This quote is snatched from the blissful Love’s Redeeming Work: The Anglican Quest for Holiness, 17-18.  Taken from a sermon on the Lord’s Prayer, using the Vulgate as the base text.

“He saith not ‘my,’ but ‘our.’ Wherefore saith ‘our?’ This word ‘our’ teacheth us to consider that the Father of heaven is a common Father; as well my neighbor’s Father as mine; as well the poor man’s Father as the rich: so that he is not a peculiar Father, but a Father to the whole church and congregation, to all the faithful. Be they never so poor, so vile, so foul and despised, yet he is their Father as well as mine: and therefore I should not despise them…Here may we perceive what communion is between us; so that when I pray, I pray not for myself alone, but for all the rest: again, when they pray, they pray not for themselves only, but for me: for Christ hath so framed this prayer, that I must needs include my neighbour in it…

I desire God to comfort all men living, but specially domesticos fidei…Yet we ought to prayer with all our hearts for the other, which believe not, that God will turn their hearts and renew them with his Spirit; yea, our prayers reach so farthat our very capital enemy ought not to be omitted.

Now to make an end: we are monished here of charity, and taught that God is not only a private Father, but a common Father unto the whole world, unto all faithful;…Where we may learn humility and lowliness: specially great and rich men shall learn here not to be lofty or to despise the poor. For when ye despise the  poor miserable man, whom despise ye? Ye despise him which calleth God his Father as well as you; and peradventure more acceptable and more regarded in his sight than you be….But there be a great many which little regard this: they think themselves better than other men be, and so despise and contemn the poor; insomuch that they will not hear poor men’s causes, nor defend them from wrong and oppression of the rich and mighty. Such proud men despise the Lord’s prayer: they should be as careful for their brethren as for themselves. And such humility, such love and carefulness towareds our neighbours, we learn by this word ‘Our.’”

Tony Sig

I gave the following as a reflection on the story of the Woman at the Well in John chapter 4 for a Compline of sorts, The Via Media, that my parish, St. Matthew’s Episcopal Church, performs Sunday evenings.  It’s long, so you don’t have to read it.

“Among the many beauties and depths in the Gospel of John are the numerous and closely narrated encounters of various people and Jesus. More often than not these encounters proceed as a series of misunderstandings and frustrations. Jesus’s words and answers are frustrating and complex and their meanings are often obscure. It is, I suppose, to be expected that this is so. John’s Gospel more than the other three is quite explicit from the beginning about the full identity of Jesus, but this identity is never readily apparent to those who come to know him, it takes time and patience for this identity to unfold. Indeed, the narrator of the Gospel often “intrudes” into the narrative to tell the hearers what exactly Jesus meant, a meaning that apparently had come from many long years of thought. According to Tradition, St. John was the only of the 11 disciples not to die a martyr’s death. He passed his many years near Ephesus and gathered a community around him, one which displays a unique perspective among the NT books and one we could not do without.

Often in contemporary discussions of this text, the social status of the Samaritan woman at the well is the primary focus of commentary. It is argued that we, like Jesus, ought not to judge people according to race, gender and sexual history. This is absolutely the case and is one of the strongest messages of this particular passage, but for this reflection I’d like instead to imagine ourselves not as Jesus, but, perhaps more traditionally, as the woman herself. Because this story illustrates some of the complexities of what happens to us when we pray, when we bump into Jesus ourselves.

As the scene opens, we see Jesus already in place and the woman does not know what is about to occur. Not only is Jesus already there, but he is the first to address her. Even when we are unprepared for the Lord to speak, or even when we are coming purposely to pray, Jesus already stands prepared and addresses us first. The opening tells us that it is about noon and this is a telling little bit of information. It is very uncommon to do the hardest labor, such as water collecting, at the height of the day. We know too that Jacobs Well lies outside of town but there was a water source inside Sychar. Presumably, the woman is of ill repute among the town, or at least the other women with whom she would be drawing water. It is for this reason that she goes outside of town at an inconvenient time to draw water, to escape the scorn and judgment of others. When we come to God, there is no need, in fact it is completely impossible, to hide who we are. We may feel ashamed, or awkward, like we don’t belong or know what to do, but as we will see, in prayer we come to know that more important than all of that is the sheer delight of being known by the Lord.

The surprising thing is that the Lord’s first word is itself a request, a request that we offer to him what we have. Jesus did not ask for anything extravagant, not even for anything that she did not already have. As we are soon to find out Jesus has need neither for water, for he is able to give the Living Water, nor does he need food, because when his disciples return he informs them of his true food, which is to do the Father’s will. So it’s not that God “needs” our offering, as the offeratory says, “of your own have we given you,” but it’s only by giving what we do have that what we have is able to be transformed.

In this passage we already have an obscure glimpse of the holy Trinity, The Father “sends” the Son, and as Jesus often says, he does nothing that he has not already “heard” from the Father. And it is Jesus who gives the “Living Water,” which is the Holy Spirit. It is never sufficient to think about God abstractly, it is our fundamental conviction as Christians that if we want to “know” who the Father is then we need to look at Jesus.

In response to this request the women points out her shock. As a Jewish male, and a teacher to boot, it is very surprising that he should even look at her, let alone ask something of her. As John reinforces, for “Jews do not share things in common with the Samaritans.” Prayer quickly should alert us to the reality that, like the Jews and Samaritans, God and us do not “share things in common.” Or put in more traditional terms, God is “completely other” or “holy.” God isn’t an object among other objects in the world only bigger and more powerful. We can’t see God, we can’t touch Him, we can’t manipulate or bargain with God, if we’re coming to prayer with that sort of mind we are missing the point and are domesticating God or worse, making God look a bit too much like what we already see and know. All too often we forget the holy mystery of God: encountering this God is a risk, it is a risk of transformation, that what we think we know about God or ourselves or other people might be more skewed than we realize, and offering ourselves up in prayer means that we need to be open to having our minds and our lives opened and set right. And so Jesus says “If you knew the gift of God, and who it is that is saying to you, ‘Give me a drink,’ you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water.”

The gift of God that enables us to know him is the Living Water of the Holy Spirit. There’s a great quote by the now Pope Benedict: “Christianity is not an intellectual system, a collection of dogmas, or a moralism. Christianity is instead an encounter, a love story; it is an event.” As I already mentioned, John’s Gospel is just great at communicating this. There is a difference between “knowing about God” and “knowing God.” What we’re after in prayer, and what happens as we come to encounter Jesus, is the kind of “knowledge” that is an experience of the Triune God. Jesus offers us, as he did to this Samaritan woman, not sheer “facts” about himself, information that we can acquire and move on from, but the overflowing life of the Spirit, the life that we experience in a unique way in the waters of Baptism. And this life is not going to dry up, it “gushes up to eternal life.” Sometimes we’re not going to “feel” this reality and our response might be that of skepticism, “sure, give me this water” she says, “’cause it sure is a pain in the butt to keep coming back to this well.” And these times of doubt, or anger or resentment are sure to come.

Many of the great spiritual parents of the Church repeatedly envision prayer and the life of prayer as a long and arduous process. Some even invoke the concept of “levels.” We do not have the ability to devote the kind of time to prayer that nuns and monks can. We will not all become spiritual masters or saints, but continuing in the life of prayer will often bring us times of trial that are not overcome without pain. When I was in cross country, I started as a junior. The first time I tried to run a 5K it was agonizing, and there was never a time through the next two years where it became “easy.” What happens next in our story is illustrative of this pain, but also of the accompanying joy in perseverance.

“Go, call your husband, and come back,” Jesus says. All of a sudden the mood changes and there’s a hint of silence in the air. There’s a C.S. Lewis quote, “God will accept us just the way we are, but he won’t leave us that way.” Or our Eucharistic liturgy warns us against coming to the Table only for solace and not being open to change. God is, after all, holy, and in prayer we experience this “totally other” God. In so doing, who we are becomes exposed. Here, Jesus shines a light on the life of this woman and he will likewise shine a light on our souls too. This can be painful, it can be uncomfortable, but in order to grow, this is a fundamental necessity, to be confronted with those things in our lives that we would rather avoid, not talk about or hide. Sometimes this might cause us to want to change the subject as the woman did here, “tell me about the Temple instead,” and while Jesus’s answer is profound, and would need books to unravel, his answer and her question ends up not even being important for the Samaritan woman. Because it is after passing through this struggle, seeing the things in us that must change, that Jesus is finally revealed to her, he is the Messiah, he is the “I Am,” and this God knows her.

This is the joy then that she finally experiences, she has encountered God, who knows her as she truly is, and in meeting him, she comes to see herself as he sees her, and it is liberating, so much so that she runs back into the town to tell them, not the answer to her “probing” and distracting question about the temples, but she says, “Come and see a man who told me everything I have ever done!” As St. Paul says it, salvation will be like this, “coming to know even as we are fully known.” And we, we can invite others to share in this “being known” by God just like the Samaritans who said, “It is no longer because of what you said that we believe, for we have heard for ourselves and we know that this is truly the saviour of the world.”

Tony SigI must admit I had a hard time with how to preach this text (being a short sermon for an Evensong of sorts).  I am not sure if it’s because of the complex Trinitarian theophony or because of the brevity of Matthew’s narrative to that point.  I strangely found it difficult in my gut to take a “canonical” approach and incorporate other Gospel texts.  I’m not sure if it’s because of all the hermeneutics I’ve read or what but I ended up bringing in a tiny bit of Luke and an allusion to John.  The balance between the independence of a Gospel and the canonical context is not yet something I’ve fully worked out.  This seems like the right thing to do – not least since I wasn’t afraid to parallel Samuel!  If it had been a full sermon I probably would’ve brought in Isaiah 42:1-9 and spent some more time on the sacrament of baptism, as well as included a couple more jokes.  If this and my other recent sermon are any indicators I tend to lean in a ‘didactic’ direction.

I don’t intend on posting every sermon I do (so don’t worry, you don’t have to read them) but I’m still rather fresh at this and I don’t do it that often so if it comes across anyone’s mind it’s nice to get feedback.  The primary text was taken from Matthew 3:13-17.  I found a book by the famous Russian Orthodox theologian Sergius Bulgakov, The Friend of the Bridegroom: On the Orthodox Veneration of the Forerunner, the second in a ‘minor trilogy’ of books (the first being The Burning Bush and the third, Jacob’s Ladder: On Angels)  to be very helpful and so far the book is absolutely fantastic, I highly recommend it.

 

“Of Up and Coming Monarchs”

Each of the Gospels tend to have their own way of telling things, and while stories often overlap between them, their placement and wording can often differ. The Gospel of Matthew opens his book with reference to King David of the Old Testament. If I was to be honest, I would say that starting with a genealogy of ancestors -“so and so was the father of so and so who was the father of so and so” and so on and so forth – is not the best way to grab my attention. But it does alert us immediately to a way of understanding Matthew’s purpose in writing, and this is very helpful.

Our text today describes the Baptism of our Lord, which is at one and the same time the witness about him to all of humanity and to his people Israel, that is, his Epiphany, from which we get the name of our season; it is where his human nature was filled with the Holy Spirit and the first revelation of the mystery of the Holy Trinity; it is his anointing for a messianic kingship, a sign of his death and resurrection, and the beginning of the baptism in which we all now share.

And this kingship is in the lineage of David of the Old Testament, as Matthew is anxious to have us understand. So let us recall the beginning of David’s reign. It will become clear that though there are certainly similarities between David and Jesus, Jesus does not in the end appear to be anything like a king as commonly understood.

The book of Samuel opens with a birth brought about by the power of God, here the child Samuel, who will become a prophet is given to his mother, who to that point had been barren. By the time Samuel is ready to begin to serve as priest and prophet to Israel, the nation is in dire straights. The family who had lead the priesthood until that point had been killed; the prophetic Word of the Lord was rarely heard in those days; Israel was defeated in war and worst of all, the Ark of the Covenant, the very presence of God himself, had been taken by the Philistines.

In response to this crisis, Israel for the first time in her history was demanding a King. But the first king, king Saul, was turning out to be a disaster. And so God has Samuel secretly anoint the young, small, scrawny David king, who despite all that, we are told, had beautiful eyes. As soon as Samuel had anointed him, “the Spirit of the Lord came mightily upon David.” David was an unlikely king. The youngest boy in a family of men who, rather than do the hard labor of farming was tasked to keep watch on the sheep. Indeed when Samuel sees David’s older brother he was convinced this was the guy. We can only assume he was tall, dark and ruggedly handsome.

But David, as it turns out, will in the course of time, unite all of Israel, return the Ark to his new capital, Jerusalem, defeat her major enemies, expand her territories and be promised a lineage of kings for perpetuity. Not bad for a skinny red head if I do say so myself. David, as the Old Testament would continue to develop, will serve as the fundamental archetype of what a king should look like.

The beginning of the story of Jesus is not very different. In the Gospel of Luke, an old and barren women is given the gift of a child. This child will be John the Baptist and he figures very much like Samuel. According to Tradition, it was believed by many in Israel that prophecy had ceased, or as the book of Samuel might put it, “the Word of the Lord was rare in those days.” Israel was on the one hand building a Temple and the territory had been, at least in theory, restored. Yet darkly and ironically, the land was actually ruled by Rome and the austentatiously Jewish governor Herod was just as evil and capricious as any Roman representative, as Matthew tells us in the story of Herod’s slaughter of the Innocents. The Israelites were keenly aware of this. As far as they were concerned, the presence of the Lord was yet to return to their midst.

But many were looking for the Messiah, or for a new David, who would restore them the same way that David had restored Israel way back then. Their enemies needed to be defeated and the presence of the Lord needed to dwell in the Temple. And so there were many political movements that were seeking to make that happen.

It is into this scene that John the Baptiser arrives. A thunderous and authoritative prophet who was announcing that the Kingdom of God, and all they were hoping for, was soon to come upon them. And the Messiah would be revealed. John is first of all, a witness to Jesus Christ. It is, then, important to note that his is a baptism of repentance – in order for us properly to understand Jesus, it is necessary that we, as John puts it a few verses back, “bear fruits worthy of repentance.” Our hearts and our lives must be continually handed over to be reshaped by the power and presence of Jesus. This is why we speak of baptism as a dying to our old selves and a rising to new life in Christ.

And when the time finally came, Jesus looks not at all unlike David did at the beginning. A young, “working class” Jew from a small town, whose birth was shrouded in doubt and who had to this point pretty much stayed under the radar. But the Baptist knows better. It had already been revealed to him who Jesus was, nevertheless he was less than enthusiastic and very obviously confused when Jesus asked to be baptized by him. John says to Jesus that it is he, the one greater than John, whose sandals he is not worthy to untie, who should baptize him. And when we think about it, this makes sense. Jesus had no need to repent of anything, and as John the Baptist is passionate to say, Jesus is greater than he is – but, as a great theologian says of this incident, “In order to be the perfect God-Man, the Son must receive as Man that which He possesses as God.” Now, I’m not going to launch into a metaphysical account of the Trinity and in the hypostatic union, so let’s note Jesus’ reply: “Let it be so now; for it is proper for us in this way to fulfill all righteousness.” We can put it like this, Here we have revealed a God who considers it right to identify with us in all things.  His baptism is both like and unlike ours. Jesus’ baptism is also an anointing for kingship just like David, and like David, this anointing will bestow on him the power of the Holy Spirit.

Also like David, Jesus restores to Israel the presence of the Lord in the gift of the Holy Spirit. And like David, Jesus will unite Israel, in fact not only Israel but even the whole world, a kingship which knows no boundaries and honors no other authority – all kingdoms are subject to his rule. And our most powerful enemies, death and sin, he also conquers, bearing our own rebellion on the Cross and rising in victory.

But by describing this, it should be becoming clearer just in what way Jesus is also very different than David. His is not a military victory, it is not accomplished by violence and force – neither is his unity brought about by coming together around a capital city, but the whole earth is now a potential place where his Kingdom can break through. By looking at Jesus, we see just how it is that God works and how God wills for us to be. This way of working, this ruling, is very different than the way of ruling we see around us. It is perhaps even different than we should want it to be sometimes. Certainly when we see the ceaseless conflicts between nations on the news, when we look at the fact that this country is itself at war, we might might wish that God would come like the Baptist expected, with winnowing fork at hand to burn the chaff in unquenchable fire. But then, how good it is to know that God’s way of defeating his enemies is very different and diametrically opposed to the ways America and other countries defeat their enemies and secure their peace.

Let us always be thankful and marvel at a God who conquers by weakness, who identifies with and indeed, mysteriously becomes humble humanity, and who in our Baptism gives to us his Holy Spirit by which we are ourselves adopted as children of God so that we can experience his wonderful saving presence, as the collect for today goes:

Father in heaven, who at the baptism of Jesus in the River Jordan proclaimed him your beloved Son and anointed him with the Holy Spirit: Grant that all who are baptized into his Name may keep the covenant they have made, and boldly confess him as Lord and Saviour; who with you and the Holy Spirit lives and reigns, one God, in glory everlasting, Amen.”

Best Sermon Ever?

November 15, 2008

So many things to mock, so little time

ht: Scot McKnight

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