tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51057477109313507762024-03-24T11:19:54.165-04:00Baum SermonsFr. George Baumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05079928636948333700noreply@blogger.comBlogger222125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5105747710931350776.post-62751595787165122662024-03-24T11:19:00.000-04:002024-03-24T11:19:19.350-04:00YEAR B 2024 palm sunday/passion sunday<p>Palm Sunday/Passion Sunday 2024<br />Isaiah 50:4-9a<br />Philippians 2:5-11<br /><a href="https://www.lectionarypage.net/YearB_RCL/HolyWeek/BPalmSun_RCL.html#gsp3" target="_blank">Mark 15:1-39</a><br />Psalm 31:9-16<br /><br />In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.</p><p>There is not much a preacher can say, after what we just heard. Let me start over. There is not much a preacher <i>should </i>say, after what we just heard.</p><p>This is the most bifurcated day of the church year. Or, maybe it’s the <i>fullest </i>day of the church year. Because it shows us the full range of the fickle nature of who we are. Sometimes, we start by saying something encouraging, like Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord, and we just keep talking and talking until we find ourselves saying, “Give us Barabbas.” We might shout “Hosanna,” and we might then shout, “Crucify!” And the words we choose to shout in this story—and in our lives—really do make a difference. Because words matter. And sometimes, what we all need to do is just. stop. talking. As I said, sometimes, a preacher can say too much.</p><p>Everybody in this story has a lot to say. And the more people say, the worse things get. They just keep saying things that make the situation more and more dangerous, and no one says “STOP!” All talking, and no peace. Give us enough space and we will talk ourselves to death. </p><p>In Mark’s version of this story, the one we just heard, nobody seems able to stop talking. And once he gets sent to Pilate, Jesus speaks only two times. First, when Pilate asks him, “Are you the King of the Jews?” Jesus answers him, “You say so.” And then all that horrible stuff happens because people can’t stop talking, and . . . Jesus remains silent. At the end, from the cross, Jesus quotes the opening of Psalm 22 and says, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Those are the only two times he speaks.</p><p>The 22nd Psalm opens with “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” And that psalm ends with, “They shall come and make known to a people yet unborn the saving deeds that God has done.”</p><p>A people yet unborn. That’s us. We are those people. And God’s saving deeds <i>have </i>been made known to us, because people have used their <i>words </i>to make those deeds known to us. <i>Those </i>are the words we need to hear. All of us.</p><p>When you and I speak, may God give us the wisdom to choose words that are doing that same thing: Making known to a people yet unborn the saving deeds that God has done. Let’s stop with all the words and speak only of this: The saving deeds that God has done. To God be the glory.</p><p>Amen.<br /><br /><br /></p>Fr. George Baumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05079928636948333700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5105747710931350776.post-80426981910395894782024-03-17T11:42:00.004-04:002024-03-17T11:42:31.400-04:00YEAR B 2024 lent 5<p>Lent 5, 2024<br />Jeremiah 31:31-34<br />Hebrews 5:5-10<br /><a href="https://www.lectionarypage.net/YearB_RCL/Lent/BLent5_RCL.html#gsp1" target="_blank">John 12:20-33</a><br />Psalm 51:1-13<br /><br />In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.</p><p>Well, as you can see, this week we have another fine example of John being John in this gospel reading. There’s a lot of mystical-sounding language that we’re not quite sure we get, and—just like we had a couple weeks ago—John feels the need to explain the one metaphor we <i>do</i> get: that is, Jesus’ being lifted up indicates the way in which he is to die. But let’s jump in at the beginning . . .</p><p>The scene is the Passover Festival, and people have come from all around to celebrate, or to watch the Jewish people celebrate. (In the same way you don’t need to be Irish to go to the St. Patrick’s Day parade this afternoon.) It’s, you know, a festival. So people of a different faith—or of no faith—want to come and partake in the celebration. That’s why “some Greeks” are there. And they come to the one disciple who likely spoke Greek, Philip who was from Bethsaida, and they tell him that they wish to see Jesus. Phillip goes to Andrew, and then they both go to Jesus. End of story. Poor Greeks.\</p><p>We <i>never </i>hear whether the Greeks got to see Jesus. It’s like they’re just left in the waiting room and the story moves on. Strange, right?</p><p>And in typical John’s gospel fashion, after Jesus hears that these Greeks want to see him, his answer has nothing to do with their request. Instead, Jesus starts telling the disciples something else: <i>The hour</i> has come. To us, that sounds disconnected from the request from the Greeks, but that’s because we forgot about the rest of John’s gospel. So let’s leave the Greeks reading their magazines in the waiting room and think back to what “the hour” means in John’s gospel.</p><p>Early in the second chapter of John, Jesus is at a wedding in Cana, and they run out of wine. His mother, Mary, asks him to do something about it. And Jesus says to her, “What concern is that to you and to me? <i>My hour </i>has not yet come.” In the 7th chapter of John, Jesus is teaching at a festival and the religious leaders are worried that he is winning over the crowds, and they try to arrest him, “but no one laid hands on him, because <i>his hour</i> had not yet come.” And then in the 8th chapter of John’s gospel, Jesus is teaching in the Temple, and the Pharisees are challenging his authority on technical grounds, “but no one arrested him, because<i> his hour</i> had not yet come.”</p><p>And then today, in the 12th chapter of John, Andrew and Philip go and tell Jesus about the Greeks who wish to see him. And Jesus answers them, “<i>The hour has come </i>for the Son of Man to be glorified.” This is it, you see? It’s a turning point in the gospel of John. Twelve chapters in, and the hour has finally come! Great! So . . . um, what exactly does that mean? We’ve been waiting for the hour of Jesus to get here, and now it’s here, but now what? </p><p>Well there’s the second half of that to look at: “The hour has come for the Son of Man <i>to be glorified</i>.” The Greek word <i>doxazo </i>is the one that gets translated as “glorified.” (You can probably see that it’s where we get our word, doxology.) <i>Doxazo</i>. This word comes up in John’s gospel 23 times! It is an important concept in John. <i>Doxazo</i>: Glorified.</p><p>So, the hour has finally come for Jesus to be glorified. But what does <i>that </i>mean? What does it mean for Jesus to be glorified? Jesus tells us, “Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.” So it <i>sounds </i>like to be glorified means that Jesus has to die. But that is certainly not how <i>we</i> think of someone being glorified. We think of glory as being full of life, with winning and adulation, right? Gold medals in the Olympics and stuff. But here we have Jesus saying that he will be glorified by dying. It’s not right. You bring honor and glory by <i>living</i>, not by <i>dying</i>. At least to us. To be glorified is to grab hold of life, to love life.</p><p>But, Jesus contradicts our view: “Those who <i>love </i>their life lose it, and those who hate their life in this world will keep it for eternal life.” But that’s kind of an unfortunate translation, because it misses the sense of the present tense. When put that way, it sounds like, if you sacrifice now, <i>some day</i> you will have life. Which suggests a cosmic retirement account. But in the original text it is all <i>present </i>tense: That is, those who love their life now lose it now, and those who reject their life now keep it forever. But here again, it’s some of that tricky metaphor stuff that John likes to give us. We’re not sure what it means exactly. </p><p>I like to think of it as a call to turn away from focusing inward. To be open to others rather than focusing on ourselves. Not, lay down your life for others so that <i>you </i>will have eternal life <i>some</i> day. But more like, lay down your life for others<i> right now</i>, because in doing so you will experience the glory of God <i>today</i>. If you want to truly live, stop focusing on living. If you want to know how to be alive, well . . . remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return. </p><p>Have you ever known someone who collects toys simply for the purpose of the monetary value of them? Closets full of toys still wrapped in cellophane that no one has ever played with. It’s kind of like that. You don’t know the true joy of a toy until you are willing to unwrap it and hand it to a child so they can play with it. And you can’t know the value of truly living if you are sitting in a box on a shelf, <i>afraid</i> that you might lose your life. Take your life down off that shelf and give it away; then you will know what it means to truly live.</p><p>And speaking of sitting in a box on a shelf, let’s go get those Greeks out of the waiting room where we left them. Back in the 7th chapter of John, there’s this interesting exchange after they fail to arrest Jesus because his hour had not yet come. Jesus tells them, “You will search for me, but you will not find me; and where I am, you cannot come.” They say to one another, “Where does this man intend to go that we will not find him? Does he intend to go to the Dispersion <i>among the Greeks</i> and <i>teach the Greeks</i>? What does he mean by saying, ‘You will search for me and you will not find me’ and ‘Where I am, you cannot come’?”</p><p>And right after the gospel reading we heard this morning, the crowd says to Jesus, “We have heard from the law that the Messiah remains forever. How can you say that the Son of Man must be lifted up? Who is this Son of Man?” Jesus responds with some metaphors about light and darkness, and <i>then</i>, “After Jesus had said this, he departed and hid from them.”</p><p>Jesus hides from the crowds. Jesus hides from the Greeks. Those who seek him cannot find him. He goes with his disciples to share a final meal, and then he is handed over to the authorities to be lifted up . . . on the cross. “And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself.” The Greeks had come to Phillip and said, “Sir, we wish to see Jesus.” Do they? Well . . . has Jesus been lifted up? Yes, and he draws<i> all people</i> to himself. You, me, Greeks, Pharisees, Phillip, Andrew, and the family that keeps toys wrapped in their original cellophane in the guest room closet. Jesus draws <i>all people </i>to himself, because <i>his hour</i> has come.</p><p>And since we’re all floating around in John’s metaphors and deeply symbolic language already, let’s go ahead and press forward. If someone comes to you and says, “Sir, Madam, I wish to see Jesus,” what should you do? You should point to Jesus, who has been lifted up, and draws all people to himself. If someone asks, “Madam, Sir, <i>where</i> can I see Jesus?” You can point to the places where he is lifted up: where relationships are restored, where the outcasts are welcomed, where the good news is preached, and at the Altar, in the moment where the bread is lifted up and you say <i>AMEN</i>, which means, let it be so. All caps. In italics. That’s the point where you are saying, “We wish to see Jesus, and by God’s grace he is here.”<br /></p><p>Jesus draws <i>all people</i> to himself, because his hour <i>has </i>come and he is lifted up. Lay down your life, and God will lift you up. Kneel down in Confession, and God will lift you up in forgiveness. Go down to the grave, and God will raise you up in glory. God is always lifting us up, so that God’s name will be glorified. This is all <i>God’s </i>doing, and it is wonderful in our sight.</p><p>Amen.</p>Fr. George Baumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05079928636948333700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5105747710931350776.post-78165975037042959862024-03-10T11:22:00.000-04:002024-03-10T11:22:05.753-04:00YEAR B 2024 lent 4<p>Lent 4, 2024<br /><a href="https://www.lectionarypage.net/YearB_RCL/Lent/BLent4_RCL.html#ot1" target="_blank">Numbers 21:4-9</a><br />Psalm 107:1-3, 17-22<br />Ephesians 2:1-10<br /><a href="https://www.lectionarypage.net/YearB_RCL/Lent/BLent4_RCL.html#gsp1" target="_blank">John 3:14-21</a><br /><br />In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.</p><p>So, how about that story we heard from Numbers today? You know, with the snakes and the pole and everything? You gotta admit: it’s a little bizarre. The people have been freed from slavery in Egypt, and they’re out wandering in the desert, and they start whining again to Moses about not having food or a decent place to sleep. I mean, I get it. But they’re not remembering what they’ve been freed <i>from</i>. They were slaves under the Egyptians, and now they’re free. But they are grumbling.</p><p>And so, God <i>seems </i>to say, “You want something to grumble about? Well here are some snakes to bite you. Try those on for size!” And the snakes come and bite the people, and they cry out for mercy, and God tells Moses to make a snake out of metal and put it on a pole, and everyone who looks at the snake is healed. </p><p>Okay, now I have to tip my hand about the snake story. This is one of those times where we can’t let the <i>facts </i>of the story get in the way of the <i>truth </i>of the story. I mean, I’m as willing as anyone to say that this story <i>might </i>have happened exactly as we heard it today . . . I mean, God can do anything, right? But it is definitely one of those times where if we look too closely at the <i>details</i>, we’re going to get a seriously messed up image of God. Because we’re tempted to come away thinking that, if we complain to God, a lot of us are going to have snakes in our cars tomorrow morning. And if God sent fiery serpents every time I complained, well, I’d be covered head to toe in snake bites by now.</p><p>So, my point is, we can’t get bogged down in <i>how </i>the snakes got there. Sometimes, in order to make a point, you’ve got to add some details to the story. You can’t just start off with, “One time, there were these snakes.” Otherwise, everybody’s first question would be, “Wait, where’d the snakes come from?” And then you’d have to say, “The snakes are not the point.” And then people would say, “But snakes don’t just appear all of the sudden like that.” And then you have to say, “Okay, fine! GOD sent the snakes. You happy now? Can I get back to the <i>point </i>of the story I’m trying to tell you?”</p><p>And I know that some people will definitely want to argue about the snakes. Some people will say that if you don’t believe that God literally sent those snakes, then it’s just a slippery slope till you’re saying Jesus didn’t rise from the grave. There is no good response to that kind of argument, because . . . it isn’t an argument . . . It’s a lack of faith. But that’s a story for another time. </p><p>And that’s why we’re now going to leave this story about the snakes and go to today’s Gospel reading . . . <i>Where Jesus also talks about snakes!</i> You can’t get away from these things, I tell you!</p><p>Today’s Gospel starts right out with Jesus recounting the story we were just talking about, saying, “Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness,” so it was necessary for the son of man to be lifted up. Why did Moses lift up the pole with the serpent attached? For the healing of the people, right? That their suffering might be ended. So that those who stop dwelling on the snakes at their feet—who look to the one lifted up—would be saved. The point is to look at the one who has been lifted up, not the snakes at their feet.</p><p>But, we <i>also </i>want to ask, “Where did the snakes around <i>my </i>feet come from?” Or, what we really ask is, “Why me, God? Why am I suffering?” And here is where I want to say, WHY you are suffering is not the point. The point is to look at the one who is lifted up, the one who can heal you, the one who brings life and forgiveness and salvation.</p><p>But I also know that someone will come along and tell you that you are suffering because God is punishing you. People will tell you that the reason you are suffering, or are in pain, or are losing a loved one is because God is tired of hearing you whine. And I will tell you, plain and simple: THAT, my friends, is. a. lie.</p><p>How do I know? Because as we just heard in John 3:17, <i>God </i>did not<i> send the son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him</i>. God does not send snakes to torment us. God sends us salvation through the cross, through the one who is lifted up. Jesus said: <i>Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so it was necessary for the son of man to be lifted up, in order that the world might be saved through him.</i></p><p>That’s John 3:17. John 3:<i>16 </i>has been called “the gospel in a nutshell.” You’ve seen it at sporting events; you’ve seen it on signs from street preachers. John 3:16 has a life of its own, because it seems to sum up the Christianity. Most of us know it by heart, or at least some pieces of it. How does God love the world? In this way . . . so that people may not perish but may have eternal life</p><p>But . . . we <i>still</i> want an explanation for those snakes around our feet, don’t we? We want an explanation for why we suffer, and why we have to watch those we love suffer. And it’s easy to pin it on God, because we <i>expect </i>to be punished, for one reason or another. In the back of our minds, we think it makes sense to say, “These snakes are biting me because I complained about leaving Egypt.” We just update it to our present lives, of course. “I failed that test because I haven’t prayed lately.” Or, “My kid got sick because I skipped church last week.” For some reason—and I don’t know why—it helps us make sense of the world when we pin our tragedies on God. For some reason, we take comfort in thinking that our suffering is from the hand of God. That God shows <i>love </i>by making our lives <i>miserable</i>. I hope you can see how ridiculous and terribly sad that is.</p><p>John 3:16: For God so loved the world that . . . God sent snakes to bite people who misbehave? Nope. For God so loved the world that God sends tornadoes and cancer to people who forget to pray? Nope. God sends mass shooters to punish countries that somehow “take prayer out of the schools?” Nope again. For in <i>this </i>way God loved the world: that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but have eternal life. <i>God sends the savior, not the snakes</i>.</p><p>And then Jesus says, <i>God did not send the Son into the world to judge the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him. Those who believe in him are not judged; but those who do not believe are judged already, because they have not believed in the name of the only Son of God.</i></p><p>And you know what I think that last part means? This idea of being judged already? I think it means that spending our time looking at the snakes, fearing the serpents, rather than looking to the one who saves us from them. Those who believe in him are not judged. But those who do not believe are judged already. Jesus did not come into the world to judge us. He is not the snake who bites our feet and causes the sufferings of this life. He is the one who is <i>lifted up</i>—like the serpent on the pole—to bring healing to the world . . . To all people, in every time and every place. God sends the savior, not the snakes.</p><p>And this same one who is lifted up for our healing is also the one who is lifted up at every Altar where the sacrament is being celebrated. As the bread of heaven, Jesus comes to heal us. And, maybe for a few moments, in this time outside of time, God grants us the grace to stop looking at our own suffering and to see the gift of healing that comes through the power of the cross. For God did not send the Son into the world in order to judge the world, but in order that it might be rescued through him. God does not send the snakes around our feet. God sends the one who is lifted up for our healing <i>from </i>those snakes around our feet. May God give us the strength to believe, and to keep our eyes on Jesus, the one who is lifted up, the one who heals us.</p><p>Amen</p>Fr. George Baumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05079928636948333700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5105747710931350776.post-64102460807977848322024-03-03T11:17:00.000-05:002024-03-03T11:17:30.273-05:00YEAR B 2024 lent 3<p>Lent 3, 2024<br /><a href="https://www.lectionarypage.net/YearB_RCL/Lent/BLent3_RCL.html#ot1" target="_blank">Exodus 20:1-17</a><br />1 Corinthians 1:18-25<br /><a href="https://www.lectionarypage.net/YearB_RCL/Lent/BLent3_RCL.html#gsp1" target="_blank">John 2:13-22</a><br />Psalm 19<br /><br />In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.</p><p>I think one way to understand today’s gospel reading is to view the anger and frustration of Jesus as being about the breakdown of community. It <i>looks </i>like he’s mad because people have money and animals in the Temple. But I think we have to look beyond those externals and look at how we got here. And I think how we got here is because the people forgot that they are a community. So, to understand that, we have to go back to the beginning of the community. By which I mean, to the Passover.</p><p>If you think back to the stories you learned in Sunday school, or to movies like The Ten Commandments and The Prince of Egypt, you’ll remember that God meets Moses in the burning bush, and sends him to Pharaoh to say, “Let my people go.” And then there’s a bunch of plagues used as leverage until at last the angel of death sweeps over the city and kills the first-born sons of everyone who doesn’t have blood on their doorposts. And where do people get that blood for their doorposts? From the lamb at the Passover meal.</p><p>In the 12th chapter of Exodus, God tells Moses and Aaron how the people are to eat the Passover meal:<br /><i>Tell the whole community of Israel that on the tenth day of this month each man is to take a lamb for his family, one for each household. </i>If any household is too small for a whole lamb, they must share one with their nearest neighbor, <i>having taken into account the number of people there are. You are to determine the amount of lamb needed in accordance with what each person will eat.</i></p><p>If any household is too small for a whole lamb, they must share one with their nearest neighbor. You see how this includes everybody? No one is left behind here. If I have a lamb and my family cannot eat the whole thing, God <i>requires </i>that I invite in the neighbors, as many neighbors as it takes to eat the entire lamb. And what does this do? It creates community. There are no leftovers, and no one goes hungry, and the people <i>form a community</i> by bonding over food. We think the point of the Passover meal is to avoid death, but a case could be made that the point is to form a community. To teach God’s people how to live together as one body.</p><p>And then let’s consider this morning’s first reading, also from the book of Exodus. I’m sure you recognized what we heard as the Ten Commandments. At first glance, these commandments seem like a hodgepodge of rules, just sort of randomly thrown together. They certainly don’t seem to carry equal weight: don’t murder . . . and honor your parents? But here again, it’s not about the specific rules for specific individuals. No, the Ten Commandments are about <i>community</i>. God is giving God’s people a set of guardrails for living together. If you want to be God’s people living in the world together, following these commandments is the way to start that community. </p><p>I mean, just look at how they are structured. Off the bat, you get instructions for how to gather around the same God. No other Gods, don’t make idols, keep God’s name holy, keep the sabbath. And then all the rest are about community. Don’t kill people (duh), don’t steal, don’t lie about other people, don’t commit adultery. And then the outliers: honor your parents, and don’t covet your neighbors stuff. Following these rules together builds a community. It’s not about <i>individual morality</i>; it is about having a community. The type of place where, “If any household is too small for a whole lamb, they must share one with their nearest neighbor.” Nobody is left behind. We’re in this together.</p><p>And, as an aside, I must say that this is why it makes absolutely no sense to post the Ten Commandments in our courtrooms and public spaces. Because the Ten Commandments are not the basis of the legal system in the United States of America. And it would be bizarre if they were. Honoring your father and mother is not part of the Ohio Revised Code. And, don’t make any idols . . . have you heard of social media influencers? Don’t work one day every week . . . have you met any Americans? Don’t covet your neighbor’s possessions . . . do you understand how capitalism works? Our entire economy is <i>based on </i>coveting what other people have! If we didn’t covet our neighbors’ goods, the whole system would fall apart! And then what would we have? Well . . . community. We’d have community. We may want to rethink the idea of putting the Ten Commandments in our courtrooms, is all I’m saying.</p><p>So we know that the Passover established a community of people, and we know that the Ten Commandments were intended to teach that community how to live together. Now flash forward 1400 or 1500 years—depending on how you date things—and we go from the Ten Commandments to this scene with Jesus in the Temple. A lot has happened in that time. The Jewish community stopped wandering and built a Temple for the Ark. That Temple was destroyed and then rebuilt and rebuilt again. All the commanded sacrifices were now done at the Temple.</p><p>By now, there is a very specific and exacting system of how to do things right, a system that was carried out in the Temple, in Jerusalem. As we see in Luke, 8 days after his birth, Mary and Joseph took Jesus to the Temple to have him circumcised, and “offered a sacrifice according to that which is said in the law of the Lord, A pair of turtledoves, or two young pigeons.” </p><p>I bring that up to remind us that Jesus was born into this system of Temple worship. These are his people and this is his culture. And—it is important to remember—when faithful Jews came to the Temple, they could not use Roman coins to buy the animals for sacrifice. So those money changers were a religious <i>necessity</i>, to convert Roman currency into Temple coins. Like buying tokens at the arcade or something. You can’t have a Temple system and follow the Law of Moses <i>without </i>having money changers.</p><p>So why does Jesus get angry and upend the entire system? What’s so bad about what he sees on this day? Honestly, we don’t know for sure. But look at what he says. “Take these things out of here! Stop making my Father’s house a marketplace!” A marketplace. It <i>sounds </i>like the problem is that everything has become <i>transactional</i>. Consider how back at the first Passover people were told to take their <i>own lamb</i>, one they had raised themselves, and invite over enough people to eat the entire thing. That’s very different from bringing some coins to buy an animal you’ve never met, so that a priest can slaughter it in a room you’ll never see. And what’s missing most of all is the <i>communal </i>element of the transaction. The poor are left behind. The lonely stay lonely. You can do all this without ever talking to your neighbor. It is transactional, a detached exchange: in the words of Jesus, a marketplace.</p><p>And then Jesus makes the turn and refers to his own body as the Temple. Jesus will restore the community around the Temple of the Incarnation. Around God in the flesh. No longer disembodied isolating transactions between the people and God, but rather a <i>community</i> in Christ, gathered together around Jesus. We are this community. At our best, the Church is the place where no one is left out, no one is left behind.</p><p>And we bring <i>our </i>sacrificial offerings to this new Temple of Jesus Christ. Our time, our talents, and our possessions. And God does miraculous things with as much as we are willing to surrender of ourselves. We have the perfect example of this in the ordinary bread and wine that we set on this Altar. God takes the seemingly mundane and turns it into the body and blood of Jesus, who has been raised up, just as he said. We don’t know how it happens, but it does. And you are invited to this feast, because these gifts from God are given for the people of God. Jesus creates community wherever he goes, and he is here today among us doing exactly that.</p><p>Amen.</p>Fr. George Baumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05079928636948333700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5105747710931350776.post-12744901641094735142024-02-25T11:15:00.000-05:002024-02-25T11:15:46.432-05:00YEAR B 2024 lent 2<p>Lent 2, 2024<br /><a href="https://www.lectionarypage.net/YearB_RCL/Lent/BLent2_RCL.html#ot1" target="_blank">Genesis 17:1-7, 15-16</a><br />Romans 4:13-25<br />Mark 8:31-38<br />Psalm 22:22-30<br /><br />In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.</p><p>So, you’ve heard me preach before. You know that I am not a fan of bumper sticker theology. As Will Durst once said, if it fits on the back of a Volkswagen, it’s probably not going to turn the world around. For the most part, you should ignore what you see on people’s cars. But there is one exception I think, and it’s the bumper sticker that says, “Let go and let God.” That’s a good one for us as Christians. Let go and let God. I mean, not always of course; it doesn’t apply if you’re hanging by a rope over a canyon. But when it comes to trusting in God, surrendering to God, letting God do what God does, it is the right approach.</p><p>And the reason I bring that up is because I think it kind of fits with the overall theme of today’s lessons. We’ve got four absolute <i>banger </i>readings here this morning. Each one could be a sermon in itself. But let’s start with an interesting thing I learned this week . . .</p><p>In the first reading, from Genesis, God visits Abram for the fifth time. God makes a covenant with Abram to be the father of many nations. And as a sign of that covenant, Abram’s name is changed to Abraham. This is the first time in scripture someone gets a new name. But it’s not just any name. Adding this “ha” sound to Abram’s name changes everything. Because God is putting part of <i>God’s</i> own name into Abram’s name. They are now fused into one. And when you say the two names together (Abram and Abra-<i>ham</i>) you can see that it is the <i>breath </i>of God that gets added to his name. This new name not only contains part of God’s name, but it now contains the literal breath of God. And if Abraham is the father of many nations, then God’s breath—God’s spirit—is also spread out to many nations. God is enlarging the circle.</p><p>And then the Psalm we read together continues this idea. God “does not despise nor abhor the poor in their poverty; neither does he hide his face from them; but when they cry to him he hears them.” No one is left behind, you see? Enlarging the circle to include the ones we forget or ignore.</p><p>And there’s more: “All the ends of the earth shall remember and turn to the Lord, and all the families of the nations shall bow before him.” That’s everyone living <i>now</i>. And, “To him alone all who sleep in the earth bow down in worship; all who go down to the dust fall before him.” <i>That’s </i>everyone who has died. And, "They shall come and make known to a people yet unborn the saving deeds that he has done.” <i>That’s</i> everyone who has not yet lived. The biggest circle imaginable, those who <i>were</i>, those who <i>are</i>, and those who are <i>not yet</i>. It’s literally everybody!</p><p>And then we come to Paul and his letter to the Romans. I’m just gonna go ahead and say it: Paul is doing a little reputational whitewashing when it comes to Abraham’s faithfulness. Remember how Sarah and Abraham doubted God would provide, and so we got Ishmael, from Sarah’s handmaiden Hagar? And both Sarah <i>and </i>Abraham laughed when God said she would conceive and bear a son. Paul makes it sound like Abraham never doubted, never wavered, but that’s not true. More importantly, even though Abraham doubted, <i>God still came through</i>. God did as promised, and Sarah bore a son. They let go and let God.</p><p>And that’s part of what bugs me about Paul’s reputational whitewashing. Because by way of making his argument for faithfulness leading to righteousness, Paul gives all the credit to <i>Abraham</i>, when in fact all credit should go to <i>God</i>. I get why he does it, but it undermines the more important point of surrendering to God. Of letting go and letting God.</p><p>Anyway, the other point Paul makes here brings us back to the ever-widening circle. He says that God’s promise rests on grace and is “guaranteed to all his descendants, not only to the adherents of the law but also to those who share the faith of Abraham.” By “adherents to the law,” he means his fellow Jews. So Paul is saying, God’s promise extends beyond the chosen people, beyond just the Jews. We’re back to the ever-widening circle of God’s grace to include all people, Jew and Gentile, dead and living and yet to be born. One way to view it is, the only thing that keeps us from seeing this widening circle is our refusal to let go and let God.</p><p>And then we come to our fourth reading this morning, from the gospel of Mark. This story comes up in Matthew as well as in Mark. Jesus explains that he must suffer and die and be raised again from the dead. And Peter tells him this must not happen. And then Jesus says something like, Get behind me Satan, you are focusing on earthly things rather than heavenly things. So what does that mean? Focusing on earthly things rather than heavenly things?</p><p>It means different things for different people, I think. But at it’s core, it is doing the opposite of the one bumper sticker I like. You could say it is like saying, “Let go God, and let me.” Focusing on earthly things rather than heavenly things. Jesus tells the disciples what must happen. Tells them the only way that will lead to salvation for all humankind. Explains that the circle can only include <i>everyone </i>if Jesus dies and rises from the dead. And Peter says . . . no. This must never happen.</p><p>The way things have to be is not acceptable to Peter, because he has a different plan. And that plan is that Jesus will <i>destroy </i>the people outside the circle, not <i>rescue </i>them! In Peter’s mind, Jesus has the wrong script you see? To Peter, God has <i>enemies</i>. And far be it from Jesus to save <i>those </i>people! But the ever-widening circle of God’s grace will include <i>all </i>people, Jew and Gentile, dead and living and yet to be born. And the only way to rescue the dead is for Jesus to go and get them.</p><p>If Peter had been in church last Sunday, he would have heard his own words in the Epistle reading when he says, Jesus “was put to death in the flesh, but made alive in the spirit, in which also he went and made a proclamation to the spirits in prison, who in former times did not obey . . .” </p><p>In religious terms, this is called the “harrowing of hell,” . . . which would be a <i>great </i>name for a band. The harrowing of hell is what Jesus was doing between Good Friday and Easter morning. There are fantastic depictions of this scene in the Orthodox tradition, where Jesus is pulling Adam and Eve and Abraham and Sarah and everybody else up from their graves. In order to go and rescue those people, in order to widen the circle to include <i>everybody</i>, Jesus has to die.</p><p>But Peter says, no. This must never happen Jesus. You need to stay here with us! You can’t die, just to save those other people. And Jesus says, “You are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.” You want to stay here and be comfortable. You want me to write off those who have gone before. Peter wants Jesus to ignore what we heard in today’s Psalm: “To him alone all who sleep in the earth bow down in worship; all who go down to the dust fall before him.” Those who have died are included in this widening circle, and Jesus has to go down and get them. To say no to that . . . well, that’s satan talking.</p><p>And maybe that right there is the lesson for us. Over and over, the disciples are presented with the option to stay where things are comfortable, like on the mountain at the Transfiguration. Wouldn’t it be great to just stay right here where we are Jesus? Just you and us, being comfortable and secure and not having to think about those other people? And over and over Jesus says, no. This circle needs to be <i>bigger</i>! Who else can I find? Who else can I save? How can I make this the day where everybody lives?!?</p><p>And that’s where you and I can think in practical terms, bring it down to how we live in this world that God loves so much. When we find ourselves thinking something like that, where we hear a voice in our head saying God has redeemed <i>enough </i>people already, set <i>enough </i>captives free, made the circle big enough <i>already </i>. . . well, that’s the voice of satan talking. The voice of smallness. The voice that refuses to let go and let God. Let God do everything God has planned to do from the beginning of time. Redeem it all! Redeem them all! Save every single person that God loves and treasures and calls beloved.</p><p>There is room for everybody. Don’t let satan tell you there isn’t room. Because God has drawn an <i>infinite </i>circle of salvation, which includes you and me, and everyone who was, and is, and is yet to come. This circle is meant for everybody. The circle includes everybody. Thanks be to God!</p><p>Amen.<br /></p>Fr. George Baumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05079928636948333700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5105747710931350776.post-7664141559210396972024-02-18T11:21:00.005-05:002024-02-18T11:21:53.282-05:00YEAR B 2024 lent 1<p>Lent 1, 2021<br />Genesis 9:8-17<br />1 Peter 3:18-22<br /><a href="https://www.lectionarypage.net/YearB_RCL/Lent/BLent1_RCL.html#gsp1" target="_blank">Mark 1:9-15</a><br />Psalm 25:1-9<br /><br />In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.</p><p>Let’s review what we just heard: Forty days. In the wilderness. With wild animals. Tempted by satan. Every one of those things is scary. With some explanation, every one of those things is something we spend our lives avoiding. It’s fair to say that someone would probably have to force you to go out and face one of those things, let alone all four at once. And in today’s gospel reading, the Holy Spirit does exactly that to Jesus.</p><p>The way it gets translated in our gospel text is, “And the Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness.” That’s pretty close. But I want you to know that the Greek word that becomes “drove” in that sentence is actually <i>ekballo</i>. Which doesn’t help yet, but hang on. <i>Ballo </i>is the Greek word that means “to throw.” When you add the prefix <i>ek</i>, which means “out,” you get <i>ekballo</i>, to throw out. So, immediately after his baptism, the Spirit throws Jesus out into the wilderness. What that looks like, we don’t know, but it definitely suggests that Jesus didn’t decide to take a walk in the woods, right?</p><p>And then, let’s go through that list of four scary things I started with. On the face of it, forty days is a long time, yes, but is it scary? Does it drive fear into your heart? I mean, for little children, the phrase “wait forty minutes” brings howls of protest. For the most part, as adults, we’re pretty okay with forty days. </p><p>But it’s important to look at the number forty from a symbolic perspective, which is what the readers of Mark’s gospel would bring to it. For forty days and nights it rained until every living thing was killed except Noah and his family. For forty years the Israelites wandered in the desert without a home. Moses was on the mountain alone with God for 40 days when he received the Ten Commandments. Twice! Jonah warned the people of Ninevah for forty days that God would destroy their city. Ezekiel laid on His right side for 40 days to symbolize Judah's sins. Elijah went 40 days without food or water at Mount Horeb. Our season of Lent lasts for forty days (minus Sundays). And I feel compelled to point out that a healthy pregnancy typically lasts for forty weeks. Forty is a significant number. The number forty is usually connected to a time of testing, or endurance, or judgement, or all of the above. So yes, forty days is a fearful amount of time.</p><p>Second scary thing: In the wilderness. For me—kind of a city boy—this one is right out. Forty minutes in the wild is 30 minutes too long for me. As I’ve told you before, I’m what the comedian Jim Gaffagan calls, “indoorsy.” But for those of you who enjoy being out in nature, I just want to remind you that the wilderness of Jesus’ time and place is not the peaceful parks of Ohio. You’ve seen pictures or videos, I’m sure, of the desert places around Israel. Not exactly a walk in Walden woods. Plus, since there were fewer than 300 million people on the planet at the time, wilderness really meant <i>wilderness</i>.</p><p>Third scary thing: With wild animals. I don’t really need to say much about that, do I? I mean, you’ve seen Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom, right? Wild animals means exactly that. There’s no lion tamer or matador walking in front of Jesus. It’s just Jesus, and the wild animals in the wilderness for forty days until we remember, oh yeah . . . </p><p>Tempted by Satan. This fourth one is a little trickier, because we don’t really know what is meant by the word “satan.” (But that’s a discussion for anther time.) The main thing to remember is that it isn’t a man in a red suit with horns and a pitchfork (no matter what you may have read in Dante’s “Inferno” or seen in Renaissance paintings). Nonetheless, tempted by satan would certainly be something Jesus would not be eager to run out and do. </p><p>So. Forty days. In the wilderness. With wild animals. Tempted by satan. And then we get the one good thing here: and the angels waited on him. Now THAT is an unfortunate translation, especially given our cultural baggage. Because, what do you picture? A bunch of creatures with wings and white robes, with a towel over their arm, bringing Jesus silver trays filled with pina coladas, right? Well, it’s what I picture, anyway. But two Greek words we need to look at here. (Who knew this would turn into a Greek class?) </p><p>The word <i>diakanoun </i>means “ministered.” We ran into it a couple weeks ago with the healing of Peter’s mother in law. The second word is <i>angello</i>, which always gets translated as “angels,” which makes us think of chubby little babies with wings, but which actually means “messengers of God.” We never get a reliable description of angels, but we each carry our own picture in our heads, either from Hallmark cards or artwork we’ve seen. We don’t know what angels look like; we only know that they are messengers of God. So, that phrase, “the angels waited on him,” should really say something more like, “the messengers of God ministered to him.” And that’s <i>important</i>, for a reason we’ll get to in a minute.</p><p>To catch us up, then, immediately after his baptism, Jesus is thrown out into the desert for forty days with wild beasts, tempted by satan, and the messengers of God ministered to him. And what happens after that? Then, Jesus goes to Galilee, proclaiming the good news of God, and saying, “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news.”</p><p>Now I want to revisit the specific dangers of those four things that Jesus faced. You could say that forty days is a dangerous <i>time</i>. And the wilderness is a dangerous <i>place</i>. And wild beasts are <i>physical </i>danger. And being tempted by satan is a <i>mental </i>and <i>spiritual </i>danger. So, dangerous time and place, and dangerous physically, mentally, and spiritually. Immediately after his baptism, all that Jesus is as a person is in danger. And, in the midst of this, messengers of God ministered to him. And then, Jesus went out, proclaiming the good news of God.</p><p>Each one of us faces threats in our lives. Not usually all at once, or hopefully not. But there are times for all of us when we are under assault by the dangers of time and place, where our physical, mental, and spiritual health are at risk. I mean, just look around. Sometimes those dangers are caused by others; sometimes they are caused by our own actions. And sometimes they happen just because the world is a dangerous place to live. But, thanks be to God, we have messengers of God who minister to <i>us </i>in <i>our </i>dark times. St. Timothy’s Church is a place where you can find these messengers of God.</p><p>I’ve never been a fan of telling people to do what Jesus does. You know, asking yourself, What Would Jesus Do? Because you and I are not Jesus (in case you haven’t noticed). But I am always a fan of pointing out instances where we can <i>follow</i> Jesus, where he shows us the way. And today’s gospel lesson is just one such time. And here’s what I mean by that.</p><p>After a baptism, it would be really nice to just stay over there by the font. Safe and sound in the knowledge that God has redeemed us through the waters of baptism, and claimed us as God’s own child. But then, the Spirit throws <i>us </i>out into the dangerous place of daily life, to live in the dangerous times into which we are born. Along the way, there will be challenges to <i>our </i>physical well being, our mental health, and <i>our </i>spirituality. But all along the way, we are ministered to by the messengers of God. And, like Jesus, that is what gives <i>us </i>the strength to go out into the world, proclaiming the good news of God.</p><p>As we continue these forty days of Lent together, may God continue to send messengers to minster to each of us, to carry us through the hardships of our lives, so that we too can continue to proclaim the good news of God’s love for the world.</p><p>We all face challenges. But we are not alone. Because the messengers of God minister to us, and give us the strength to proclaim the good news of God. We are not alone, and we have a savior. And that makes all the difference.</p><p>Amen.</p>Fr. George Baumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05079928636948333700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5105747710931350776.post-71445712547700374922024-02-14T20:20:00.000-05:002024-02-14T20:20:29.470-05:00YEAR B 2024 ash wednesday<p>Ash Wednesday, 2024<br />Joel 2:1-2, 12-17<br />Psalm 103:8-14<br />2 Corinthians 5:20b-6:10<br /><a href="https://www.lectionarypage.net/YearABC/Lent/AshWed.html#gsp1" target="_blank">Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21</a><br /><br />In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.</p><p>Tonight, you and I are being given the gift of being reminded that we will die. I know that sounds flippant; but I’m serious. It is a <i>gift </i>to be reminded that you will die. Today is Ash Wednesday, but as you know it is also St. Valentine’s Day, and <i>also </i>St. Cyril’s Day. We don’t know much about St. Valentine. In fact, there is no proof that such a person ever existed. We do however know things about St. Cyril. For example, he created the Cyrillic alphabet, which is named after him. St. Cyril did some amazing things with his life, and then he died.</p><p>And we are back to the idea that knowing you will die impacts how you will live. That is the main point of this day, I think. Knowing you only have so many days, how will you spend them?</p><p>I’ve talked about this before on Ash Wednesday, but it bears repeating. Since we know we will die, it impacts how we live. Knowing you would live forever is a curse. Look at Oscar Wilde’s “The Picture of Dorian Gray.” Or look at Bill Murray in “Groundhog Day.” Knowing you would live forever—that you would never die—would most likely turn you into a horrible person. Because nothing matters. There are no guardrails. There is no time limit. You just . . . are. Forever. And I would be willing to bet money it would make every single one of us into a horrible person. Which then suggests the opposite is also true.</p><p>On some level, people do good things <i>because </i>they know they won’t be here forever. Look at all the medical wings at hospitals that are named after people. Look at the names of the memorial funds in our endowment. People know they will one day die, and so they want to make a difference while they can. Because they won’t be here forever. I mean, the whole reason Ebeneezer Scrooge has his change of heart is because he sees his own tombstone!</p><p>So, we’re back to brass tacks. You have come here tonight to be reminded that you are going to die—even if you didn’t realize that’s why you came here tonight. And so that raises the question, knowing you will die, how shall you live? I don’t expect an answer to that question, but I want you to ask it of yourself in this season of Lent. Knowing I will one day die, how then shall I live?</p><p>But I also want you to follow up that question with another question. Knowing you will live <i>again</i>, how then will you die? Because for us as Christians, death is not the end of the story. Yes, we all will one day go down to the grave. But because we worship a God of resurrection, there is a part two to our stories. An epilogue, you might say. Because some day, some how, God is going to call us up from those graves. Call us up to a resurrected life in a new heaven and a new earth. </p><p>Yes, we are reminded on this day that we will die. But, because of Jesus, we are also reminded that we will live again. We can face death with the assurance that there is more. Though we are dust and will return to dust, that is not the end of the story. There is more to it. Because with God, there is <i>always </i>more to the story. Yes, we are mortal; but we worship a God who is beyond mortality. One who continues to make all things new. Even dust.</p><p>Amen.</p>Fr. George Baumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05079928636948333700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5105747710931350776.post-46108028172356106432024-02-12T10:51:00.005-05:002024-02-12T10:51:55.450-05:00YEAR B 2024 last epiphany<p>Last Epiphany, 2024<br />2 Kings 2:1-12<br />2 Corinthians 4:3-6<br /><a href="https://www.lectionarypage.net/YearB_RCL/Epiphany/BEpiLast_RCL.html#gsp1" target="_blank">Mark 9:2-9</a><br />Psalm 50:1-6<br /><br />In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.</p><p>So today is what we call, The Last Sunday after the Epiphany, which this year is also the sixth Sunday after Epiphany. As always, Epiphany was twelve days after Christmas, or, you know, January 6th. There are certain times in the church year where we count time in relationship to significant days that have passed. The Sundays after Epiphany is one. The season after Pentecost is another one. (Think, all the green stuff.)</p><p>Epiphany is sometimes called the season of light, because of the star that led the Magi to the manger. And the end of Epiphany is yet another time where the church is about to be intentionally out-of-step with the world. The biggest example of that rebellion is at Christmas; when the world is at its darkest—in our hemisphere—we are talking about light. (That’s not unique to Christianity of course, since much of our Christmas symbolism is lifted straight out of pagan traditions.) But the point is, in the midst of darkness, <i>we </i>talk about light. There’s a poetic balance in this.</p><p>And now, this week, we will enter into the season of Lent. Funny thing, as the days are growing longer, and a rodent in Pennsylvania has predicted our weather patterns, the church makes a decisive move into darkness, or, contemplation. The world is turning toward light and rebirth, and we start focusing on mortality and sinfulness. There’s a poetic balance in this too.</p><p>There’s a tradition in the church during Lent to downplay the beautiful things. We figuratively “bury” the Alleluia; we usually cover all the shiny crosses; we stop all the chanting and singing the Gloria. In a sense, we focus on the <i>earthiness </i>of things, the <i>absence </i>of glory. And to get us ready for that journey into a somber six weeks, we get today’s gospel reading: What we commonly call, The Transfiguration of Jesus. And just to make things <i>more </i>confusing, I want to note <i>we </i>observe the Feast of Transfiguration on August 6th, along with the Catholic and Orthodox churches, while Lutherans and Methodists are celebrating that feast today. So, for us, this is <i>not </i>Transfiguration Sunday, and yet, we still get this gospel reading about the Transfiguration. We press on . . .</p><p>The reason I started with all that church year light and dark stuff is because I want to be sure we notice the joining of glory and earthly in this gospel text. If I ask you what you noticed about that story, you’ll probably say the part where Jesus was all glowing more brightly than anyone could have bleached a cloth. Or, you might remember that Moses and Elijah are suddenly standing next to him. Or, if you’re more practically minded, you were wondering where exactly Peter was going to get a hammer and nails, let alone wood to build three dwellings on top of a desert mountain. </p><p>But, really, the most startling thing has to be Moses and Elijah and the Transfiguration of Jesus, right? Jesus is revealed in all his glory, standing next to Moses and Elijah, two of God’s most celebrated servants, heroes of the faith. It’s almost like heaven has come down to the top of this mountain, and the disciples are there to witness it. The glory of Jesus is revealed! Such a vision! But, the message they get is <i>not</i>, “Behold the glory of the Lord!” The message is <i>not</i>, “Check out this vision of awesomeness!” No, the message they get is, “Listen to him.” It’s like someone takes you to the Massillon Museum and says, “Listen to these paintings!” Or, "Come on up to the Altar and listen to these statues!" What is going on here?</p><p>And the simple answer is, the disciples are really good at <i>watching</i>, but not so good at <i>listening</i>. In Mark’s gospel, over and over Jesus says, “Let those who have ears <i>listen</i>.” He says that like five times. Why? Well, here’s why: Every time Jesus tries to tell the disciples something, they either don’t get it, or they say they don’t want to hear it. Just a few verses before this reading, Jesus tells his disciples that he must suffer and die, and Peter takes him aside and rebukes him, saying, this must never happen. And now, next thing you know, they’re up on the mountain with a loud voice saying, “<i>Listen </i>to him.” Listen.</p><p>But up on that mountain, the disciples <i>see </i>the glory of Jesus! Brighter than bright. Moses and Elijah. Let’s build some houses and stay right here where everything is beautiful. They love the glory of Jesus, and they don’t want to hear about any suffering. And then—poof—everything is back to normal, and the disciples are alone with Jesus, standing on the mountain. No glory, no Moses and Elijah, just them and Jesus. And then they come back down the mountain, and Jesus tells them not to tell anyone about what they saw until he has risen from the dead. </p><p>Now consider this for a moment . . . If that experience up on the mountain, with Moses and Elijah and the glorious Jesus was a glimpse of heaven, then Jesus is now <i>coming down</i> from heaven. You could almost put it like this: for us and for our salvation, he came down from heaven. Jesus is coming down the mountain to where you and I are, because <i>we cannot climb</i> the mountain to meet him. We can’t go up, so Jesus is coming down to get us. And guess what? He brings his glory with him. Jesus doesn’t stop being God when he comes down the mountain. It’s not like a magic switch went on and off up there on the mountain. Jesus is <i>still </i>Jesus.</p><p>But, like the disciples, we naturally prefer the glory to the suffering and death. We are all very good at pretending death can be kept away, or avoided. Easter is a lot better than Good Friday. We’d prefer happy days every day, if you don’t mind, Jesus. Fortunately, for us, it’s not an either/or kind of thing. Jesus is truly God <i>and </i>truly man. And by going to the grave for us, Jesus overcomes the grave for us. We can’t get to Easter without going through Good Friday. And Jesus doesn’t get to the salvation of all without dying a real death himself. </p><p>So here’s something to ponder as we enter into Lent: We typically cover the beautiful shiny objects during this contemplative season, but they’re still there. Still beautiful, still glorious. Jesus comes down the mountain with the disciples to eat his meals and take baths in the river, but he is still God. Still beautiful, still glorious. The glory is still there, though hidden, and that voice tells us to stop looking and listen. Listen to Jesus.</p><p>Jesus was transfigured in heavenly glory on the mountain, yes. But <i>more importantly</i>, for us, and for our salvation, he<i> came down</i> that mountain, so that we might share in his victory over the grave. May God give us the grace to <i>listen </i>to this beloved son, and to trust in what he says: that he has brought —and continues to bring—life out of death, freedom to the prisoners, new life to those who are dead in sin. Jesus is still speaking. May God give us the grace to listen to him.</p><p>Amen.</p>Fr. George Baumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05079928636948333700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5105747710931350776.post-26757341016797442352024-02-04T11:16:00.000-05:002024-02-04T11:16:02.629-05:00YEAR B 2024 epiphany 5<p>Epiphany 5, 2024<br />Isaiah 40:21-31<br />Psalm 147:1-12, 21c<br />1 Corinthians 9:16-23<br /><a href="https://www.lectionarypage.net/YearB_RCL/Epiphany/BEpi5_RCL.html#gsp1" target="_blank">Mark 1:29-39</a><br /><br />In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.</p><p>There’s trouble in the kitchen. It’s not easy to hear. But there is trouble in the kitchen. In a culture that prides itself on hospitality, this is a very big problem. People come to visit. People you’ve never even met. You want to show hospitality, to be gracious hosts, to show them love and compassion and the best you have to offer. But there is trouble in the kitchen. This is not the way you want it to be. You may never get a chance to show them your best side, because there is trouble in the kitchen.</p><p>Back in Jesus’ day, gender roles were . . . <i>gender </i>roles. People had their place in society, and in the home. Simon’s Mother in Law would be expected to provide food for any guests, whoever they may be. And she would have taken pride in that. Simon is bringing guests to the house—one them <i>happens </i>to be God in the flesh—and serving them food would have been her moment to shine. Even if she didn’t know they were coming, even if she didn’t know <i>who </i>was coming, this would be Simon’s mother in law’s moment to be lifted up. To take her rightful place of glory. To do what she does best. But there is trouble in the kitchen.</p><p>The hostess has a fever. She is not well. What should be a feast is not going to happen because she simply cannot do it. She lacks the health to put on a proper meal. Maybe there’s some food people could scrounge up in the cupboards, but it’s not the same. </p><p>But then what happens? Because of the people who love her, Jesus comes to her. As we heard, “they told him about her at once.” Does Jesus say, “Let’s go eat somewhere else”? No. Instead, “He came and took her by the hand and lifted her up.” He lifted her up. He restored her to her rightful place in the community. A place of pride in her time. She is not ignored or condemned because there is trouble in the kitchen. No, she is lifted up and healed and given new life. And then, what does she do? She steps back into her dignified place, as the one who serves guests in her home.</p><p>To be clear, she is not healed <i>because </i>Jesus needs a sandwich. She is healed because she is <i>beloved</i>. And her <i>response </i>to being healed and beloved is to serve. To serve Jesus and God’s people.</p><p>And just think of all the ways she could have responded once the fever left her. She might understandably have said, I appreciate feeling better, but why don’t you go visit someone who hasn’t been sick with a fever. It’s great that she has been healed, of course, but she’s probably exhausted from being sick. You’d expect her to send them all away and go back to bed.</p><p>But in her gratitude, she begins to serve them. Is the gratitude for the healing? Maybe. But I think it’s probably even more true that her gratitude is for being restored to her particular ministry. To be able to step into the place of pride in being a good hostess. To be able to exercise her unique gift of hospitality. The trouble in the kitchen has been transformed into a place of ministry with gratitude for the healing hand of Jesus.</p><p>Our words <i>hospital </i>and <i>hospitality </i>are similar for a reason. They both come from the idea of shelter for the needy. Granted serving in the emergency room seems a long way from serving by taking coats and offering beverages. But is it really? When we offer hospitality to our guests, we are offering shelter. And respite. And a place away from the cares and concerns of the world. Sometimes it is for healing our guests, as in a hospital setting. And sometimes it is because <i>we </i>have been healed by the loving touch of Jesus.</p><p>We serve others because we ourselves have been healed. We offer hospitality because we ourselves have been sheltered. And we love our neighbors because we ourselves have been loved. There doesn’t need to be trouble in the kitchen because Jesus takes us by the hand, and we too can serve our guests with gratitude. We just have to see it for what it is: We welcome others because we have been welcomed.</p><p>Amen.<br /> <br /></p>Fr. George Baumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05079928636948333700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5105747710931350776.post-3310879507447315852024-01-21T11:15:00.003-05:002024-01-21T11:15:38.795-05:00YEAR B 2024 epiphany 3<p>Epiphany 3, 2024<br /><a href="https://www.lectionarypage.net/YearB_RCL/Epiphany/BEpi3_RCL.html#ot1" target="_blank">Jonah 3:1-5, 10</a><br />Psalm 62:6-14<br />1 Corinthians 7:29-31<br /><a href="https://www.lectionarypage.net/YearB_RCL/Epiphany/BEpi3_RCL.html#gsp1" target="_blank">Mark 1:14-20</a></p><p>In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.</p><p>First off, I want to acknowledge that—taken out of context—the Epistle readings from 1 Corinthians the past two weeks have been really bizarre. I just want you to know that I also notice that, and maybe some day we’ll have some conversations about those readings. But as my Greek professor used to say, “Sometimes the problem isn’t you; sometimes the problem is Paul.” For today though, we’ve only got so much time, so let’s talk sports . . .</p><p>It was a very big deal for the city of Massillon when the Tigers won the state championship in November. Massillon has had very good teams for a long time, and in 2023 they <i>finally </i>won the state championship. It was a real boost for the city and the school. Every sports fan loves when their team wins the big championship game. As a lifelong Buffalo Bills fan, I am unfamiliar with this feeling.</p><p>But how do you <i>get to</i> the championship game? By having a good record, right? And you get a good record by winning individual games. And you win individual games by being the better team, because you have better players. And the way you get better players is through daily practices and workouts and conditioning and all of that. So, what <i>really </i>gets you to a championship win is the day-in, day-out drudgery of workouts and practices. It’s that way for most things. Like when someone asks, “How do I get to Carnegie Hall?" And the answer is “practice practice practice.”</p><p>And, you know, deep down, we don’t <i>want </i>for that to be true. We want Cinderella stories, and underdogs, and surprise upsets. We want to see the drama, the heart-stopping come-from-behind unexpected victory. Like when backup quarterback Frank Reich led my Buffalo Bills to the largest comeback in NFL history. <i>That’s </i>what we remember, rather than the long slow steady drip of days spent working out and running drills. </p><p>We have this tendency in everything, when you think about it. We want our political candidate to win by a landslide, rather than simply getting enough votes. We remember the story of the firefighters who dramatically rescue the family from their burning house, but having a fire extinguisher near your stove isn’t exactly front-page news. We remember the big splashy meals at Thanksgiving or Anniversaries out, but it is the daily meals of pasta or grilled cheese that actually sustain us over the course of the year. What we remember is not the steady drip of sustenance; what we remember is the giant supposedly life-changing moments that are a flash in the pan.</p><p>So, in today’s first reading, from the book of Jonah, God sends Jonah to the city of Ninevah, “an exceedingly large city, a three days' walk across.” Jonah walks the streets proclaiming utter destruction in forty days. Jonah, one man, walking through an exceedingly large city, telling people to repent. Imagine the insurmountable task here. With no bullhorn, no twitter account, no conceivable way to tell all these people to change their ways. </p><p>But then we hear, “the people of Ninevah proclaimed a fast, and everyone, great and small, put on sackcloth. When God saw what they did, how they turned from their evil ways, God changed his mind about the calamity that he had said he would bring upon them; and he did not do it.” Hooray!!!! Just in the nick of time! And their story gets passed down to us because it is so dramatic, like a hail Mary pass in the closing seconds. We love this kind of story, don’t we? A huge city saved from the brink of disaster. People slapping each other on the back, saying “Well THAT was a close one,” and heading off to the pub to celebrate.</p><p>We. Love. Drama. I know, we all <i>say </i>we prefer a steady stable world where things happen in small predictable ways, but come on. Nobody <i>really </i>enjoys life-insurance actuary tables. Not even people who work with actuary tables. We <i>need </i>stability and predictability in order to have peace in our lives, it’s true. But we also need a little splashy drama to keep life interesting. All of which leads me to today’s Gospel reading, from the book of Mark.</p><p>As you may recall from a couple weeks ago, Mark’s Gospel jumps right in with Jesus’ being baptized. No shepherds, no angels, no wisemen. Jesus gets baptized, is pushed off into the desert, and then suddenly is walking by the Sea of Galilee calling his first disciples, as we heard in today’s reading. We’re not even out of the first chapter yet, and Jesus has already been baptized, tempted by Satan, and called four out of 12 disciples. In Mark’s gospel, things happen fast. And that makes for a good story. A dramatic story. A story you remember.</p><p>But let’s stop for a moment to consider things from the disciples’ perspective here. Simon, Andrew, James, and John are all fishermen. Though we like to imagine them as entrepreneurs, out there catching fish and selling them for what the market will bear, it didn’t work that way at all. First off, the Emperor owned the lake, and if you wanted to get fish out of it, you had to sign a lease, which meant agreeing to give the majority of what you caught to the syndicate, who would then pass it up the chain in the form of taxes. A fisherman in Jesus’ time was more like a peasant farmer than like a tuna-boat operator. So, the first thing to remember is, these guys were not businessmen.</p><p>Secondly, these four have<i> no idea</i> who Jesus is. You and I know the story, and we read back into it wearing our Resurrection Goggles. But these fishermen are working along, catching fish and mending nets, and this guy walks by and says “follow me,” and they follow him. I hate to sound cynical, but this is ridiculous! Again, we tend to imagine the disciples carefully considering the offer, and then reasonably concluding that they should give up their business and follow the Savior of the world. But, we need to remember, they have <i>no idea</i> how the story ends. They have not seen one miracle, one healing, one anything. And yet they drop their nets and follow him. They walk away from the predictable drudgery of their lives to follow someone they just met. They leave their families behind and start following a stranger passing along the shore.</p><p>And. We. Love. This! We love it so much that we want to have a story like this for ourselves, and some of us do. We love hearing the testimony of friends who have big dramatic conversions. We want to hear stories from people who once were lost, but now are found, were blind but now they see.</p><p>Lots of preachers use this text to make people uncertain whether their conversion to Jesus was dramatic enough. I’ve <i>heard </i>them do it! How can you <i>know </i>you are saved if you haven’t given up everything to follow Jesus? How can you <i>know </i>you’re truly following Jesus if you haven’t dropped your net, forsaking your friends and family to begin a new life following Jesus? If you don’t have a detailed story called The Exact Day I Got Saved, how can you be sure? . . . Which leads us back to sports talk.</p><p>We remember the big dramatic championship game. But what wins the <i>season </i>is the slow steady drip of ten yards at a time, one quarter at a time. We remember the big splashy once-a-year meals by candlelight or in fancy restaurants, but what <i>sustains </i>us is the regular, predictable nightly meals of home-made soups and boring casseroles. We remember the exciting stories of firefighters saving families from near-death disasters, but what <i>keeps us safe</i> is changing the batteries in our smoke detectors. And, though we love to hear a story about some former drug-addict criminal who is now a missionary overseas, <i>what keeps the gospel alive</i> is the steady day-to-day conviction of people who believe just <i>a little bit more </i>than they don’t believe. </p><p>The mark of faith is not how dramatic your conversion was. The mark of faith is the slow steady drip of one day at a time, one decision at a time, one daily choice to remember your baptism, and to know that Jesus has called you to follow him on the path that leads to life. We are suckers for a big conversion story, sure. But you do not need to have a big conversion of faith in order to know that you are loved. You simply need to reach out your hands and receive the one who gives us his body and blood: the slow steady drip of bread and wine, week by week, year by year, which sustains us over the course of our lives. The reassurance that you are already forgiven and already loved, in the most dramatic way imaginable. </p><p>Amen. (Go Bills.)</p>Fr. George Baumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05079928636948333700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5105747710931350776.post-33344460475534349052024-01-07T12:30:00.007-05:002024-01-07T12:30:49.454-05:00YEAR B 2024 baptism of our lord <p>The Baptism of Our Lord, 2024<br />Genesis 1:1-5<br />Psalm 29<br />Acts 19:1-7<br /><a href="https://www.lectionarypage.net/YearB_RCL/Epiphany/BEpi1_RCL.html#gsp1" target="_blank">Mark 1:4-11</a></p><p>In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.</p><p>Back when I was in seminary, I took a class on the Gospel of Mark, and each of us had to write an intensive paper based on primary and secondary sources. I originally thought I was going to write a paper about Mark’s use of the <i>Cosmic Inclusio</i>. But instead, I wrote a paper based on the missing definite article in the Centurion’s statement at the foot of the cross. I’m sure that important paper on the lack of the word “the” is somewhere in my personnel file.</p><p>And so now this morning, let’s go ahead and talk about the paper I <i>didn’t </i>write. Mark’s use of the <i>Cosmic Inclusio</i>. I swear it’s more interesting than it sounds.</p><p>A good storyteller knows that the way to get people to keep listening is to drop a large elephant in the room at the start of the story, and then ignore it until the end. That way people keep listening to every word, thinking, “I hope he finally gets around to explaining why there’s a large elephant in the room.” Riddles work this way. As do some jokes. You start off with something unusual, or surprising, and then people will listen until you give them the answer. It’s just the way we’re wired.</p><p>So, this year we are in the gospel of Mark. And that means most readings--or, I guess about half of the readings--will come from Mark’s gospel. There are some very unusual things about Mark’s version of Jesus’ life. And I don’t want to give away any clues that will spoil the anticipation, but I want to tell you a few things about Mark’s gospel.</p><p>Most importantly, for today’s reading, you need to know that Mark was <i>spoken </i>long before it was ever written down. This entire book was a story, <i>told </i>to listeners. Sort of like a one-person play. Though we don’t know the specifics of that, I always imagine someone standing on a corner in a bustling market and dramatically telling the story to people standing around listening. As people come by, they need to be drawn into the story. They need to think to themselves, “I hope he finally gets around to telling me why that elephant is in the room.”</p><p>And as another technique, the word that gets translated as “immediately” comes up 41 times in Mark. Which is kind of like saying, “All of a sudden . . .” Somebody walking by might hear that and stop . . . Go on . . . All of a sudden, what?!? If you think of Mark’s gospel as a story, it helps us understand the urgency of the whole thing, combined with the little phrases to catch your attention. Right off the bat in today’s reading we hear that bizarre description of John the Baptizer. Clothed in camel hair? Combined with a leather belt? Where does this guy shop for clothes? Eating locusts and honey? That would get your attention, right? Walking by you’d say, “tell me more about this elephant in the room named John!”</p><p>And now the speaker has the people’s attention, and it’s time to lay out the<i> Cosmic Inclusio</i>! Okay, okay, I’ll tell you what that fancy phrase means. Eventually. In the gospel of Mark, there’s this Greek word, <i>schitzo </i>that only appears twice. You can kind of tell what this word means by our related words, “schism,” and “schizophrenic.” It means, to split something. But it means to split something violently, with great force. So, in our translation the heavens are “torn apart,” and in the King James they are “rent.” This word <i>schitzo </i>comes up just twice in Mark’s gospel, and the first time is right here, at the baptism of Jesus. </p><p>Jesus comes up out of the water, and the heavens are torn apart. (The narrator has dropped an elephant into the room, and will now leave us hanging until the very end of the story.) This word comes up twice, and it’s an image that gets your attention! The heavens are torn apart? You expect the next sentence to be, “and then fire rained down upon the people,” or “and then all the oxygen was sucked up into the outer atmosphere.” The heavens are torn apart, we’re thinking, “something huge is about to happen!” And something does . . .</p><p>The Spirit descends upon Jesus like a dove. And a voice comes from heaven saying to him, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” This is dramatic, for sure. Heavens torn apart, Spirit descending, voice from heaven speaking . . . Okay, you got us narrator of Mark’s gospel standing on a soapbox in the market square. Then what? Well, <i>immediately</i>, Jesus is <i>driven out</i> into the desert, but that’s another story, for another week. But we’re listening, aren’t we? We want to know what happens next. This is a very big opening to the story, for sure. We want to know what happens next. And we want to know what happens to John the Baptizer. And we want to know when that <i>schitzo </i>word is going to come up again.</p><p>Ah, not yet. We have to let these elephants sit in the room. First we need to look at <i>why </i>this event is so important. Why all the drama at the moment Jesus comes up out of the water? I mean, this story doesn’t start with “One slow day, yet another guy saw the heavens open and the Spirit come down . . .” The main drama of this story for the people hearing it would be how <i>crazy</i> it all sounds. And by that I mean beyond all the bells and whistles of the <i>schitzo </i>and the dove and the voice . . . It’s crazy because the “barrier” between heaven and earth has been shattered. Suddenly, the separation between God and people has been broken apart. Suddenly God is close. Scary close. And that doesn’t feel comforting, when you consider it. God is breaking through into the world in this moment, as Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. This is a first. A Very Big First.</p><p>Here we have God in all three Persons. Here we have the Trinity. Here we have a completely new revelation of God, and it happens at the Baptism of Jesus. God is breaking into our world in a completely new way, and it is <i>through baptism</i>. Everything is different from this point, because God is present as Father, Son, and Spirit together at the baptism of Jesus. More importantly, in the person of Jesus, God walks among us. God has broken through, you see. The heavens are torn apart, and God has entered into our world in a whole new way!</p><p>And then, if you look for it, all through the gospel of Mark, you can see echoes of this “breaking through.” Seeds breaking through the ground, ears opening up to listen, eyes open to seeing, hearts receptive to Jesus, friends being lowered through the broken-open roof to be healed. Immediately, things break through, are torn apart, and God enters creation. Which leaves us with one big question . . . Where’s the other <i>schitzo</i>, right?</p><p>Back to the scene in the market . . . You’ve heard the opening of Mark’s gospel, when the heavens are torn apart. And you’re standing there listening to some speaker telling all these amazing stories about this man named Jesus, and it all leads up to his arrest and crucifixion at the hands of the Romans. And, as he is hanging on the cross, at the moment of death, we hear that Jesus uttered a loud cry, and breathed his last.</p><p>And — <i>Schitzo !</i>— the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom. The curtain of the temple was <i>schitzo</i>, torn asunder, rent from top to bottom. That’s the <i>cosmic inclusio</i>. The story <i>ends </i>by reminding you of how it <i>began </i>. . .</p><p>At the baptism of Jesus, the heavens are torn apart; at the death of Jesus, the temple curtain is torn apart. This is what the theologians call, Mark’s <i>Cosmic Inclusio</i>. And the thing is, those listening to this story would know that the massive piece of fabric in the temple is what separates God from those who come to worship. No one was allowed behind this curtain, because that curtain separated people from the Holy of Holies—the place where God was thought to dwell. Jesus leaves the water of baptism and the heavens are torn apart. Jesus leaves his earthly life, and the temple curtain is torn apart.</p><p>What does it mean? Well, it could mean a lot of things, and it does. But what it means for you and me is this: the things that separate you from God are torn apart because of the death and resurrection of Jesus. There is now nothing that can separate you from God. At your own baptism, in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, God was present just as God was present at the baptism of Jesus. The heavens are torn open, the Spirit descends, and God claims you as a beloved child, in whom God is well pleased. And, today, when you come forward to receive the sacrament, I ask you to remember that nothing separates you from the love of God. Nothing prevents you from receiving this blessed gift, because the heavens have been torn apart . . . for you. End of story.</p><p>Amen<br /><br /></p>Fr. George Baumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05079928636948333700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5105747710931350776.post-27724203607976585062023-12-31T11:38:00.000-05:002023-12-31T11:38:04.933-05:002023 YEAR B christmas 1<p>Christmas 1, 2023<br />Isaiah 61:10-62:3<br />Galatians 3:23-25; 4:4-7<br />Psalm 147:13-21<br /><a href="https://www.lectionarypage.net/YearABC/Christmas/Christmas1.html#Gsp1" target="_blank">John 1:1-18</a><br /><br />In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.</p><p>So, first of all, let me just say Merry Christmas. (And I hope you’re enjoying those 7 Swans a Swimming.) This gospel reading we just heard is the reading for the first Sunday of Christmas every year, and it is also the gospel reading for Christmas Day each year. So we get this same reading back to back every year. It’s almost as if the people who put together the lectionary wanted to be sure that we had plenty of chances to hear how everything began. And it’s a good reminder, because it tells us how we got here. But—more importantly—it reminds us that Jesus was here all along, even before coming to us in the form of a baby lying in a manger.</p><p>And talking about how everything began naturally leads me to talk about Original Sin, right? It’s interesting that the Jewish people have no construct of what we call Original Sin. They don’t view the story of Adam and Eve in the same way that most Christians do. There is no Fall there. The first time the word for “sin” shows up is not at the Tree of Knowledge, but rather when Cain kills Abel. Many Christians will tell you that death came from Adam’s sin, and of course, Paul certainly helps that idea along. But Rabbis rightly point out: If eating from the tree of life would have made Adam and Eve immortal, then they were created mortal by God’s own intention. That is, death was built into the system from the start, and is not the result of people disobeying God. </p><p>Where we really get the concept of Original Sin is from St. Augustine. He serves it up in theory, and Calvin hits it out of the park by introducing heady theological terms like <i>prelapsarian</i>, whatever that means. In the Roman Catholic understanding, Original Sin is handed down through the generations, and is then washed away through Baptism. The Eastern Church does not hold this belief, and pretty much says we’re all capable of sinning on our own, without Adam and Eve’s help, thank you very much. But for Calvin, we are thoroughly tainted with the Original Sin, and so he gives us the phrase, Total Depravity—which would be a <i>great </i>name for a punk band.</p><p>So, there’s your one-minute discourse on Original Sin, as filtered through the limited understanding of Father George. I wanted to start with that because I want to talk about creation and incarnation, and I promise it will make sense. (To me, anyway.)</p><p>In the book of Genesis, in the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. Then God creates light, looks at the light, and declares it to be good. Then God does some other architectural stuff, and separates the land from the sea, and declares it good. Then the plants produce seeds of their own kind, and God declares this good. God does all the stuff with planets and stars and suns and declares them good. Then God creates animals and birds and fish and declares them to be good as well. And then, God creates humans, in God’s own image, and God sees that everything is good. Everything. Is. Good.</p><p>But there’s another way of looking at everything, which is not good. And it comes to us from Plato, by way of the Zoastrians, Gnostics, and—more recently—in something called “dispensational premillennialism.” (Which would be a very <i>bad </i>name for a punk band.) This way of looking at things is that it’s all gonna burn. Don’t get too attached to the things of the world, because this world is not your home. They would say, this world is bad, but your soul is good, and will rise from the grave, apart from your sin-filled corpse, when you one day leave this cursed world behind. But remember: the resurrection of the body is something we believe in, and we proclaim it together every single Sunday. Your soul and your body are one, and they will both be raised up on the last day.</p><p>So, to sum up, God created everything and called it good. But between then and now, we’ve developed a worldview where—at least for some people—humans have declared it all bad. And by imposing this concept of Original Sin, or separating the mind and body, or viewing it all as background scenery for the Rapture and Armageddon, a good many people say all creation is now somehow tainted and corrupt. That everything and everyone is going to be better after leaving this planet. Redemption means being taken away from this world. Denying the flesh strengthens the soul. Those who have died have gone on to a better place. Earthy and earthly are somehow a bad thing. But remember . . . God created, and saw that it was good. God said it was good, and God has not said it is not good.</p><p>So today we come to part two:<br /><i>In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people.</i></p><p>Jesus, the Word, the creator of life and light, became flesh and lived among us. Jesus went through all the stages of life you and I go through. Experienced the full range of human emotion from birth to death. Put the stamp of sanctification on every single thing. By walking among us, Jesus is a living breathing reminder that what God created is still good, and worthy of hosting God in person, in Jesus our Lord.</p><p>And, as we heard in this gospel text, “From his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace. The law indeed was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ.”</p><p>Salvation is the <i>fulfillment </i>of creation, not the <i>overcoming </i>of it. Jesus is the <i>pinnacle </i>of creation, not the <i>solution </i>to it. Jesus does not <i>rescue </i>us from the world; rather, in Jesus, God<i> enters into</i> the world to be with us. The word Emmanuel means, “God with us.”</p><p>In the beginning, creation was declared good by God. And, in the birth of Jesus, creation was declared good again by God. You are part of that good creation. You are declared forgiven and redeemed by God. Worthy of saving, worthy of dignity, worthy of feeding and sustaining.</p><p>As we heard, “All who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God.” And so now, children of God, do not be afraid. Look for the light in the midst of the darkness. Because the light is always there. Always shining. Trust that the darkness will not overcome the light of the world. God is indeed with us, and has been from the very beginning. God created, and it was good. Jesus has come into creation, and it is still good.</p><p>Amen.</p>Fr. George Baumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05079928636948333700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5105747710931350776.post-34118475579623358872023-12-24T21:50:00.000-05:002023-12-24T21:50:49.057-05:002023 YEAR B christmas eve<p>Christmas Eve, 2023<br />Isaiah 9:2-7<br />Titus 2:11-14<br /><a href="https://www.lectionarypage.net/YearABC_RCL/Christmas/ChrsDay1_RCL.html#Gsp1" target="_blank">Luke 2:1-20</a><br />Psalm 96<br /><br />In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.</p><p>Well, now that the sun has gone down I can finally say it: Merry Christmas! Now, to be honest, I am guessing you did not come here tonight to hear me preach a sermon. And if you did come here tonight to hear me preach a sermon, I think you need to reevaluate the priorities in your life.</p><p>I’m going to be brief, because we all know already why we are here. Even the most skeptical among us believe that on some level—in the birth of Jesus—God walked among us in the flesh. And what does that mean for us? What difference does that make? Well, all the difference in the world! But tonight I want to focus on one word. And that word is peace.</p><p>In addition to smaller skirmishes all over the planet, we’re all quite aware of the two horrific wars being fought in distant lands tonight. Some of us have friends and relatives who are stationed very close to those wars. And, here, on our own shores, we watch the increasingly bitter politicization of everything from textbooks to beer. The most extreme among us are openly talking of a new civil war if things don’t go their way.</p><p>I’m reminded of that line from the Wadsworth poem that got turned into a Christmas song: And in despair I bowed my head. “There is no peace on earth I said. For hate is strong and mocks the song of ‘Peace on earth goodwill to men’.”</p><p>And yet, what did the angels announce to the shepherds tonight? "Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favors!” Peace among those whom God favors. Which makes us immediately ask, well, whom does God favor? Our tendency is to say, US, right? God favors me, my side, my team, my country. But we know that can’t be true. God’s peace is not so stingy a thing. </p><p>Because the angel also said, I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people. For ALL the people. So whom does God favor? All the people. On Christmas Eve, no one ever mentions the reading from Titus that we heard tonight. But it’s right there at the opening: For the grace of God has appeared, bringing salvation to all. Bringing salvation to ALL. Not just me, or my side, or my team, or my country. ALL the people. Whom does God favor? People. All people. Every single person.</p><p>Is there anyone God does not favor? Is there anyone that is beyond the reach of God’s grace and peace? No there is not. And Jesus coming to us as a helpless infant is a reminder of exactly that. The God who created everything that is comes to us a tiny vulnerable baby to show that God is for everyone. To quote the Genie from Aladdin, “Phenomenal cosmic powers! Itty bitty living space.” </p><p>Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom God favors! Every. Single. Person. Merry Christmas.</p><p>Amen.<br /> <br /></p>Fr. George Baumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05079928636948333700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5105747710931350776.post-86443803761862192202023-12-24T11:34:00.001-05:002023-12-24T11:34:34.980-05:002023 YEAR B advent 4Advent 4, 2023<br />2 Samuel 7:1-11, 16<br />Romans 16:25-27<br /><a href="https://www.lectionarypage.net/YearB_RCL/Advent/BAdv4_RCL.html#gsp1" target="_blank">Luke 1:26-38</a><br /><a href="https://www.lectionarypage.net/YearB_RCL/Advent/BAdv4_RCL.html#ps1" target="_blank">Canticle 15</a><br /><br />In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.<br /><br /><div>An interesting feature of Luke’s gospel is that it is always seeking balance. For example, while Matthew gives us the sermon on the <i>mount</i>, in Luke it is the sermon on the <i>plain</i>. In Matthew, the beatitudes are all blessed are the poor, blessed are the meek, blessed are peacemakers. But in Luke we get the other side as well. So it’s blessed are the poor, <i>but woe </i>to the rich. Blessed are the hungry, <i>but woe </i>to those who have plenty. Always with the balance, see? It’s fitting that Luke’s feast day falls during the season of Libra, whose astrological symbol is a scale. Balance.<br /><br /><div>And we heard another great example of this balance today in Mary’s song, which we often call the Magnificat. <i>He has cast down the mighty from their thrones, </i>and <i>has lifted up the lowly. He has filled the hungry with good things, </i>and <i>the rich he has sent away empty. </i> Always the balance, the equality, the leveling. We think of that as righteous. We think of that as just. Or, we<i> like to think</i> that we think of it as righteous and just. Because, when it comes down to it, talk like that is dangerous.<br /><br /><div>During the British occupation of India, public singing or recitation of the Magnificat was banned, for fear it might incite a revolution. And it stayed that way until the British oppressors left in 1947. When the British went home, Mahatma Gandhi asked that Mary’s song be read in all the places where the British flag was being lowered. More recently, in the 1970s and 80s, the Magnificat was banned in Guatemala, Chile, and Argentina. <br /><br /><div><i>He has cast down the mighty from their thrones, and has lifted up the lowly. He has filled the hungry with good things, and the rich he has sent away empty. </i> It is righteous; it is just; and it is <i>dangerous</i>. Who doesn’t want the lowly lifted up? Who doesn’t want the hungry filled with good things? The answer is, the mighty on their thrones, and the rich who will be sent away empty, that’s who. Equality and balance are a threat to the oppressors, and the<i> last thing </i>they want is for people to be singing this song from the poor little meek and mild gentle silent night Mary.<br /><br /><div>And that’s exactly where so many of our Christmas songs go wrong. Mary is often portrayed as meek and mild and silent, just going along with the flow of whatever everyone else wants. And that is ridiculous. And you know how we can tell? We can see it in today’s gospel reading, which is also from Luke.<br /><br /><div>But first, there’s another feature of Luke’s gospel in that we get inside people’s minds. We know what the prodigal son is thinking. When the shepherds tell Mary and Joseph about the angels’ announcement, which we’ll hear tonight, Mary <i>ponders</i> it in her heart. And this morning we heard that Mary <i>pondered </i>what sort of greeting this might be. People don’t ponder in Matthew, Mark, or John. But even more than that, Luke has <i>Mary </i>pondering. A <i>woman</i>, pondering and thinking for herself. That doesn’t sound revolutionary to us, but in Luke’s day it most certainly was! A woman thinking for herself? What’s next? Giving birth to God in the flesh?<br /><br /><div>So the angel Gabriel comes to Mary and says, “Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you.” And Mary ponders what sort of greeting this might be. An angel just appears to her out of nowhere, and rather than fearfully cowering in the corner like I would, Mary ponders what sort of greeting this might be.<br /><br /><div>And then Mary speaks. These are the first recorded words from Mary in any of the four gospels. We would expect her to say, “yeah, okay shiny angel person, whatever it is you want I will do because I am the meek and mild silent gentle Mary.” But no. The first words out of Mary’s mouth are a question. A challenge. A scientific, logical query against make-believe fairy tales. She asks, “How can this be, since I am a virgin?” Whoa! And does the sky split open? Is she immediately struck by lightning for her audacity in questioning the representative of the all-powerful ruler of the universe? No. She asks a question, and she gets an answer to her question.<br /><br /><div>And can you see what that means for me and you? We have it on good authority here that it is okay to question God. In fact, I would say we are <i>encouraged </i>to question God. To argue with God. To push back when things don’t make sense. You’ve probably seen the bumper sticker that reads “God said it, I believe it, that settles it.” Well . . . no. Not according to Mary. Mary’s bumper sticker would read, “God said it, and . . . I have questions.”<br /><br /><div>I don’t remember where I first read this quote, but it was sometime during seminary. Whoever it was said, “The role of the clergy is not to provide the answers. The role of the clergy is to protect the questions.” We don’t give you the answers; we encourage you to ask the questions. God is big enough to handle all the questions we want to ask. <div><br /></div><div>And then look at how this reading ends. Mary says to Gabriel, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” Let it be with me according to your word. Does Mary still have questions? Of course she does! Do you and I still have questions? You bet we do. And as we ask those questions, we trust that God will answer us, and God wants what is best for us. And that God still comes to us, whether we are ready or not. <div><br /></div><div>As we finish preparing for the birth of this baby who will change the world, we have questions, and we should ask them. And, as we journey into the birth of the Christ child together, we can trust God enough to say, “let it be with us according to your word.”<div><br /></div><div>Amen<br /></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Fr. George Baumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05079928636948333700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5105747710931350776.post-68540866311350779952023-12-17T11:45:00.005-05:002023-12-17T11:46:01.040-05:002023 YEAR B advent 3<p>Advent 3, 2023<br />Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11<br />Psalm 126<br />1 Thessalonians 5:16-24<br /><a href="https://www.lectionarypage.net/YearB_RCL/Advent/BAdv3_RCL.html#gsp1" target="_blank">John 1:6-8, 19-28</a><br /><br />In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.</p><p>Who am I? Why am I here? Political junkies remember the man who famously asked those questions. It was Admiral Stockdale, Ross Perot’s 1992 running mate in the Vice Presidential debate. The press had a field day with this opening statement, because it seemed like a ridiculous way to begin a debate of this magnitude. Stockdale’s opening <i>statement </i>was actually a <i>question </i>. . . or, in fact, two questions. Who am I? Why am I here? They’re actually good questions to ask yourself. Because if you can answer them for yourself, then you can answer them when someone else asks, Who are you? Why are you here?</p><p>This is what happens to John the Baptizer in today’s Gospel reading. He is out there in the wilderness, baptizing people, and these religious leaders come and ask him, Who are you? And why are you here? They’re really asking about the baptism that John is doing. For the Jews of Jesus’ day, baptism was a ritual washing that a person did for only one of two reasons. The first would be if you’ve become ritually unclean, like by touching a dead body or something. And the second would be for Gentiles (that is, non-Jews) who wanted to convert to the Jewish faith. The last step of the conversion to Judaism was to be baptized. So, only two reasons to be baptized, defilement and conversion, and you’ll notice that “repentance” is not on that short list of reasons to be baptized.</p><p>So, the religious leaders are paying John the Baptizer a little visit to find out where he gets off adding a third religious rite without checking in with the main office. But that’s their second question, the Why are you here question. Before they get to that, they have to ask the first question: Who are you? And before he can answer, they offer John three options: 1) Are you the Messiah? No. 2) Are you Elijah, the one who was supposed to come back before the Messiah? No. 3) Okay, are you a prophet? No. </p><p>And now they’ve exhausted the list of people who could legitimately invent a new reason for baptism. And they’re like, so then . . . who are you? And he still doesn’t say. He starts talking about someone else. He starts talking about his identity as the one who prepares the way, who makes the paths straight. They ask, Who are <i>you</i>? And he starts talking about someone <i>else</i>. This interrogation is not going well from the religious leaders’ perspective. They want to know about John, and he is talking about someone else. Plus, he’s talking about someone who is right there with them, but someone they don’t recognize. Just the kind of crazy talk you’d expect from a guy who eats grasshoppers. John says, “Among you stands one whom you do not know, the one who is coming after me; I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandal.” </p><p>Translation: You think I’m a radical? You ain’t seen nothin’ yet! John’s baptism with water is threatening to topple the apple cart of the religious system, and John is saying this is just the beginning. He’s the opening act! And not even that, he’s saying he’s more like the guy who unlocks the stage door for the main act. Not in the same league. Not one of the same kind. Just another guy named John, doing what God has called him to do. He’s pointing to Jesus; they're looking at his finger.</p><p>Back in the day, we had a huge black lab named Lula . . . she was the world’s best dog. Sorry to all of you who thought the world’s best dog was living at your house. You actually have the world’s <i>second </i>best dog. Anyway, Lula always wanted me to throw things so she could go get them for me. The technical term is “fetch.” But Lula, being a black lab, wasn’t necessarily the world’s smartest dog . . . just the world’s best dog. So, sometimes I would throw something for her, and she would stand there looking at me, with her head crouched down, waiting for me to throw it. And, of course, I would tell her I already threw it, and she always seemed to take that to mean I’m <i>about </i>to throw it. </p><p>In frustration, I would point at the thing I threw, saying “Go get it.” And then, of course, Lula would look at my finger. So I’d point harder toward the ball, and she would stare harder at my finger. Eventually, I’d have to pretend to throw the ball again, and then she would run off toward the ball that had been sitting there the whole time. Not the world’s smartest dog; just the best.</p><p>These accusers who come to visit John today are kind of acting like my dog. They’re looking at John, and John is saying, “It’s not about me, silly! Look where I’m pointing!” And they all stare at his finger. They want to know about John, and John is telling them to look for Jesus. They want to know about John’s authority, and John says my authority is just to open the door for<i> that guy</i>, the one who is coming later on. They’re staring at the hand that is pointing, rather than the point of the pointing. It’s not about John the Baptizer; it’s about Jesus.</p><p>Back in 1547, a friend of Martin Luther named Lucas Cranach painted Luther preaching a sermon. (I’m a big fan of Lucas Cranach, as you can see on the back of my left forearm.) I’ve seen this painting of Luther many times above the Altar in the Town Church in Wittenberg, Germany. On a cross in the middle of the painting is Jesus. Luther is on the side, way up in the pulpit, preaching to the people who are sitting directly across from him. He is looking at them, but with his right arm he is pointing at Jesus, on the cross. The people sitting directly across from him are looking to where he is <i>pointing</i>, not at Luther. The preacher is proclaiming the gospel by pointing at Jesus. And it is a perfect sermon because the people are seeing <i>Jesus</i>, not the preacher.</p><p>Today’s Gospel reading started off being about John: <i>This is the testimony given by John when the Jews sent priests and Levites from Jerusalem to ask him, "Who are you?" </i> Sounds like it’s going to be a story about John, doesn’t it? But the story is <i>not </i>about John, even though that’s why the interrogators are coming to talk to John. They say, “So, John, tell me a little bit about yourself. You’re doing quite a radical thing here, and we want to know about you.” And what does John do? He points to Jesus. God among us. The one “standing in your midst.” He’s talking to them, but he’s pointing to Jesus . . . and, like the Cranach painting, it’s the perfect sermon!</p><p>They ask John, Who are you? Why are you here? And he says, I baptize people and tell them that Jesus is coming. John is doing what Jesus tells his disciples to do at the end of Matthew’s Gospel: Baptize people, and tell them that Jesus is coming. And that answer should sound familiar to us, because that has been the mission of the Church ever since. We gather together, baptizing people, in anticipation of Jesus’ coming into the world. Baptize, and point to Jesus. That’s what we do.</p><p>Of course, we also do other important and valuable things together, like gather for worship, offer hospitality to others, and minister through community outreach—Worship, Hospitality, and Outreach. But the reason we do those things is because we are pointing to Jesus. We are the ones who baptize people and point to Jesus. That is who we are, even if we don’t <i>realize </i>that’s who we are.</p><p>So now if I were to ask you, are you Elijah? You would say no. Are you a prophet? You would say no. Are you the Messiah? You would say no. And then in frustration I would finally ask, Who are you? Why are you here? </p><p>And you could point to the one who is coming into the world. You could point to Jesus. Because that’s who you are: the ones who point to Jesus. And this morning you can point to this Altar, because that is where Jesus comes to meet us. In the bread and the wine, right where he promised to be. You can ask yourself those two questions: “Who am I, and why am I here?" And you will find the answer in your outstretched hands.</p><p>Amen.</p>Fr. George Baumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05079928636948333700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5105747710931350776.post-18071492936262932812023-12-03T16:08:00.002-05:002023-12-03T16:08:10.183-05:002023 YEAR B advent 1<p>Advent 1, 2023<br />Isaiah 64:1-9<br />Psalm 80:1-7, 16-18<br />1 Corinthians 1:3-9<br /><a href="https://www.lectionarypage.net/YearB_RCL/Advent/BAdv1_RCL.html#gsp1" target="_blank">Mark 13:24-37</a><br /><br />In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.</p><p>Welcome to the apocalypse! I mean, welcome to Advent. It happens every year. The first Sunday in Advent, we get what is called the “Little apocalypse” as the gospel reading. Right when we got started decorating, and baking cookies, and thinking about the sweet little baby Jesus, we get hit with the sun and moon going dark, and the stars falling from the sky, and the powers in the heavens being shaken. And always, “Keep awake!”</p><p>I have some clergy friends who say they love these apocalyptic readings, because they make them feel hopeful. I know, right? You’d hate to see what makes them feel <i>despair</i>! But this year, I actually kind of get what my friends are saying. Because when we set the scary language inside a scary world, you can see the hope in there as well. And you see it in the fig tree in this reading. Everything is going crazy around us, but the fig tree will still bloom. The daffodils will still come up in the spring. Babies will be born. All of which mean, God has not given up on the world.</p><p>This gospel was written almost 2,000 years ago, and God still has not given up on the world. This reading speaks to us, just as it has been speaking to people for 2,000 years. And, it speaks to two other specific groups, besides us this morning. We could think of it as being addressed to three different audiences: The group who heard it, the group who read it, and the group that hears it being read. The first group are the ones Jesus is talking to, in person in 30AD, and the second are the ones it is being written down for in 70AD, and the third are the ones sitting here in Massillon in 2023AD, on this first Sunday of Advent.</p><p>So, first, Jesus is <i>speaking </i>these words to people who will soon see him being handed over to his enemies. They will watch him go to the cross, after being brutally beaten and tormented. For them, the sun <i>will </i>go dark. The moon <i>will </i>lose its light. The stars will fall from the skies, and the powers of heaven <i>will </i>be shaken. The people hearing Jesus say these words will see the Messiah suffer and be killed. The one in whom they have put their trust will be taken away. </p><p>So, that’s the first level for this story, the people he is actually speaking to—the disciples. The second group to consider are those who are alive when Mark’s gospel is being written down. Even though Mark gives us the earliest version of Jesus’ life in the Bible, it’s written 30 or 40 years <i>after </i>the Resurrection, around 70AD, as most scholars have it. This was a time of insane turmoil in the Roman world, with a massive Jewish revolt starting in the mid 60’s. The response to this revolt from Rome was to completely destroy Jerusalem, including the Temple . . . the center of Jewish religious life. For people living in Jerusalem at the time this gospel is being written, the sun and moon <i>have </i>stopped shining, and the powers of heaven <i>have </i>been shaken. </p><p>So, that’s the second group hearing this story. The ones it was written for. And then we come to us, the third group of hearers . . . the people who have just had Thanksgiving dinner, and started some Christmas shopping, and begun digging out the decorations, and maybe already have a pine tree standing in our living room. We’re zipping right along with plans for what food to get, and what presents to buy, and whether or not we’re going to talk to that one relative who drives us crazy every year, and just kind of day-dreaming our way into Advent, when suddenly the Reason for the Season says to us: Wake Up! Keep awake, because you do not know the hour or the day when the Son of Man will return. It is jarring, I know. But, at the same time, we’ve been talking about his return each and every week. Right here, in this place.</p><p>Because every Sunday, we proclaim our faith together in one of the ancient creeds of the Church; we say, “<i>He will come again</i> in glory to judge the living and the dead.” And then, in the Eucharistic Prayer, we say some version of this: Christ has died. Christ is risen. Christ will come again. That little triplet is called the Mystery of Faith. Past, present, and future. And it’s the last part—the future—we tend to forget. Until Advent starts.</p><p>Christ has died. Christ is risen. And . . . Keep awake! Christ will come again.</p><p>And then what? Well, Jesus tells us, “Then they will see the Son of Man coming in clouds' with great power and glory. Then he will send out the angels, and gather his elect from the four winds, from the ends of the earth to the ends of heaven.” And who are these elect? Let’s go back to Paul’s letter to the Corinthians, that section we heard this morning: <i>He will also strengthen you to the end, so that you may be blameless on the day of our Lord Jesus Christ. God is faithful; by him you were called into the fellowship of his Son, Jesus Christ our Lord.</i></p><p>“These elect” are the ones called into fellowship with God’s Son. The ones who have been baptized with Christ into the mystery of his death, and into the promise of the resurrection. Christ has died; Christ is risen. In baptism you <i>also </i>have died and been raised again to new life in Christ. <i>You </i>have died. <i>You </i>have risen. You are among those whom the angels will go and gather when Jesus comes again. So keep awake!</p><p>Christ has died, and Christ is risen, but what now? What about this long stretch of waiting for the Christ-will-come-again part? Are we just killing time, waiting for Jesus to return? Some Christians take that view. For some people, Jesus can’t come soon enough, and they couldn’t care less about the suffering of this world because it isn’t “real.” You know, it’s all gonna burn, and this present suffering is nothing compared to the glories of heaven.</p><p>Well, I don’t know about you, but that approach doesn’t work for me. A far-away, pie-in-the-sky answer doesn’t work for me because I do not want a <i>replacement </i>for this world. I want <i>redemption </i>of this world. God does not promise to <i>replace </i>the world, but rather to <i>redeem </i>it. In the Apostles Creed we say that we believe in the resurrection of the body, just as Jesus was raised in a physical body. And a physical resurrection means that something more than a mystical spirit version of us will be raised on the last day. It means there will be some continuity . . . something of this world will exist in the next.</p><p>I am convinced that there <i>will </i>be backyard football games, and great meals with lots of people, and healthy pets, and people whom we have loved and lost who are raised again. That is not complete destruction and replacement; that is redemption. And there’s a big difference between the two. Jesus did not come into the world to condemn the world, but to redeem it. And part of “it” is us.</p><p>So back to the question: What’s with all the scary language this first Sunday of Advent? Why all the doom and gloom just to tell us to stay awake? We are quite aware that things are not right. We’ve seen the horrible wars overseas. We’ve seen the empty chair at the Thanksgiving table. We know that someone in our family won’t be calling us on Christmas Day. We see the state of our political discourse, we know people who are out of work, and we have felt the sting of death in losing the ones we love.</p><p>For us, here in the year 2023, the sun <i>has </i>been darkened, the moon <i>has </i>lost its light, the stars <i>have </i>fallen from the sky, and the powers in the heavens <i>have </i>been shaken. Things are scary, <i>right now</i>. It’s hard to keep awake when we think about constant warfare and global warming, and the economic inequality and systemic racism that are baked into our country. Sometimes it just feels better to go to sleep, to zone out, to give up.</p><p>Christ has died; Christ is risen . . . and . . .? What difference does that really make in the here and now of our lives? Things still hurt. A lot, sometimes. It’s enough to make you rush out and buy presents, to cling to the joy of Christmas, to throw yourself headlong into the preparation of Advent. Maybe that’s why we want to start the Christmas season even earlier each year. Because we’re hoping that some of the joy and peace of Christmas will seep backwards into autumn, and then further back into summer, and maybe even all the way back into spring. </p><p>But the <i>real </i>joy of Christmas, the true <i>hope </i>of Christmas, is the thing we tend to forget: and it’s that <i>third </i>part of the Mystery of Faith. It is the promise we can cling to, in order to make some sense of our lives. <i>Christ will come again</i>. The first two parts of the Mystery are just a set-up for the third one . . . the part when everything really <i>will </i>be different. When Jesus returns to redeem everything and everyone.</p><p>Christ has died. Christ is risen. And . . . Christ will come again. We stay awake because the story is not over. God is not done redeeming this messy beautiful world. Jesus is coming back to get us. May God give us the strength to keep awake, and to trust in the fullness of the Mystery of Faith. Christ <i>will </i>come again, and <i>that </i>is the good news!</p><p>Amen</p>Fr. George Baumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05079928636948333700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5105747710931350776.post-88584904485913665592023-11-26T12:16:00.001-05:002023-11-26T12:16:12.281-05:002023 YEAR A christ the king<p>Christ the King, 2023<br />Ezekiel 34:11-16, 20-24<br />Psalm 100<br />Ephesians 1:15-23<br /><a href="https://www.lectionarypage.net/YearA_RCL/Pentecost/AProp29_RCL.html#gsp1" target="_blank">Matthew 25:31-46</a><br /><br />In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.</p><p>So many animals in today’s readings! Sheep and rams and goats everywhere you look. Taken at face value, it seems that your best bet is to be a fragile little lamb who doesn’t know what they’re doing. So, big shout out to the innocent weaklings! However, I really think the <i>simplest </i>reading is not the <i>best</i> reading of these texts today. Sometimes Occam’s razor cuts the wrong way, as philosophy nerds might say.</p><p>The simplest reading of the gospel text we just heard is that if you feed the hungry and clothe the naked then you can earn your way into heaven. But that can’t be true. Because the good news of God is never a quid pro quo. The good news of God is always Jesus. If we are earning our way into heaven, then we don’t need Jesus. And any reading of scripture that leads us to the conclusion that we don’t need Jesus is . . . well, it’s not Christianity. Again, if our eternal salvation depends upon <i>our </i>doing the right thing, let me just remind us of the phrase “in thought word and deed, by what we have done, and by what we have left undone.” We need Jesus, because we can’t do it ourselves.</p><p>The common—and quite frankly, dangerous—way to hear this gospel text goes like this: if we are nice to poor people, then Jesus will welcome us into the kingdom. And if we’re mean to poor people, then Jesus will send us off to burn in hell. So, we should start a feeding program, so that poor people will get fed, and then we spend eternity with God. Which, first of all, makes other people a means to an end. But also, thinking that good people go to heaven, and bad people go to hell contradicts everything Jesus says elsewhere. </p><p>In fact, when we look at how Jesus lived his life, it also contradicts everything Jesus <i>did</i>. Jesus <i>hung out</i> with the bad people. Jesus sought out the goats. He looked for the rule-breakers, the outcasts, the rejects, the outlaws. Tax collectors, prostitutes, and Gentiles. Good people did not hang around with “those kind of people.” </p><p>But Jesus did. Not only did he hang out with them, he intentionally <i>sought </i>them out. They were just living their lives as outcasts, and here comes Jesus—to Zacchaeus, to the woman caught in adultery, to the thief on the cross. Over and over Jesus sends the message that bad behavior does not keep you out of the Kingdom.</p><p>AND, as Martin Luther and others realized, Jesus also sends the message from the other side of the coin: being good does not get you into the Kingdom. Nothing you do can make you worthy of God’s love and forgiveness. And nothing you do can ever make God stop loving you. We confess that we have sinned against God, in thought word and deed. God forgives you all your sins through our Lord Jesus Christ. While we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. Though our sins be as scarlet, God has made them white as snow.</p><p>So, now let’s talk to the animals . . . the sheep and the goats. The first thing to notice about this story is that the sheep and the goats are <i>both </i>there. This is not a case where only the sheep are standing before the King, and the goats are off in . . . wherever goats go. <i>Everybody </i>is there, whether sheep or goat. (You may remember other stories from Matthew, when the vineyard owner says let the wheat and weeds grow together. Or the time the fisher’s net brought in every kind of fish.) Sheep and goats stand together before the King. All are welcome, no exceptions, as we might say. So far so good.</p><p>So, Jesus is sitting on the throne, and he says to the sheep, come and inherit the Kingdom. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat . . . </p><p>Hold on Jesus . . . are you about to say that BECAUSE we gave you food when you were hungry, we can now enter the Kingdom? That sounds like the sheep are about to be <i>rewarded </i>for feeding the poor. It sounds like they have <i>earned </i>salvation. It sounds like the good people will be saved, and that makes us very concerned for the tax collectors and prostitutes and those of us who have sinned in thought word and deed. What about the people who have <i>not </i>been giving you food and drink and clothing, Jesus? <br />You know what’s interesting here? The sheep have no idea what they’re doing. “Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food?” These sheep have been in a long-lasting relationship with Jesus, and they don’t even know it! They have been feeding him and clothing him, giving him water and a place to sleep, and they have no idea.</p><p>The sheep have a relationship with Jesus, but they don’t <i>know </i>they have a relationship with Jesus. Strange, right? They don’t go out looking for Jesus so they can serve him. They’re just going through their lives, feeding the poor, buying Christmas presents for kids they’re never met, collecting blankets for the needy, and so on, never even suspecting that they are feeding and comforting Jesus. </p><p>It is important to note that what saves them is something—or some<i>one</i>—they are completely unaware of. What saves them happens despite not knowing what they are doing. What saves them, it turns out, is <i>being in the presence of Jesus</i>! And, the sheep could have been doing something totally different . . . driving a bus, turning a wrench, teaching a class . . . it doesn’t matter. What <i>does </i>matter is that Jesus was there with them the whole time.</p><p>They are just doing what they do, when suddenly Jesus shows up and saves them. They are not saved because of WHAT they are doing. They are saved because WHO is with them: Jesus, the King of all Creation. This is not a lesson about feeding the poor so that Jesus will love you. <i>Because you cannot make Jesus love you anymore than he already does.</i> The sheep do not know the importance of what they have been doing. But the presence of Jesus in their actions makes everything different, everything new, everything forgiven.</p><p>So, now you’re thinking, “But what about the goats?” Well, what about them? It sounds like something really scary is in store for them, doesn’t it? It sounds like being a goat leads to everlasting suffering and torment with Satan and his angels. It’s enough to scare you into getting out and feeding the poor.</p><p>Let me point out a telling thing about this reading: When you heard this story from Matthew, how many sheep do you picture? And how many goats do you picture? Do you imagine them as being equal in number? More goats? More sheep? </p><p>Just play along with me for a moment and picture an endless procession of sheep on the right, and just a handful of goats on the left. What if when the king talks to the goats he’s talking to just a pair of them? What if there’s <i>nobody </i>there? It’s possible, isn’t it? We can’t tell from the text. And why is it our natural urge to make that <i>left side of the room so crowded</i>, anyway? Why do we so <i>need </i>for there to be any goats at all? The answer may say more about us than it does about God, if you ask me. For some reason, we naturally resist accepting that Jesus came to save <i>everyone</i>. We can’t believe that Jesus draws <i>all </i>people to himself, or that the Lamb of God takes away the sin of the <i>world</i>. </p><p>But what if we <i>start </i>from a good news perspective here? What if we are all sheep, and the goats aren’t <i>people </i>at all. What if the goats are the forces of this world that are always head butting us, like in the reading from Ezekiel? What if the goats are things like death and despair? Suffering and loneliness? Or what if the goats are the things within <i>ourselves </i>that lead us into temptation? Things like selfishness, and anger. Pettiness and lust for power. Racism and oppression. What if <i>those </i>are the things that are cast off into the darkness? What if Jesus is casting off into the darkness the f<i>orces of darkness</i>?</p><p>And then . . .all that is left are the sheep. The beloved of God. Being led to fresh pastures and quiet streams. The ones who are learning to love their neighbors as themselves. The ones who hear the voice of the shepherd and do good deeds because Jesus is with them. You are God’s sheep, God’s lambs, God’s beloved flock.</p><p>Listen again to Psalm 100:<br /><i>Know this: The Lord himself is God; * he himself has made us, and we are his; we are his people and the sheep of his pasture.<br />Enter his gates with thanksgiving; go into his courts with praise; * give thanks to him and call upon his Name.<br />For the Lord is good; his mercy is everlasting; * and his faithfulness endures from age to age.</i><br />Amen</p>Fr. George Baumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05079928636948333700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5105747710931350776.post-26214171339271315392023-11-22T12:53:00.004-05:002023-11-22T12:56:37.011-05:002023 YEAR A st. cecilia<p><i> While I don't normally post midweek homilies, St. Cecilia is dear to me and to this musical parish.</i></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><p class="MsoNormal">Cecilia, Martyr, ca. 230<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Cecilia is the patron saint of music and musicians, because
at her wedding she heard heavenly music in her heart, and sang songs to
God.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While much of what we hear about
the earliest saints could charitably be called “legendary,” we do know that
Cecilia was in fact a real person, living in Rome in the third century, and
that she married a pagan nobleman named Valerius.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">However, beyond that, things get a little misty, especially
when it comes to her execution and the length of time it took her to die.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And—as with many early Christian female
saints—there’s an uncomfortable emphasis on her virginity, and the preservation
of it.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So let’s go back to music.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Cecilia, it is said, was forced to marry a pagan man.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At her wedding banquet, as the musicians
played, she sang songs in her heart to God.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Marrying into a pagan family implies that the musicians were playing
pagan music, whatever that means.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But it
makes sense.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most wedding DJs are more
apt to spin songs like YMCA than Gregorian chants at the reception.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So, it is against a backdrop of secular music that Cecilia
was singing songs to God in her heart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Amidst the dancing and drinking and whatever else happened at a pagan
wedding around the year 200, Cecilia sat at the high table singing songs to God
in her heart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s a lesson for us in
that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No matter what is going on around
us, we can still sing songs to God in our hearts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Songs that God hears; songs that change our
hearts.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>Cecilia eventually converted her husband and his brother to
the Christian faith, and those men dedicated their lives to burying Christian
martyrs, which was illegal, and which got them executed by the Roman
authorities. Cecilia took up this same
task of burying the faithful until she was eventually arrested and killed. It is a gruesome yet invaluable way to spend
your days, burying the martyrs of the faith.
But it points to an emphasis on dignity, and caring for those who have
gone before.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And one can easily imagine Cecilia singing songs to God in
her heart in the midst of all this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Songs of praise and supplication, songs of lament and thanksgiving,
songs that connected her to God in a way that mere words cannot do.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Music plays a central role in our liturgical worship in most
churches.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Augustine is usually credited
with having said, “He who sings prays twice.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Whoever said that was on to something.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Because even those who say they can’t sing can still hear music with
their ears, and sing songs to God in their hearts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Music moves us in ways that take us beyond
mere thoughts and concepts; music stirs the soul itself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In today’s first reading we heard, “The flowers appear on
the earth; the time of singing has come, and the voice of the turtledove is
heard in our land.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Song of Songs,
2:11)<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As we remember Cecilia on this day, we can thank God for the
gift of music in our lives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because
music is often the thing that makes the unbearable bearable, and doubles our
joy and our prayer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>May we never stop
singing songs to God in our hearts and with our lips.<o:p></o:p></p><br /><p></p>Fr. George Baumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05079928636948333700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5105747710931350776.post-70461535903709270882023-11-19T12:01:00.002-05:002023-11-19T12:01:27.084-05:002023 YEAR A pentecost 25<p>Pentecost 25, 2023<br />Judges 4:1-7<br />Psalm 123<br />1 Thessalonians 5:1-11<br /><a href="https://www.lectionarypage.net/YearA_RCL/Pentecost/AProp28_RCL.html#gsp1" target="_blank">Matthew 25:14-30</a><br /><br />In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.</p><p>Soooo . . . I’ve been dreading this Gospel text for over a month now. It just seems like such an outlier. It goes against everything we hear from Jesus when it comes to money. In this parable, the rich become richer, and the poor are cast off into darkness. I’m leery of any story that sounds like a pyramid scheme, where greed is good, and responsible care-taking of someone else’s things is punished. This parable has been used over the centuries to explain why poor people become poor in the first place: They’re bad at banking, you see? Or, you <i>could </i>say, they are too honest to gamble on the stock market using money that doesn’t belong to them.</p><p>Now, before we jump in here, I want to remind us that we should never assume that God or Jesus is necessarily the king or master in the parables. Sometimes that seems to be the case, and sometimes it doesn’t. So we always want to be looking for the <i>point</i> of the story, without assuming God is the one in charge. That said, let’s talk about talents.</p><p>In Jesus’ time, a talent was a measurement of gold. It wasn’t a bag of cash; rather it was an actual chunk of gold, formed into a thing with a handle, so you could carry it. One talent weighed 75 pounds, and was worth about 16 years of work, or 19 years if you rested on the Sabbath. Using the current median income in the United States, this means a talent is worth something like $1.1 million dollars. And again, weighs 75 <i>pounds</i>!</p><p>So, in today’s parable, one servant gets $5.5 million, one gets $2.2 million, and the last gets $1.1 million. Intuitively, which servant would you expect to be the <i>most </i>cautious with the gold he’s been entrusted with? The one with 5 and half million right? Like, if I showed someone else a piece of clear glass, and I showed you our Tiffany Annunciation window here, and said “You two take care of these while I’m gone,” you’d be very careful with that Tiffany window, right? I don’t expect you’d bury it in the ground, but I can’t imagine you’d take it to the flea market and try to get two more Tiffany windows in exchange, right? Point being, we would <i>expect </i>the one who was entrusted with more to be <i>more </i>careful with it.</p><p>But this parable also brings up our natural response to our fear of scarcity. So much of our behavior is driven by that very thing. When we’re afraid we won’t have enough, we hold on tighter to what we do have. If they give you a raise, you’re more apt to feel secure in donating to charity. Economists call this a zero-sum game. That is, the pie is only so big, and if you get a slice, then that means there’s one less slice for me. And I won’t even get started on what this means when it comes to governmental policies. Suffice it to say, a scarcity mentality makes us fearful for the future, more careful with what we have, and less apt to share with others.</p><p>Now . . . let’s leave the land of money for a minute, and talk about love. When parents have their first child, one kid gets all the attention. Plenty of love to go around, and everybody’s good. When the time comes to adopt a second child or give birth to one, the doubts can start to set in. Parents wonder, will there be enough love to go around? “I can’t imagine I could ever love a baby as much as I love this first child.” And the first child often has similar thoughts, though not quite as refined. Usually more like, “I want you to send that baby back where it came from!” And along comes the second child and, voila, somehow there is indeed enough love to go around. And why? Because love is <i>not </i>a zero-sum game.</p><p>But let’s look at what I think is the crucial piece of this parable. The third servant comes to the master with his talent, having dug it up and washed it off, and says, “Master, I knew that you were a harsh man, reaping where you did not sow, and gathering where you did not scatter seed; so I was afraid, and I went and hid your talent in the ground. Here you have what is yours.” Wait. What? When did anyone say that about this master? There is no indication whatsoever that the master is harsh, or that the servant had any reason to be afraid. He’s totally making this up!</p><p>And here’s why that is important. The other two servants, the ones who went out and doubled what was entrusted to them, they don’t seem to be afraid of the master, do they? They don’t say, “because you are a harsh man, I will go invest what you have given me.” No it seems that having a negative, frightening view of the master is what leads the so-called “wicked and lazy” servant to do the wrong thing in this parable. His <i>fear </i>is what leads him to bury his talent. He is so paralyzed by fear that he is afraid to do anything with what he is given.</p><p>Now, again, I want to remind us not to assume that the master in the story is God. However, the parable hints at a <i>distorted </i>view of God, which can lead us into being so afraid of doing the wrong thing that we do nothing at all. Back in the 1500s, Martin Luther struggled with this very thing. He lived in such fear of displeasing God that he was afraid to do anything. Eventually, he came to the point where he could offer this advice: let your sins be strong, but let your trust in Christ be stronger. Sin boldly, as it often gets translated. His point was, you <i>will </i>sin against God and your neighbor, and you should not pretend that you won’t. However, you should trust that God’s forgiveness is more powerful than anything you can do. You cannot make God love you, and you cannot make God stop loving you.</p><p>So back to our parable. The third servant, the “wicked and lazy” one, I <i>still </i>think he did the responsible thing when entrusted with someone else’s money. (Remember, the master is not necessarily God.) But for purposes of the story,<i> it is his failure to trust</i> that leads him to disappoint. He is so paralyzed by fear that he does nothing. He has essentially <i>created </i>the master he was afraid of. The other two servants went out and increased what they were given and they were able to do that because they lived without fear. And, as a result, they were given more work and invited to “enter into the joy of your master.”</p><p>And the other servant? Well, here is the hardest part about that. He gets thrown into the outer darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth. Again, if this were a true story, we’d all agree that he did the right thing, right? I mean, people go to jail for gambling with other people’s money! But this is not a newspaper story. This is a parable. And in parables we look for the point, not the facts. And I think the point is this . . .</p><p>When we live in fear, whether out of perceived scarcity, or out of imaginary fear of punishment, we turn inward. We circle the wagons and close the drapes and hide, as though some traveling salesman were heading for our door. And a hyperbolic way to describe that fear is that we end up in darkness, where there is weeping and gnashing of teeth. Rather than coming into the master’s presence, we live in isolated fear.</p><p>“Fear not,” and “Do not be afraid.” Those phrases appear over 100 times in the New Testament. We could think of today’s parable as being an extended version of that phrase. Let’s go back for a moment and think of the parable using our English understanding of the word “talent” instead of the Biblical one. Three people are given certain talents and abilities; two of them go out and develop more skills and use their talents to bring more joy to life. The third one is afraid, and so he buries his talent and does nothing with it. </p><p>Or, perhaps more appropriately, think of the three people as ones who have seen what God has done in their lives. Two go out and share this good news, and the gospel spreads. One lives in fear of sharing and buries this good news.</p><p>We don’t need for some traveling master to return and tell us what this means. We have all been entrusted with gifts, mental, physical, financial—time, talents, treasure—and what we do with them is our gift back to God. I don’t expect God to swoop in and punish those of us who live in fear, because living in fear is punishment enough. But in sharing what we have been given, we can find true joy in life. We need not be afraid, because we worship a generous God, who offers us more than we could ask or imagine. </p><p>This is a very hard parable, and it is crucial that we not think of it as anything more than an object lesson. But <i>even as an object lesson</i> it is confusing and unclear. One way to approach it might be, don’t take today’s gospel as gospel. And no matter what, always hold onto the knowledge that God loves you and wants what is best for you, no matter what confusing stories we might hear on a Sunday morning in November. God loves you and wants what is best for you, and God is always with you.</p><p>Amen</p>Fr. George Baumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05079928636948333700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5105747710931350776.post-11142350275835846332023-11-12T11:24:00.000-05:002023-11-12T11:24:15.998-05:002023 YEAR A pentecost 24<p>Pentecost 24, 2023<br />Joshua 24:1-3a, 14-25<br />Psalm 78:1-7<br />1 Thessalonians 4:13-18<br /><a href="https://www.lectionarypage.net/YearA_RCL/Pentecost/AProp27_RCL.html#gsp1" target="_blank">Matthew 25:1-13</a><br /><br />In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.</p><p>I know it’s bad form to complain about your job, but that <i>Gospel </i>text we just heard. And the next two Sundays are just as . . . challenging. When these readings come up again in three years, I’m taking a November vacation! But, okay, enough complaining out of me. On the upside, today is one of those Sundays where all the lessons fit nicely together, frightening though they may seem. And the theme that holds them together is Community. Let’s start with the First Reading we heard today, from the book of Joshua.</p><p>It begins with Joshua gathering together all the people with a message from God. There’s a section that gets skipped though, from verses 4 to 14, where we would’ve heard the <i>long </i>history of God’s faithfulness to the people, bringing them out of Egypt and giving them a homeland. Then it picks up with Joshua asking the people to choose which god they will serve, and he delivers that famous declaration, “but as for me and my household, we will serve the Lord.” You’ve probably seen that on bumper stickers, or cross-stitched onto throw pillows. </p><p>Then there is some back and forth, with the people saying “us too,” and Joshua saying, “I don’t believe you,” until at last the people say, no really, “The Lord our God we will serve.” And then Joshua makes a covenant with the community that day. A covenant. An agreement to live in a relationship with God and one another. It’s the renewed promise of <u>community </u>rooted in following the God of Abraham.</p><p>And there’s the Psalm we read together. “That which we have heard and known, and what our forefathers have told us, we will not hide from their children. . . . that the generations to come might know, and the children yet unborn; that they in their turn might tell it to their children; So that they might put their trust in God, and not forget the deeds of God.” Beautifully put. Here we see the <u>community </u>promising to continue the story by telling their children what God has done. They promise to<i> pass down</i> the stories of God’s mighty deeds, so that the “horizontal” community will also be a “vertical” community, and will continue throughout the ages, continuing in the same covenant made with Joshua on that mountain.</p><p>And then we have that section of Paul’s letter to the church in Thessaloniki. Now it’s important to know the background in order to get this right. Scholars pretty much agree this letter (probably Paul’s first) was written in about 52 AD, which is only like 20 years after the Resurrection. Most Christians at that time believed Jesus would return in their lifetime. But some members of the church in Thessaloniki had already died, which caused church members to doubt . . . well, everything. If Paul was wrong about this, maybe he was wrong about all of it. So Paul writes this letter, to assure them that their hope is not in vain.</p><p>But you can see why they were distraught. They’re living together in this Greek city, converts to Christianity, evangelized by Paul. They had the impression Jesus would be back any minute, before any of them died. It makes sense for them to be worried: what happens to those who have died? Do they miss out on the promises to the faithful? So Paul writes to them, “We do not want you to be uninformed . . . about those who have died, so that you may not grieve as others do who have no hope.” <br />As others do. When Paul says, “so that you may not grieve as others do who have no hope,” he is <i>not </i>saying that Christians aren’t supposed to grieve. He is <i>not </i>saying that grief only belongs to people who have no hope. No, Paul is talking about <i>how </i>they should grieve. Don’t grieve <i>the way </i>others do. It is <i>entirely </i>expected and appropriate that you and I should grieve for loved ones we have lost, but we are to grieve amid the hope of the Resurrection. Our grief is different, because we know that death is not the end of the story.</p><p>And then we get the part where it’s about community: “Therefore encourage one another with these words.” Paul makes the case that those who have died are safely in God’s hands, and then he tells us to comfort one another with that good news. The ones we love who precede us in death are not lost to God. Jesus will call them out of death into life, just as we will each be called into new life. Encourage one another with these words, because we are a <u>community</u>, called into covenant with God.</p><p>And then . . . the Gospel. Where to even begin? We used to call this parable “The Foolish Virgins,” which from the start focuses on the negative. Fortunately, our translation uses the word Bridesmaids instead of virgins because, well, we just don’t talk that way. And it is so different from most of the other parables we hear in the scriptures. Usually, we have <i>some </i>connection to these stories. Like we know what a farmer is, and we know what a fishing net is. But this parable is <i>completely </i>disconnected from our culture and customs.</p><p>We do not have 10 bridesmaids accompany the <i>groom </i>to his own wedding; we don’t use oil lamps; we teach our children to share with those who don’t have enough. Plus, the groom shows up late to his own wedding. Half the wedding party is told he never knew them after being sent on a wild goose chase to the stores everyone knew were closed. And the “Keep awake therefore” at the end of the parable doesn’t fit with what happened, since<i> all 10 bridesmaids fell asleep</i>. There is no fairness here; there is no love; there is no Gospel in today’s Gospel. This parable is confusing, archaic, and scary. There. I said it.</p><p>But what really got me off track this week was this: Over my lifetime, I’ve unconsciously bought into the notion that this parable <i>has </i>to be about that One Big Day when Jesus returns. And maybe you have too. You know, the One Big Day that the people in Thessaloniki were waiting for when their loved ones died unexpectedly. And Jesus’ finishing the parable with, “Keep awake therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour,” plays right into that idea. And there are plenty of televangelists and preachers who will tell you all about how that One Big Day is coming, and even give you predictions about when it is going to take place, and give you a list of the people who will be “left behind.”</p><p>There are complicated theological names for these beliefs, such as Pretribulation Dispensational Premillennialism. (It’s <i>so </i>much easier to say “Episcopalian,” I think you’ll agree.) We see this thinking in our popular culture too, like with Hal Lindsey’s “Late Great Planet Earth” in the 70’s, and Tim Lahaye’s “Left Behind” series more recently. Basically, this approach to Christianity focuses on that One Big Day when Jesus will return, and then pulls in all sorts of random verses from the Bible to explain how and when this One Big Day will occur.</p><p>For people who obsess over this stuff, today’s parable about the 10 Bridesmaids is one of their go-to stories from Jesus. On the One Big Day, some people will be ready and welcomed into the kingdom of God, and some people—like bad Scouts who were not prepared—will be told that Jesus never knew them. “Look! Here is the bridegroom! Come out to meet him,” <i>except </i>those of you who weren’t ready. And the only way to get <i>any </i>joy out of that interpretation is to assume that <i>you </i>are one of the oil-toting wise selfish bridesmaids. You know, one of the people who was <i>always </i>ready for Jesus to return.</p><p>But here’s what we lose by focusing on the One Big Day. We miss out on <i>today</i>. We miss out on <i>right now</i>. To overemphasize the day when Jesus will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead, is to forget that Jesus is <i>already </i>here among us. Everywhere. All the time. So focused on being prepared for some day that we miss this day. So getting ready for the return that we miss the right now.</p><p>Yes, we are waiting for Jesus to return. And we are waiting in <u>community</u>. You are not waiting alone; you are waiting in community. And, you are not out running through the streets looking for oil at midnight because your selfish neighbors wouldn’t share with you. And—most importantly—you are not waiting for someone who is not yet here; because the bridegroom is <i>already </i>here. Right here, right now. Jesus is living in us and among us.</p><p>I seriously want to rename this parable from “the foolish bridesmaids” into the something like “the selfish ladies who lied about scarcity.” Some people had <i>plenty </i>to share, but wouldn’t. And they were keen to tell the others to go scurry around looking for scraps, while they feasted and welcomed the bridegroom. They convinced others to <i>leave </i>the party in a panic, by telling them they weren’t good enough, or rich enough, or popular enough.</p><p>The kingdom of heaven is like this: Some people will tell you that you are not loved and welcomed and accepted exactly as you are. Don’t fall for their made-up distraction. Because God loves you <i>just </i>as you are, because God made you <i>just </i>as you are. You have plenty of oil in your lamp. Don’t believe the liars who tell you you need to go find something more to make yourself worthy.</p><p>Here’s something else: When the priest holds up the bread and wine and says, “The gifts of God for the people of God,” you could hear that as “Look! Here is the bridegroom! Come out to meet him.” We don’t know the One Big Day when Jesus will return, but we <i>do </i>know that he is here today in our community, right where he has always promised to meet us. Jesus is already here. And you do not need any extra oil for your lamp. Because Jesus loves you. And you are enough.</p><p>Amen</p>Fr. George Baumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05079928636948333700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5105747710931350776.post-92009545701021487912023-11-05T11:58:00.000-05:002023-11-05T11:58:00.834-05:00YEAR A 2023 feast of all saints<p><a href="https://www.lectionarypage.net/YearA_RCL/HolyDays/AAllSaints_RCL.html#ot1" target="_blank">All Saints, 2023</a><br />Revelation 7:9-17<br />Psalm 34:1-10, 22<br />1 John 3:1-3<br />Matthew 5:1-12<br /><br />In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.</p><p>Other than Christmas and Easter, the Feast of All Saints is my favorite festival of the entire year. Because, on this day in particular, we are reminded that heaven and earth are joined together. That those who have gone before are still with us. That the liminal space between the saints and angels and our mortal coil is so much thinner than we like to think—in the busy-ness of our daily life. This is a day to stop for a moment, and to think of The Church with a capital C. To join with the angels and archangels and all the company of heaven around this Altar, in this room. </p><p>And that connection between heaven and earth, to the saints of every time and every place, it focuses our attention on Community—also with a capital C. As the church on earth we are not alone. Connected across time and space with the Church of <i>all </i>time and space. We are a community physically gathered here this morning, but we are also gathered with current members of this parish who are not here today. And we gather with those who drifted away, and with those who left in protest. And we gather with the founders of this parish, and with those whose kids are playing soccer this morning, as well as every medieval peasant who worked in the fields, and with the very first disciples of Jesus. <i>All of us</i> joined together in community, every time a group of people shows up at this Altar. </p><p>But the basis of our community, what makes us members of the church of Christ, is being baptized into Christ. We talked about this a lot in our Wednesday evening classes last month. It is our individual Baptismal authority invested in others that gives us Bishops, and Diocesan Conventions, and General Conventions, and Presiding Bishops. Together, we hand over some of our Baptismal authority and invest it in other people to lead us.</p><p>And that is why it is fitting that All Saints Day is one of the four specific feasts in the church year where we can substitute the Baptismal Covenant for the Nicene Creed. Today, we will profess our faith together, as always, but we will <i>intentionally </i>root it in the Baptismal Covenant—the “contract,” if you will—that binds us all together on equal footing. </p><p>In trying to wrap our minds around the meaning and the mystery of the Feast of All Saints, it’s worth taking a moment to notice one little phrase from the collect for this day, as I mentioned in the sermon this past Wednesday.</p><p><i>Almighty God, you have knit together your elect in one communion and fellowship in the mystical body of your Son Christ our Lord.</i></p><p>That idea and image of being knit together is quite powerful. When knitting, one starts with skeins of yarn, of all different colors. Wound up and turned in on themselves. Though they are beautiful in and of themselves, they are all wrapped up--or at least bound up--in themselves. From those skeins, separate strands are then knitted together to make up a blanket or sweater or some other thing. They are <i>still </i>individual strands, but it is in their being joined together that they become something much <i>more </i>than individual strands. </p><p>The knitter gathers these threads, fashions them together, and <i>makes a new thing</i>. The strands retain their essence. They don’t cease to be what they were. But <i>together</i>, they become something entirely new, entirely lovely, an entirely different thing in the world.</p><p>The Church of Christ on earth has a unique feature to it, in that we believe we are connected to those who have gone before. (A mystic sweet communion with those whose rest is won, as the hymn puts it.) You could think of us as being knit together with them, though we do not see them, or know most of them, or even know their names. All those who have died, all of us who are living, and all those who will come after us, knit together into one glorious garment of many colors. But there’s more! Listen to that sentence from the collect again:</p><p><i>Almighty God, you have knit together your elect in one communion and fellowship</i> in the mystical body<i> of your Son Christ our Lord.</i></p><p>Not only are we knit together with one another, and those who have gone before, and those who will come after us, but we are <i>also </i>knit together in the mystical body of Christ! We are together, and we are in Christ. <i>And</i>, we are knit together in the body of Christ.</p><p>We can take this a step further when we consider that Jesus has no hands and feet except for us—his disciples. We are the literal hands and feet of Jesus in this world. When we do what we do in the name of Christ (feed the hungry, preach the good news, comfort the afflicted), we are doing this along with all the others with whom we are knit together. We are never alone, because we are <i>one </i>body, <i>one </i>glorious garment, joined together with those past, present, and future, serving the world in the name of Christ.</p><p>And there’s even more! Every time we gather at this Altar for the Eucharistic prayer, we are entering into an ongoing stream. There is a never-ending hymn being sung, by the angels, archangels, and all the company of heaven, and we <i>join </i>in singing it—even when we are speaking it. <br /><i>Holy, Holy, Holy Lord, God of power and might, heaven and earth are full of your glory.</i><br />That song goes on <i>forever</i>, because the whole company of heaven is singing it for all eternity.</p><p>We enter into that endless ongoing stream, every time we gather for Communion. A glorious hymn of praise to the Lamb seated on the throne, who was, and is, and is to come. We are part of the One Holy Catholic and Apostolic Church, a communion of saints, singing praise to God for all eternity. </p><p>Hear it again:<br /><i>Almighty God, you have knit together your elect in one communion and fellowship in the mystical body of your Son Christ our Lord.</i></p><p>We are all strands of one glorious, beautiful, heavenly fabric. Joined <i>together </i>for all eternity, by the grace of God.</p><p>Amen.</p>Fr. George Baumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05079928636948333700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5105747710931350776.post-44495413522618590832023-11-03T14:12:00.000-04:002023-11-03T14:12:38.436-04:00The Burial of Ruth Lash<p>The Burial of Ruth Lash<br />Isaiah 25:6-9<br />Psalm 23<br />Revelation 21:2-7<br /><a href="https://www.lectionarypage.net/YearABC/SpecServ/Burial.html#Anchor-21683" target="_blank">John 6:37-40</a><br /><br />In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.</p><p>We have gathered here today to say our final goodbyes to a remarkable woman. Ruth Lash lived a long, full life, as a caregiver, teacher, and trailblazer. As the priest of this church, I know she influenced generations of members, and she holds a special place in my heart, knowing she was among first women to serve on our Vestry. That cannot have been easy; but it definitely was necessary.</p><p>I have heard from her daughter Susan, that Ruth loved the 23rd Psalm. And Ruth had the experience I’ve seen many people have toward the end of their lives, of sort of “waking up” when they hear the familiar words being read to them.</p><p>And many of us share her love of that little piece of poetry. Maybe it’s the pastoral imagery. Or maybe it’s the assurance of God’s presence in our lives. Or may it’s just that final line, about dwelling in the house of the Lord forever.</p><p>But what <i>I</i> really love about Psalm 23 is the actual language of the part that gets translated as goodness and mercy following me. The Hebrew word that becomes “following” is actually more like chasing, or hunting down. Goodness and mercy don’t follow us home, like a stray kitten. No, God’s goodness and mercy <i>hunt us down</i> like a tiger. We cannot escape God’s goodness and mercy, even if we wanted to.</p><p>Ruth lived her life hunted down by God’s mercy and goodness, and she did not mind getting caught. And receiving that goodness and mercy from God, she turned right around and passed it on to others, her family, her friends, her community, and her church. Ruth responded to God’s love by passing it on to others, and I hope you will take inspiration from that and continue to do the same in your own lives.</p><p>In the Gospel reading we just heard, Jesus says, “This is the will of him who sent me, that I should lose nothing of all that he has given me, but raise it up on the last day.” This is my absolute <i>favorite</i> verse in the whole Bible. Jesus will lose nothing and no one. Ever.</p><p>Although Ruth is lost to us—while we continue our earthly pilgrimage—she never <i>was</i>, and is not <i>now</i>, lost to God. Jesus does not lose what is his. We are precious in his sight, and he holds us tightly throughout our lives, even when we don’t notice that we are being held. Ruth was given to Jesus in Baptism. Just as you were given to God in your Baptism. Jesus is holding onto Ruth, and Jesus is holding onto you.</p><p>Jesus said, “This is the will of him who sent me, that I should lose nothing of all that he has given me, but raise it up on the last day.” May we all trust in the promises of Jesus, and live our lives knowing that we too will be raised up on the last day. Because we are precious in God’s sight, we belong to Jesus, and Jesus does not lose what is his.</p><p>Amen.<br /></p>Fr. George Baumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05079928636948333700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5105747710931350776.post-50643306281208788642023-11-02T21:55:00.000-04:002023-11-02T21:55:10.977-04:00YEAR A 2023 all souls<p>All Souls, 2023<br />Wisdom 3:1–9<br />Psalm 130<br />1 Thessalonians 4:13–18<br />John 5:24-27<br /><br />In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.</p><p>There is a saying, usually attributed to Bansky, the British street artist, “They say you die twice. One time when you stop breathing, and a second time, a bit later on, when somebody says your name for the last time.” It’s a pretty bleak thought; but for most of us, it’s true. Usually, within a couple generations, no one will be saying our names anymore, because no one will be thinking of us anymore.</p><p>Of course, some people—particularly rich people—go to great lengths to avoid this fate. When my German friend was on tour with us once in Minnesota, he was shocked at how many buildings on a college campus had people’s names on them. We asked, “don’t people pay for buildings in Germany?” He said, “yes, but they would never have their <i>name</i> put on them.” Interesting. </p><p>Our friends in the Orthodox tradition end their funeral rite by saying, “Memory eternal.” Which is not to suggest that <i>people</i> would always remember the person who has died. Rather, that <i>God</i> would remember them forever. You can see the connection to the thief on the cross, who asks Jesus to remember him when he comes into his kingdom. And how does Jesus respond to that request? Today, you will be with me in paradise.</p><p>On this night, we gather together to remember those we love but see no longer. Or, as the bidding prayer from Lessons and Carols puts it, “Let us remember before God all those who rejoice with us, but upon another shore and in a greater light, that multitude which no one can number.”</p><p>Tonight, we will say the names of those we love, who are counted among that multitude. And we trust that even when we have long stopped saying their names, or having our own names spoken, God will continue to speak our names, in the place where our memories will be eternal. Because of the redeeming love of Jesus, who welcomes us all, and remembers us in his kingdom.</p><p>Amen</p>Fr. George Baumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05079928636948333700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5105747710931350776.post-39277242828387440182023-10-30T10:15:00.004-04:002023-10-30T10:15:59.746-04:00YEAR A 2013 pentecost 22<p>Pentecost 22, 2023<br />Deuteronomy 34:1-12<br />Psalm 90:1-6, 13-17<br />1 Thessalonians 2:1-8<br /><a href="https://www.lectionarypage.net/YearA_RCL/Pentecost/AProp25_RCL.html#gsp1" target="_blank">Matthew 22:34-46</a><br /><br />In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.</p><p>We use the word “love” a lot in our culture. We say we love all sorts of things. As C.S. Lewis points out, we use the same word for a huge list of different loves: I love my new shoes; I love my cat; I love my family; I love my wife; I love my country; I love God. One word covering everything from my shoes to God.</p><p>Now, of course, these are not all the same kind of love. But we don’t have multiple names for love in English. We have to add modifiers about size or amount or something in order to make the distinction. I love my new shoes, sure. But I love my wife a whole lot more than my shoes. (Because I am a hopeless romantic!) And I love God more than I love my country. And, if I had to choose, I would definitely pick my family over my cat, because I don’t think our cat really loves us anyway.</p><p>And we also don’t have ways of distinguishing between different <i>kinds </i>of love. I definitely love my wife in a completely different way than I love my country. In fact, those two kinds of love have very little to do with each other. But we’re stuck with just one word having to fill in for all these different kinds of love.</p><p>And what’s interesting is that you can see the difference between these loves based on how much they are rooted in emotion or effort. On the one end, my love for my shoes is purely an emotional reaction; and on the other end, my love for God has very little to do with emotion. And then if you follow through on that, the more my love is emotional (like my shoes), the less lasting it is. I don’t make any kind of effort to love my shoes, and when it comes down to it, I could do without them. And, if I’m honest, it takes some <i>effort </i>to love my country sometimes. My love for my country isn’t based on emotions; it’s something deeper. And, if I’m <i>really </i>honest, my love for God takes the most effort of all.</p><p>Because lots of times, I spend entire days being angry with God. If I got angry with my shoes, I’d just get rid of them. When I’m angry with my children, or with God, getting rid of them is not an option. I have to “work” at those relationships. My love for my family isn’t based on how I feel. Same thing with my love for God. Because my family and God are too important to me to be based on simple emotions. Too important to love based on how I’m feeling on a given day. Emotions are real, of course, but they come and go. And they change over time.</p><p>So why all this talk about the different types of love? I mean, you already know that I don’t love my shoes the same way I love my family, right? Well, the limits of our English language are exposed when we have a gospel text like this one today. Jesus is talking about love, and we need to know what kind of love he’s talking about. Does he want us to love God and our neighbor the way we love our new car? Or that most-fleeting of loves, the way I love watching the Buffalo Bills win? Or some other kind of love?</p><p>The Gospels were written in Greek, as I've told you 1,000 times. And the Greek language has many different words for “love.” Four of them, in fact. And the four kinds of love are very different. There is <i>philia, eros, agape,</i> and then a fourth one that wasn’t defined in Jesus’ day, so we’ll ignore it. <i>Philia </i>is the kind of love you have for your friends and family. Philadelphia is called the city of brotherly love, because that’s what the name means. <i>Eros </i>is passionate love, the kind of love you have for someone you’re dating, or hoping to. And, most important to us, <i>agape</i>’ is unconditional love. </p><p><i>Agape </i>love is the kind of love God has for the world. Remember that familiar John 3:16 verse? You know, like the guy with the sign at the football games? For God so loved the world? That’s the <i>agape </i>love. God’s love for the world is unconditional <i>agape </i>love. A love that does not rely on emotion, or good behavior, or anything else. Unconditional means <i>unconditional</i>. </p><p>So . . . the point of <i>all </i>that explanation is so that we can look again at how Jesus answers the lawyer who is assigned to trap him. The lawyer asks Jesus to name the most important of all the commandments. The question is not about the 10 commandments; it’s about the Law of Moses, which is really plural, because there are 613 of those laws. 613 rules to guide one’s life at every single moment, and he asks Jesus to pick the most important one. It’s yet another test designed to trap him, because he can’t possibly pick the right one out of 613, right? I mean what are the odds of that? Well, I guess 1 in 613. But nevermind.</p><p>Jesus, however, knows the most important command. It even has a name for faithful Jews. It’s called, “the <i>shema</i>,” which is the first word of the sentence in Hebrew, meaning “Hear,” as in listen. The <i>shema </i>is used at morning and evening prayer for the Jewish faithful, and the second verse is, “you shall love the lord your God with all your heart and soul and strength.” Jesus picks that as most important, which also subtly connects his answer to the act of worship, since this verse is used at least twice a day in worship. But then Jesus makes an astonishing further move . . .</p><p>He says, “And a second is like it: `You shall love your neighbor as yourself’.” A second one is <i>like </i>it. Loving God with all your heart and soul and strength has nothing to do with people whatsoever. God is one thing, and people are another thing. So where does he get off saying “And a second is <i>like </i>it?” </p><p>Let’s just let that question sit for a second and go back to love. The word Jesus uses here, as I mentioned is <i>agape</i>: unconditional love. And, as I said, unconditional love is an act, not an emotion. Unconditional love does not change because circumstances change, or because people do things we do not like. As a matter of fact, you can have <i>agape </i>love for people you don’t even like. People who drive you nuts—your enemies if you will—those are people you can still love. Those are people that you can still wish the best for. Your enemies can still be loved with <i>agape </i>love, even if you would sooner move out of state than talk to them.</p><p>This <i>agape </i>love is the love that is commanded in the <i>shema</i>. You are to love God unconditionally, with <i>all </i>your heart and soul and strength. Some days you may be very angry with God, or disappointed with God, or disconnected from God; and that may make you feel like you don’t love God . . . <i>if you make the mistake</i> of thinking love is an emotion. But <i>agape </i>love is not an emotion. It is an <i>action</i>; it requires effort, or at least intentionality. Loving God is a decision you make, not an emotion you feel. And that is why it is a <i>command</i>: You SHALL love the Lord your God. We are <i>commanded </i>to love God, which is very different from a feeling of love for God.</p><p>And now you’re saying, but uh . . . how do I possibly <i>do </i>that? How will I <i>know </i>when I am doing that? How can I <i>decide </i>to love God with all my heart and soul and strength? I don’t even know where to begin, let alone know that I am doing it . . . What if I don’t feel anything for God? What if I’m angry at God? What if I feel like I am just going through the motions? How do I love God in this way?</p><p>Jesus said, “And a second is like it: `You shall love your neighbor as yourself’.”<br />I don’t want to overemphasize the word “like” there, but for a moment . . . let’s give it a shot. What if loving your neighbor is <i>like </i>loving God? What if loving your neighbor as yourself is <i>like </i>loving God with all your heart and soul and strength? Remember that John 3:16 verse I mentioned? For God so loved the world? As we heard last week, the people around you are the <i>eikons </i>of God. Made in God’s image. God loves the world. God loves the <i>people </i>in this world.</p><p>Maybe this is all just a perfect circle . . . If God so loves the world that God is willing to die to redeem the world, and if God commands us to love God, then maybe loving people <i>like God loves people</i> is how we know we are loving God. If God loves people that much, maybe trying to love people at least gets us on the path to loving God. </p><p>Have you ever noticed that when you pray for other people you feel better than when you pray for yourself? Like praying for someone else sometimes puts my own problems in perspective. Or, sometimes, praying for someone else reminds me that God loves them, even when I may not necessarily even like that person? The power of prayer isn’t that it accomplishes something elsewhere; the power of prayer is that it changes <i>us</i>, and molds us into the kind of people who are the hands and feet of God in this world.</p><p>Loving your neighbor IS loving God. And loving God IS loving your neighbor. A second command is <i>like </i>it . . .</p><p>But before you get concerned that you will be heading home with an insurmountable task of loving God and your neighbor, let me remind you of this . . .</p><p>Every time we make a promise to do what God says we should do, we always promise “with God’s help.” This past Wednesday night, as we discussed ethics, we looked at the Baptismal Covenant. which you can find on page 305 of the prayer book. Here’s the second question: Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself? And we answer . . . I will <i>with God’s help</i>. I will with God’s help. God guides and directs us . . . we only need to be willing to be guided and directed. And in making the promise (and adding, “with God’s help”), we have put things in the right order. God says, love your neighbor, and we say with confidence, I will, <i>with God’s help</i>. With God’s help, we <i>will </i>love God and our neighbor with an unconditional love. WITH GOD’S HELP.</p><p>Amen.</p>Fr. George Baumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05079928636948333700noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5105747710931350776.post-78932600519315215522023-10-22T11:21:00.000-04:002023-10-22T11:21:26.190-04:00YEAR A 2023 pentecost 21<p>Pentecost 21, 2023<br />Exodus 33:12-23<br />Psalm 99<br />1 Thessalonians 1:1-10<br /><a href="https://www.lectionarypage.net/YearA_RCL/Pentecost/AProp24_RCL.html#gsp1" target="_blank">Matthew 22:15-22</a><br /><br />In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.</p><p>“Render unto Caesar.” We use that phrase a lot, right? “Render unto Caesar what belongs to Caesar.” And what we usually mean is, “Vote for the bond measure so our kids can have good schools.” Or, actually, what we <i>usually </i>mean is, “You better pay your taxes, my friend.” And like most cases when we borrow phrases from the Bible, we completely mess up the point of the story, and we render unto Jesus a disservice that does not belong to Jesus.</p><p>So first, let’s look at the people in the room in today’s gospel lesson. There are the people called “the crowds.” These are just people. All walks of life and so on, but for the most part they would be Jews, living under the brutal occupation of the Romans. If this crowd turns against Jesus, he’s a gonner. But if the crowds are with him—on his side—then it is too risky to have him taken away. At this point in Matthew’s gospel, Jesus has attracted big crowds wherever he goes.</p><p>And then there are the people who come to trick him in this scenario. The Pharisees have cooked up the plan, and they send their disciples to do their dirty work for them. But what’s really shocking is that they also send the Herodians with them. We only hear about the Herodians a few times in scripture, and we don’t know much about them. What we <i>do </i>know is that they were big supporters of Herod (which is why they’re called, Herodians, of course), and since Herod was the puppet governor for the Romans, sending them is like sending spies for Rome.</p><p>The Pharisees hated the Romans, and <i>also </i>hated Herod, even though he was their ruler. But on top of all that, the Herodians were followers of the Sadducees, and the Pharisees and the Sadducees hated each other. (Hatred is <i>complicated </i>stuff!) So the Pharisees are sending their disciples to meet with their <i>own enemies </i>in order to trap Jesus. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, as the saying goes.</p><p>Okay, so that’s who’s there when all this takes place. And then they begin. They start off by complimenting Jesus, saying what a fine teacher he is. A man of God. And then they ask him The Question: “Is it lawful to pay taxes to the emperor, or not?” If Jesus says, “Yes, pay taxes,” the crowd will turn against him, since no one wants to support the occupying Roman forces. If Jesus says, “No, don’t pay taxes,” then the Herodians will have him arrested for treason against the Emperor. It’s a good little trap they’ve set, and either answer will have consequences.</p><p>Now it’s tempting to think that this is a lesson in the separation of Church and State. In fact, for many people, that’s the whole point of this text: That Jesus wants us to maintain the separation of Church and State. The first problem with that interpretation is that it’s off by about 1800 years. There is no such thing as separation of Church and State until the U.S. Constitution forbids the establishment of religion. And even after that, it took a couple hundred years more for us to start using the phrase, separation of Church and State. To the group of people standing around Jesus—first century pious Jews—the separation of Church and State is unthinkable. Their ultimate goal is the <i>union </i>of Church and State, into a theocracy ruled over by The Messiah . . . which they are certain is not Jesus.</p><p>Point being, this is not the place in the Bible where Jesus teaches the crowd the importance of the Establishment Clause of the First Amendment of the U.S. Constitution. So if Jesus isn’t giving an American civics lesson, what is Jesus saying? Well, as they say, follow the money . . .</p><p>The coins used to pay the tax to Rome were called denarii. A single coin was called a denarius. So, Jesus says, “Show me the coin used for the tax.” And they bring him a denarius. Then he says to them, "Whose head is this, and whose title?" And they say, “the Emperor’s.” Now, two things about this: First, the word we get translated as “head” or “image” is the Greek word, <i>eikon</i>. (You’ve heard that word around.) Second, the Emperor was always called, “son of God,” and the coin Jesus held in his hand would bear the <i>eikon </i>of the Emperor, with the inscription “Son of God.” For this reason, observant Jews <i>did not carry</i> coins of the Roman Empire, because to carry them was blasphemy. </p><p>And you’ll notice that when Jesus wants to show them one of these coins, he does not reach into his own robe and pull out some change. And why not? Because Jesus is an observant Jew. He is not carrying around idolatrous images of the occupying Roman force. But when he asks for a coin, they bring him one. I’m not going to judge anybody here, but it sure seems like <i>somebody </i>is carrying around blasphemous images of the Emperor. Just saying.</p><p>So Jesus holds up the <i>eikon</i> of the Emperor, son of God, and says, “Give to the emperor the things that are the emperor's, and to God the things that are God's.”</p><p>And here’s where we really need to put on our thinking caps. If Jesus is saying, “Give the government all your <i>material </i>goods, and give God all your <i>spiritual </i>offerings,” well . . . first of all, that would make for a very difficult Stewardship Campaign, wouldn’t it? Jesus is <i>not </i>suggesting that God and money should be separated, any more than he was saying Church and State should be separated. He doesn’t say give to the government your entire paycheck and give God your prayers, right?</p><p>It’s not about the <i>value </i>of the coin. It’s about the <i>eikon</i>. Whose image is on the money? The coin is identified by the <i>eikon </i>that is stamped on it. The one in whose image it is made dictates where and what happens to it. You cannot spend a coin that bears the image of the Emperor outside of his realm. The coin bearing his image <i>belongs </i>in his realm. Hold that thought.</p><p>I want to read you something from the Prayer Book, on page 845. This is way back in the section called, “Parts of the Prayer Book I’ve never seen before.” Actually, this is a subsection of that part called, “An Outline of the Faith.” It’s laid out in question-and-answer format, which is why it’s also called “the Catechism.” When we look at the very first question: What are we by nature? And the response is, “We are part of God’s creation, made in the image of God.” Made in what? In the <i>image </i>of God. An <i>eikon </i>of God.</p><p>You are an <i>eikon </i>of God. Let’s imagine the challengers ask Jesus a different question. What if they were to ask, is it lawful for me to use and abuse another human being? Is it lawful for me to mistreat my neighbor, or belittle them, or call them an animal or a monster? Is it lawful for me to hate someone because they have a political sign in their lawn? And Jesus asks, "Whose image do they bear?" A denarius is made in the image of Caesar. And <i>you </i>are made in the image of God. And <i>your neighbor </i>is made in the image of God. Give therefore to the emperor the things that are the emperor's, and to God the things that are God’s. It’s hard sometimes, isn’t it?</p><p>This is not a story about paying taxes, or the separation of Church and State. Those are paltry, insignificant arguments. No, this is a story about you and me, being made in the image of God. Your worth is not based on what people think, or how you are treated, or how much money you make, or who you vote for. Your worth is based on bearing the <i>eikon </i>of God, the creator of all that is, seen and unseen. Whose image and whose title? The image of God, and the title of redeemed child of God, claimed for all time, living in the hope of the resurrection.</p><p>All of which fits nicely with St. Timothy’s Church and our Stewardship Campaign, which kicks off today. We usually think of a Stewardship Campaign as being about money, and it mostly is. Gotta keep the lights on. However, true stewardship, <i>truly </i>giving back to God, means giving <i>yourself </i>to God. Your time, your talent, and your possessions. That is why on this year’s pledge card, we included space on the back for you to list ways you want to share your time and talents. Even if you don’t want to fill out the front and make a financial pledge, we ask you to prayerfully consider that section on the back, where you can offer back to God the other gifts you have been given.</p><p>Sure, give to the emperor the things that are the emperor’s, the taxes that are required. But, give to God the things that belong to God: your self, your time, and your possessions. Since you are made in the image of God, all that you are belongs to God. You live in the kingdom of God, you belong in the kingdom of God, and no one can take that away from you. </p><p>Is it lawful to pay taxes? Yes, (And it is required, in case you haven’t noticed.) But you are not made in the image of the IRS. You are made in the image of God. And what is made in the image of God belongs to God. </p><p>Remember, you are God’s <i>eikon</i>, whether or not you believe it—and whether not others believe it—it is true. You are God’s <i>eikon</i>, and no one can take that away from you. You will always be welcomed by God because you are made in the very image of God. You belong to God. </p><p>Amen.<br /><br /> <br /></p>Fr. George Baumhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05079928636948333700noreply@blogger.com0