Sermons: July 2009

The Southwest Corner of Gosford and District:

Patriotism, Prophecy, and God 

5 Pentecost (Proper 9, B: RCL)

Grace Episcopal Church                                          

July 5, 2009 

Ezekiel 2:1-5       Psalm 123

2 Corinthians 12:2-1                                                  Mark 6:1-13 

There’s a “community church” on the southwest corner of Gosford and District, kitty-corner from the T-Bone Steak House. The nave of the church faces Gosford and on the exterior wall is a cross—well, there was a cross. 

A month or so ago the church unfurled a huge American flag over the cross. During the day, the flag obliterates our central Christian symbol.  

In the evening, the cross lights up—and shines eerily through the American flag, a white specter shrouded by the red, white, and blue. A ghost, rising from the dead only at night to haunt our transgression. 

The southwest corner of Gosford and District bears stark symbolic witness to how the cross all too often in America disappears beneath the flag; that corner bears witness to the gospel being swallowed whole by an unthinking patriotism.

Let me make myself clear: Not patriotism in and of itself, but rather an unthinking patriotism, blind patriotism, where love of country plucks out our eyes. In our blindness, we are no longer able to see the cross or live the gospel.

It’s as if Jim Caviezel’s Jesus in The Passion of the Christ has been shoved offstage by George C. Scott’s Patton.

Blind patriotism, patriotism that replaces God, patriotism that displaces Christ, is idolatry. 

What is idolatry? It’s putting someone, or something, ahead of God. Idolatry is when we replace God with something—whether that something is physical, spiritual, psychological, or emotional. 

In the Bible, over and over again God raises up prophets to preach to Israel about her idolatry; God calls prophets such as Isaiah, Amos, and Ezekiel, whose call we heard today, to beseech Israel to turn away from her idols and turn back to God. 

We make a terrible, even tragic, mistake if we consign God’s prophets to long ago and far away, to a time and place and people we can thus ignore or dismiss. 

As Abraham Heschel, a great rabbi, theologian—and prophet—of the 20th century, says: “The things that horrified the prophets are even now daily occurrences all over the world.”1 

It’s commonly thought that a prophet is someone who foretells the future, but that’s radically incorrect. A prophet is not a pretend gypsy soothsaying with a Tarot deck. A prophet is a man who truly sees the present; a prophet is a woman who tells the truth—God’s truth. 

God has raised up numerous prophets in the United States: among them, in the 19th century, Sojourner Truth, Frederick Douglass, and Henry David Thoreau; in the twentieth century, Martin Luther King, Jr., Dorothy Day, Thomas Merton, and William Stringfellow. 

William who? William Stringfellow.2 Most of us probably don’t recognize his name. That’s OK—spell check on Office 2007 doesn’t know who he is, either.  

Believe it or not, William Stringfellow was—you ready?—an Episcopalian. 

So, on this July 4th + 1, I’d like to celebrate and honor William Stringfellow. Why? Because Stringfellow was both a patriot and a Christian. And because Stringfellow, though a patriot, never put patriotism or country ahead of God.  

Stringfellow, a “a lay person, a lawyer, and a tireless advocate for racial and social justice,” is one of those prophets who best recognize our easy and lazy idolatry—and calls us on it.  

On this 4th of July weekend, I think Stringfellow still speaks urgently to who we are as Americans, and who we are as children of God. 

Idolatry is probably our besetting sin; it may well be the sin that begets all other sins. 

But what, specifically, does idolatry do? 

First, as Stringfellow observes, idolatry diverts us from what really matters.3 This past week we’ve witnessed in Michael Jackson’s death the idolatry of celebrity and money. In all the talk of the tens, even hundreds of millions, of dollars earned and squandered by Jackson, did any starstruck commentator wonder how much good those millions and millions of dollars could have done if they hadn’t been sacrificed at the altar of transient fame and wasted building idols to narcissism and fantasy?

Second, with regard to the red, white, and blue idol at the corner of District and Gosford, Stringfellow understands that such idolatry both creates, and is consumed by, “the mythology (not to say fantasy) of America as the holy nation,” God’s elect.4 

Most importantly, Stringfellow warns us, patriotism and nationalism, when turned into idols, displace God: 

More than any other of the great and familiar principalities5 of this world[, he cautions,]. . . the nation is a symbol of salvation [for us], an image of the Kingdom [of God]; it is a facsimile of that order, tranquility, dominion, and fulfillment of life in society which seems lost in the present era and yet after which [we] yearn persistently despite all disillusionments and defeat.6 

Here’s what’s so terribly wrong about pseudo-patriotic idolatry: those who place nation over God, those who replace God with nation, those who believe—those who worship—the mythology and fantasy of America as the good and holy nation, waging holy war against evil, are the ones who deceived us into the war in Iraq.  

Such idolatry has terrible consequences and costs: over 4,000 dead Americans,7 probably a million dead Iraqis,8 and a war that will probably end up costing 3 trillion dollars a number so enormous it rockets the mind.9

Prophets call us to repent of our idolatries and return to God. 

Repentance. We know something about repentance and the need for it. But Stringfellow, as a prophet, challenges our ordinary understanding: Repentance, he says, “is not about forswearing wickedness as such; repentance concerns the confession of vanity.” 10 

“Repentance concerns the confession of vanity.” Never have Ecclesiastes’ words had so much force for me: “Vanity of vanities, says the Teacher, vanity of vanities. All is vanity.”11 

The NIV version is even more powerful: 

"Meaningless! Meaningless!"  
       says the Teacher.  
       "Utterly meaningless!  
       Everything is meaningless. " 

The Jewish Study Bible translation gives our idolatries added poignancy: 

Utter futility! . . .

Utter futility! All is futile! 

Idolatry, even patriotic idolatry, putting country before God, is vain, meaningless, and futile.  

And, as the war in Iraq has shown us, idolatry is deadly and destructive. 

“For a Christian,” William Stringfellow reminds us, “there is such a commitment as decent respect and open affection for the country of one’s citizenship. But,” he warns, “this is not the same as a patriotism which is idolatrous and deadly.”12 

July 4th, like Memorial Day, very much deserves our respect and observance. July 4th at heart reminds us not of idols but of ideals that can stir and shape the soul; the 4th reminds us of sacrifice and self-sacrifice; of courage, freedom, and thanksgiving. 

By all means, let’s give our country the honor she’s due for the many blessings she’s given us. 

But let’s also be ever vigilant that giving honor does not become idolatry.  

Amen.

   Making the Most of our Personal, Not Professional, Spirituality

      A Sermon by Miriam Raub Vivian

      Grace Episcopal Church, Bakersfield, California

      12 July 2009

Amos 7:7-15

Psalm 85:8-13

Ephesians 1:3-14

Mark 6:14-29 

      His name was Daniel, and he decided to make his home atop a tall pillar outside the city. Many people came to see him, though not to gawk. Rather they ventured to the area beneath his column in order to seek his help, specifically his blessings, prayers, and guidance. Why would anyone seek assistance from someone choosing to live so irregular a life? Well, it helps to realize that Daniel lived in the 5th century, and by the standards of those relatively early Christians, Daniel was a living saint, one whose life of extraordinary spiritual feats  of endless prayer and casting out demons garnered him a reputation well beyond the eastern Roman capital of Constantinople, near which he had taken up residence. Daniel spent the last thirty-three YEARS of his life living on that pillar outside Constantinople, compelled to descend completely only once, and only for what was a pretty dire circumstance—purportedly the defense of Christian orthodoxy from a heretical, usurping emperor.

      Daniel was dedicated to training, which is what the Greek word askesis means, and from which we get “ascetic.” In his day, thousands, if not hundreds of thousands, of individuals were living ascetic lives, focused on prayer and union with God. Whether they mortified the body, as many did—some bound by chains, others standing for days and months without moving, others suffering the elements unprotected—or whether they simply dwelt in a cave or small hermitage on a diet so small it’s hard to imagine how they stayed alive, these men and women were certainly taking the Christian life seriously. Indeed, we can likely agree that they pursued spirituality as a profession.

      Many Christians in the late Roman Empire regarded the ascetic or monastic life as a higher calling. Just listen to the words of John of Lycopolis in Egypt comparing in the 4th century those good people who follow the commandments of God—but are involved with earthly things—to those who take a more professional approach:

Better and greater than [the good man] is the contemplative, who has risen from active works to the spiritual sphere and has left it to others to be anxious about earthly things. Since such a person has not only denied himself but even become forgetful of himself, he is concerned with the things of heaven. He stands unimpeded in the presence of God, without any anxiety holding him back. For such a person spends his life with God; he is occupied with God, and praises him with endless hymnody.

      This professional spirituality is not a feature of the lives of most people today. It does not seem attainable for most of us, or perhaps even desirable, particularly in its extremes.  In reality, we are, all of us, clearly consumed with “earthly things.” Whereas we may desire that the Bible be our guiding book in life, it is, as a friend likes to point out, two OTHER books that tend to govern us: the appointment book and the checkbook. As probably none of us expects to get out from under this circumstance, what are we to do? How can we pursue the Christian life as, I hesitate to say, amateurs? I actually have a few suggestions, though I don’t pretend to think they are particularly original or even useful for everyone; they are simply my own, and I offer them only as possible suggestions in helping us on our Christian journey, with its many trials and challenges, joys and rewards. Consider as the inspiration for these suggestions the theme for Pentecost preachers: the intersection of one’s faith and workplace or profession. How can we shape our lives as a testament to our Christian faith where we work?  Whereas, strictly speaking, we cannot pursue professional spirituality, I believe that as we work on our PERSONAL spirituality we can in fact have a positive effect on the lives of others and bear witness to our Lord as we seek to build up His kingdom in a way that the poetry of our psalm for this morning captures nicely: “Mercy and truth have met together; righteousness and peace have kissed each other. Truth shall spring up from the earth, and righteousness shall look down from heaven” (Psalm 85:10).

      It’s again John of Lycopolis who provides a useful list of goals for the Christian life, even for us amateurs: we should show brotherly love and practice hospitality and charity; we should give money and be generous to visitors; and we should help the sick and not give offense to anyone. His advice should also remind us that although WE may not be able to pray without ceasing, as Paul exhorts, each one of us nevertheless has a place in building God’s kingdom, and we can identify ours through developing our own spiritual lives. How? Through PLACE, that is, P-L-A-C-E: be Patient, Listen, Attend, Connect, and Engage. Hey, mnemonic devices can be handy, as I remind students: for example, you can remember that the Euphrates River is west of the Tigris by the movie title E.T., and that the chronological order of the most famous Greek philosophers is S.P.A.: Socrates, Plato, Aristotle.

      First of all, “P”: I suggest we can do a great deal of good for the kingdom of God through patience. The ascetics provide an excellent model of the kind of patience I’m talking about: it’s about taking the long view, about having an understanding of the long history of humanity that makes it possible to realize that not all will be accomplished in our own lifetimes, that we ourselves are not likely to recreate the world in our image or God’s, no matter how hard we try. Even these monks wrestled with patience at times. Patience is a difficult business, which is why it is a virtue—a virtue indeed. Anyone with small children or teenagers sees impatience everyday, but in our maturity we can try to move beyond the demand that everything has to work right, right now, just like we want it. I struggle a lot with patience, but I know it’s possible to achieve because my grandmother was patience personified. In our places of work we are likely to encounter incompetence, neglect, and daily challenges, but with God’s help we can take that deep breath and remember that the patience of Job is possible even for amateurs—at least some of the time—and that it will actually help us do our jobs better, as well as testify to the value of a Christian perspective on life and time.

      Practicing patience will make it easier to listen as well. Now THIS is work! I think many of us were born chattering. I’m sure I was. And that makes it easy; we can talk with our minds practically shut off or, more typically, wandering elsewhere during a conversation, easily distracted by a mind full of other tasks, other thoughts. Ten years ago I might have said that this distractedness is partly a feature of growing older, of having so much to take care of, but the younger generation, with its twitters and texts, email and instant messaging, Facebook and MySpace seems often engaged in at least two of these at once, while also trying to have a conversation. So, no one is immune from the challenge of listening, and Zen Buddhism’s principle of “mindfulness” underscores this very notion of the value of being present in each moment. With listening this means completely tuning in to what another is saying. It’s worth our developing this part of the spiritual life because listening carefully to someone else conveys the value we place on other children of God, and our willingness to make each person who speaks to us important. Whether with children, students, colleagues, co-workers, fellow parishioners, or strangers, our listening sends a powerful message: each of us is about more than just ourselves—or certain types of people. Indeed, it says that we value the dignity of every human being, and thus when we take the time to really listen to others, we are living out a central part of our baptismal covenant.

      Patiently listening to others will also make us better able to attend to them and their needs. It used to amaze me how many difficulties our students at Cal State, for example, struggled with, but no longer. I have come to accept that not only do many of them have incredibly challenging lives, but a large number of them do not have adequate family support to help them navigate through such rough terrain. As a graduate student, I never expected that once a professor I would have students sit in my office and describe their personal pain, from dysfunctional family lives to the loss of loved ones, mental health issues, divorces, and the challenges of working full time while a student. Gosh, when I went off to college it was like going to academic camp—four years of (mostly) enjoyable studying unfettered by dependents or difficulties at home. And for that I am so very grateful. So many of those we meet on life’s paths, however, need our attention and compassion—an extension on an assignment, a little handout of money, a smile or hug. If we get right down to it, it is indeed where we live that we live out our Christian faith. Sending money overseas is important, as are prayers for those in other places of need, but it is where we live that the rubber of our lives meets the road of Christianity. To find traction on this life’s Christian path, we need simply to pay attention to the people around us, day in and day out. In ways both small and large (a smile or kind word, or perhaps money or a helping hand) we can make a difference in the lives of those around us. It does not have to be what I call “loud Christianity,” an in-your-face expression of the faith that is at least as likely to turn others off as it is to provide comfort. I do believe it’s possible through a more quiet Christianity to live out the Gospel, through words and actions. After all, attending to others’ needs would seem to speak more loudly than the loudest words.

      How do we recharge for this work of helping others? We connect with God. I guess it was something of a revelation to me sometime in my early adult life that prayer is not solely talking to God. Prayer can be wordless, a quiet and silence that many of us crave but find far too infrequently in our busy lives. It was liberating to understand that prayer takes many forms, and so I have sought—sometimes more successfully than others—to connect with God throughout the day. I’m sure there are many ways to do this, and each of us has or will find a very personal means for doing so. I have a few favorite ways, inspired in this approach by a meditation instructor who stressed that even intentional quiet time can sometimes be disturbed by an outside noise, but only if we let it. By taking that so-called disturbing noise and thinking of it as a window, an icon, an entré to connect with God, we can instead incorporate it into our focus on God. At Grace we are fortunate to have many actual—and  beautiful—icons made by talented parishioners, and these can assist us in connecting with God. Of course, one does not need to be in a sanctuary to find God. Outside of church I try to use icons or triggers to reconnect me with God. For example, I was born on July 22, so when a digital clock shows 7:22, I think of God and how grateful I am to be alive and blessed. Sometimes when I’m alone in the car, I sing favorite hymns. Both the words and music bring me into a sense of God’s presence. This might not work for everyone, and I’m probably not typical in having a CD of Ralph Vaughn Williams’ hymns on my iPod, but listening to sacred music can connect us to God, its lyrics reminding us of God’s nature and love, as for example, in our last hymn: “Now on high, yet ever with us, from his Father’s throne the Son rules and guides the world he ransomed, till the appointed work be done, till he see[s], renewed and perfect, all things gathered into one.” At the offertory, we’ll sing a request for God to make us His, as the first verse poetically illustrates: “Take my life, and let it be consecrated, Lord, to thee; take my moments and my days, let them flow in ceaseless praise. Take my hands, and let them move at the impulse of thy love; take my heart, it is thine own; it shall be thy royal throne.” I have never forgotten reading many years ago the following words and recognizing that I believed them: “Music is God’s cool rain on parched and thirsty souls.” We are fortunate at Grace to have so many talented musicians who help us worship, but however it is that we connect with God, whether through music or in nature, in quiet or in traffic, it is what we were meant to do, and it gives us not only our purpose but also our strength for this journey. What daily sights and sounds can connect you with God?

      Finally, we can help find our personal spirituality and our place in this Christian life if we engage in the world. If we look to the monks for inspiration, we are liable to write them off as selfishly pursuing their own salvation, having escaped from the burdens of the world. But we would be wrong in many instances, as ascetics such as Daniel made themselves available to those who came to them in need, even as they sought to live somewhat apart from the world. Either through our workplaces or through our church, each of us has a place waiting for us to exercise this engagement. At Grace we have many ministries, serving both the congregation itself and those outside. From serving a meal at the Homeless Shelter to helping build a home for Habitat for Humanity to playing an instrument, reading, ministering to our children or youth, serving on the Bishop’s or Stewardship Committee, being a Eucharistic minister, donating money or materials, or heading up any number of small groups in our parish, there are ample opportunities for all of us to engage with one another and those in our community.

      In the end, we are not professionals in spirituality, as Daniel and his ascetic contemporaries were, but we can nevertheless pursue a personal spirituality that enables us to live a Christian life where we live and work. If we’re patient, listen, attend to others, connect with God, and engage with the world around us, we can hope to find our own, individual, place in living out our Christian faith.

7 Pentecost (Proper 11)    July 19, 2009

Year B (RCL)      Grace Episcopal Church 

As I sped along through LA once, I saw a large billboard advertising Jesus. Well, it was advertising one image of Jesus.

There are numerous Jesuses available to us—miracle-worker, teller of parables, teacher of Wisdom, prophet, and healer, among many. That billboard focused on just one: Jesus the Good Shepherd.

If you Google-image Jesus the Good Shepherd, you get 1.2 million hits. Many of these images look like nicely dressed and carefully-coiffured Hollywood Jesuses; many of the rest are sentimental and sappy.

I much prefer the image of the shepherd on the front cover of today’s service booklet. It’s a picture of a wall painting from the catacomb of San Callisto in Rome, and was painted sometime in the 3rd through the 5thcenturies. 1

The earliest Christians strictly observed the second Commandment that prohibited crafting images of the Divine: thus, instead of likenesses of Jesus, they painted symbolic representations of him.

The San Callisto shepherd is much more real to me than all the images of Jesus on the first couple pages of Google. Rather than being a sentimental fantasy of a shepherd, the unbearded young man actually looks like he’s working.

You’ve heard from me many times that images and symbols matter. Is Jesus as shepherd really the Jesus you want to market in a hyper-urban setting such as Los Angeles? Seen any shepherds, or sheep, lately on the 405?

Today is Jesus-the-Good-Shepherd Sunday: Jeremiah speaks of God raising up shepherds to guide the people; the 23rd Psalm we just read is probably the most famous of all the Psalms; two hymns we’ll sing shortly focus on Jesus as shepherd.

But the question remains: unless you’re a Basque sheepherder in the San Joaquin Valley or happen to be tooling along on 99 and see a flock of sheep, what good is the image of a shepherd with his sheep? More importantly, what does Jesus as shepherd do for you as a Christian? 

A happy confluence of today’s reading from Jeremiah and the four women we remember this week in the Communion of Saints may give us an answer.

You may recall that the past few weeks we’ve had readings from some of the prophets: Ezekiel, Amos, and Jeremiah. These prophets have one thing in common: they’re pissed off at the people of Israel.

The thing that angers them most is the people’s idolatry: the Israelites are making images of false gods and worshipping them; they’re also making idols of wealth, power, and position, and idolizing those, too. In image and idolatry, the people of Israel are worshipping false gods. With both, say the prophets, the people’s focus is in all the wrong places.

Of the two, making idols of wealth, power, and position may in fact be the worse idolatry, the worse sin.

Why? Because when we worship these we not only shrink God; we diminish our God-given humanity: when we idolize wealth, power, and position, we beget children in our own image and forsake all the children made in the image of God: mesmerized by our own, self-made image, we forsake everyone else.

These are the idolatries that the prophets warn Israel—and us—about. If we don’t give up our idols, the prophets remind us, we risk losing everything.

All too often we misrepresent the prophets’ efforts at divine risk management as gloom and doom. We do this so we can write off God’s emissaries as irrelevant nay-sayers, long-dead misanthropes and party-poopers.

Yes, the prophets do a lot of accusing and give plenty of warnings. But—we must remember—they always have hope: they have hope that we will shatter our false idols and turn back to the living God; they have the unshakeable belief that we will one day care for all God’s children as our own.

In today’s reading God declares this hope and Jeremiah’s belief with the metaphor of the shepherd:

Then I myself will gather the remnant of my flock out of all the lands where I have driven them, and I will bring them back to their fold, and they shall be fruitful and multiply. I will raise up shepherds over them, who will shepherd them, and they shall not fear any longer, or be dismayed, nor shall any be missing . . . .

Last week at Bible study, as we discussed that Sunday’s reading from the prophets, Misael had a great question, even a profound one: if Amos received God’s call in a dream or vision, how does God call prophets today?

How does God call prophets today?

I responded that the ancients, like modern Native Americans, were much more in touch with their dreams and visions than we are today. That doesn’t mean that God has changed but rather that we’ve changed. In other words, God may still call people through dreams and visions. But since we work differently now, so does God.

 In my sermon two weeks ago I observed that today we commonly think of a prophet as someone who foretells the future. But that understanding is radically incorrect. A prophet is not a pretend gypsy soothsaying with a Tarot deck. A prophet is a man who truly sees the present; a prophet is a woman who tells the truth—God’s truth.

And we know, don’t we, that telling the truth does not always make you popular.

Two weeks ago I listed a few of the prophets God has raised up in the United States in the 19th and 20th centuries.

One of them was Sojourner Truth.2 In addition to her, this week in the Communion of Saints we honor three more of God’s truth-tellers, all women: Elizabeth Cady Stanton,3 Amelia Bloomer,4 and Harriet Tubman.5

Stanton was an American social activist, abolitionist, and leading figure of the early women's movement; Bloomer an American women's rights and temperance advocate; Tubman was an African-American abolitionist and humanitarian; and Truth an African-American abolitionist and women's rights activist.

What do these women have in common? They all fought to end segregation and American apartheid.

We should always remember, especially now, that those who once argued most vehemently and loudly to segregate women and African-Americans—just as those today within the Anglican Communion who support sexual apartheid—did so with the Bible in one hand, quoting chapter and verse to show that God loves slavery and segregation.

It’s good and right that we honor these four women of the 19th century. But it’s more important that we learn from them. And it’s even more important that we emulate them.

On July 17, 2009, two days ago, we in the Episcopal Church did these women proud.

With the approval of the ordination of women as priests in 1976 and the election of Katharine Jefferts Schori as Presiding Bishop and Primate on June 18, 2006, we ended female apartheid in the Episcopal Church.

Early last week the Church decided to continue ordaining gay bishops. On the 17th, the Church voted to give bishops discretion in their dioceses to permit same-sex blessings. With these two actions, on July 17, 2009, just two days ago, we Episcopalians—lay persons, priests, and bishops—voted overwhelmingly to end sexual apartheid in our Church.

The Episcopal Church has become one of God’s modern prophets.

This past week, we in the Episcopal Church lived into and lived out our baptismal vows: with our votes we fulfilled our promise to seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving our neighbors as ourselves; with our votes, we fulfilled our promise to strive for justice and peace among all people, and to respect the dignity of every human being.

Let’s bask for a moment in the glow of those votes and the living out of those baptismal promises.

OK, time’s up.

Now let’s get back to work. In both Church and society, we still have segregation and apartheid: of the poor, the marginalized, the elderly; of the homeless, those of a different language or color, and many more.

In doing God’s work, in striving to keep our baptismal promises, each and every one of us can be one of God’s chosen prophets. Amen.