Author: StAlbansChurch

Barbara Metcalf
Lent 3 March 20, 2022
Isaiah 55: 1-9, alternate to Exodus 3:1-15
Psalm 63: 1-8
1 Corinthians 10: 1-13
Luke 13 1-9
There was an alternate Old Testament reading appointed for today, which I read
by mistake. Like our psalm, that reading, from Isaiah, gives us images of food and
drink. The beautiful Isaiah passage offers us wine and milk without money, and
invites us to “delight [ourselves] in rich food.” The Psalmist imagines the
desperation for water “in a dry and weary land where there is no water,” water so
needed that that when it is found is nothing less than “a rich feast.” Add to these
the epistle and gospel, and we have food on all sides: rich food, the joy of water
for the thirsty, a rich feast, the miraculous food of manna from heaven, the food
of sacrifice, and hopes for ripe figs from a tree.

All this reminds us of the gospel stories we know so well. Jesus and the
overflowing caskets of wine at Cana produced from water. Jesus and the feeding
of thousands, with leftovers, when there initially appeared to be only scraps.
Jesus and the overflowing nets of fish after a night of failure.

We recognize food for what it is in these stories: a material, recognizable symbol
of nothing less than a sustaining, abundant relationship to the Divine, a
relationship the Psalmist celebrates when he finds that longed-for water: “in the
shadow of your wings I sing for joy.”

The New Testament readings, like Isaiah, remind us — a lesson apt for Lent — that
we must change. Change to be able to sing with the Psalmist. Or what?? (Here’s a
spoiler alert for episodes that follow today’s Old Testament lesson when Moses
has answered God’s call.) Paul uses the exodus to tell a harsh story of God’s
judgment. The Israelites were fed but ungrateful.

They turn from God to idols.
They “eat and drink” and simply rise up “to play.”
And then
God strikes them down in the wilderness.
Serpents destroy them.

They are “destroyed by the destroyer.”
They fail their test.

Do we conclude that the Israelites and other afflicted people simply get what they
deserve?

We know that can’t be the right conclusion. As the book title says, bad things
happen to good people. People make mistakes but that doesn’t make them
“bad.” We know that “normal” people suffer. We only have to look at Ukraine
today – or Afghanistan and Iraq, or the unhoused on our streets, or loved ones
afflicted with illness – to know that is true. A grotesque example of the opposite
vision of God was that people got H.I.V. because they deserved it. And some have
the idea that God deliberately sends suffering to test us. As an amateur homilist,
I’ve got no theology on that one and just say I don’t like that idea either.
Jesus, in Luke’s account, tells us clearly that suffering is not God’s judgment.
Pilate apparently, in an obscure episode, killed some Galileans in the course of
their sacrifice in the temple in Jerusalem. We are not told what his presumably
political motive was. But Jesus is clear that the Galileans were no worse sinners
than others. Similarly, when the temple of Siloam (suh · low · uhm) fell and killed
people during Jesus’ lifetime, those killed were “no worse offenders than all the
others living in Jerusalem” at that time.

So why then does Jesus call the disciples, call us, to repentance with the warning
that otherwise “you will all perish just as they, the Galileans and the people in
Siloam, did.” How can this not be a contradiction?

The key, I think, is not to be misled by the warning that one will literally perish, be
physically dead, as the unlucky Gallieans and Siloam (suh · low · uhm) people
were. Instead sin, without repentance, means distance from God. That distance
brings its own punishment, its death of the spirit. To repent, to live in right
relationship to the Divine, to know and seek God’s love, is to bring life in itself, to
enjoy the wine and milk and water in the desert and the rich feast.
Think of yourself as a fig tree. We may have — we have for sure — failed to
produce the fruits of the spirit. But in this parable, there is mercy. The fig tree in
our story has failed to produce fruit for three years. But the owner of the tree is
persuaded to give it another chance. It is not killed on the spot like that other fig

tree that Jesus causes to wither in Jerusalem. That other fig tree was faking its
abundance, just putting out leaves, like the people in the temple Jesus has just
stormed who claim holiness but in fact exploit.
In this case, the fig tree just needs help.

The gardener says just give me a year, “[I’ll] dig around it and put fertilizer on it.”
The fig tree gets its gardener.
We too need a gardener.
We need Jesus, our gardener, to help us change, to repent as Jesus and Isaiah
alike call us to, to see what we need to do. The gardener in the story will dig
around the tree and feed it.
We turn to Jesus to help us dig up what is buried in us, and to be fed, fertilized,
with his guidance and his presence.
There are other gardeners in our life. Think about who have been, or are, your
gardeners. Some gardeners we only know indirectly like the holy women and men
appointed for the day (or adjacent days) we read about every Thursday during
Morning Prayer.

Or there may be people in our own times who, similarly, we know only by stories
and reputation. One such is Paul Farmer, a founder of the NGO, Partners in
Health, who died recently and unexpectedly, and whom I’ve thought about a lot
this past week.* Paul Farmer did remarkable work rooted in deeply thoughtful
liberation theology. A colleague who knew him posted a profoundly moving
tribute a few days ago invoking his own tradition that made Paul Farmer one of
the 36 righteous people that Jewish thought imagines inhabiting the Divine at any
time. People remembering Paul Farmer said they themselves became better
people by being in his presence.

But beside such gardeners from the past, or from today, known indirectly, we
have, all of us, gardeners in our own everyday lives. They are the people who, by
their own example, help us know ourselves, even without saying anything. They
are the people who model ways of being we can hold before ourselves and aspire
to. Sothink about your own gardeners.

Think about Mary Magdalene in the garden who thinks she sees a gardener but
instead sees Jesus, the great gardener, the cultivator of new life.
*To watch the memorial, go to pih.org and click the link. It was held at Trinity
Church, Boston, the most beautiful church I’ve ever visited. And, to be a bit
parochial, it is a reminder in some of the words that are spoken of the gift that is
the Book of Common Prayer.

St. Alban’s Church Deuteronomy 26: 1 – 11
March 6, 2022 Psalm 91
First Sunday in Lent Romans 10: 8b – 13
Pastor Jim Stickney Luke 4: 1 – 13

“Come quickly to help us, who are assaulted by many temptations”
When I was a novice in seminary, we inherited a tradition very rich in names,
including a name for a high hill which was planted with grape vines.
During harvest season, we would trudge up the sides of this hill, time and again,
carrying back buckets of grapes, until we reached the crest, where we rested.
The view from the top was amazing, and we called the hilltop “Tibi dabo,”
from two Latin words meaning “I will give to you.” The reference was
to the Gospel passage we heard this morning, in which the devil tempts Jesus
by saying: “To you will I give their glory and all this authority.”
I’m actually getting a little ahead of myself in this sermon — I should tell you
that I’m preaching on temptation, and how our struggles with temptation
can be helped by the example of Jesus, by looking at the ways He was tempted.
“Come quickly to help us, who are assaulted by many temptations”
The Gospels display a refreshing honesty about Jesus being tempted as we are.
They place these temptations squarely at the start of Jesus’ ministry —
after his Baptism by John, but before any miracles, or parables, or signs of healing.
It’s as if Jesus needed to confirm the astounding experience of his Baptism,
when the heavens were ripped open and God’s spirit descended on him —
so right after the Baptism Jesus spends some time [40 days] in deserted places.
Although Matthew and Luke speak of three temptations right after Jesus’ fasting,
that’s probably a summary statement — Jesus must have been tempted
throughout his ministry to misuse his power and to take the easy way out.
First, If you are the Son of God, command this stone to become a loaf of bread.
On one level, this temptation is matched to a person who’s ending a long fast.
The devil tempts Jesus to do something rather trivial with divine power.
Notice here that not one Gospel miracle was done to take care of Jesus’ own needs.
Right there, we are challenged not to put our own hungers in first place.
But there’s another, more subtle part of this temptation: the little word “if.”

“If you are the Son of God” — If you are really the child of a loving God —
Prove to me, the diabolic voice sneers, that any of you are perfect followers of Jesus!
What a trap that is, trying to prove (to the enemy of our human nature)
that we are really daughters and sons of God. We need to realize that nothing we do
can ever demonstrate (to any hostile spirit) that we are flawless and perfect.
Whenever you encounter a temptation to doubt that you’re made in God’s image,
don’t look to your own work to justify yourself, but rather to God’s work.
On our own, we’ll be full of “ifs” and “not enoughs.” Let our trust be in God.
“Come quickly to help us, who are assaulted by many temptations”
The second temptation puts us back on this conceptual mountain top
with the tempter ordering Jesus to worship him, to obtain worldly riches and power.
Jesus quotes Scripture (for the second time) to reply to this temptation:
“Worship the Lord your God, and serve only him.” How might this apply to us?
Are there other gods clamoring for our worship and allegiance?
We know about the obvious false gods of money and status and fleeting fame.
But I remember, back in Gulliver’s Travels, about the tiny Lilliputians.
They observed that before Gulliver did anything important, he took out his watch.
He did this so much, they concluded that Gulliver’s watch must be his god.
Now, unlike Adam & Eve, Jesus doesn’t reply directly to the tempter’s words.
Jesus simply quotes Scripture. So Jesus doesn’t engage the tempter to challenge
that demonic, false statement, that “all glory and authority belongs to me (the devil).”
Sadly, many Christians have gone along with the devil on this point, believing
that Satan is the ruler of this world, just because he says so. That’s simply a damn lie!
The devil doesn’t own anything! The entire world belongs to God — and to us,
insofar as we are faithful stewards of the good and abundant blessings of this world.
“Come quickly to help us, who are assaulted by many temptations”
Lastly, we come to the temptation to jump off the pinnacle of the temple —
a desperate and rather pathetic invitation. But it does introduce a new twist,
in that the devil quotes Holy Scripture for evil purposes. Sadly many Christians
follow this demonic example, by turning Bible verses into arrows and barbs
with which they can fight with other Christians about who is more faithful & holy.

You might recall the lines from Psalm 91 which we sang after the first reading,
about the angels protecting you, that you not dash your foot against a stone.
Jesus is not about to “put the Lord your God to the test,” and the devil departs,
we are told, until an opportune time — an ominous note, a foreshadowing
of what Jesus says later on in Luke’s Gospel [22: 53]. When he is arrested, Jesus says:
“This is your hour and the power of darkness.”
We are assaulted by many temptations, but even when we feel we’re at our worst,
we know the Son of God was tempted just as we are: and so we pray:
“Come quickly to help us, who are assaulted by many temptations”

In this week’s readings, we have two mountaintop experiences. Moses goes up
the mountain to talk with God, and Jesus goes up a mountain with some of his
disciples to have his glory revealed before them.
I’ve been on some mountain tops in my life, and so I understand what it means.
Whether it’s a few hundred or a few thousand feet above the surrounding
landscape, you can see a lot more from up there than you can from below. It’s
like a living map, and you can see how everything relates to everything else –
other peaks, lakes and rivers, and roads and towns. I can use this metaphor to
describe less literal peak experiences. Getting close to retirement and seeing my
years of work from a new perspective. Seeing my children reaching milestones,
like graduation, that seemed impossibly far off while we were driving them places
and trying to make sure they did their homework.
But, of course, these scriptural passages are talking about spiritual mountain tops.
Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever experienced a spiritual mountain top. Foothills,
maybe. But the kind of experience the mystics describe, of seeing, for just a
moment, how everything fits together, no. That’s never happened to me, and I
don’t know if it ever will. There aren’t any trail signs marked “Enlightenment 5.2
miles.”
So, how do I talk about something I’ve never experienced, and might not ever
experience? I can only talk about what I think the path might be like. I started by
thinking about literal mountain climbing as a metaphor (switchbacks being a
particularly tempting analogy), but that began to seem pretty forced. I realized
that there is a very important difference between spiritual mountain tops and
other kinds of mountain top experiences. I don’t think I can get there by the
orderly, step wise, goal driven process. If I’m going to hike to some peak, whether
it’s Wildcat Peak in Tilden Park or a 9,000-foot mountain in the Sierras, I prepare
by training, I make sure I have the right shoes and other equipment and supplies.
I find the trail, maybe carry a map. And I make a commitment to reach the top,
which helps to keep me going up all those switchbacks and rocky places. Goals are
good – they keep us moving when we might want to give up. They’re helpful in
school, at work, even in parenting.

Spiritual development comes from a different kind of preparation. We can pray
and meditate. We can read the words of spiritual guides, starting, for Christians,
with Jesus, but maybe there are other teachers who speak to us, as well.
All of us here have done those things, and all of us know that Jesus’s lessons all
come down to love. We’ve talked about that a lot. In these reflections, in our
discussions in various small groups. We’ve talked about how hard it is to love
everyone. Larry talked about that just last week, so I’m not going to go there
again right now.
We might have a sort of goal of becoming more loving, and praying or meditating
every day. But we don’t really know where that will lead us, or when. We want
to be able to keep going, even when it doesn’t seem as if we’re going anywhere.
We have to accept that we will fail, again and again, to do what we know is right.
The path has to be its own reward. I feel better when I act more loving, even if it
isn’t always instinctive If I approach prayer not as a religious obligation, but as a
chance to spend some time with God, I find it both more comfortable and more
comforting. Even if we never reach a mountain top where everything is suddenly
clear, I think there will be a lot of rewards along the way. To get back to the trail
metaphor, walk for the sake of walking, and take note of all the things you see as
you go.

Feb. 13 2022 reflection

One of the things I love about being an Episcopalian is that it calls on you at least once a week to
use your discernment. Today’s Gospel is a great example.
Years ago, when I was asked to speak to classrooms about journalism, I was often asked how I
knew what was true, how did I know what I should report and what I shouldn’t. The answer is
that I had to try to cover the different points of view, within reason. I pointed out then that even
in the Bible, there are several versions of the same material that have inconsistencies. I think we
all know that people react to the same things in different ways. Police detectives know that “eye
witnesses” to the same event often report seeing very different things.
I always thought the Gospel reading today was an alternate, less-appealing version of the more
famous Beatitudes found in Mathew. Some authors believe they are not, that they are two
separate sermons: the sermon on the mount and the sermon on the plain. Others believe that both
accounts stem from a common source, a written document composed of sayings of Jesus, and
that Matthew embellished the texts somewhat.
Luke’s account of the sermon on the plain has four Beatitudes. The sermon on the Mount has
eight.
The ones that we don’t hear in the Sermon on the Plain are the blessedness of the meek, the
merciful, the pure of heart, and the peacemakers. Instead, we get the four woes:
Woe to you who are rich, to you who are full, to you who laugh now, and to you when all men
speak well of you.
Earlier, in the passage from Jeremiah, we hear another beatitude: “Blessed are those who trust in
the Lord, whose trust is the Lord.” And in the Psalm, we hear about the happiness of the
righteous and the doom that comes to the wicked.
This is about where I start to regret that I agreed to reflect on these particular readings. Some of
the authors I read said that both sets of beatitudes were especially intended for the apostles, who
had just been called from their normal lives to join Jesus. It must have struck home for them to
be told that the poor are blessed. Answering Christ’s call was going to cost them everything they
had once valued — home, careers, families, reputations and even their lives.
I like Mathew’s version best. Luke’s “woes” are a turn-off. I don’t necessarily want to be rich,
but I like being full and I like laughing and I like to be well thought of. Are these sins? Am I
risking heaven?
As Steve Hitchcock pointed out to me, the concept of the beatitudes and the woes is a common
one in the New Testament — the Great Reversal. The first becomes last and the last becomes
first. All of us are last somewhere in our lives. God is there for us in those times as well as all
others. We may feel alone and abandoned, but we are not.
The same Jesus who feeds everyone so abundantly both physically and spiritually throughout the

Gospels, asks that we do our best to do the same. Jesus’ actions show that he wants everyone to
be fed, to be able to appreciate the bounteous gifts we receive from God. Someone who is poor
but doesn’t have the spirit of giving — even of just a smile — is poor indeed. Someone who is
rich and doesn’t have the spirit of giving, is even poorer. Tomorrow is St. Valentine’s Day, in
memory of another generous. loving person inspired by Jesus. Christ’s example is to give and
give and give. None of us could ever be so generous, but we are called to try.

St. Alban’s Church
February 6, 2022
Pastor Jim Stickney
Isaiah 6: 1 – 8
Psalm 138
I Corinthians 15: 1 – 11
Luke 5: 1 – 11

Here I am — send me.

Last Thanksgiving we went to dinner at the home of Joni’s nephew Michael
and his family. Michael is a prison guard at a Corrections Facility
in Jamestown in the Sierra Foothills. The prison includes a fire-fighting
center where some inmates receive training to deploy to fight wildfires.
At some point I noticed Michael wore a wristband with a Scripture verse:
Isaiah 6: 8. He told me it was a verse used by first responders.
I quickly brought out my phone and opened up one of my Bible apps.
“I heard the voice of the Lord saying, “Whom shall I send,
and who will go for us?” And I said, “Here I am; send me!”
Just envision a forest fire approaching. While everyone else flees the
flames, some first responders have this little verse at the back of their
minds: “Whom shall I send?” And I said, “Here I am — send me!”
Isaiah’s courageous response to God’s challenge comes after a powerful
vision — a spiritual experience of God’s presence filling up the temple in
Jerusalem.The angels — the seraphim — are singing one to another:
Holy, holy, holy is the Lord! Holy, holy, holy. Holy, holy, holy. Holy, holy,
holy
Let’s think about that for a moment. Those three words have been chanted,
recited, and carved into the stone and wood of thousands of altars.
That one spiritual experience of one person, the prophet Isaiah, has been
sung
by millions of voices in music both classical and popular.
We pray those words every time we celebrate the Eucharist: Holy, holy,
holy.

That one vision, repeated over the centuries, gives the motivation to say:

Here I am — send me.

For the last few Sundays, we’ve been hearing about Jesus’ early ministry
according to Luke. We might recall that last Sunday Jesus returned to his
home town. The citizens of Nazareth welcomed him at first, but then turned
against him. The Gospels don’t mention that Jesus ever returned to the
place where he grew up.
Instead, he’s now on the road, an itinerant preacher — as he lives out
the challenge from Isaiah: “Whom shall I send?” Jesus says, “Here I am —
send me!” Today’s reading finds him preaching to a crowd, then getting into
a boat. You know how sound travels better over water than land. Jesus did
too.
As a kind of “thank you” to Peter for the use of his boat, he makes a gift:
a huge haul of fish. Peter, of course, makes his usual gaffes in Jesus’
presence — followed by his accustomed apologies for being so lacking in
faith. It’s all well and good — Jesus would be getting used to Peter’s ups and
downs.
Then, in effect, Jesus issues the same challenge we heard in the prophet
Isaiah: “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” Peter, along with his
fishing buddies, leave the nets, and begin the lofty vocation of fishing for
people. In their decision to follow this wandering preacher, they say: “Here
we are; send us!”

Here I am — send me.

At the Offertory this morning, we will sing a bittersweet hymn:
“They cast their nets in Galilee.” I have a distinct memory of discovering
this hymn just a few months after I joined the Episcopal Church, in my
thirties. The poetry of this deceptively simple text actually showed me how
hymns could challenge and advance one’s understanding of Scripture.
The fourth verse sings about how ironic the peace of God can prove to be:
“The peace of God — it is no peace, but strife turned in the sod.
Yet let us pray for that one thing — the marvelous peace of God.”

We may be looking for an easy way of being a Christian, following Jesus’
saying that his voke is easy and his burden is light. That can certainly be
true. But we also find that following the path of Christ can lead to
challenges and difficult choices that shatter our ideas of some superficial
peace — such as when we define peace only as the absence of conflict.
But at the end, we can discover that the deeper peace that God gives us
provides us with a refuge, a resting place from which we can contemplate
how, for those who love God, all things work together for good.
And so we can still say, at every stage Christian life:
Here I am — send me.

Reflection for February 20, 2022

Seventh Sunday after Epiphany

Lawrence DiCostanzo

Genesis 45:3-11, 15

1 Corinthians 15:35-38, 42-50

Luke 6:27-38

Psalm 37:1-12, 41-42

In today’s Gospel passage from Luke, Jesus says:  “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you . . . [God] is kind to the ungrateful and the wicked. Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful.”

Luke’s passage harks back to Matthew’s passage from the Sermon on the Mount where Jesus says:  “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’  But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be children of your Father in heaven; for he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous. . . . Be perfect . . . as your heavenly Father is perfect.”  (Matt. 6: 43-48)

Personally, these passages are very important to me.  They played a big role in my conversion.  I was impressed particularly by the words that say God is perfect and merciful both to the evil and to the good, both to the righteous and the unrighteous.  These words spoke to a struggle I had and still have to answer a question: What should be a real Christian relationship to people whom the world or some parts of it declare to be bad and beyond the pale and unredeemable.  These condemnations are made all the time.  They are famous on Twitter, not that I know much about it.  But they’re made daily by politicians, right wing people and left wing people, activists, and pundits on all sides.

The problem was acute for me because of my work.  I frequently came across the very bad.  Persons who had done unspeakable, terrible things.  Persons whose acts had resulted in pain, terror, and death to others.  I tell you, it is a humbling thing to look at someone’s revealed soul.  For some of them, I could say: if I had been in that man’s position, I could have done the same thing.  For others, one could see the deep, deep light of sorrow and remorse.  I would say:  We always see the person’s sin, and we shouldn’t ignore it; but we never see the repentance unless we look for it.

We live in a world where we are angry at each other, where friends break off relationships because of differing political opinions, where divisions are everywhere, where hatred and self-righteousness trumpet their claims.

But the passages from Luke and Matthew tell us to do the opposite.  Both tell us to be like God – to be merciful as he is, to be perfect as he is.  But even more they tell us that, no matter what we think and hope, God loves everyone, the wicked and the good.  As Jesus says so nicely in the passage from the Sermon on the Mount, God makes the sun shine and the rain fall on everyone.  That is, everyone lives in God’s creation.  And we should always be wary of judging others.  (Matt. 7:1-5)  Hold back: Could  you have done what this person did?  Have you seen the sorrow and remorse?  Have you seen the struggles of others?  Do you really understand what this person is talking about?

I am not saying that evil should be ignored.  I am saying that we have to look at the people we condemn as evil-doers with Kingdom eyes and not the eyes of the newspapers or commentators.  Why?  Jesus tells us to love our enemies.

Let’s focus on some really bad people, Biblically bad.  These are the Assyrians. They were a byword for viciousness and cruelty.  They are the people who conquered the Northern Kingdom of Israel and killed and deported the tribes that we know as the Ten Lost Tribes.  They are the people whose army came up to Jerusalem to lay siege and who mocked and terrorized the Hebrews.

I am grateful because I recently stumbled on an article about a Book of the Bible in which these horrific Assyrians feature.*  This is the Book of Jonah.  We all know that great book – how Jonah ran away in protest because God told  him to go to Nineveh, the capital city of the Assyrians, and preach repentance.  We know how God wrapped him up in the belly of a fish for three days, how even the fish puked him up, how he did what God told him to do in the first place: travel to Nineveh and preach.  Then, when the Assyrians of Nineveh repented, Jonah is angry because God didn’t do what Jonah thought he should have done.  God didn’t blast the people of Nineveh to ashes while they screamed and writhed.  Jonah says to God:  “See, I knew you would be nice and that’s why I ran away in the first place!”

Jonah then went outside Nineveh and sat down, maybe to observe, maybe to sulk.   A vine grew over his shelter and warded off the sun.  In the morning when the sun was heating up, the vine withered.  The cranky Jonah is even more angry, probably cursing and stomping.  And God says: “You feel this angry about a vine that you didn’t even create.  And you think I’m not supposed to have feelings for Nineveh and its 120,000 people who do not  know their right hand from their left, to say nothing of all the animals there?”

Jonah is us.  Nineveh is the people we scorn and condemn.  God doesn’t care so long as repentance occurs.  We Jonahs understand God’s mercy towards us, but not his mercy to the other guy.  Jesus wants us, I believe, to leave this state of mind behind.  God’s last words to Jonah are pulling him towards vocation just as Jesus’ words in the Gospel today pull us towards the same vocation.  We cannot, of course, ignore evil.  But we can be discerning about what often we call evil and about the people who commit real evil.  And certainly according to Jesus’ words we have to realize our equality with the sinner.  And we have to love them and pray for them.  Not dismiss their persons or their appearance.  They are different persons and have a different appearance  in God’s eyes.

Amen.

*Claire Mathews McGinnis, “A Vocation for Whom? Jonah, God, and Nineveh,” The Bible Today, January/February 2022

First Sunday of Advent

St. Alban’s Episcopal Church ● Albany, California ● November 28, 2021

By Steve Hitchcock

Jeremiah 33:14-16

Psalm 25:1-6

1 Thessalonians 3:9-13

LUKE 21:25-36

Today is the first Sunday of Advent and the start of a new church year.  In the three-year cycle of Scripture readings created in the 1970s, this is now Year C.  In the weeks and months ahead, most of the Gospel readings will be from Luke’s Gospel.

As we continue to live with this devastating pandemic and all its economic and social repercussions, Luke’s Gospel can be a source of healing and hope.

Luke is the longest book in the New Testament – with 800 Greek words not found elsewhere in the New Testament.  Luke is the first volume in a two-part chronicle.  The first part, Luke, is the story of Jesus’ life. The second part, Acts, is about the life of the early church, especially Paul’s missionary work that creates the church.  Together, Luke and Acts make up more than quarter of the entire New Testament.  So much of what we know and think about Jesus and the early church is down to these two books.

Half of what is in Luke’s Gospel isn’t found in the other three Gospels.  In Luke alone do we find the annunciation and birth of Jesus as well as the stories of his infancy, up to his appearance in the Jerusalem temple at age 12.  In Luke alone do we hear the pivotal stories of the widow of Nain, Mary and Martha, Zacchaeus, and the disciples who encounter the Risen Christ on the road to Emmaus.

Notably, the last supper – Jesus’ Passover meal before his death with his disciples – is twice as long as in the other two Gospels.

Luke’s many unique parables – what I’ve called pearls on the silver chain of the Jesus story – include the Good Samaritan, the Lost Coin and the Lost Son (aka, the Prodigal Son), the Rich Man and Lazarus, the man who dreams of building bigger barns, the Pharisee and the Tax Collector praying in the Temple, and the parable of the unjust judge – or persistent widow.

Luke’s Gospel also presents a favorable impression of the disciples, who later becomes the Apostles in Acts.  They don’t run away when Jesus is arrested in the garden, and Jesus looks with compassion and understanding on Peter in the patio when Peter denies Jesus.

Stuck in the End Times

Given all this, it seems strange that, on this the First Sunday of Advent, we don’t read some of the inspiring stories from the beginning of Luke’s Gospel.  Rather here we are in chapter 21, just a few chapters from the Gospel’s wrap up.  And we’re back where we’ve been the past few weeks.  Today’s Chapter 21 follows Mark 13, which we read two weeks ago.  Like Mark 13, we also have the Son of Man from Daniel’s vision of God’s rescue of the Israelites in exile, which was the first lesson for Christ the King Sunday, the last Sunday in Pentecost.  We seem stuck in the “end times” – with alarming predictions of collapse and cataclysm.

We have enough of all that in today’s news, if not in our own personal lives.  Catastrophe and confusion are all around us.  What’s the point of rubbing it in?

Of course, we could glibly reply that Advent is about Jesus’ three-fold Advent: his coming in his birth as the Christ Child, his coming in our lives today as we trust his promise of mercy and forgiveness, and his coming again at the end of all times.

Your Redemption Draws Near

But that’s too easy and Advent isn’t that simple.  The point of Advent – what we are waiting for – is what we hear in verse 26: “Stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near.”

Of course, Luke has set the stage for this announcement by Jesus.  In chapter 13, a woman who has been crippled for 18 years, hears Jesus say, “Woman you are free from your ailment.”  She stood up straight and began praising God.

So today, we are invited to stand up, raise our heads, and receive God’s redemption for us at this very moment in our lives.

Only Luke uses the word “redemption.”  Mark, you’ll recall, talks about Jesus’ death as a ransom for many.  In Matthew, Jesus’ death is our forgiveness for sins.  In John, Jesus is the Passover lamb sacrificed for us.

This redemption is a loosening, a release of constraints.  In the weeks and months ahead as we read Luke’s Gospel, we will hear how Jesus releases people from sickness and suffering, how he loosens the constraints of poverty.

Redemption for Luke is also about being liberated from the bondage of wealth and greed.  So many of Luke’s stories and parables are about wealthy people who either end up literally in hell – or who achieve liberation by using their wealth and possessions to help those in need.

Praying, Healing, and Eating

And what do we do with this redemption, this blessed release?  In Luke’s Gospel, when people follow Jesus and listen to his teaching, they seem to naturally engage in lots of praying, healing, and – for St. Albanites, this will be good news – eating.

Throughout Luke’s Gospel, Jesus prays at the drop of hat – as does the persistent widow and the tax collector.  More than the other Gospels, the miracles of Jesus are less provocative and symbolic; their purpose is to actually bring relief and respite.  All this healing has led to the legend that Luke was a physician.  And there are so many meals and banquets in Luke’s Gospel that you wonder whether Jesus had to go on a diet.

But today’s Gospel reading makes it difficult to put our minds and our hands to enjoying this feast of food and healing, much less to concentrate on praying.

Instead, we hear about distress among nations, roaring seas and waves, and even the shaking of the heavens.  As for us, those events were very real for Luke’s first readers at the close of the first century.  In 70 CE, Titus not only destroyed the Temple, but also killed thousands of people in Jerusalem.  The streets were literally running with blood.  Earlier there had a been a 10-year famine in Palestine, and a devastating earthquake in Philippi.  No wonder some of Luke’s first readers thought the world was coming to an end.

“My Words Will Not Pass Away”

Luke, though, was encouraging his readers – and us – not to jump to conclusions.  We’re not to be distractedby all these events, both the disturbing news and internal anxiety.  Nor are we to despair.  We might not use drunkenness or dissipation to dull our hearts and minds, but even our more enlightened addictions and obsessions avoid reality and dull our anxieties.

Yes, the world as we know it may come to an end, and, yes, Jesus will return as the Son of Man in judgment, but that is not now.  Now is the time of our redemption, now is the time to hold fast to Jesus’ words. Now is the time to trust that, when we gather to pray and to celebrate the Eucharist, Jesus, the great physician, is praying for us and feeding us in his holy meal.

Jesus makes this promise to us today by pointing to fig trees.  In chapter 13, a single unfruitful fig tree is cut down.  Here, in contrast, a whole lot of trees are leafing, announcing the advent of Spring – and our redemption. These trees represent our new life and hope in the midst of all that troubles and cripples us.

This becomes even clearer in last two verses of this section of Luke’s Gospel, which we didn’t read.  Here, after telling this tale of woe, Jesus spends his evenings praying in the Garden of Olives and his days teaching in the Temple, just as he did as a 12-year-old.

This attention to day-to-day life – this focus on trusting in God and serving others – reminds me of our parish administrator Karen Sjoholm.  An abrupt departure of our rector, the emergence of a deadly pandemic, and the commotion of a new preschool.  In the midst of all this, Karen kept her head up, did what needed to be done and managed it all with immense grace and great kindness.  She has enabled and inspired all of us to stand up and raise our heads.

So, with thanks to Karen, with the expectation our redemption, and with our continuing to meet together to pray and hear Jesus’ words, “which will not pass away,” we begin Advent with joy and hope.  Amen.

Reflection for November 21, 2021

The last Sunday after Pentecost and the Feast of Christ the King.

By Larry DiCostanzo

Daniel 7:9 – 10, 13 -14

Psalm 93

Revelation 1:4b – 8

John 18:33 – 37

Today is the last Sunday of the season of Pentecost.  I think of Pentecost as a time to think about how we live our lives in this everyday world between the Resurrection and Jesus’ Return.  It seems appropriate that this Sunday is also designated as the Feast of Christ the King.  Let me talk about that.

In Psalm 104, which parallels today’s psalm in its praise of God’s creative lordship, the poet describes Leviathan charmingly and respectfully as the creature who sports in the ocean that God made.  (Psalm 104:26)  “Sporting” — what a beautiful description of an animal in a state of natural rejoicing.  It is not hard to guess who Leviathan is in Psalm 104.  Leviathan is a whale.

Recently, I was reading a book about whales, about Leviathan.  The title of the book is “Fathom,” and the author is Rebecca Giggs.

I actually stopped reading this book.  Although Ms. Giggs had the amazingly reflective eloquence of a good science writer, she also pointed out that humans have not been good stewards of creation.  Whales had come back from the slaughters that ended more or less in the 1970s.  But climate change had affected the Antarctic ice sheets, and the krill that humpback whales feed on has lost the nooks in the underside of the ice where they love to winter.  Hence, their population was going down.  So, what were whales to eat now?  And so forth.  And so forth.  Unpretty pictures.

And so I come to the Feast of Christ the King.  Many denominations celebrate this day, but it was actually established in 1925 by Pope Pius XI.  (Encyclical Quas Primas) He was Pope from 1922 to 1939.  I wanted to know what motivated Pius to establish the feast.

Pius wrote about his motivations actually in 1922, three years before the Feast was established in 1925 (Encyclical Ubi Arcano Dei Consilio). They are numerous.  We might not agree with all of them, but the following will sound familiar.  The belligerents of World War I had laid down their arms, but hostilities were threatening in the Middle East.  There were famine and epidemics.  The numberless victims included the aged, women, and children.  Old national rivalries continued along with political and financial manipulation.  I’m going to quote a just a little from what Pius wrote.  “Public life is so enveloped . . . by the dense fog of mutual hatreds and grievances that it is almost impossible for . . . people to breathe therein.”  Paragraph 11.  Moreover, evil results arise because of “the utter impossibility of finding anything like a safe remedy to cure the ills of society.”  Id.  There are “the contests between political parties, many of which do not originate in a real difference of opinion concerning the public good or in a . . . disinterested search for what would promote the common welfare.”  Paragraph 12.  The law of violence has become second nature despite the treaties that ended the war.  Paragraph 20.  And so forth and on and on.

In a sense, the Pope was saying what Rebecca Giggs was saying in her book about whales.  We have been and continue to be poor stewards of creation.  And there seems to be no end to our behavior.  Just say the words Ethiopia, Belarus, Afghanistan, Kenosha.

Pius wanted a world in which Christ was the ruler.  The image he picked from his historical context is “king” although I personally find it hard to think of Jesus as a king.  Pius wanted us to be transformed by God’s way and God’s goodness.

But if I look at the history, the Feast of Christ the King, was really born out of a mixture of despair and hope.

I’ve listed some of what Pius felt and saw as the despair, what he worried about and grieved over.  I’ve hinted at the world’s desperation today.  Remember the words, Ethiopia, Belarus, Afghanistan, Kenosha.

But what about the hope?  The hope is certainly not as concrete on earth as are the causes of despair.  Hope is a more free-ranging attitude.  Maybe it is as simple as an expectation.  For sure, it does not dwell in institutions though institutions can possibly strengthen it.  It does not have a parliament or Congress or Supreme Court or administrative agencies.  It is something that makes me keep in mind that, in fact, Jesus was crucified.  What a paradox.  But Jesus’ crucifixion was a great act of God’s love.  And I believe that hope is our awareness that God’s love is in our hearts.  Or perhaps it is in fact God’s love in our hearts.

In my view, the Feast of Christ the King exists for no other reason than to keep hope alive.  And that’s why I find it so special that it falls on the last Sunday of Pentecost, the long season of the everyday-ness of life.

So, how do we keep hope alive.  How do we live in the virtue of hope?  Is there something concrete that we can do?  In a conclusory way, Pius wrote that when men recognize Christ’s kingship, “society will at last receive the great blessings of real liberty, well-ordered discipline, peace and harmony.”  But, you know, Pius does not provide a policy paper on how to make this so.  There is no army or bureaucrats to enforce or establish this Kingdom. (Encyclical Quas primas, paragraph 19). What Pius says is that this kingdom is spiritual.  (Id., paragraph 15). This is like our Gospel passage of today.   Jesus is facing execution.  He seems to admit to Pontius Pilate, for whom I have the greatest sympathy, that he is a king.  But he also says that his kingdom is not of this world.

I am sensing here that Christianity is not like a social movement.  Don’t unsheathe your swords to establish the Kingdom.  And Christianity does not really have a down-to-earth solution for the world’s problems.  It is a “different” kind of kingdom.  Pius seemed to have this in mind, too.  It may be part of the despair or anxiety about the world today.  But ultimately Pius did have some conclusive and hard words for us.  He said that Christ’s kingdom is a kingdom that we enter through internal regeneration.  It demands “a spirit of detachment from riches and earthy things, and a spirit of gentleness.  [Its subjects] must hunger and thirst after justice, and more than this they . . . must carry the cross.”  (Encyclical Quas primas, paragraph 15)

This is the kingdom in which, as Saint Paul says in the Epistle to the Romans, all Creation is groaning in labor.  Romans 8:23. And what we are required to do is what the King in the parable in Matthew 25 tells us to do:  feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, welcome the stranger, clothe the naked, care for the sick, visit the prisoner.  Of course, there are permutations here as in shelter the homeless.  Remember that in Matthew it is a King who says this.

Pius XI was a mountain climber as a younger man.  And, indeed, there is a climbing club in England named after him.  (achille-ratti-climbing-club.co.uk.)  So, I like to think that he loved Creation and nature, and that he and Rebecca Giggs would have a lot in common.  They would mourn and love together.

And I think they would both love today’s Psalm and Psalm 104 in which the Leviathan sports.  Let us hope that Leviathan will continue to dive, to jump high out of the water, to blow out fountains, to roll, to have babies, to sport.  For this is a powerful image of goodness and of hope.

Thank you.

St. Alban’s Episcopal Church

Reflection November 14, 2021

By Sandy Burnett

My ears always perk up a little when I hear the readings include a story about a woman in the Bible. Some of the stories, like Esther’s and Judith’s are pretty exciting. The story of Hannah seems somewhat mundane. Actually, before we get to the section that was read today, we learn that there are two women in the story, childless Hannah — her husband’s favorite, and the fruitful Penninah. As one commentator pointed out, both women had to be jealous of each other: Hannah because of Penninah’s fertility; Penninah because her husband loved Hannah more. The Bible, proving that the character of the clueless husband is way older than TV sitcoms, wonders what the problem is. “Aren’t I more to you than 10 sons?” he asks Hannah.

Well no, he’s not. Hannah is so desperate for a child that she promises God that if he gives her a son, she will sacrifice that child to God’s service in the temple. God grants her prayer and Hannah gives up her son when he is still a very young child. From then on, she gets to see the boy only when the family makes their annual pilgrimage to worship, and she makes increasingly bigger tunics for him as he grows. God gives Hannah more children, both sons and daughters. And this is the last we hear of Hannah, Peninah and their husband.

But the son, named Samuel, goes on to be a prophet and leader of Israel. Samuel had a formidable career as a priest of God and ends up following God’s order to choose Israel’s first king. In the Old Testament, the priests and prophets are just as important, sometimes even more important, than kings.

Of course, priests also play a big part in the New Testament, but they have gone from being heroes to much more modest roles. Some are even villains. In the letter to the Hebrews, priests are depicted as useless when it comes to having God’s ear through presentation of sacrifices. God’s son, who we will soon hear about in Luke’s Gospel in our Advent and Christmas readings — is given like Hannah’s son to the service of God. He is the one perfect sacrifice that never needs to be repeated; the once and for all sacrifice that is meant to be everything that we need to follow and believe.

Then, in the Gospel, we’re back among the priests at the Jerusalem Temple, which Jesus says will be completely destroyed. The disciples, as usual hoping to get in on the ground floor of whatever is coming, ask Jesus when that will happen. And Jesus, replies not with a straight answer but with the order to beware of people claiming to be the Messiah and to not be too alarmed about wars and “rumors of wars,” earthquakes and other catastrophes because they are just the “birthing pangs” of the world that is to come.

That phrase, “rumors of wars,” has always interested me. Today, we don’t have rumors of wars, we have televised images of wars in countries and continents that the people of Jesus’ time had no idea even existed. We see the earthquakes, the battles, the tsunamis and the mudslides, often as they happen, up close and in color.

Mark’s audience may not have had TV, but they were well acquainted with unthinkable tragedy. They had seen their temple destroyed and their country ravaged. Still, the Gospel tells them — and us — that Jesus is with them, and that something much, much better, awaits.

Birth, sacrifice, priests and temples, and God’s ability to do anything, seemed to come up from reading to reading. I tried to figure out what this all meant to me. I have never longed for a child, as Hannah did, but I think we’ve all longed and prayed for something important — for love, for life for ourselves or others, for an end to loneliness, for peace. And I relate to Peninah, lashing out in her jealousy and powerlessness, at her rival.

But I wrestle with the concept of sacrifice. I struggle with the idea of wars and earthquakes. Jesus calls them “birthing pangs” in the Gospel. Women who feel birthing pangs may be relieved that labor has begun, but they still hurt and worry that this time, things may turn out badly.

I don’t believe that only pain and sacrifice produce good. Hannah’s song says that God can do anything. I don’t know why God doesn’t use that power to make a better world, but I believe there is a reason because God offers all of us a way of salvation even in the midst of all this evil. We have the example of how even the least of us can be raised up, and of how we can be loved even when we don’t love ourselves. We have a God who loves and cares for us even when we aren’t aware of it. Our world is a mundane place, filled with petty desires and jealousies, as well as the love people share with each other.

The disciples, who I’ve always thought were chosen for their ordinariness, all rose to the task of spreading the Gospel, and were martyred for it. Through the love of Jesus and God, we all have the opportunity to rise above our mundane selves: to love and be loved in the most extraordinary way.

St. Alban’s Episcopal Church

Reflection

November 7, 2021

Rev. Jim Stickney

God loves a cheerful giver.

Those of you who have known me for a long time may recall this verse from St. Paul

about cheerful giving. When I was the rector here, I’d often use this verse

as a refrain during the annual sermon encouraging financial support of the parish.

Many years ago, when I was visiting various churches, I was quite surprised

by the number of times I would show up right on the Sunday when the pastor

chose to preach about money, and of the need to support the church financially.

We don’t like to talk very much about money in church, not because we’re stingy,

but because worship gives us at least one sacred space in our lives without advertising pitches!

The deeper truth is that we all have a deep need to be generous with our resources.

Jesus taught his followers a great deal about having a right relationship with money.

To a few of his followers, he gave the ultimate challenge of giving all their money away.

But with most of his followers he urged them not to put their trust in mere wealth, but in God.

Jesus enjoyed using paradox. He looked past the externals, and went to the heart.

And so we have today’s Gospel: a pageant of public support of the temple in Jerusalem.

Viewed from outside, the rich are doing what it takes to keep the temple in good repair.

And Jesus does not pass judgment on the wealthy who make their large public contributions,

Instead, he has his followers look at the poor widow — living on God knows what.

“She out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on.”

Viewed from the outside, she seems imprudent. But Jesus has us imagine her heart —

which includes her need to give something away, to show her faith in God.

Our first reading also tells us of the faith of two widows, one old and one young.

The old widow Naomi is giving counsel to her daughter-in-law Ruth.

The book of Ruth can be viewed as a love story, of two women looking out for each other —

and the attached story of the stirring of love between Ruth and her kinsman Boaz.

But it’s also a financial story — as Naomi states in the first verses we heard this morning:

“My daughter, I need to seek some security for you, that it may be well for you.”

This is quite different from the Gospel story of the widow giving away her small copper coins.

Ruth and Naomi have no resources, but they work out a plan for financial security.

Whether it’s acquiring wealth (like Ruth and Naomi) or giving it away (as the Gospel widow)

the point is to work for a healthy relationship with what money we do have —

we need to give some wealth away to show ourselves that our money does not control us.

God does love a cheerful giver.

An old New Yorker cartoon shows two robed disciples of Jesus walking along a path.

One says to the other: “OK, so the meek shall inherit the earth, and the rich will have

a hard time getting into heaven. But really, what about the middle class?”

That’s the suburban dilemma we face. How do the middle class support their church?

We’re not like the super-wealthy of the Gospel story, dropping off bags of shekels.

And we’re clearly better off than any of the widows we heard about this morning.

If only the Scriptures provided us with some practical guidelines for us.

Perhaps you have already can guess where this line of thought is headed.

When we do hear of the Biblical standard of giving — the tithe, or ten percent —

we often react, or make excuses, or think that’s only for those other people.

I have come to think about it this way: “I firmly resolve to keep, for my own use, no more

than 90% of all the financial resources I have each year.” That’s the tithe! So —

no panic, please! You are already giving some portion, some percentage, to this church,

and to other agencies doing God’s work in the world. You’re already generous!

And please, do not “give until it hurts.” That approach is flawed from the start.

Pain is a sign that something is wrong with the body, crying out for healing.

If a person has been away from physical exercise for a while, it hurts only at first.

When the body gets accustomed to healthy exercise, it makes us feel good.

Mere guilt is a poor motivator for authentic Christian giving.  It might work short term,

but in the long run we need to give from a cheerful and peaceful and steady heart.

God loves a cheerful giver.

When St. Paul tells the Christians in Corinth that “God loves a cheerful giver”

he’s speaking from the experience of being transparent about how a person grows

in generosity of spirit. When we see our babies learning to talk, we rediscover

that the little word “mine” is much easier for them to learn than the word “share.”

We might say that the child who learns about sharing is growing in maturity.

And as adults of whatever age, we find that we need to exercise generosity to others.

When I started to worship at an Episcopal Church, I went through some stages.

At first I would contribute like a visitor paying “admission” to a sacred prayerful play.

Then I made my first pledge, becoming a sort of patron of the church’s work.

The next stage was as a member, with the insight that the church I loved was supported,

not from outside, but from within. Our church in turn supports the larger church.

And yet the final stage of giving to the church is as a member of the spiritual family,

where we want to do all we can to help the other members keep the church vibrant.

Of these four stages (visitor, patron, member and member of a spiritual family).

the last stage is where we’ll find people who are on a path that will lead to tithing.

God loves a cheerful giver.