Selected Sermons and Reflections

Nothing is Impossible with God Sermon for the Fourth Sunday in Advent St. Michael’s, December 18th, 2005 By Father John R. Smith   A story came across the Internet recently. Whether it is true or not is unknown. It is allegedly a report on Global Organized Crime from the Centre for Strategic and International Studies,   According to this report, FBI agents conducted a raid of a psychiatric hospital in San Diego that was under investigation for medical insurance fraud. After hours of reviewing thousands of medical records, the dozens of agents had worked up quite an appetite. The agent in charge of the investigation called a nearby pizza parlour with delivery service to order a quick dinner for his colleagues. The following telephone conversation took place and was recorded by the FBI because they were taping all conversations at the hospital: Agent: Hello. I would like to order 19 large pizzas and 67 cans of soda. Pizza Man: And where would you like them delivered? Agent: We're over at the psychiatric hospital. Pizza Man: The psychiatric hospital? Agent: That's right. I'm an FBI agent. Pizza Man: You're an FBI agent? Agent: That's right. How soon can you have them here? Pizza Man: And everyone at the psychiatric hospital is an FBI agent? Agent: That's right. We've been here all day and we're starving. Pizza Man: How are you going to pay for all of this? Agent: I have my checkbook right here. Pizza Man: And you're all FBI agents? Agent: That's right. Everyone here is an FBI agent. Can you remember to bring the pizzas and sodas to the service entrance in the rear? We have the front doors locked. Pizza Man: I don't think so. Click. Bzzz When I read this story I thought how similar the Pizza Man’s situation was to young Mary when she was greeted by the Angel Gabriel.  Both were being given a tall order--one that was so hard to believe.  You will conceive a child who will be the Most High and you will name him Jesus, and he will save people from their sins.  The one great difference is that she responded to grace and didn’t hang up.  She showed incredible trust. We need that same trust to never "hang up" on God.  Everyone in this room has received God’s favor-- you wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t.  It doesn’t mean that we’re better than anyone, if we’re honest with ourselves we know it’s God’s doing-- not ours. We, like the Pizza Man and Mary have been given a tall order: to bring Christ to the world-- to be Christ by grace wherever we are:  in family, in relationship with others, in trying to do God’s will on earth as it is in Heaven. We, like Mary, cry out the same question:  How can this be?  (Fill in the blank.)  Am I really favored?  What can I do?  What can I give?  How can God come into the world and save it with my help?  How does God use the Church to make a difference in my life and the lives of others? How can this be?  Listen to the answer of Gabriel to Mary:  the Holy Spirit will over shadow you.  God says the same to us as long as we don’t hang up.  It’s so easy to hang up on God.  He calls and invites and points a direction, but in the flood of doubt and inertia, we hang up, yes, go through the motions, but never hear the message and get on with doing God’s will.  The Holy Spirit given to us in Baptism and confirmed later by the Bishop is a clear sign of God’s choice and favor and the power to accomplish things that look impossible.  What good thing seems impossible in your life right now?   What good thing seems impossible in our families right now?  How about our community?  Immigration reform and deaths in the desert-- there’s a bill in Congress (the "best we can do right now").  How about our Church?  Can sinners continue to pray together?    How about our world?  The prosecution of the war in Iraq.  The day by day rising numbers of our troops and the untold number of Iraqi’s who have died.  The Advent Christ wants to come into all these situations.  Will we let him-- do we want Christ’s solution?  It will take lots of forgiveness, humility, and love.   Let’s not hang up, let‘s stay on the line-- yes, we are weak and conflicted, but nothing is impossible to God. It takes the trust of Mary in us to say:  I am the servant of the Lord.  Be it done unto me according to your word.  Can we say "Yes" to all that is before us.  Can we allow the Holy Spirit to work in us and keep us one?  Can we believe that truly nothing is impossible to God.  Can we, knowing our inadequacies and weakness allow God’s grace to change us and be the creative force in our lives? I could have told the story of Mary today in a very distancing way, as a story about something that happened a long time ago, as a story about a once and for all event, about a virgin giving birth, surrounded by shepherds and kings from afar. But it's not that kind of story at all. It's a story about me and you, and about our letting the Holy Spirit touch us so that the Christ begins to stir in our gut. We have been chosen. Now it’s our choice.  Our choice to prepare to receive this gift of new life, or ignore it and hang up. That, in the end, is what Christmas is about. It is a story about today, and about how each one of us has the opportunity to answer the angel as Mary did. The Angel is telling each of you this morning, and will continue to whisper in your ear:  Greetings to you, O Favored One, the Lord is with you.  Please, whatever you do, stay on the line.

Luck: Sermon for the Second Sunday in Advent St. Michael’s, December 4th, 2005 By Father Roger O. Douglas In Rabbi Kushner’s popular book, When Bad Things Happen to Good People, he makes the following claims: first, that God does not will bad things to happen to people. (I certainly believe that.)  But then he goes on to infer, when bad things happen to people, it is mostly a result of bad luck.  In other words, if I understand what the Rabbi is telling us, our lives are in the hands of a vast roulette wheel. When your number comes up, that’s it.  If we take the Rabbi’s words to heart, life is like a giant crap game. Sometimes you roll a seven and sometimes it’s snake eyes.  It’s all a matter of luck. If we ascribe to this view, we can easily believe that we are helpless pawns, jerked this way and that by fate.  We are at the mercy of blind luck.  The problem with this philosophy of fate, or luck, or whatever we might call it, is that it leaves us out of the equation.  We say, “after all, what could I do?  It was just Kismet, my fate to be standing there.” Good luck, bad luck, these are easy answers to life’s problems. But they also are shallow responses to deep questions about tragedy and life’s misfortunes and successes that come to us. I’m glad to report to you, that not everybody subscribes to this philosophy.  Recently, I read that the National Safety Council has urged news organizations and law enforcement authorities to stop speaking of accidents on our highways. They suggested that the more accurate word would be crash. if someone is driving 90 miles an hour and has a wreck, is that really an accident? If you’ve been heavily drinking and hit a lamppost, is that an accident. The word accident implies that you didn’t have any responsibility. Sometimes when we say, “It was just bad luck,” it becomes an attempt to absolve ourselves of responsibility. On the other hand, the Christian view is that our lives are moving somewhere, whether or not we take responsibility for the direction. We are busy opening some doors and closing others all the time. We have made certain decisions in our past, invested time and energy in ways that make things happen, and thus are partially shaping our futures.  We might even say of in some ourselves that we are a purposeful people, people with a plan.  This is what distinguishes us from other animals.    Now, let me take one more small step.) If you have a plan and are a purposeful human being; why is it so hard to believe that God also has a plan and a purpose for our lives?  Becoming aware of this purpose is often referred to as the beginning of maturity. William Jennings Bryan once put it this way: “Not until a person sees that his life is part of the Devine Plan, is he prepared to understand his life.”   The writers of the Bible are constantly reminding us that God has a plan, and that God directs our lives. Scripture also states that we have the freedom to turn our backs on the plan, but God still works to have us move into his ultimate design. The biblical view is that there is no such thing as luck, or chance, or randomness. What there is is God moving, caring, intervening, and acting behind the scenes of our lives. Lately, there has been a lot of talk over whether to teach evolution, or to add a new designation called Intelligent Design. It’s a silly argument, for both theories have their place, only in different classrooms. One is a scientific explanation, where the other is a religious subject. Science, if it is true to its field, is about how things happen. Evolution therefore is probably the best scientific guess as to how we have developed. Religion, on the other hand, is about why things happen. As Christians we don’t believe that we’re here by chance. We don’t believe that it’s all the luck of the draw. We believe that God has a plan, a direction for us all. And we declare that God cares for all of creation. Sunday by Sunday, we affirm, we hope, we pray: “ Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.” In a few weeks we will be celebrating Christmas. And isn’t the central message of Christmas that God comes to show forth his love for us, and to make us aware of his plan? If this be so, then the questions I would raise with you at this time are: Was it luck that Jesus was born when he did? Was John the Baptist whistling in the dark when he spoke of God’s plan? Was Mary really told by a messenger  of God, or was it random chance that she delivered the child Jesus? These and similar questions are what we need to wrestle with during the Advent Season. That’s the Advent issue. Let me end our thoughts with a story that occurred several years ago. I visited a patient in a hospital who had just attempted suicide. She was lying on her bed, crying her eyes out. I sat for a while, and then said; “Tell me about it.” She turned and said; “I’m just the original bad luck kid. A lousy marriage, I can’t hold a job, and everybody seems to hate me. I’m not worth anything to anybody. I can’t even do myself in successfully.”   To tell the truth,, I was at a loss to respond to this tale of woe.  And then it came. I recounted an experience that I had in New York. One Sunday, I was scheduled to preach at this run-down black church in one of the worst ghettos in the city. I was fresh out of seminary and hadn’t prepared a sermon. What could I say to these people who had so little, and were suffering so much? Suffering from prejudice, neglect, as well as extreme poverty? As I walked into the church, right above the door, was a sign that read: “God don’t make no junk.”  And then over the altar, there was one word printed in large letters: Maranatha. Maranatha, I remembered from seminary, was an ancient Christian saying which meant, “Come Lord Jesus.” There they were, the most important words that I could ever preach. First, that we were all worth something to God. It wasn’t just luck or chance that we were here; because “God don’t make no junk.” And In the course of time, God sent us Jesus, to show us He cares, and has a plan for each of us. So Maranatha, Come Lord Jesus. I believe that it wasn’t chance that brought me there that Sunday, nor was it chance that allowed me to share the story with the woman in the hospital.  And to those of you who still believe luck or fate, or randomness: my response to you is Maranatha, Maranatha. Come Lord Jesus. Come and show us that God has a plan and that God’s will “will be done on earth as it is in heaven.” Maranatha. Amen. "Come, Lord Jesus! Do I dare Cry: Lord Jesus, quickly come! Flash the lightning in the air, Crash the thunder on my home! Should I speak this aweful prayer? Come, Lord Jesus, help me dare.    --Madeline L'Engle, The Irrational Season

Our Whole Time is Advent Sermon for the First Sunday in Advent St. Michael’s, November 27th, 2005 By Father John R. Smith I imagine that each of us can remember what happened when we were students back in school and the teacher announced that she was just going to step out of the class for a minute. I am sure you can remember words like - "Now class, I'm going down the hall to the office to make a call. While I am gone I am going to trust each one of you to act like ladies and gentlemen. Each of you have your work to do - I am going now and I'll be right back." And I am sure you can remember what happened after she got out the door. When the teacher is away, there is a test, a test that many people flunk. In my school days I remember vividly that all heck broke loose. Some kids worked - or tried to - while other kids made spitballs, paper airplanes, and other missiles; others wandered around between the desks - talking to one, poking another, and so forth. The bullies had a field day.  Sometimes the whole affair got organized: one or two kids would stand near the door, listening for the teacher's return, while their buddies ransacked the room, wrote notes on the board, or did something to one of the teacher's books. My friends, right now the teacher is away: we are living between times, in the times between Christ's first coming - as a babe in the manger - and his second coming - as Lord and Judge. We live between beginnings. And the question that the gospel poses for us today, while we are in this state is quite simply: are we going to pass the test set for us by our teacher's absence? Or are we going to flunk that test, just as so many of us did back when we were in school? The way I figure it - most of the New Testament is concerned with the problem of God's absence. When Jesus was here with us in the flesh, that was one thing. But in his absence, in the time between his first Advent and the next, what of our discipleship? Things between us and God tend to be fine, when we are in here, at worship, eating the bread, drinking the wine, touching and tasting the goodness, the near presence of God. But what about later, when you walk out the church door and you are back in the world? What then? Isn't a little bit like it was back in our school days? Some do their work - some can be trusted, and some can not. You know, the amazing thing about our faith is the faith that God puts in us. Especially when you consider how so many of us behave. Yet, even so, God has put us in charge of the classroom, each with our own work to do, and all he says to us as He does this is "do a good job, behave well - and be alert for my return." Christ is coming again, and we need him to come again; too many of his class have become unruly. But, while we long for his return, as Israel longed for his coming in the Old Testament reading this morning, while we long for the time when the classroom will be a place of harmony and peace, for the time when all things will be finally straightened out, the time when the wicked will perish and the faithful at last receive their reward; while we long for this time, we need not be overly concerned about just when it will come. We need not worry because we have our work to do in the meantime. and because we can trust God to honor that work, and to keep his promise to be merciful and kind to those who have lived by faith in him. The teacher will come, and the faithful and the unfaithful alike will see him coming.  They will see him coming with his angels in the clouds with great power and glory, and the angels will be sent out to gather his elect from the four winds, from the ends of the earth to the ends of heaven.  And there will be justice, and there will be peace - a peace greater than that which came when our earthly school teachers returned to their classes, and a justice more just than that which was meted out when the teacher opened her classroom door to behold what her students had done. This is our hope, This is our Christian faith, And this is the time in which we show our Lord that we can be trusted.

A Sheep of the Fold Sermon for the Feast of Christ the King St. Michael’s, November 20th, 2005 By Father John R. Smith Today we celebrate the last Sunday of the Church year, the Feast of Christ the King, Stewardship Sunday, the day when the sheep of the parish who have made a pledge are led to coffee hour and the goats who didn’t are led out to the parking lot.   Just kidding!  Did I get your attention?   God wants our attention.  There’s an old Jewish tale called "Hide and Seek":  it seems Rabbi Barukh’s grandson Yehiel was once playing hide-and-seek with another boy.  He hid himself well and waited for his playmate to find him.  After he had waited for a long time, he came out of his hiding place, but the other boy was nowhere to be seen.  Now Yehiel realized that his friend had not looked for him from the very beginning.  That made him cry, and crying, he ran to his grandfather and complained of his faithless friend.  Then tears brimmed in Rabbi Barukh’s eyes, and he said, "God says the same thing:  ‘I hide, but no one wants to seek me.’"   Well, given today’s Gospel--the Great Judgment . . . What a way to end the Liturgical year-- it is perhaps not surprising.  We read in awe of the unveiling of the mysterious Son of Man coming as Cosmic King, returning in glory.   To use the metaphor of the theatre:  "all the nations" are ushered in and uneasily take their seats as the lights dim and curtain rolls back.  In the next moment the central figure of all history will be manifest to all heaven and earth--ready or not.   Jesus is about to be revealed; but so are we.  We will be "found out."  The hidden will be no longer.    The way Matthew paints the scene, everyone on hand is about to exclaim "Oh, my God!"--either in praise or in anguish.  Either way, in the most decisive act of human history, Jesus hands over the Kingdom to Abba, his father, and in so doing destroys all other dominions, authorities, and powers.   We’ve had a lot of funerals lately and the prayer I love most is said at the Commendation at the end of the service.  "Acknowledge, we humbly beseech you, a sheep of your own fold, a lamb of your own flock, a sinner of your own redeeming."  All of this flows from the scene in Matthew’s Gospel.  No mention of goats though!  What determines who gets herded where--into the Sheepfold prepared from the foundation of the world or to the Goat Pen of fire--is faith-in-action:  seeking God and serving God in the least.  Notice that it isn’t successful faith-in-action.  It isn’t showy faith-in-action.  It is just doing it.   We don’t open our hearts to the hungry, the thirsty, the stranger, prisoner, or, even for that matter give what we have perfectly.  But we do these things because they are "right and meet to do."  Not trying to be do-gooders or win a trip to heaven, but because we want to find God and are convinced  loving and giving is the best way to do it.  And to our surprise, we find God-- not in the abstract, but in a concrete reality of a church and the people it serves.  Welcoming them, we welcome Christ.   The "goats," on the other hand, were equally unself-conscious in their actions.  They didn’t give a damn.  They could have had faith, and perhaps they did.  Like the priest or Levite in the Parable of the Good Samaritan, they may have actually been on their way to do important, pious things.  But the Gospel this morning seems to be saying that doing faith is more important than having faith and that this is the basis upon which the King in glory will judge his subjects.   "Acknowledge, we humbly beseech you, a sheep of your own fold."  Once again I invite you to put your faith in action:  to commit to God and the Church and the alleviation of at least some of the world’s suffering and pain.  This is the whole Jesus enterprise.  We are the body of Christ.  Jesus left, and until he comes again, He left people like you and like me, to carry out the Mission of his love.

How I Loved Her More and More Sermon for the Twenty-Sixth Sunday After Pentecost St. Michael’s, November 13th, 2005 By Father John R. Smith One of the canonical duties of a Rector is to instruct the people of his parish in matters of stewardship:  the returning to God of a portion of our time, talents, and money to further the spread of the Gospel from our church into the world.  It’s been a pleasure serving this parish because of the commitment to doing just this on the part of so many at St. Michaels.  I think people who are striving to be good stewards exhibit a peace and joy in their lives that is meant to be shared by everyone.    The biblical norm for stewardship raised up by the Episcopal Church and most other denominations is the tithe, the setting aside a tenth of what we live on for the work of the Christian community where we live out our baptism and for the alleviation of suffering and other good works in the world.  As I see it, it works like this.  We tithe our time, talents, and money, say 10 per cent, and we live on and enjoy the ninety per cent that is left.  One of the neat things about tithing is that, for most people, the ninety per cent expands over time so there’s always plenty to live on and even more to give if we choose.   Striving for, and arriving at, this biblical norm seems to carry with it a real blessing and peace and a help in living the life of the Spirit which we are called to live.   In today’s Gospel parable of the talents, each is gifted with a certain number of talents.  Two put them to work for the Master and one buries their talent out of fear of loss.  As we pray in the Confession each week, it’s a case of leaving things "undone" on the part of the recipient of the one Talent.  Sometimes real stewardship before God is the major thing left undone in our lives.  If this is the case we really are missing out.  As the parable shows it doesn’t matter how much you have been given:  five talents or two or one, it’s what you do with them that receives the Master’s praise or scorn.   But we live in an age characterized by the message that we have to "look out for number one."  Our following of Christ is a swim against this current:  why should I give to others what is mine or what am I going to get out of this in the here and now?  But in the parable, the question is not whether using our resources for God’s Kingdom gives us fulfillment or makes us prosper--spiritually or materially.  The emphasis is one obedience toward the Master--believing that Jesus’ new enterprise is the one to put our money on, and acting accordingly.   What we’re talking about is putting faith-in-action.  Two servants were praised for their faithfulness in the story, not doubling their Master’s money.  In fact, following the adage that it takes money to make money, the assets doubled on their own, really, not because the two servants had any particular investment skill.  The message is that talents placed in the service of the Master double, a hundred per cent return materially and spiritually.  How many of us can claim that great of a return in our own investments.  Isn’t there another accepted adage:  its not how much you make, but how much you keep.   Isn’t it the case that most people lose money by inflation and poor investment decisions.   So the real choice or risk to take is do I believe the Jesus enterprise is from God or not?  Can I risk a tithe to this effort of spreading the Gospel?  What will the Vestry and Rector do with my money?  These are real questions.  One of the things I have seen as a priest is that faithfulness breeds purification of action and motive.  When we are faithful with the graced gifts we are given by God, the five, two, or one, it doesn’t matter, this very faithfulness brings with it an engraced Presence which enables the life of Jesus Christ to work through us anointing everything and directing it to the highest good.  If everyone is giving as little as they think they think is needed, or trust the Vestry with, this kind of giving brings about an opposite spirit and a tug-of-war over resources that does little good except barely maintain the church’s operation.   Last Sunday, the Feast of All Saints, we had an opportunity to renew our baptismal vows.  Our commitment to the Jesus enterprise, the spread of the Gospel to every person, is the basis for our stewardship.  Whether we have five talents or two on one is unimportant; it takes the same act of trust to unlock the gifts we’ve been given.  What matters is where we have put our focus.  Is it on Christ and his Kingdom--or on our own sense of power or control or measure of the fruit of our labor?  None of these secondary motivations will cut it in God’s eyes.  Unless our intention is faithfulness (and remember we are talking about tithing here), we will have missed the reason for everything.   This week everyone will receive a stewardship card to estimate your giving for the coming year.  When the returns are in, the Vestry will be able to determine whether we will be in a maintenance mode of operation or one that will challenge us to go beyond ourselves and our needs to bring the Gospel to so many more in the world about us and invite them to join us in the Jesus enterprise.  Next Sunday is the Feast of Christ the King.  Let us take the risk of a new way of looking at what we have been given.  There is no time to waste and in God’s plan, no resources that cannot be put into use for the Kingdom and its purposes, with the right attitude and diligence--and most of all, God’s blessing.  Amen.

Hypocrisy: Sermon for the Twenty-Fourth Sunday After Pentecost St. Michael’s, October 30th, 2005 By Father Roger O. Douglas For Halloween, Ethan Douglas is going as Batman. Emily, his sister, is going as a pink cheetah, or Jasmine from Walt Disney.  But that's just for trick or treating. They have other costumes for other events. It's not just my grandkids; parents and a host of other adults are planning on dressing up for this holiday, Halloween, for a good portion of the U.S.A., has become the biggest holiday of the year, even larger than Christmas. In an article I read last week, it said: "Many kids wear costumes all year-round, to bed, to play dates, to the pizza parlor." The owner of a costume company was quoted as saying: "Everybody likes to live their fantasy. You'd be surprised, adults even buy Jedi robes for corporate sales meetings." The Gospel for this morning reminded me of that phenomenon. Jesus observes the actions of the scribes and Pharisees, and He sees that they put up a good front. They wear long robes, and say the right things. They are like people wearing a costume. Then in private, when the costumes are put away; they act differently. There is a public face and then a private one.   Jesus is here pointing out the hypocrisy of the so called "solid citizens." The Alcoholics Anonymous organization has pointed out the same problem. In their very expressive language, they say: "If you talk the talk, you have to walk the walk." In other words, you need to be consistent, or you'll end up being a hypocrite. Jesus and A.A. agree. Those so called solid citizens who love their titles, who talk the talk, maybe even in church, but do not walk the walk, are hypocrites. This is their problem.  And maybe it's ours? The word hypocrite comes from a Greek term meaning actor, playing a role, not being true to one’s real self. if I am one person here, and quite a different person someplace else, then I am a hypocrite, an actor. I am one who wears a costume, a mask, a label, which is not my true self. In our Gospel, Jesus reminds us that we're not built to wear costumes. We are not made for hypocrisy. We are made to be whole people. Incidentally, the word whole, or being consistent, has its root in the word health. They all mean basically the same thing. Being one person in church, and another at home, is unhealthy, and tears us up.  We become fragmented. It makes us less than whole. The problem is that most of us have done it for so long that we accept it as normal, even if we do not  accept it as healthy. Like children, we say to God: "Everybody does it. It's only smart to appear like one person, even when we feel like another. It's only right to wear a costume of a successful person, even when inside we feel like a failure. It's only safe to insist on wearing a tile even when we know it doesn't define who we are." Like a parent, God says: "So what ... you are not everybody. It may be current practice to act like a hypocrite, but that does not make it healthy. You were created to be whole. You were not made to hide behind masks or costumes. You were made to walk the \walk as well as talking the talk.” I can still remember when I was in analysis. I used to share my hopes as well as my fears of inadequacy. I used to say how important it was to look and act like I knew what was going on in the ministry, even when I didn't have a clue.  And then one afternoon (I think this was the defining moment in my therapy), the Doctor said: "You know, Roger, you don't have to preach like Paul Tillich, You don't have to appear as wise as Reinhold Neibuhr, (Those were two of my heroes.) You don't even have to draw crowds, like Billy Graham. All you have to do is be Roger.” Wow, that was the beginning of real growth.     I have heard people say that they do not come to church because the people there are hypocrites. The fact is that this is where we hypocrites belong. We need to be reminded that God loves us   as we are, warts and all. And then we need to be reminded that there can be no healthy growth until we are ready to lay aside our costumes. Good people, I've said it before, we do not solve issues by pretending they do not exist.  We come here to church to be whole, to bring our hypocrisies out into the open; seeking God's help. The reason many of us are here is that we admit we are hypocrites and do not want to continue in this way. I believe that the Gospel lesson this morning is addressed to those of us who can admit we've become adroit at playing a Christian role. And we seek a degree of wholeness so that we can not only talk the talk, but also walk the walk. And this is why hypocrites like us have been coming to places like this for centuries. I would like you to join me in a little exercise tomorrow, even if it is Halloween. Tomorrow morning as we get up and get dressed, stop for a moment and see if you are allowing yourselves to become actors or actresses, slipping into a costume to play a certain role. Then let us remember the word for actor is hypocrite. And the word for health is wholeness. God wants us to be whole. God wants us to walk the walk as well as talk the talk. Think of that tomorrow. Amen. I am indebted to the Rev. Dr. Frances Wade for some of my ideas, which come from his book "Companions Along The Way."

Stewardship: Sermon for the Twenty-Second Sunday After Pentecost St. Michael’s, October 16th, 2005 By Father Roger O. Douglas Lately, I keep running across a TV add that has a person carrying around a chained big white egg. Quickly, we get the point that this symbolizes our nest egg. the money we've put away in the bank, I.R.A.'s, or in some retirement fund. We are then informed there is a better way to protect our eggs. Let so-and-so manage your money. Today, influenced by the ad, I too want to explore with you your nest egg. And to do this, (as people often accuse me) I'm going to have to quit preaching, and to start meddling. Let's start with some difficult questions. The first one is, why do you have a nest egg? Or to put it in the most basic form: What is your money for?  Is it for making more money? Is it for your retirement? Is it for a legacy? Is it for buying more toys (which we often call necessities)? Well, these are tough questions. But any reputable money manager would ask you the same kind of questions probably, in a more circumspect way.  This morning we don't have luxury of being polite. Fifteen minutes is not a long time to get to the heart of the matter. My guess is most of us, in answering the question, might come up with some variation on the theme of security. Our nest egg, or whatever we wish to call it, represents our security blanket. If we lose some of it, we feel anxious. If our nest egg grows, we feel safer about the future. Most of us aren't greedy. Were not looking to double  the size of our nest eggs. All we want is a little more than we have now. That, of course, raises another of those pesky questions. What is enough? When is our nest egg of a sufficient size to make us feel secure? My guess is that most of us have trouble with that kind of question, for we often say to ourselves: "What if a depression comes along, or what if some catastrophe befalls us?” The “what-ifs" are at best unsettling, and at worst they cause a lot of our anxieties. (But that's another sermon.) Well, where are we now? Are you thinking: “Watch out, this preacher is about to lay the commercial on me. He's going to do the job for the Rector and vestry He's going to remind us that tithing is the standard for church people.” But, that's not my purpose, never is, and never was.  People in my former parish used to come up to me after a sermon on money, and say: "You're just concerned with my pledge."  And I would say: "Wrong! I'm concerned with your soul." I then might go on to say, even though it is often misquoted, the Bible does not state, “Money is the root of all evil.  It states that the love of money is the problem.  It does not concern itself with what we have or don't have. It is how we regard our money. The place we give it in our lives. In the Gospels, Jesus speaks a lot about money.  It's interesting to note that he doesn't mention anything about homosexuality, abortion, school prayer, evolution, or any of the so called hot religious topics of the day. (But that too is for another sermon.) The fact is that if you're a serious reader of the Gospels, you can't help but run into a lot of counsel on money, or wealth, or nest eggs. Our Gospel this morning is only one of many illustrations. A superficial reading of the Gospels might lead one to the conclusion that Jesus is against the accumulation of wealth, or  down on the rich.  Not so; he is only concerned with our relationship to money. It's only when we put money ahead of our relationship God, that he takes an interest. When we chain ourselves to our nest egg, then we find Jesus uttering warnings. For Jesus, stewardship is the real issue.  Do we think we are the owners of our nest eggs, or are we simply stewards of our wealth? There's a big difference. An owner can do as he pleases. A steward is accountable to God for the investment. I There are too few places in our society that remind us of this basic truth.  All around us we hear: "It's your life, do what you wish. If it makes you happy, go ahead. Look out for number one. Just be sure that you’re rich enough and safe." No one outside of places like this church speaks about the bottom line. Whether we know it or not: we do not own our lives. We manage them. We are stewards of all that we have. So, let's look closely at this morning's Gospel. The Pharisees, the bad guys, attempt to trap Jesus over a money question. They come up and ask a seemingly innocuous question. "Should you pay taxes? After all, if you do, your supporting war, and a less than just Roman government."  The question may seem harmless, but a yes would put Jesus in trouble with his followers. A no would put him in trouble with the authorities, and probably land him in jail. Talk about being between a rock and a hard place. This simple question was designed to trap Jesus. But Jesus, that wily debater, turns the tables on his opponents.  He refuses to make a yes or no response. Instead, he dismisses the question by saying: render to the government the things that are legally the government's, and unto God the things that are God's. I believe, if Jesus were to answer this same question today; He might say something like this:  "Don't sweat the small stuff. Pay your taxes but remember who owns your nest egg. We are all stewards of creation. Therefore be prudent about your expenses. Manage what you give wisely. For what you do with your money matters."  And I would add: At every moment we are defining ourselves before God and the world, whether we know it or not. Money, it's neutral. The way we relate to money, the way we manage what we have…this is what is important. This is a soul matter, not a financial matter. We who have ears to hear let us hear ... Amen

A Post-Hurricane Sermon: Sermon for the Eighteenth Sunday After Pentecost St. Michael’s, September 18th, 2005 By Father Roger O. Douglas It's been a difficult month for most of us at St. Michael's. The death of some key people who were much loved, and had touched many lives. Then quickly following this was the national disaster by Hurricane Katrina, and the attendant media coverage, which made suffering and tragedy our daily diet. The other day, someone remarked, "I don't even want to pick up a paper. It's all so depressing. I find myself getting angry at the government, confused as to what to do, and disillusioned with God." If you've had any of these feelings, and if they have left their mark on you, this sermon is for you. Particularly so, as we gather in this place of believing.  We need to see the events of this past month in the context of our faith. The way I would like to proceed is by introducing you to three teachers whose faith had helped me to grow when tragedy strikes.   The first is C. S. Lewis, the most brilliant Christian writer of the 20th Century. After the death of his wife from cancer, he wrote a small book called A Grief Observed.  The opening pages of the book are so shrill and harsh that he didn't even write it under his own name. It was only after his death that the publishers revealed who had written it. Anyway, we find that Lewis, like most of us, had certain expectations about how God would act in his life. When these expectations  were not fulfilled, he became angry and confused about God. It wasn't until the end of the book that he began to realize that God, not Lewis, was in control of life.  Lewis found that he had a choice to make: either sink completely into despair, or begin to believe in the promise of Christian hope. The great shock of Katrina, for many of us, was the realization that we were not completely in control; nor were we immune to tragedy. Many of us have had certain assumptions about life and about God. When these assumptions work, we live a relatively happy life. But when they are different from what we experience, we become confused and angry with God and often despair. Parker Palmer is the 2nd teacher to whom I would introduce you. He's a Christian in the Quaker tradition. Palmer once wrote that most people are disillusioned about some things. This is a mistake, he tells us, because if we are disillusioned now, it means that we were deceived in the first place,. Then he wrote, "No one living with an illusion can expect to know the truth or to experience God."  Think about that for a moment. If we are disillusioned now, it means that we were misleading ourselves in the first place, about God and about hope Many of us have been sadly disillusioned. We thought we were living out here, in Tucson, in a world of relative safety. A world where God protected us.  A world where God promised us that life would continue pretty much as it has always been. But the reality is that we were never promised a rose garden. And if we believed that God assured us of safety, of long life, we were living in a make believe, delusional world.  Instead, the real promise of God is that we will find the strength to keep on keeping on.  As T.S. Eliot said: "We are only undefeated because we go on trying."  And our hope is that God will give us the strength to keep on keeping on. The prophet Isaiah said it so well these many years ago. "Those who hope in the Lord, will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles. They will run and not be weary. They will walk and not be faint." To tell the truth, I know nothing about soaring like an eagle, nor running and not being weary. But I do know something of the promise of walking—maybe even crawling—and not being faint. For I have found that we have a God who walks with us during our times of suffering, and gives us the strength to carry on. I think I've also learned that in times of tragedy, I'm faced with a choice, not between suffering, and having it all disappear. The choice we have is how we react to the suffering. We can become persons of hope or persons of despair. We can become persons who walk with God or persons who walk that lonesome road alone.  The third and final teacher, is a woman by the name of Anne Morrow Lindbergh, the wife of that famous flyer Charles Lindbergh. After the kidnap and murder of her son, she wrote these words to her mother. "I do not believe that sheer suffering teaches, for if suffering alone taught, all the world would be wise, since everyone suffers. To suffering must be added mourning, understanding, patience, love, openness, and the willingness to remain vulnerable."  Well, that's what we can learn from a woman that lost a child. Let’s think about her words for a moment. Mourning—we’re pretty good at that.  We've had lots of practice this past month. But can we love in a world that is at best uncaring? Can we seek understanding in a world that has ceased to wrestle with the tough questions?  Can we remain open and vulnerable in a world that thinks only the strong will survive?  And when our optimism dies, can we live with the hope that God hears our cries and suffers with us? That's the challenge of this past month. The challenge that tells us that we don't have to hold to illusions. We don't have to create myths about our own invulnerability. We don't have to feel we are in control. All we have to do is to keep in mind that God is with us even as we walk through the valley of shadows. And that we can walk and not faint. In this place of hope and belief, I'm going to ask you to pray with me. Not for the dead and grieving not for the victims of the hurricane. We will do that in our regular intercessory prayers. But now, let us pray for ourselves, who have been tested by this past month. In a world of sudden death, we have the promises of God—of eternal life.  And therein lies our hope. In a world of suffering we have a God who shows us about love, having patience, and being vulnerable—and therein lies our hope. In a world of dangerous realities, we have this God of eternal victory. And therein lies our hope. In a world with burdens beyond our bearing, we have a God who will not allow us to walk alone. And therein lies our hope. Let us sit quietly for a moment, and then listen carefully to the words of the Nicene Creed that we say together. In a world of tragedy, I , this is solid and we can hold on to it. And choose hope over despair. Amen

Who Do You Say That I Am? Sermon for the Fourteenth Sunday After Pentecost St. Michael’s, August 21, 2005 By Father Roger O. Douglas Back in the early days of television, I used to watch a popular quiz show called  What’s My Line? The other day, while thinking about the Gospel, I had a fantasy about the show. Let me share it with you. Picture a panel, blindfolded. For those of you who have forgotten, or aren’t old enough to remember, this is the way they sat when a mystery guest appeared. Then the moderator, in my imagination, begins. “Members of the panel, our guest is self-employed and deals in a service. Let’s start our questions.” Have you been published?” came the first question. “No,” said the guest, somewhat apologetically. “If I may interrupt,” said the moderator. “While it is technically true, that our guest has not published, it is only fair to say that he has been the frequent theme of poetry, history, and novels.” “Would I know you, if I met you on the street?” The guest thought for a minute and said, “Possibly, but a lot of people who think they know me, miss me.” Then the questions became more pointed. “Let me ask about your services,” one of the panel said. “Would we be better off for having had your services?” At this the mystery guest, beckoned to the moderator for a short conference. Panel,” said the moderator, “our guest wants to know what you mean by the term, “better off.” “Oh you know,” said one of the panel, “Would we be better off, more popular, richer, more successful, less troubled for having known you?’ The mystery guest responds: “Not necessarily.” The moderator in my fantasy turns down the cards. “No more questions. Panel, take off your blindfolds and meet our mystery guest; Jesus Christ.” Oh, if it were that easy. Looking at our Gospel for this morning, it was on that day in Caesarea Philippi, when Jesus turned to his disciples and asked,  “Who do people say that I am?” “Some say that you are John the Baptist.” Another said: “A lot of people say that you might be one of the prophets come back from the dead.” And still others said: “People call you teacher, leader, healer, and therefore you must be sent from God.” On and on came the responses. But Jesus wasn’t going to settle for second-hand responses on that day. So he restated the question in a personal way. “Who do you say that I am?” The hands went down, and they began to look in every direction but at Him. There was a long awkward silence. That’s a whole different kettle of fish, isn’t it?  When the questions, the long, difficult questions become personal, well that’s another story. We often feel like we have had blinders on. But that’s what Jesus is asking today. “You who claim to be a disciple, who do you say that I am?” “Oh, we thought we would answer that at some other time. We have too many other concerns that blind us to answering your question. We certainly admire you but to tell the truth, you’re kind of hard to follow.” And so it goes: we who call ourselves disciples find it hard to really recognize this mystery guest. Several years ago, in a church magazine there appeared a somewhat blasphemous, crude but effective poem that might speak to why many of us still prefer to wear blindfolds. And when Jesus asks, “Who do you say that I am?” we can only answer, “You’re an enigma.  We admire you, but you’re perpetually a mystery.  Here’s the poem: Christ came into my room, And stood there And I was bored to death: I had work to do. So I said to him after a while, Well, what’s up? What do you want? And he smiled, said he was just passing by, And thought he’d see if I would follow him. Great, I said, some other time. I’m busy. So He left. And I was so darn mad I couldn’t even listen to the TV The trouble with Christ is He always comes at the wrong time.                           --John L. Heurene Countless numbers of people have wrestled with the Jesus question, “Who do you say that I am?” Albert Schweitzer was one of those people. He wrote a major book called The Quest for the Historical Jesus.  You might remember, Schweitzer was a major theologian and a great organist. When he finished his book, he ended  his scholarly career and traveled to Africa to start a leper colony.  He told people he was still trying to follow Jesus, still trying to answer the question of “Who do you say that I am?” In the final words of his book, he gives us a valuable clue, on how we might remove the blindfolds. He comes to us as One unknown, as of old. As he came to those who knew Him not. He speaks to us the same words: “Follow thou me.” And sets us to the tasks which He has to fulfill in our time. He speaks. And to those who would follow, whether they be wise or simple, He will reveal himself in the suffering, the toils, the conflicts, which they will go through in His name , and as an ineffable mystery, they will learn in their own experience Who He is.” Jesus come to us and says, “Lift your blindfolds and find out who I am.  If you’re too busy, too distracted, too timid, I shall always be just a mystery guest. But to those of you who are followers and not admirers, you will begin to learn in your own experiences  the answer and be forever blessed.”   To all who have ears to hear, let them hear. Amen

On Receiving Communion: Sermon for the Eleventh Sunday After Pentecost St. Michael’s, July 30, 2005 By Father Roger O. Douglas The Gospel we just heard is sometimes known as the pre cursor or early model of the Communion service. Feeding of the multitude with a small amount of bread is similar to our being spiritually fed with the consecrated wafer.   One thing that has always intrigued me about the story is that Matthew doesn’t say much about the people’s reaction to this feeding. He simply says, “they were filled.” Several years ago I was thinking about this, and I asked a friend what his reaction was to the Communion service. “To tell the truth,” he said, “I’m all right until we actually get up to receive communion. It’s then that you lose me. When I stand in the aisle waiting to receive, there’s nothing to do, but watch the faces of the worshippers coming up and returning. And frankly, they all look so blank, so bored, so tired, that I quickly lose interest in the whole process.” I hesitated a while before sharing this reaction.  I don’t want you to feel awkward, or under scrutiny when your receiving communion. Nor do I want you to suddenly put on a pious  face.. Maybe that’s our problem. We’re so caught up with decency and decorum as Episcopalians  that we don’t let the spirit shine through. Possibly, if we did let the spirit shine, we’d dance coming from the Altar, or at least look as if we were filled with the bread from Heaven. I recall a story, which actually happened at Trinity Church on the Green in New Haven.  I used to worship there when I was at school. Now, Trinity is a pretty staid New England parish.  One Sunday, a fellow arrived in church who was pretty shabbily dressed. I He looked like one of the street people we often see downtown. The ushers, who were nothing like our ushers, were pretty expert at subtly seating people. So they maneuvered him to the back and to the side, away from the regulars. When the service started. this guy kept chiming in during the prayers and at the sermon with loud exclamations like: “Amen brother!” “Thank you Jesus.” And, “Praise the Lord.” Finally, the head usher couldn’t stand it any longer. He sidled up to the man and said: “Excuse me, sir. You’ll have to leave. You’re disturbing our parishioners.” The man looked surprised.  “What’s wrong?” he said. “I’m just praying to Jesus.” The head usher drew himself up and with all his dignity said: Here at Trinity on the Green, we don’t pray; we worship.” I love that story. “Here at Trinity, we don’t pray, we worship!” How proper, how sophisticated, how Anglican.  Can’t you just imagine someone saying that here at St. Michael’s?  “We don’t pray; we worship.” Frederick Nietzsche once said, speaking to the Christian church, “You will have to look more redeemed, if I am to believe your redeemer.” Let me translate that into terms my friend might say to the church “You’ll have to look more radiant, more excited, more spirit filled, if I’m going to believe that communion has meant anything to you.”  Do you recall in the Book of Acts? The early church was accused of being drunk during worship. The only thing many of us can be accused of is sleepwalking. Okay, Douglas, you might now be saying You’ve made us feel guilty or at least uncomfortable. So what’s the secret? Should we smile more, or dance, or praise God, when receiving communion? I really don’t have an easy answer. But this much I’ve learned.  What you expect to happen can color the way you receive something.  If you go to a concert and expect to be bored, you’ll most likely come out looking bored. If you pick up a book, just because a teacher told you to read it, you’ll probably not get much from it. If you go to a play, and don’t expect it to move you; the chances are you’ll walk away feeling nothing. What you expect influences the way you receive something. Now let me take you one step further. Let me suggest we work on our expectations. John Calvin offers us our first hint: John Calvin is the great Reformation figure whose writings I couldn’t understand while I was at Seminary. But the one thing that made sense to me, was his writings on Communion.  Calvin said: “The Communion service is like a handshake, a visible, tangible, sign of God’s affection for us.’ You can walk down the street and someone on the other side says, “Good morning. How are you? It’s great to see you. You are special.”  But there may be a number of people around you, and you’re not entirely sure that the person is speaking to you.  But if that person crosses the street and shakes your hand or gives you a hug, you know that the special greeting was meant for you alone. “Just so,” says Calvin. “In the pulpit the redeeming love of God is proclaimed; but you’re not certain it is addressed to you. Then in Communion you take the bread and wine and there can be no doubt.” This is God’s handshake. He’s putting his arm around you. This is God’s way of embracing you. Confirming his love. Saying to you personally, “you are special. You are my beloved.” The second hint that may help with your expectations as you come up to receive Communion comes from Thomas Cramner.  Cramner was the Archbishop of Canterbury responsible for the first Prayer Book. He didn’t compose most of it. The original Prayer Book was a translation from the Latin, and a compilation of many services.  What Cramner did other than putting it all together, was to give the stage directions. The stage directions are what we call the rubrics (they used to be written in red). And they are very important. Not only do they tell you what to do. But if you look closely at them, they imply why you are doing what you are doing. In the directions for Communion, Cramner specified that the bread should be placed into the hands of the people.( This was no accidental choice of words. Cramner knew that the verb to ordain, translated from the Hebrew, was to “place into the hands.” In fact a Hebrew priest was ordained  by having the holy things placed into his hands. (Cramner understood that every Communion service was a service of ordination. When we are given holy things, we are in effect being ordained. We are being made into a kingdom of Priests. When you receive the consecrated bread and wine, you are becoming a minister, an ordained bearer of God’s word. One last thought: We live in an era influenced heavily by Madison Ave. Advertising has taught us, if we didn’t already know it, that if we take something on, in some strange way, we become a new person. And thus we hear such claims as: “you are what you wear,” or “you are what you drive,” or even “you are what you eat.” All of these advertising statements have some validity. We are all in a way becomers, people in transition. What we eat and drink does affect who we are becoming. Many years ago, St. Augustine said it. And this is our last thought. Augustine, just before his small, beleaguered congregation was to receive the bread and the wine; would stand and point to the consecrated elements and say: “See what you are. Be what you are.” Good people. Remember, remember, as you come up to receive. You are becoming a Priest, an inheritor of the Kingdom, a special son or daughter, returning home, beloved of God. See what you are. Be what you are. Amen.

Citizens of What Kingdom? Sermon for the Tenth Sunday After Pentecost Sunday, July 24th, 2005 By Father John R. Smith When I moved from Washington State to Arizona to  become Rector of St. Michaels in CoolIidge, I can remember Martha, the volunteer, who typed the bulletin every week, sitting me down for a talk.  She was a legal secretary and well attached to the political scene in Pinal County.  Her point in speaking to me was that in Arizona you had to declare your political party preference in order to vote in the primaries, and especially for a priest who would be involved in the community, is was important to do so for overall effectiveness in ministry.   This was somewhat new to me.  I always voted,  never missed an election, but in Washington State one didn't have to declare a political party in order to vote in the primary.  So when I registered to vote I declared a preference.  I would have liked to declare a preference for the "Gospel Party," but no choice existed for that.  The Preface at Mass for Baptism says "We praise you . . . because in Jesus Christ our Lord you have received us as your sons and daughters, made us citizens of your kingdom, and given us the Holy Spirit to guide us into all truth." This must always be the fundamental platform of our actions and living.    As followers of Christ we owe first loyalty to the Gospel teaching of Jesus and our prayer would be like the one Solomon prays in todays reading:  "Give your servant an understanding mind . . . able to discern good and evil."   But as followers of Jesus, we live in a "polis," a city, and are political beings as well.  Most of us have declared a political preference.  And, when we hear a sermon we often filter it through our political perspective.  If it doesn't match that perspective we can say that the sermon was "too political."  Now the preaching the Gospel will always have political implications, because it speaks to how we act day to day and treat our neighbors far and near as individuals, communities, and governments.  I see Jesus' teaching most practical for this purpose.   But often, I think, our "filtering" of Jesus' teaching through our political perspective causes us to reject that teaching as irrelevant or too impractical for the real world.  But we do this at our peril.   We need a new way to listen to sermons.  Listen for the teaching of Jesus and the Holy Spirit through the very human teacher.  Let the Gospel in; prayerfully accept it; and, let it challenge our thoughts and opinions, forming new convictions (this is sometimes frightening to do, like Paul getting knocked off his horse!), and allow those new convictions to influence our actions and the platforms of our parties (even if we would be in the minority in those parties, which I think would often be the case ).  We do this because only the Gospel has the power to save us and the world, something no party can do.   This is not easy, because day to day, our political parties and their views seem more critical than the in-breaking of God's Kingdom.   The personalities and power of our parties seem much more important than an abstract "kingdom to come."  That is why Jesus who knows this so well spends so much time teaching his disciples and us about the nature of the Kingdom.    The Kingdom, like tiny yeasts in a dough, has a hidden character as it grows, yet is already in and among us in surprising, humble ways, as in the simple joys of preparing lunches to hand out at Casa Maria.  If we ask, God will gives us eyes to see the Kingdom present all around us.   The Kingdom has infinite value.  Jesus teaches that individuals should be ready to exchange everything--wealth, power, reputation, even life itself--in order to enter the realm of the Spirit.  It requires total renunciation, which pales in comparison to the supreme value and joy of being part of it.  The Kingdom is the treasure, hidden in a field to be secured at any earthly cost, and prized beyond any earthly commodity or good fortune possible to imagine.   Finally, the Kingdom is a very inclusive reality.  Remember last week's parables of the weeds among the wheat?  When the servants asked the Master:  "Do you want us to pull out the weeds?" the Master said, "No."  So it's like a dragnet that collects "fish of every kind," good and bad.  God will sort out and reject those unfit for the Kingdom at the proper time; we don't have to.  Our job is to tend the living, protect the innocent, and loving and respecting the dignity of every human being.   So can we try the new way of listening to the Gospel--turning off our political filters and live in the Spirit of God's inscrutable ways?  When you think of doing this does it take your breath away?  Is there a feeling of vulnerability and weakness that makes you uncomfortable?  That is why St. Paul wrote to the Romans,  "The Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words.  And God, who searches the heart  knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints (that's us!!) according to the will of God."  And one of my favorite verses in the bible, "We know that all things work together for good for those who love God, who are called according to the will of God."  Live in the Kingdom, embrace the Gospel, don't fear anything!  In Jesus's Name.  Amen.

Discipleship and the "sWord" Sermon for the Sixth Sunday After Pentecost Sunday, June 26th, 2005 By Father John R. Smith One of the things which has rather surprised the experts who study church growth is that many of the churches which are really booming these days are the ones which ask the most of their members.  They require regular attendance and participation in worship, a commitment to outreach and each person's stewardship of time, talent, and money.  Now this is surprising because the prevailing wisdom these days is to try to make the church more and more accessible and make worship a comfortable experience.  What we are finding out is that people are catching on to the fact that non-committal religion is about as nutritious as a caffeine free diet soft drink: it’s cold, it’s carbonated and it is sweet, but there is nothing there, and on a steady diet of it you will die of starvation.   In this green "ordinary" time after Pentecost Jesus is preparing his disciples for their charge of preaching the Kingdom and getting the world ready for his ultimate return.  Jesus is asking for their unquestioning obedience, loyalty, and devotion to himself.  And he got it and the church grew by leaps and bounds. If we look back to the first century, fifty years after Jesus’ death, we find that before the last of Jesus’ disciples died they had brought many thousands of men, women and children into the church. They had to give and suffer much in order to accomplish this task.  Let's look at each apostle's devotion to Christ and the community of the Church: 1. John died of old age exiled on Patmos Island. 2. Judas hanged himself after betraying Jesus. 3. Peter was crucified upside down, during the persecution of Nero. 4. Andrew died on an "X" cross at Patrae. 5. James was thrown from a pinnacle of the Temple and beaten to death. 6. Bartholomew was flayed alive. 7. James the elder son of Zebedee was beheaded. 8. Thomas was run through the body with a lance. 9. Phillip was hanged. 10. Thaddeus was shot to death with arrows. 11. Simon died on a cross in Persia. 12. Matthew was stoned then beheaded. Now we may never die a heroic death or be tested like they were, but don't you think we will be called to a level of obedience, loyalty, and devotion that approaches it?  The words, teaching, and example of Jesus Christ ruled lives. He was the pearl of great price and the treasure hidden in a field that people gave everything to acquire.  Paul would say it like this:  For if we have been united with him in a death like his, we will certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his.  It is in our best self-interest to hold on to this promise! Jesus says to His disciples in the passage we have heard today "Do not think I have come to bring peace to the earth, I have not to bring peace but a sword". In this particular New Testament passage Jesus isn't talking about a sword that could be raised up against others in war.  That kind of sword Jesus said to put away.  Those who live by the sword will die by the sword.  But the sword he is talking about is the Word of God. In Hebrews ch. 4 vs. 12: it reads, Indeed, the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two edged sword, piercing until it divides soul from spirit, joints from marrow; it is able to judge the thoughts and intentions of the heart.  The Word of God is a sword that penetrates our lives and judges our hearts and helps us to live as Christ's disciples. Supremely Christ Himself is the Word of God.  Anyone who has seen Jesus has seen the Father. And in every generation, and every part of the world, the word has to become flesh before people can see the truth and reality of God. In this age it is not enough to throw biblical statements to the outsider. For God’s words remain empty until they are lived. But when the word is demonstrated in our lives, relationships, lifestyles and loves, it becomes "alive and active" manifesting the living Christ in the world so that the unbeliever or the enemy themselves are forced to ask:  where do those Christians get this love and this peace? But it's never an easy peace.  Jesus goes on to say to His disciples, "I have come to set a man against his father, and a daughter against her mother, and a daughter in law against her mother-in-law; and one’s foes will be members of ones own household." In Jesus’ time, Semitic peoples had a striking way of expressing the love they felt for different people. Instead of saying, "I love you more than I love him," they would say, "I love you and hate him." This was their way of expressing preference in relationships and did not mean the second person was hated. So when Jesus said these words, it was not meant that we should hate our families, but that our love for Him should come as a priority.  Some of you live this reality: a family member doesn't believe in Jesus, but you love them and would do anything for them, but your belief in Jesus Christ and knowing Him as Lord and Savior is a priority.  You still love them and help them, but you won't follow their beliefs. We are committed to Jesus and learning from him.  He goes on to say to His disciples,  "Whoever does not take up the cross and follow me is not worthy of me."  The cross Jesus speaks of, an instrument of death, is a willingness to suffer. Martin Luther once said "You must start with the wounds of Christ, His death is central to our message." And we remember how St. Paul also boasted of the cross. The cross is the place where we can find peace of mind, healing of relationships, and the strength to forgive others. It is God’s power over the forces of evil. Since the cross is at the heart of fellowship, it is only by taking up the cross that fellowship is deepened and matured. But this will involve frequent and painful crucifixion of all forms of self seeking, self centeredness and self righteousness.  The haughty eyes and arrogant pride that Isaiah is talking about today in the first reading.  The Church is stronger as the Spirit allows a willingness to be weak and vulnerable in open fellowship with other Christians in an imperfect community.  It's easy to leave when you think you are right and the majority are wrong.  Jesus goes on to say "Those who find their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it."  If you think you have found the way, lose it in love for others and in unity with them.  Don't worry, it won't be lost on Jesus. How we treat each other in the church is more important than following the rules.  I like a story told of Henri Nouwen, a great spiritual writer, who was going to a monastery for a retreat. The monks observed vows of silence and the retreat was to be meditative and prayerful.  Nouwen was delayed and late getting to the monastery on a miserable, rainy night.  He rang the bell, well after bedtime, and was met at the door by one of the brothers.  The brother warmly greeted him, took his wet coat, brought him to the kitchen and made him a cup of tea. They chatted in the late hours and Nouwen began to relax and feel ready for the retreat. But he knew this monk was supposed to observe silence, so he finally asked him, "Why are you willing to sit and talk with me?" The monk replied, "Of all the duties of the Christian faith and the rules of my order, none is higher than love." Jesus concludes today’s Gospel by saying that "whoever gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones in the name of a disciple, truly I tell you none of these will loose their reward." We are called as Jesus’ disciples to live as He did, we are to give up a way of life that solely concentrates on our own needs, and as Jesus did put others needs ahead of our own.  These demands on disciples then and now can seem overwhelming. But we always need to keep in mind that we will never be perfect disciples. The word disciple means "one who learns," and learning is a steady process over time.  Jesus reassures His disciples that He will reward those who receive them, thereby identifying completely with them: " Whoever welcomes you, welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me." So as you leave church after Communion today, know that Christ goes with you, identifies with you, is in you.  Not because of your great faith:  a mustard seed is enough.  Not because you don't have any doubts:  there's a lot of faith in honest doubt.  And not because you keep all the rules.  Remember that Jesus hung out mostly with people of little faith and he sought the company of the unrighteous.  Jesus goes with us because we are the "little ones" baptized in his Name and he loves us.  Do think more people would join our fellowship if they knew this?  Wow.  Please invite them.  Enough said.  Amen.

Stress: Sermon for the Second Sunday After Pentecost Sunday, May 29th, 2005 by Father Roger O. Douglas You've heard about the grinch who stole Christmas. Well, today, I'm going to act like the grinch who stole the holiday. Instead of talking about the beauty of the morning, or the meaning of Memorial Day, I'm going to focus our thoughts on that ugly word stress: stress and its traveling companion, anxiety.   A lot has been written lately about stress. We've been warned that it can kill you. Most of the "how to" literature devotes at least a few chapters to this topic. Today, I would like to talk with you about what our faith offers us, as we struggle with this pervasive problem. The first thing to be said about stress is that it is normal. We might even say:  life is supposed to be stressful. A friend of mine put it this way: "As friction is part of an engine, stress is part of urban living." Anyone who allows himself to be deeply involved with people, anyone who responds to challenges, anyone who wants to do the best they can, is going to experience stress. It's normal, and it's normal to feel anxious about it. But, when normality slips out of proportion, it becomes no longer normal. It becomes a sickness. The best definition I know, of mental illness is that it takes something normal and blows it way out of proportion. When we allow something normal to begin to dominate our lives, we become ill. Let me illustrate what I mean. Fear is a very real part of living We learn about fear as infants. We would be less then human if we didn't have some fears. But if fear begins to dominate our lives, we become paranoid. And this becomes a sign of ill health. One other illustration: The up and downs, the mood swings of life are natural and to be expected. But if those swings become too radical; we become bipolar, or manic-depressive, and we are considered to be sick. And so it is with stress. There is healthy stress, that most of us carry.  And then there is stress out of proportion, when the pendulum swings beyond the normal. The medical profession tells us that more than half the illnesses that bring people to hospitals have their roots in abnormal stress and anxiety. Stress: we are sick with it, as often as we are sick of it. We don't know what to do about it. Sometimes, we brag about it, and other times we complain about it.  So many of us work terrible hours, place huge burdens on ourselves and our families, even make play an occasion for stress.  The person who works 75 hours a week, and is proud of it; the grim lipped golfer who is determined to break 100, even if it kills him; the addicted bridge player who spends all his spare time working toward being a life master; or the clever parent who thought up all-star teams for seven year olds   all are typical examples of stress out of proportion. I (If I haven't included you yet, you can fill in the blanks.) The question still remains: What can we do about the overabundance of stress in our lives? And here's where the "how to" books overflow with advice. We're told to rearrange our schedules, our time, and our goals. We're advised to disguise the stress by taking up a hobby. And the list of good advice goes on and on. For the most part these solutions are at best temporary responses to serious long term problems. They miss a basic point. The problem of stress is spiritual and cannot be addressed by pop psychology. When I use the word spiritual, I am not using it the narrow sense of the word, as if your problem would go away if you read the Bible more, or came to church regularly .  I'm using spiritual in the broader sense: spiritual as in making sense out of life. Spiritual, as in trying to find the answer to that old question:  "What's it all about?" Let me stop preaching and start meddling, by asking you: Do you ever stop and ask yourselves: "What's going on here? What is the prize I am working towards? What God is being served by the life that I am living? Is it money, prestige, popularity, approval, control? Spirituality raises these kinds of questions. Several years ago there was an attempt by some people to introduce a sense of spirituality into our lives. They began marketing pins, bracelets, tie clasps, with the letters WWJD. These stood for What Would Jesus Do?  It started out as a gimmick to question our choices and remind people of the context in which they make decisions. It ended up, unfortunately, as a way that conservatives, right wingers, and fundamentalists could identify each other. The original intent had some merit, for Jesus knew intimately about stress.  The crowds, the Pharisees, his own family, and even the disciples, all pressed in on him, all laid on him unreasonable expectations. And yet, and yet, He could say: "Don't worry. Look at the birds in the air; consider the lilies of the field. Your Heavenly Father knows your needs." Instead of adding more stress by anxiously working at reducing stress; Jesus advocates letting God take over. And that, I think, is the real secret to handling stress: trusting in God, and worrying less about your own power  to manage the problem. Good people, in the end, Life is a matter of allegiances. What and who you choose to serve, what and whom you trust. We fool ourselves when we think we can rearrange life to eliminate all anxieties. We sabotage our lives with our irrational need to control all our outcomes. And we make ourselves sick by trying to escape from stress by denial of our condition. We are stressful folk. But we can also be people of faith. Our spirituality is in trying and falling down, trying and falling down and then realizing that we re better at talking about our faith then acting out our faith.  And then, finally, trusting God a little more…. I have a confession to make. (If you haven't already guessed.) Like most sermons, I preach, I'm preaching to myself as well as to you, for I too am better at preaching about stress then at dealing with it. But this much I can pass along: When my stress level threatens to overwhelm me, I often turn to that wonderful prayer in our Prayer Book. It is on page 832, and it's called the Prayer for Quiet Confidence. It reads as follows: "0 God of peace, who taught us that in returning and rest we shall be saved, in quietness and in confidence shall be our strength. By the might of thy spirit lift us, we pray thee, to thy presence, where we may be still and know that thou art God, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.” This prayer is the key to handling stress: to return and trust that we will be saved. And then to remember which one of us is God. And finally to ask: "What's it all about?” That's what our faith teaches; the way to begin walking in the spirit. Amen

To Those Who Have Been Disappointed: Sermon for the Third Sunday of Easter Sunday, April 10th, 2005 by Father Roger O. Douglas For the past few weeks we have been treated to a number of stories about the Resurrection. They have been inspiring, and for some even life-changing.  But for me, this morning’s Gospel is the one I keep coming back to: the story of some friends of Jesus, who were walking along a road, dejected, discouraged, and disappointed. I suppose it’s my favorite because I can easily identify with it. I’ve never been to an empty tomb. I’ve never been confronted with a vision of an angel declaring that Jesus is risen. But I do know about being disappointed, and about despairing. Two friends of Jesus, on a road, a road to no where.  And they meet a stranger, who asks why they are so down.  Why they seem to be in the grip of despair.  And all they can say is: “Ah, but we had hoped.” Have you ever felt that way? You’re hoping that something good would happen, and then it all turns to dust. Your original dreams are shattered. The people you had trusted, believed in, failed you. The religion you had didn’t quite bring the results you had expected. Ah, but we had hoped. We had hoped our prayers would have miraculously saved that girl in Florida. We had hoped our thoughts would revive an ailing Pope. We had hoped that we would be rescued from whatever it was that has been bothering us.  Ah, but we had hoped. I’ve been there. I can remember when I was fairly new in the priesthood.  It was during the civil rights movement, and I had been involved in a number of demonstrations. I thought my parish would be cheering me on, and found that many were doing just the opposite.  I had become disappointed, dejected, ready to give up the ministry, when I attended a clergy support group that we had started. I told them of my being rejected by some vestry, and how I was cut dead in some parish meetings. And finally, I said: “How can I be a Pastor to people who don’t even want to see me? I had hoped this parish would respond as Christians.” Most of the clergy were sympathetic, and some recounted stories of their own disappointments.  But one, a Jewish Rabbi, was the only person who spoke directly to my situation.  He said, “You know in Judaism there is only one unforgivable sin.  And that’s the sin of despair. To say your situation is hopeless is to give up on God. And that we can never do.”  A Rabbi spoke the words that became new life for me, in the midst of disappointment. Moving back to our Gospel story: two travelers on the road to Emmaus, that road to nowhere.  Many of us have walked down that road.  And we read that a stranger came up to them, and they didn’t recognize him. Two of Jesus’ closest friends didn’t know him. It had only been three days since they   had dinner with him. Now, on Sunday afternoon they didn’t know him. Don’t you wonder why they failed to recognize the risen Christ? My answer to that question is that they were so into despair, so disappointed, that they no longer were prepared to have anything good happen.  Death has a way of doing that. It can so blind you that you no longer can focus, no longer can hope, no longer can see a future.  Death often tells us: the world is closed, it’s all over. Two followers of Jesus, trudging along a dusty road, the road from Jerusalem to Emmaus, the road to nowhere. And then a miracle happened. Not one of those Hollywood miracles, nothing big, nothing extravagant. We hear that in the breaking of bread they begin to recognize the Risen Christ in their midst. What is implied is that the disciples began to pick themselves up, move from despair, from a road to no where to a future filled with hope. There is a wonderful passage in a Tennessee Williams play that describes this miracle.  It goes: “0 you weak, beautiful people, who give up with such grace. What you need is someone to take hold of you with love, and let you stand once again.” That’s Resurrection. That’s what happened to the two friends of Jesus. On the road to no where they met the risen Christ and were once again able to stand upright. Good people, that’s really what Resurrection is all about. It’s not about a dead corpse coming to life. It’s all about being disappointed, defeated and finding new life and New Hope—and in the breaking of bread, recognizing that Jesus is in our midst, and being able to stand once again. It happened to the two travelers on the road when the road to nowhere became the way home. Well, that’s the Resurrection story for today. It’s a story that speaks to me—and I hope to you. Amen Images: Road to Emmaus by Duccio Rembrandt, Supper at Emmaus.  Borrowed from Catholic Information Network's Adult Education page.

What Does Easter Look Like? Sermon for the Second Sunday of Easter April 3rd, 2005 By Father John R. Smith Easter, there are so many things that are happening in our individual lives and the world that we have much in common with the disciples huddled together behind closed doors.  For myself, I’m so excited with anticipation of my sabbatical trip and for the first time in my life really becoming a pilgrim going from a full parish ministry with constantly changing duties and situations each day to adapting to a life where my only task each day will be to keep on walking.  I have no idea what that will be like day after day for five weeks.    Then there is the death of Terri Schiavo this past week.  It’s very hard for any of us to judge any person’s motives involved in this tragedy of life, or to have known Terri’s true wishes, but the most important principle for me is the legal denial of food and water to bring about a person’s death.   In the prosecution of war and the special situations which human life presents us it seems that the value of human life is becoming quite relative to the desires of those with the most power:  legal or otherwise.   John Paul II and his journey to death is capturing much of my thought as well.  I was able to be in Italy when  he was elected Pope and in Rome on the next day when he gave his first blessing.  It was shortly after this time that I began my transition into the Anglican Communion.  I always hoped that my leaving the  Roman Communion would not add to his suffering, but in the mystery of things and the working of the Holy Spirit bring our two Communions closer together in some way.  The children of our school have been praying for the Pope at Mass.   This week we received a letter from Bishop Smith which announced the Inhibition of one of our priests, Keith Andrews.  Keith has left the Communion of the Diocese of Arizona with 165 people of 400 or from St. James parish in Tempe.  They are putting themselves under a Bishop of Rwanda, Africa, and leaving the Episcopal Church over the election of Bishop Robinson.  I pray for Keith and his people as they seek to follow their conscience and find a more perfect church, but their leaving saddens me because they are our brothers and sisters.   So the question I ask myself this Sunday is, what does Easter look like?  And my answer is that Easter looks like us:  the Church.  We are the Church huddled together behind locked doors out of fear.  The source of the fear is that Jesus is no longer with us.  Why?  Because of our sin and/or doubts and lack of faith.  If we sin- Jesus leaves us alone and fearful.  Or we are so full of doubts and questions like Thomas that our stance is always "unless I see."  And of course we don’t "see", we’re called and blessed to believe without seeing, so we just go through the motions of religious practice with out any real faith or life on the line.   But its precisely in our situations of fear that Jesus comes to us.  Through any locked doors that we’ve created out of fear he comes into our lives and the very first thing he says to us is "peace be with you."   Now the Shalom Jesus brings is much more than a common greeting or blessing for well-being.  The greeting of Shalom brings the gift of forgiveness.  Whatever has happened to you--however you ran away in fear--what ever guilt you possess--Shalom speaks forgiveness.     Jesus breathed on them conferring the Spirit and power of forgiveness and reconciliation.  The Church through the apostles is given the means to loose and bind in heaven and earth.  We have every means of forgiving one another and healing our wounds.  And even those like Thomas who come late to the party share that Spirit:  for who can say "my Lord and my God" like Thomas did without the Holy Spirit?   So this is what Easter looks like:  people with fear (we sure don’t like to think of our Apostles like this, but there it is in the Gospel!), with Jesus right among them (though they don’t always realize it), and given by their Lord the means of mutual forgiveness and reconciliation so that they can stay one in the Spirit so that the world may believe.   But there is one other most important element in the Easter picture.  On the night before Jesus died, he gave instructions for how the church was to stay together and remember him.  The instructions were pretty simple and rooted in life:  eat together.  The Holy Eucharist is the crucial part of the Easter picture for us.  Here week by week we learn to eat together and learn the skills of a common life.  How to greet one another with peace (remember the forgiveness that communicates), to be honest with each other as we kneel down and confess with each other before God the wrongs we have done and good things we have failed to do.  And we learn to give thanks for what we have been given.  The Holy Eucharist teaches all these things and more:  the Risen Lord is in our midst and feeds us!  Communion with God and one another is our life.  What does Easter look like:  fear, the Risen Lord, forgiveness, Communion.  It’s all here.  Right here, right now.

Resurrection Doesn't Stop at the Church Door Sermon for the Great Vigil Saturday, March 26th, 2005 By Father John R. Smith We started this night with fire--a fire which represents Christ’s presence in our midst.  In the old days in Russia, the peasants on leaving the Easter Liturgy would literally carry some of the fire with them on the way home.  As they departed the church, light was scattered and dispersed in every direction and down every road.  The desolation of the night was pierced and dispelled as people arrived home and used the fire to enkindle their stoves and light the lamps in their houses.     The Russian Orthodox Easter Acclamation is "Christ is in the midst of us!  He is, and ever shall be!  This is engrained in every pious soul in the country.  Tonight Christ is alive in our midst and ever shall be.  We celebrate the Resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, but we also celebrate all those times each day when mini-disasters turn around, healing happens, we get a new chance, make a new beginning.  Andrew Greeley, our priest sociologist neighbor at Mother of Sorrows on Kolb writes:  "Easter did not happen just once in the past.  It happens everyday.    Easter is not merely a harbinger of ultimate resurrection when life triumphs completely over death.  It happens everyday.  Each of us experiences death and rebirth often.  Today is the festival when all those ‘little’ resurrections are brought together and integrated with the overarching resurrections, once and future, which are at the core of our faith."   When Jesus cried "It is finished" from the cross on Good Friday it was not an end at all, but the beginning to everything else from that moment forward.  No one knew this better than the first person the Risen Jesus appeared to:  Mary Magdalene.  Why would Jesus appear first to this faithful follower? In Jewish society at that time woman were not considered reliable witnesses to anything.  Why was she the chosen one?   Maybe it was because she was attuned to resurrection experience when Jesus came into her life.  She was an abused,  broken, psychological mess and he forgave her and made her a new woman.  She experienced resurrection:  new life, a new beginning.  In the Gospels there are no reports of any of the other disciples healed by Jesus, but Mary was.  Jesus meant everything to her.  Jesus always meant the most to those he freed who had been most deeply imprisoned by loss, disease, and the power of evil.  All the Risen Jesus had to do was call her name and the "unrecognizable" Risen One became a recognized friend.   So tonight we must realize that resurrection doesn’t stop at the church door.  It begins!  We are given a power that will raise all the dead parts of our lives.  The world will say in so many words that we’re deluded.  That it can’t happen.  It’s all about fate or luck.  But the power of God is now and always has been the power to raise from the dead.  Period.  In this world where death demands most of the focus and attention--God always has the last word.  And the last word is the most important of all.  Christ’s resurrection is the power to change the message the world expects to one that if we let it--if we take the fire home-- has the power to transform our planet.   A story is told of the way the news of the victory at Waterloo first arrived in England.  There were no telegrams or telegraphs in those days.  But everyone knew that Wellington was facing Napoleon in a great battle, and that the future of England was up for grabs.   A sailing ship semaphored--signaled with coded flags-- the news to the signalman on top of Winchester Cathedral.  That one signaled to another man on a hill, and in that manner news of the battle’s outcome was relayed from station to station, all the way to London and throughout the land.   When the first ship came in bringing the news, the signalman on board sent the first word :  Wellington.  The next word was Defeated--and then an unexpected fog rolled in, hiding the ship from view.   "Wellington defeated" traveled all the way across England.  And a great gloom settled over the countryside.     After two or three hours, the fog finally lifted and the message came through in its entirety:  Wellington defeated the Enemy.  Then all England rejoiced.   The three day wait for Jesus while he was in the tomb seemed to be an answer . . . But then the entirety of the glorious message eventually came, and in the Resurrection God had the final word.  God has the final word.  Christ has died.  Christ is Risen.  Christ will come again.   In a few minutes when we renew our baptismal promises we become people of God’s final word:  Resurrection.  Jesus has conquered death.  The fire has been lit.  Take it home!  Alleluia.  Christ is Risen!  The Lord is risen indeed!  Alleluia!

Scandal of the Cross Sermon for Good Friday Friday, March 25th, 2005 By Father John R. Smith Jurgen Moltmann writes in The Crucified God:  "The symbol of the cross in the church points to the God who was crucified not between two candles on an altar, but between two thieves in the place of the skull, where the outcasts belong, outside the gates of the city.  It does not invite thought but a change of mind.  It is a symbol which therefore leads out of the church and out of religious longing into the fellowship of the oppressed and abandoned.  On the other hand, it is a symbol which calls the oppressed and godless into the church and through the church into the fellowship of the crucified God."   The churches that are really growing today have dealt with this scandal of the cross by eliminating it altogether from their sanctuaries.  But one of the things I love most about our church is our cross-- a crucifix in all its ugly and scandalous reality.   We have to understand that for a devout Jew, the deciding argument against Jesus’ Messiah-ship was his death on the cross.  Deeply engrained in the Jew was the verse from Deuteronomy 21:  "Anyone  hung on a tree is under God’s curse."  Anyone crucified was seen to be cursed by God and alienated beyond reach.  Muslims are likewise scandalized.   So, how could one so treated by God’s Anointed?   The oldest crucifix in existence is found on the Palatine Hill in Rome.  I’ve never been able to see it.  But on it is an inscription from the third-century.  It’s a sarcastic scribble portraying a crucified man with an ass’s head.  It reads:  "Alexamenos worships his God."  This ancient graffiti points to the contempt and ridicule that a "crucified god" brought out in circles of both Jews and Gentiles.   That’s why Paul told the Romans that he is "not ashamed" of the cross, because in spite of its incomprehensible shame and stigma, the Cross is "the power of God for salvation."   So as we approach the Cross, we know that there can be no smooth path to God which we can ascend with all our expectations of life confirmed and fulfilled.  All we have is the way of the Cross, where the condemned and crucified Jesus contradicts our expectations and forces us to see ourselves as we really are, not as we would like to be seen (without Ass-heads, of course), and turns the world upside down in a crazy landscape where paradoxically only losers can win the game.   What this means is that forever Imperial Rome or any imitation will not reign.  Caiaphas and the crowds will not be the victors for long.  The almighty law that brought about Jesus’ death is not supreme after all.  The Scribes and the Pharisees will not prevail.  But there, with dried Roman spit on his face, looking like something out of a slaughterhouse, is "the foolishness of God"--Jesus the Victor, wise as heaven and stronger than the gates of hell.  And his Cross, which scandalized even the early community of faith for many years, that Cross came to be recognized as the very center and sum of the Christian faith and life--a sign of victory and not defeat.   We said it today and all during Lent at the Stations of the Cross:    Is it nothing to you all you who pass by?   Look and see if there is any sorrow like to my sorrow.   We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you, because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.

People Get Ready! Sermon for Palm Sunday Sunday, March 20th, 2005 By Father John R. Smith It seems a great contradiction this Palm Sunday as we contemporaneously with countless thousands, indeed millions of Christians, celebrate Palm Sunday.  Of course this Sunday has another name as well, the Sunday of the Passion.  I know it would never be approved by the Standing Liturgical Commission of our church, but I think a good informal name for this Sunday would be "Crazy" Sunday.   We are celebrating how Jesus came riding into Jerusalem and was acclaimed by the common people as the Messiah - and we are ourselves acclaiming him as our Messiah and our Lord in the same manner. And then we are telling the story of how the common people - the same crowd that welcomed Jesus in the streets of the Holy City, called for his death just a few days later  - for a death plotted by the rulers of the   temple and by the  religious leaders of the nation into which he was born.   It's just a little crazy to see the signs of welcome the signs of approval - the signs of the prayer - "Lord, save us!" "Hosanna in the Highest" scattered all around us, and to be confronted in how some of these signs of welcome in minutes and days have been woven together by the sign of rejection, the sign of disgrace, the sign of torture, the sign of death.   There are many things that happen to us - and that happen in the lives of others that seem contradictory - that seem just a little bit - and maybe even a large bit - crazy.   like traveling thousands of miles to Guatemala to see descendents of one of the world’s greatest cultures displaced from their lands and scratching out a living and counting on our efforts to help them stay healthy;  to watch the trial of an entertainer who had everything the world could offer except the common sense to maintain appropriate behavior with young children; to rejoice at a son or daughter’s return from Iraq or Afghanistan knowing that thousands more are locked into a war for "peace" that racks up more death and destruction and cost each day; to live in one of the wealthiest countries in the world where close to 25% of the children live in poverty and where more than enough food is produced each year to feed the entire world's population and millions dying of starvation while millions here die from over-eating. All these are signs of great contradiction, great craziness.   Jesus knew as he was entered Jerusalem to the welcoming shouts and prayers of his people that he would be rejected and killed within the week.   He knew it because from the beginning of time his death was written upon the heart of God,      it was written upon God's heart from even before Eve reached for the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.    it was written before Isaiah spoke of the one who would be despised and rejected by men,    it was written before Mary conceived and the word was made flesh by the power of God's Spirit,    indeed, it was written before our lives were etched on the palms of his hands as they stretched out upon the cross. Jesus knew as his people called out to him for salvation on Palm Sunday that they would also call out for his death within the week and that despised and rejected he would suffer death upon the cross, he knew - he knew from the very beginning - and he gave himself over to that death anyway; he knew - he knew from the very beginning - and he gave himself over to that death because he knew the contradictions and the craziness of this world.  All those contradictions and that craziness that we experience in our workplaces and in our homes, and which we encounter in our neighbors and in see in our families and indeed within our own selves.  All of these are the result of the sin of humankind, the result of self-seeking pride and self-serving acts the result of desiring privilege without responsibility, honor without humility, profit without work, power without accountability and pleasure without having to love or to share.   Jesus knew this truth from his mother's knee and from the teachings of the law and the prophets and from the heart of God disclosed to him as he prayed the heart of God shown him by the Spirit.  Jesus knew that sin was the enemy and that because of sin the people God had made would sing songs of welcome to him one day and call for his death the next.   The craziness - the contradictions - the sin that darkens and destroys all that it encounters is ours. We need to get away from this crazy place to a place of hope and new life.   I like to listen to soul music from time to time.  Do you know the Curtis Mayfield song:  "People Get Ready?"  Mayfield wrote the song  after the great civil rights March on Washington in 1963--another crazy time we lived through as a country.   People get ready there’s a train a coming, don’t need no baggage, you just get on board.  All you need is faith to hear the diesels hummin’.  Don’t need no ticket, you just thank the Lord!   Today, Crazy Sunday, we’re at the station.  The Salvation train to Glory is leaving and will be chugging down the tracks this Holy Week.  We can stand on the sidelines and continue to wave palm branches or we can get on board, thanking the Lord, participating at mass, and especially the services of Maundy Thursday and Good Friday, crucial to arrive at our final destination Easter.  Climb on board and leave the craziness behind this week.  Thank the Lord by being there.  What a trip we’ll have!   People get ready, there’s a train a coming Don’t need no baggage, you just get on board. All you need is faith to hear the diesels hummin’. Don’t need no ticket, you just thank the Lord!  Amen!

Take Hope.  Be Hope.  Live! Sermon for the Fifth Sunday in Lent Sunday, March 13th, 2005 By Father John R. Smith It’s good to be back with you after eleven days in Guatemala visiting many of the villages where the health promoters we help support do their work.  I wrote this sermon in the Guatemala airport-- so I’m sure it will really take off, or at least get off the ground! We started the First Sunday of Lent just five Sundays ago with the Gospel story of Jesus’ temptation in the desert.  Do you remember with me that the root of all temptation is to become something you’re not -- in other words, to not be who you are.  For Jesus it was to be God’s Son who would lay down his life for the redemption of the world so that it might be reconciled to His Father-- a world that most often follows a path that is counter to God’s will.  We saw in that Gospel how Jesus stood fast when it would have been much easier to give in to Satan’s wish to set up a earthly kingdom and show himself to be the most powerful and popular miracle worker there ever was. For us the temptation is the same:  to be something we are not meant to be.  Who are we?  Well we’re human, fallible for sure, but baptized followers of Christ who are always seeking God’s will, not ours.  This is what we promise at our baptism.  We too can go a much easier way, not seeking God’s will but ours by making a life for ourselves in this world that is so secure (we think) that even though we pay lip service to religion, we really don’t depend  on God for anything. Today’s scripture takes us deeper into this struggle against temptation.  The core emotions of this struggle are hope and fear.  So the temptation is to hold unto hope or continue constructing a life where is there is no real need for hope.   They must have thought Ezekiel to be a crazy man-- in fact I’m sure of it.  There he stood in the middle of a pile of dead, dry bones proclaiming hope to his people in exile in Babylon.  The Lord God will bring these bones back to life!  People will think we’re crazy too as we live as persons of hope in today’s world where the dead, dry bones of injustice, killing, poverty, violence, division, and war are taken as just facts of life.  And we say it doesn’t have to be this way-- the Lord God is in control and can bring new life! Most of us would like to see things be straightened out, the hard way if necessary, and then we’ll really proclaim the Good News.  God, would you please intervene and straighten things our or let us do it.  Then we’ll tell everyone:  See what our God can do!  But God doesn’t work that way and no amount of wishful thinking we change Him.  God calls us to believe without seeing.  That is because the Lord’s word always makes space for hope- the need for hope.  It’s hope that brings situations of death back to life.  Hope is the marrow in our bones which rises up in belief in spite of how things are. Of course we as Christians are often tempted to take another tack.  We can look around and say to ourselves:  things aren’t really so bad.  We’re doing well enough-- pretty secure and distant from the dry bones.  Deep down we really don’t need hope-- our intelligence and wealth is all we really need.  Fear of loss is our major preoccupation:  we pray "Dear God don’t let me lose what I have."  Basically, fear of loss is our major emotion rather than hope in the Lord.  But, and it’s a big but, where there is no hope, there is no real life. For the last eleven days I found myself with Ila Abernathy and Hugh and Phoebe Gray in fields of dry bones.  The poverty of daily subsistence living, being displaced from one’s homelands, prejudice, sickness, even death were all around us as we visited village communities in the highlands of Guatemala. A diet of tortillas and beans, houses with dirt floors, family possessions that would fit in a couple of boxes, more dry bones for sure, but in the middle of these dry bones were smiles, laughter, hospitality, and tremendous life.  They had nothing by worldly standards, but evidence of faith and hope were everywhere. Like today’s Gospel, Jesus goes to Lazarus’ tomb and calls a dead man to life-- not before weeping at the loss of a dear friend.  "Lazarus, come out!"  Mary and Martha overcame their worst fears and held unto faith and hope.  Yes, Lazarus will die again, but Jesus, whose own burial cloths are left in the tomb, is the giver of hope and life who will never die. This is metaphor for all of us in our call as followers of Jesus.  Overcoming fear, we go to situations of death where dry bones surround us and call forth life.  We never give up hope by constructing for ourselves such a life that really doesn’t need the only thing that God has to offer in this world:  hope. I’m looking forward to celebrating Holy Week which begins next Sunday with Palm Sunday and continues with Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and the Great Vigil of Easter, the baptisms and the renewal of our baptismal promises.  God gives us hope in situations of dead and loss and makes us hope givers.  Where there is hope, there is life.  The person who has this life has all.  Jesus is the resurrection because He is the life.  Only the living can call the dead to life.  Jesus is the resurrection because he incarnated  the truth and grace of God which wakes people up from the death of fear, falsehood, and evil.  Take hope.  Be hope.  Live!  In Jesus’ name.  Amen!

Confirmation, Prophecy and Breaking Down Barriers: Sermon for the Third Sunday in Lent Sunday, February 27th, 2005 By Father John R. Smith The memory of last week’s Confirmation service with Bishop Smith stays with me.  Ten of our brothers and sisters were confirmed and two reaffirmed their faith.  Like all sacramental occasions, they last only a moment in time:  the person kneels in front of the bishop, who lays hands on their head and makes the sign of the cross on their forehead with chrism-- it only takes a moment, but a moment that has eternal significance: the spirit received in Baptism is strengthened and called forth to make the person confirmed a prophet.     I really mean it-- a prophet.  Of course, I’m not talking about a "crystal ball" kind of prophet who can see the future and "wow" everybody around them.  I’m talking about us when we listen to God’s words in the scripture and prayerfully reflect on them in such a way that we have a deep sense of what God’s will is for the world.  This is exciting reality, and yet, because we are always reluctant to speak for God we get in the habit of ignoring the phone when it rings with God’s call.   Of all the Words of God in scripture to listen, pray over, and act upon, the words and deeds of Jesus in the Gospel have to be given the highest priority.  We symbolize that each Sunday when we hold the Gospel Book up high before it is read in our midst.  The Ten Commandments in the Old Testament Torah, and all the other prescriptions in the Old Testament still come under Jesus’ interpretive life and words; otherwise, as St. Paul knew so well, you’re free from the Law, but unfortunately continue to live under it 24 hours a day.  There are many Christians that live unhappy lives, never quite understanding the "Good News" which Jesus came to preach.  It’s possible to have  a great religious vocabulary, but fail to connect the words of religion with the Living Lord.   So when we give priority to Jesus’ words and example in the scriptures, each time we hear the Gospel it’s a very exciting experience-- and listening to it, praying about it, and learning from Jesus  develops the prophetic character I’m talking about.  Like today’s Gospel.  What was going on at Jacob’s Well?