persecution, apocalyptic writing often uses symbolic speech that makes it seem a sealed book to those outside the situation.

What is always clear, though, is that apocalyptic writing, including chapter 13 of Mark’s Gospel, which we hear just the beginning of today, is written to give hope to its readers. It’s written to keep our eyes focused on God and God’s actions in history and to give assurance that, despite appearances to the contrary, God is still God. God still reigns. The future belongs to God.

The central theme of apocalyptic literature is God’s revelation concerning the coming of the kingdom of God, the fullness of the reign of God. From the very beginning, the faith of Israel, our spiritual forebears, was oriented toward the future. God’s work in history is purposeful, and events are pressing toward the realization of the divine goal for all of God’s creation. History is not spinning in circles or repeating itself like the cycle of the seasons. Nor is it governed by blind fate or chance. Israel perceived that its history was part of a great divine drama, which, under the direction of God, is moving toward a final consummation.

In today’s Gospel lesson, we hear just the beginning of Jesus’ description of the events that precipitate the inauguration of the kingdom of God in its fullness, which actually takes up all of Mark’s 13th chapter. In it, Jesus is reminding his disciples that our times—our past, our present, our future—are in God’s hands. Not that God controls every action, as if there is no such thing as human choice or agency, but that God will work God’s purposes out within human history, within time and space, on this earth, until God brings about the new heavens and a new earth. 

The disciples ask Jesus when this will happen, and Jesus answers them by not answering them. Instead, he tells them to be faithful, not fearful, to set their minds on trusting and being aware, rather than worrying about a calendar. Jesus’ words are meant to put an end to any speculation about when the end of time as we know it will happen. Jesus says, don’t worry about knowing when. That’s not yours to know. But there are things you can know.

The things we can know are hoping skills.

The first of these hoping skills is to keep the Big Picture Perspective—the really big picture perspective, the God’s eye view of human history.

We are talking about something we know only in part, and all our words for God and comprehensions of God fall far short of the divine reality. Nonetheless, all scripture was written to give us hope, to give us a picture, to give us the divine promise and perspective in ways that even we humans can understand. Here’s the big picture: God is at work, bringing everything to completion according to God’s purposes. God does not willingly cause the suffering of any of God’s creatures, and it grieves the God who made us with the capacity for grief when anyone suffers, when anyone causes suffering. But even the worst of what we experience is redeemable. All is subject, in time, to God’s purposes and plans. God is at work now, reaching out to us with a future that is whole and holy and blessed, even when in the present small picture, we can’t see it. One hoping skill is to focus on the really big picture.

The second hoping skill is to get to know Scripture.

It’s related to keeping the big picture in view, because Scripture is our source, along with tradition and reason, for knowing who God is, what promises God has made, how God works, what faithfulness looks like, especially as we know God in Jesus Christ. When Jesus is urging his disciples not to be led astray by false Messiahs, he is reminding them to cling to what they know about him. We will not be deceived and we will have reason for hope if we know the scriptures, if we use them as the lens through which to view the world and how we make our way in the world.

This is not a call for proof-texting, using one piece or passage of scripture to justify our own actions or decisions. It is instead the much more challenging task of examining our whole lives in light of the whole body of Scripture. Not of knowing just a few beloved verses, but knowing the whole story, its shapes and themes and concerns. When we know how the story ends, with victory over death, and that the way to victory was through self-giving love that was willing to suffer and die, we have reason to hope, now and in the future.

A third hoping skill is this: Expect trouble. But expect Christ more.

Jesus, in Mark 13, as mentioned before, describes a scene that many Jews experienced not long after Jesus’ time on earth, when the Romans once again cracked down on their subject peoples. The Romans desecrated and then destroyed the Temple. This passage was saved as important, not just because it described something that had in fact happened in the early days of Christianity, but because it also describes a reality that has been true ever since. Christians should expect difficulties. Being faithful has its consequences in the world. Being faithful has meant martyrdom and family divisions, execution, persecution, poverty, estrangement, ostracism, sacrifice. Not only is Christianity no magic charm against the harms that befall every human—accidents and sickness and death—faithfulness means being open to more trouble still. Christians expect trouble.

But we expect Christ more. Nothing shall separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus. Trouble is real. But Christ is more powerful than any trouble. Jesus wanted his disciples to know, his disciples then, and us, disciples today, that we can be alert, open, and watchful for all the signs of God at work in the world, and for what is not of God in the world. Expect trouble, but expect Christ more. Expect that we are not alone in the face of any trouble. When dreams fail and disasters come and we find ourselves against a wall or looking into darkness, we may be at the end of our rope, but God is not at the end of God’s. We are not alone. Christ is with us. We are promised the help of the Holy Spirit. And we are given one another, in the words of our reading from Hebrews, to “provoke one another to love and good deeds, not neglecting to meet together,”—and now, don’t we have even more ways than ever to see one another’s faces, to hear one another, even when we can’t be in the same room together?—and to encourage one another. Christ is present as we reach out to one another, when we reach out to serve any who are suffering, especially when we reach out in times of trouble.

These are hoping skills for as long as we need them: Remember the really big picture. Get to know scripture. Expect trouble; expect Christ more.