Author: StAlbansChurch

On this last Sunday in Lent, we are setting aside Luke’s Gospel and reading from John.  You will be pleased, though, that I’m not going to give into my obsession with the Fourth Gospel.  I’m not going to mention the fact that a pound of nard is the equivalent of 17 gallons of perfume and that, today, it would cost over a hundred thousand dollars.  

And we won’t discuss that, at the time of Jesus, slaves were the ones who washed a guest’s feet – and that a woman would never let down her hair in any public situation.

I also won’t go on about how in John’s Gospel, unlike the synoptic Gospels, this story is not about an anonymous woman anointing Jesus’ feet before dinner, but rather about Mary – the sister of Lazarus whom Jesus had raised from the dead – preparing Jesus for burial.  John underlines this point by calling Judas a “thief,” the same word used to describe the person who takes the life of the Good Shepherd in chapter 14.

Now you may conclude that, in John’s Gospel, Jesus’ death on the cross is the primary point and that this crucifixion is actually God’s exaltation of Jesus and the gift to us today of God’s extravagant generosity and abundant life.  But all that would be your business.

Early Christian Writing

No, today, I’m going to talk for just a few minutes about our second lesson from Philippians. 

Why Philippians?

Philippians isn’t Paul’s earliest letter, but it is among the earliest Christian texts we have, perhaps 54 to 58 AD, less than a generation after Jesus’ death and resurrection and a full generation before John’s Gospel.  It’s striking that the earliest documents we have are not about what Jesus said or did, but rather discussions about the impact of this person who was killed a few decades earlier.

This letter is also important because Philippi is the first city in Europe where the Gospel is preached, the starting point of Christianity in Western Civilization.

And, as elsewhere in Paul’s letters, we see that women play leadership roles.  In fact, Lydia and Paul were co-founders of the congregation there.  As the conclusion of the letter states, Paul prays for two women who are key leaders in the congregation.

Even Earlier Text: the Christ Hymn

Philippians is perhaps best known because it includes an even more ancient piece of Christian writing: the so-called Christ hymn in chapter 2 [verses 5-11]:

“Have this mind among you that was in Christ Jesus, 

who, though he was in the form of God, 

did not regard equality with God 

as something to be exploited, 

but emptied himself, 

taking the form of a slave, 

being born in human likeness. 

And being found in human form, 

he humbled himself 

and became obedient to the point of death— 

even death on a cross. 

Therefore God also highly exalted him 

and gave him the name 

that is above every name, 

so that at the name of Jesus 

every knee should bend, 

in heaven and on earth and under the earth, 

and every tongue should confess 

that Jesus Christ is Lord, 

to the glory of God the Father.”

This hymn shows that the incarnation was part of the earliest understandings of Jesus, not a later post-Apostolic invention.  And, in expressing this concept of incarnation, the hymn writer uses language from Second Isaiah and the Suffering Servant poems, which we read in our First Lesson.  Philippians is evidence that, for the first Christians, Isaiah played a pivotal role in making sense of who Jesus is.

Letters to Each Other

As we come to the end of Lent and see Easter on the horizon, we should note that Philippians is a letter, a reminder that we have our faith because someone else has written – and is writing to us.  In a lesson we read a while ago from 2 Corinthians, Paul stated, “you are my letters…”  In effect, when we gather together, we are writing letters to each other.

You and I are the beneficiaries of letters from our senior warden, Laurie, and we all depend on the weekly newsletter put together so ably by Amy, our parish administrator.  In a real sense, the weekly worship folder prepared by Becky is a letter that informs and inspires us.  And, for me, Jesse and other musicians send us beautiful letters that fill our hearts and minds.

At the memorial service for the noted church historian Martin Marty last Saturday, Marty was called the Thomas Jefferson of Church History because of the thousands of letters he wrote.  Many people, myself included, were recipients of Marty’s letters and notes.  His brother and sister traded letters every week.

The Mind of Christ – A New Goal and a New Guide

Marty wrote those letters because, like us, he had been given the “Mind of Christ,” which changes how we regard everything.  

In this mind of Christ, the past – while significant – isn’t what defines or determines us.  Rather, our mind has been changed because we have a new goal – what lies before us – and, most importantly, a new guide.  

This guide has suffered for us, humbled himself to the point of death on the cross.  And, in our baptism, we have been pulled down with him into that death so that, with him, we too are raised to new life.  In this future, the heavenly seat next to the father is actually a very big bench – with room for all of us.

This heavenly seat – where Jesus is Lord and where we sit with him as part of his new family – isn’t some geographical location that we get to far in the future.  No, it is how the Scriptures picture being next to God, sharing in God’s grace and glory.

Setting Aside the Past for What’s Ahead: Easter

In our lesson today, Paul suggests that what keeps us from enjoying this “new placement” – on the bench with the Risen Christ – is our attachment to the past.  To be sure, some of us are proud of our past accomplishments or hold on tight to our record of trying to love our neighbors.  

Perhaps, more prevalent and pernicious, is our struggle to let go of our younger, healthier, more active selves.  We feel we’ve lost so much vitality, mobility, and opportunity.

But the good news is that because Christ humbled himself to death, we have been given his mindset.  The mindset that trusts the future that God has set before us, that delights in sitting on the Christ bench – as we write letters to each and as we sing with and hope.

The words that open Paul’s letter to the Philippians are worth hearing as we finish our Lenten journey and prepare for what’s ahead:

“I thank my God every time I remember you, constantly praying with joy in every one of my prayers for all of you, because of your sharing in the gospel from the very first day until now.  I am confident of this, that the one who began a good work among you will bring it to completion by the day of Jesus Christ.  It is right for me to think this way about all of you because you hold me in your heart, for all of you share in God’s grace with me.” [Philippians 1:3-7b] May it be so.

It is Lent.  And so it seems right to me that I recently finished a great nineteenth century Russian novel – The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoyevsky.  There was a movie of this book when I was a young teen.  It starred Yul Brynner.  You may even remember him!  In any event, this is Dostoyevsky’s last book, and I think it competes with War and Peace for the prize of the great Russian novel.

The Brothers K, as people call it, is all about a murder.  It’s actually a murder mystery and a courtroom drama.  It has twists and turns and surprises.  It is so brutal at times, so harsh, and so full of heart and love at other times.

And it was a good book for Lent because, in the midst of all the turmoil, it is a book about God.  Dostoyevsky struggles passionately with the questions about who God is, how he relates to us, and what is required of us.  But there’s even more.  At the same time as he writes about God, he writes about people in our world — some beautiful and touching stories and in one case the most lovely description of a dog.

If I sit down to think about a book like The Brothers K, there are two people at the table with the book between us.  There’s me and there’s Dostoyevsky.  What does the book say on its own, how did Dostoyevsky’s own personal experiences penetrate the story-telling, and what do I bring to the story and take home from it.

We do the same thing when we sit down to think about the Scriptures and, in this year particularly, the Gospel of Luke.  But this time, there are three people at the table with the book between us.  There’s me and there’s Luke.  And then there is God.  The questions now are: What is God saying to us, how does Luke’s own beautiful voice penetrate how God says it, what do our life experiences bring to this Gospel?  Another way to ask these questions is how does Luke do the talking while God is whispering in our ear.

Scholars, I’m sure, know a lot about Dostoyevsky’s life, but we don’t know really anything about Luke’s.  We know he loved Jesus and carefully put together his Gospel and the Acts of the Apostles.  We know that he worked some with Saint Paul because Luke says so and puts himself into Acts.  (For example, Acts 16:10-17).  And tradition has it that he was a medical doctor and an artist who painted pictures of Jesus’ mother.

But what happens in his Gospel tells us more about him, I think.  We can be confident in saying that he was a nice man.  He was loving and observant.  He loved his fellow men and women, he observed them carefully, and he was aware of the details and nuances of their lives.

Here are a couple of examples that I think are clues to what Luke was like.  Luke surely loved Zacchaeus, the tax collector who was so short that he climbed a tree in order to get a good look at Jesus.  (Luke 19:1-10)  Luke, and Jesus too, loved Zacchaeus’s enthusiasm even though he was definitely an outsider, a tax collector, and popularly regarded as a sinner.  And he was paid attention to even though he had lots of money.  In another story, the Parable of the Good Samaritan, the Samaritan man, another outsider, simply cannot make himself go by the man who was rolled and beaten on a notoriously bad stretch of road between Jerusalem and Jericho.  Like Zacchaeus, he had money to spare, witness how he pays the innkeeper in advance for the crime victim’s care and pledges to pay any excess.  (Luke 10:25-37)  There’s even a really homely parable about a woman who lost one of her ten coins and turns the house upside-down to find it.  Having found it, she and her neighbors rejoice totally.  (Luke 15:8-10)

Luke sitting at that table with us and God – remember? – can’t help but tell stories and parables that resonate with us.  It’s in his nature.  He makes us vibrate like a bell.  Haven’t we simply loved the antics of our children and grandchildren?  Luke puts that into the story of Zacchaeus.  Haven’t we sometimes passed a beggar on Solano Avenue and then turned back to give him or her a dollar or cup of coffee.  Luke puts that into The Good Samaritan.  Haven’t we all been terribly anxious at leaving a credit card behind at a store and then rejoiced to get it back?  Luke puts that into the parable of the woman and the lost coin.

So, what resonates between Luke and us in today’s Gospel reading – the famous Parable of the Prodigal Son?

This story begins and ends with sorrow.  It has a happy middle for some people.  The story starts with the grief of separation.  A younger son, untried and confident and probably selfish and ruthless and arrogant, collects his inheritance early.  And then he goes away.  My guess is that he was within his rights to ask for his share.  Or maybe the father trusts him and hopes dearly that his son, when away from him, would be as good as he had been brought up to be.  Parents are so hopeful.  We all know our children cannot remain children.  Often, they grow up by leaving home; and we too give them money.  The grief of separation has a million faces.  Most recently, in this country it might be a husband going off for a tour in Iraq.  In other countries, it might be a Palestinian immigrant leaving her mother behind.  It might be the death of a brother or sister.  Perhaps, this separation by death gives the parable great strength.  Why?  Because the Prodigal just disappeared.  In today’s parlance, he’s ghosted his father.  And I’m sure his elder brother is angry.

Well, things do not work out for the younger son.  He squanders what his father gave him.  He is reduced to dirt and dirty clothes, calloused feet and pigs for company.  He stinks.  In these depths, he suffers regret.  He realizes his fault.  He is like the tax collector who prays in the Temple near the Pharisee, and can only say, “Lord, have mercy on me, a sinner.”  (Luke 18:9-14)  All the Prodigal can do is accuse himself in humility, knowing that he’s made many wrong decisions.  (Luke 18:9-14)  But this disruption of one’s spirit seems to offer the choice of power.  We can go down to the Jordan again to check in with John the Baptist.  If we have these second thoughts and regrets, they can set us on a new road that might be painful and might be years long.  But it takes us back to our rich father who suffered the grief of separation.

Well, we all know about being happy that someone has come home.  Sometimes, I’ve seen young adults who were kids in Saint Alban’s come back to visit – not that they’re Prodigals: don’t get me wrong!  You may not see your grandchildren for a week or even two or more.  And when you see them, you are hugging and kissing.  And if you’re a dog, you might not see your human “Mommy” for five minutes, and then you are kissing and jumping on her or him.  Anyway, like us, the rich father is delighted to see his son.  And that’s enough.  Except – We should note again that the Prodigal has first admitted his foolishness and wrongdoing directly to his father face-to-face.  He has confessed.  The prelude to the father’s delight — and I’m sure the Prodigal was also happy – is the Prodigal’s acknowledgement of his, let’s call it, sin.

But we need to look at the sorrow that ends this parable.  We have to pay attention to the elder son.  To start with, as we know, the road that brothers take can be very rocky.  And this obedient, reliable homebody is jealous and resentful and angry.  And I think we can understand him.  He has to give place to someone whose selfishness seems to get rewarded.  More is given him beyond his share of the inheritance, of his father’s substance.  This elder son, however, does not know what the younger has gone through.  Perhaps someday, if they work together on the father’s property, the two will make peace.  This is the beginning of a long story that may end in reconciliation.  It will be a rocky road, as we know, because the elder brother has essentially said to his father, “You don’t love me.”  I will only say briefly:  This story has played out in our lives in some way, shape, or form.  It requires endurance and courage.  This parable actually does not really have an end.  It ends with a question for the father and us:  How does he, or do we, treat the older son with as much love as he, or we, treat the younger?

Well, remember the table we are sitting at.  I said that God is sitting at that table too.  How might his purpose in these stories and parables resonate with us?  Of course, it is a given that the story of the Prodigal Son is about God’s forgiveness of even the most wayward, dirty, and smelly sheep.  But what else through Luke’s voice does he whisper in our ear?

I think the message is in this idea that I have tried to describe.  The idea is that when you walk down the street, or cook, or complain or rejoice, and you cry and you laugh and so on and on, you actually dwell in the stories that Luke tells.  What happens to you many times every day happens also in the Gospel of Luke and vice versa.  You are sitting at the table with Luke and God and learning what Luke says in his beautiful voice and what God whispers in your ear.  And you notice that the table has gone silent, and that Luke and God are looking at you.  And you come to realize something surprising and amazing.  These stories are about you.  Amen

There’s a well-known Zen Buddhist proverb: “before enlightenment, chop wood, carry water. After enlightenment, chop wood, carry water.”

My typical process in planning for a reflection is to review all the readings for the day from the lectionary, and then try to find any insights I can tease out of them.

But given what’s going on in our country and in the world, I decided to go in a different direction today; instead, I’d like to reflect on large, medium and small but heroic or beautiful deeds and gestures that I know about, on what I’m seeing folks do here in our church, and out in the world to help keep Jesus’ directives moving forward. I’d like to share some of the things I’ve found helpful, and later on, I’d like to invite everyone here to share things that they’ve found helpful or inspiring. 

So, I’ll start by saying that things are really, really bad out there; it’s demoralizing. We’ve seen congregants afraid to come to church. My friend Lidia is now a US citizen, but most of the siblings that she rescued from an orphanage and from the streets of Guatemala after her mother died just have a green card; they work, they pay taxes, their kids were born here – but they are all in danger of illegal deportation every day; they carry copies of their documents with them everywhere. My family has it pretty easy; however, the government funding that pays for our kid’s PhD in cellular biology is in jeopardy – Columbia, Johns Hopkins, Penn – who knows what’s next. My husband’s decades of science work at the Berkeley Lab is paid almost completely by grants from the Department of Energy – no idea what will happen there. His grad students and postdoctoral fellows come from all over the world – many of them from Asia…. And who knows what will become of our social security payments and 403(b) investments….

But every Sunday when I come to church, you, my Friends in Christ, our visiting clergy and our musicians bring us such hopeful and inspiring messages and actions to strengthen us. It really helps!

Among the messages which have helped me are those about a light shining in the darkness, and the darkness not overcoming it – or not comprehending it, in the King James version – there’s a mindblowing choice of words! And all of the empowering and comforting messages about trusting in God’s goodness and mercy really help. And the themes of some of our common hymns have given me insights I’ve never noticed before; have you ever thought about how often the words “rock,” or “foundation” come up in hymns? “How firm a foundation, ye saints of the Lord, is laid for your faith in his excellent word!” goes one. “The Church’s one foundation is Jesus Christ her Lord; she is his new creation by water and the word” goes another. I never gave it much thought before, but these times have really gotten me thinking about what a foundation does; it not only gives us a structure to rest upon, it gives us a structure to build upon. Every Sunday we come together not just to remind ourselves of God’s love, and to recommit to the work of loving our neighbors as ourselves, but to actually build the work together.

There was the Sunday when Don brought Archbishop Budde’s mailing address so that we could send her thank you cards for speaking up for mercy. And Steve bought us letter samples and addresses to write in support of food aid. Of course there’s Beth’s work with Albany Thrives Together, and all the folks from our church who make sandwiches for our unhoused neighbors. There are the many simple acts of fellowship and caring we do for each other – not to mention actually planning all of the worship services and managing the physical structure of this church! All of these things are building on the foundations of our church.

Nevertheless, these times are so unnerving, and cruel, and we often feel powerless, and don’t know what to do to stop the evil that is spreading before our eyes. So I’d like to reflect a bit more on acts of kindness and of bravery that I have seen or that I know of.

So: first, something more about Lidia, who I mentioned earlier; Lidia has never forgotten how hard it was to struggle to feed her family, to find housing, to find work. Every Thanksgiving for many years now, she buys or is given over a dozen turkeys, and piles of vegetables, rice and rolls. She uses her church kitchen, and for days in advance of Thanksgiving, works with friends and family – including the two granddaughters she’s now raising on her own, since her youngest son died unexpectedly at the age of thirty – and cooks it all up, and makes huge dispensers of coffee. They load up their minivans and go to homeless encampments and the places where day workers congregate, and pass out food until it’s all gone.

I’m going to dig into my family’s past a bit to share a few things that I find inspiring. My mother and her family are from Germany; her father was born Jewish and converted to Christianity as a boy at his stepfather’s suggestion. My grandfather became a doctor; he met my grandmother, who was a nurse, at the hospital where they were both working; they married and had three children, and he took a job as a public health official. When the Nazis came into power, they took his job away. The family moved to a small town outside of Heidelberg to be closer to his mother and stepsister. The noose kept tightening. The minister at their local church told my grandfather he was no longer welcome there. But the minister of a bigger church in Heidelberg welcomed them. Heroic act #1. Then the Nazis put my grandfather in a work camp; somehow, my grandmother was able to get him out, and the family used every bit of money they had to get him out of the country; a Congregational minister in western Massachusetts sponsored him at a home for refugees and helped him get on his feet again; Heroic act #2. 

My grandmother and the three girls were stuck in Germany for the duration of the war – eight more years – and the rules on how “mixed” children were treated became increasingly harsh; at 14, you were no longer allowed to attend school. At 16, you had to go to work far from home, or you’d be sent to a work camp; my eldest aunt went off to become a nanny far from home to avoid the camp. A teacher in Heidelberg, Leni Pretorius, took in girls who were no longer welcome in school. She taught my mother and her little sister up until the war ended. Heroic act #3.

There’s a photograph in the family album of my mother and her sisters, wreathed in smiles, eating roast goose one Christmas during the war. The goose, a black market luxury item in wartime, had magically appeared on their front steps one morning. The family always assumed that it had been misdelivered – just luck! – that’s the story my mother told me. But years later, it occurred to me: might it not be that it was delivered on purpose? Yes, the family was ostracized and starving – but maybe some folks secretly empathized? Heroic act #4.

Now: onto small but beautiful things I’ve seen or felt or done in recent months; I’ll list a few – then, please, Friends – you share yours!

Total strangers have been saying hello to me on the street, wishing me a blessed day! Other strangers have told me how much they love my coat, or my glasses, or my outfit. Last week I was in Grocery Outlet singing along with “I’m going to Kansas City,” when a man started singing along with me – so fun! And then he tracked me down to tell me that my voice “isn’t bad.” Being able to plan Richard Cushman’s memorial concert, and the new organ scholarship program in his honor have really helped, as has working on Calliope concerts. Our hummingbird nest – is that not a direct proof of God’s love? My beloved cats, of course. And all the beautiful cats and dogs I meet on my walks. Flowers. Heather Cox Richardson’s daily newsletter, Letters from an American, keeps me informed and my panic at a minimum. Thank goodness for Faithful America calling out false prophets.

 “Before enlightenment, chop wood, carry water. After enlightenment, chop wood, carry water.”

Now, friends – what have you seen, done, or experienced that you are finding helpful in keeping focused on not just surviving this flood, but helping to build the work?

This year, the soul-searching of Lent has felt especially welcome. With all that has been happening since the first of the year, and the anxiety over what these changes will bring, I’ve cherished the focus of making the Lenten Journey, with Christ as our north star. Lent is also a time when we try to stay close to the Holy Spirit, and let our responses and actions come from that spiritual center in each of us.

Additionally, Lent is a time for lament as well as spiritual nurture. To lament means that we find ways to express the sorrow or grief we may feel, rather than holding it in or denying it altogether. Lament opens the door for healing, the strength to endure and, in some cases, for reconciliation. As a spiritual practice, lament can deepen our relationship with God.

Our readings this morning contain different kinds of lament. However, they all share a heart-rendering honesty of how the speaker understands the situation and how it ideally might be different. The speaker also invites God into the lament, so that the way forward becomes a shared journey, with God providing strength, endurance, and hope. Each lament offers a different lesson for the spiritual life.

God makes an initial promise to Abram, but Abram laments over having no heirs, which keeps him from trusting in God’s promise. After hearing Abram’s lament, God responds with specificity, promising him progeny and descendants. Lesson: If we express our lament to God, God listens…and will respond in due time—not, perhaps, fulfilling our exact wish, but guiding us to make something good out of a difficult or painful situation.

This morning’s psalmist trusts God to provide strength, based on God’s help during past hardships. If we were to listen to the rest of this psalm, we would hear a lament and plea for God’s continued guidance through the current adversity that the psalmist faces. The psalm ends with faith that God again will answer the lament with mercy and salvation. Lesson: God will give us the strength needed to endure–again and again—in part because our focus is on God and the eternal, not fixed only on what we are going through.

In our Epistle, Paul’s lament has to do with his beloved community of Phillipi being swayed by false prophets and teachings, rather than staying true to the way of Christ that he has put forward. The early years of Christianity was a spiritual marketplace of charismatic leaders vying for followers, each with their own versions of Christian faith. Some were legalistic to a fault; others had a hedonistic thread; yet others preached a gospel of worldly prosperity as a sign of God’s blessing, and where the poor are seen as undeserving. Paul was heartsick that the community was being infected by destructive teachings, and urged them to focus on the eternal goods rather than their worldly comforts. Lesson: Sometimes others may lament on our behalf, offering wisdom to reflect and pray over. Occasionally their lament might not fit, but it nonetheless offers an opportunity for reflection.

For example, as a young adult, I had a contract to write advertising copy for a department store. We had just finished the Christmas catalog, and my supervisor turned to me and said, “Sometimes I have concerns about what we are doing. We produce these lovely catalogs not to attract sales from wealthy customers—they pay in cash—but instead, for sales from those who carry large balances on our store credit card, where we make money.” As I listened, I thought, “Oh no; I don’t want to hear this. I’m having too much fun writing these ads.” I told her that I appreciated what she was saying, and privately decided to reflect on her lament later, when I was ready, since I knew her words had moral truth that I needed to consider. That day came sooner than expected: within six months, I would leave advertising.

Our gospel contains two laments. The first underlies the Pharisee warnings to Jesus about the danger he faced. We do know that some Pharisees valued Jesus even if they didn’t understand what he was about. The second lament was from Jesus–not about what awaited him, but rather about the fear and abuse of power by the religious establishment, keeping it from listening and embracing the will of God. Jerusalem, this holiest of cities containing the temple that was the House of God, was also a site of such violence: The prophet Zechariah was killed there; Jeremiah was condemned and barely escaped.[1] John the Baptist was murdered; Jesus knew his death awaited. Yet there was so much potential for healing and spiritual transformation. Jesus echoes God’s entreaty to the Israelites using the mother hen metaphor from the Wisdom literature (2Esdras 1:30). Lesson: Lamenting the “what could be” or “could have been” is part of our letting go, knowing that–like it or not–we must take another path, one perhaps not of our choosing, one that may lead to the cross. God must be in the midst of our lament, for the spiritual strength to take that path.

Despite the importance of lamenting, as a source of self-honesty and closer relationship with God, it’s not something that many enjoy doing. Sometimes a ”Lenten lite” journey is more attractive. Some either don’t want—or feel they can’t—handle lamenting. This was especially so during covid times. Some have feared being consumed by lament and not able to move beyond it, which is a real concern, especially if our feeling that we are loved by God, just for who we are, faults and all, is fragile.

However, avoiding lament can lead to what a colleague has called “the negative effects of toxic positivity,” “the belief that we must stay upbeat no matter how tough the situation may be.” [2] She also points out that when difficulties are glossed over, meaningful conversation can shut down. [3] For some, toxic positivity can make church feel superficial and inauthentic. We need to have a place where we can voice what is on our hearts, and where optimism is balanced with the honesty found in the ability to lament.[4]

The key to a healthy practice of lament is to, first, do it in prayer with God. Much like the psalmist, our prayer should recognize where we have felt God’s presence in our lives, whether directly or through others. We then make our lament by asking for further guidance and support.

Second, we can lament together as part of a community. The prayer of confession that we say in our liturgy most Sundays is an excellent model for both a personal and communal lament. If we were saying it this morning, we would—together–confess our shortcomings and—together–ask for forgiveness and strength to move forward, renewed and restored.  It’s found on page 360 in the Book of Common Prayer. 

Third, part of the pastoral care that we all can do as a community is to be good listeners, open to what others might say, trying to understand what a lament means for the speaker, from their standpoint, but not taking it on personally or trying to fix it. As a wise Catholic nun once told me, “Sometimes when you try to fix other people’s problems, you become the problem.” Sometimes professional pastoral counseling or medical attention is needed. If we aren’t sure how to respond, we can always ask if they would like us to pray with them—even if simply asking for God’s compassion and guidance in Jesus’ name. This brings God into the lament and focuses on the way forward, with God as a source for strength and hope.

A few weeks ago, an Anglican priest in the Democratic Republic of Congo contacted me and a few other friends. I had written a story on a peace center he had established in an area with severe fighting, that helps victims of violence heal spiritually from the trauma and rebuild their lives. It also teaches local leaders how to handle conflict without violence. With the latest bloodshed, his town was being threatened. He explained this in his lament, then asked simply for our prayers, that God might transform hearts to stop the violence. I and several others shared his lament and request, which now has reached across the worldwide Anglican Communion. Afterward, he wrote to say how encouraged he felt in being surrounded by so much care and prayer. His town has been spared just now, but there is much work to do with refugees flooding in, seeking to survive. Lament can be life and hope-giving when it is shared.

Church is a place where we invite God to walk with us amid our varied experiences and viewpoints. if we understand Lent as a time for journeying with God, we will be called to deepen our compassion and to act when and where needed.

What is on your heart? What kind of encouragement or hope do you most need from God just now? How might you invite God into your lament?

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Tashjian, Jirair. “Second Sunday in Lent: Commentary on the Texts: Luke 13:31-35.” The Christian Resource Institute. February 28, 2010. http://www.cresourcei.org/lectionary/YearC/Clent2ntl.html.

[2] Kamna Narain, “The Negative Effects of Toxic Positivity.” Coach Kamna’s QuickRead. February 28, 2025. Coachkamna@substack.com.

[3] Narain, “The Negative Effects of Toxic Positivity.”

[4] “How to Recognize and Avoid Toxic Positivity.” Harvard Business Review. February 19, 2025. https://hbr.org/tip/2025/02/how-to-recognize-and-avoid-toxic-positivity#

The Gospel for this last Sunday of the season of Epiphany is always the same: Jesus transfigured in glory, flanked by Moses and Elijah — the embodiments of the Law and the Prophets. All the accounts of the Transfiguration recall that Jesus was speaking with these representatives of the Old Testament.

But only Luke recounts for us the content of their sacred conversation: Jesus’ departure — literally, his “exodus.” But this lofty conversation and transfigured glory proves to be too much for the all-too human disciples who are struggling with sleep — mixed in, I’m sure, with more than a little terror.

So Peter speaks for all us mere mortals who are overwhelmed by divinity when he manages to blurt out, “Master, it is good for us to be here.”

In the last week or so I’ve been thinking about transformation and Transfiguration, and what might be the difference between the two. Here are some examples.

Some of our children and grandchildren have played with toys called Transformers, where a simple twist changes the shape of the toy into something different. And we employ electrical transformers all the time to increase or lower voltages. These simple changes fail to rise to the status of a real Transfiguration.

Caterpillars are transformed into butterflies; so is that a Transfiguration?  The insect doesn’t think so, but if people witnessing that marvel want to call it a Transfiguration, I would not want to tell them that they are wrong.

I think it’s the human element that can make or embody a Transfiguration. Consider the first reading from last Sunday, the conclusion of the Joseph story. His brothers had sold him into slavery, but Joseph now is viceroy to Pharaoh.

That was at least a transformation. Joseph goes on to invoke Divine Providence: “God sent me ahead of you to ensure that you will have descendants on earth, and to preserve you all, a great band of survivors. So it was not you who sent me here, but God.” From the point of view of Joseph’s brothers, their experience is transfigured.

I’m considering what it’s like for us, Jesus’ disciples, to be Transfigured. You might be recalling events in your lives, times of setbacks and failure, which over time became the pathways to new and fuller life.  When you recall those painful episodes in God’s light, they are truly Transfigured.

Our Hymnal includes two settings of the hymn “How firm a foundation.” Many of us have sung the third verse so much we can follow it by heart: When through the deep waters I call thee to go the rivers of woe shall not thee overflow. for I will be with thee, thy troubles to bless and sanctify to thee thy deepest distress.

Let’s take a closer look at what Peter says in the middle of the Transfiguration. First, he blurts out in wonder: “Master, it is good for us to be here.” So far, so good. When you and I sense a strong spiritual presence, we know it’s good.

But then Peter rambles on. “Let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” The evangelist then inserts a shrewd editorial comment: “not knowing what he said,” as if he had to give us the quote, but we ought to know what Peter is like by now.

We’re like Peter when we want to freeze-dry some powerful spiritual moment and thaw it out to help us when we feel our souls are dry and lifeless. This is our tendency — to make monuments out of fluid states of inner bliss. It can be hard to let go of the joy and ecstasy — we want to cling to them. But only when we let them go can we free up our spirits for more spiritual consolation.

The English poet William Blake wrote a short verse about this:

He who binds to himself a joy

Does the wingéd Life destroy.

He who kisses the joy as it flies

Lives in eternity’s sunrise.

As it happens, over the centuries the institutional church has not resisted the temptation to follow the second part of Peter’s little speech, and memorialize the fleeting moment of Transfiguration by building a church on Mt. Tabor. I hope that pilgrims who kneel in that Franciscan church do find consolation — but they’re not going to find Moses and Elijah flanking Jesus the Christ.

As we prepare for the solemn joy of Lent that begins in three days, I pray that we resolve to renew our hearts to receive whatever our loving God gives to us in our spirits — whether it challenges our faith or consoles our spirit. And let’s not forget William Blake’s succinct guidance.

Today’s lesson on how to be a good Christian, a good person, comes to you from Jesus by way of Luke. “Love your enemies. Turn the other cheek. Do not judge.”

You may recall that this is not the first time we’ve heard about turning the other cheek. We heard it in Matthew 5:39, in the Sermon on the Mount after Jesus notes that, “It is said, ‘an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.’ ”

Now, the eye for an eye concept comes up in the law of Hammurabi, the Babylonian king who caused pillars inscribed with his laws to be erected throughout his realm. Although we think of an “eye for an eye” as barbaric, it was considered a liberal law at the time because it limited — and put a particular value on — a wrong.    Instead of “hurt me and I’ll wipe out your entire family,” the law tries to limit the reparation to something equivalent. Later, this equivalent becomes money or other property.

But Jesus says Christians are compelled to forget about parity. “Do not resist an evil person,” he says in Matthew. In Luke, he says to “love your enemies, do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return.”

Well, that’s not fair, as every 16-year-old in the world has probably said when introduced to this concept. One of the most endearing things about young people is their belief in justice and equity, so much stronger than in most of us older folks whose ideas of fairness have been flattened over and over again by reality.

As my divorce attorney told me after a particularly unpleasant interaction with my ex, “You get justice in heaven. On Earth, we have the law.”

Jesus recognized the law as our human attempt to create justice. And, he seems to suggest that human beings get out of the law business entirely. “Do not judge, and you will not be judged; do not condemn, and you will not be condemned.”

So, does this mean that we sit idly by, staying out of the fray of human interaction to preserve our own Godliness?

I don’t think so. Jesus admonishes against judging against other people, but he’s the first to call a particular act evil. He recognizes that all humans, with the exception of himself, do evil. Yet we also are told that all of us are created in the image of God.

Jesus lived in a culture, as do we, that has a lot of laws. Yet when asked what the most important laws are, he said the first is to love God, and the second is to love your neighbor as yourself, which I’ve yet to see in any penal codes. Moses’ law contains a lot of “thou shalt nots,” but Jesus seems to be more of a “thou shalt” person.

Doesn’t loving your neighbor mean actually going out of your way to do good? This message comes with a warning, “The measure you give will be the measure you get back.” Or, if you’re stingy with forgiveness, God may be stingy with you.

This part of the reading gave me some problems. The first part of the passage is all about going beyond human law, or our standards of justice. I think this second part also calls for us to go beyond human ideas of fairness and justice. Our God is never stingy. If God’s justice was the same as our human justice, none of us would make it past 18.

So what is Jesus really asking us to do. First, I believe that He is asking us to act! His examples of turning the other cheek, and giving more than is asked or demanded of us, are all about responding. Someone may take from us, but if we have the means, we are required to give, as well. We are asked to do more than what we human beings consider fair.

I recently saw a movie about Friedrich Bonhoeffer, the prolific German theologian who was an outspoken anti-Nazi. By nature, a pacifist, Bonhoeffer became active in the Resistance and was hung by the Nazis just before the end of World War II.

Bonhoeffer believed that God’s grace has to be earned. He wrote that “Cheap grace is the grace we bestow on ourselves. Cheap grace is the preaching of forgiveness without requiring repentance . . . Costly grace is the gospel which must be sought again and again, the gift which must be asked for, the door at which a man must knock . . . It is costly because it costs a man his life, and it is grace because it gives a man the only true life.”

I don’t believe God withholds grace, but I do believe we withhold grace from ourselves when we fail to do what we believe to be God’s will.

Today, as always, we are confronted by people doing evil, evil things. And we are confronted about what we are personally supposed to do about it. Many people choose to react ONLY when this evil impacts them personally. But I don’t believe this is what Jesus means by “turn the other cheek.”

Jesus says we have to do something about it. The Gospel says we must do more — and yet we must preserve a commitment to nonviolence and to not stooping into hate for evildoers, who are still children of God. This is definitely costly grace. Bonhoeffer, Gandhi and Martin Luther King were martyred, but their sacrifices — and those of many, many others — eventually changed the world.

The advances they produced are always at risk of being lost again. Each new generation is called upon to be active against evil. It is not enough to turn the other cheek. The Gospel asks us to do more.

Writing a letter; sending a check; distributing information about rights may not seem like much. But we know that these little things can add up —- and that we can prepare to do more. We are called to think about what “more” is for each of us. What are we willing to risk? At what point do we go from turning the other cheek – and on to protecting others, to answering God’s call to love, to doing more?

Amen.

I want to speak from my heart this morning. It’s hard to be happy these days. It’s
difficult to be hopeful. I limit my intake of news. I limit how much destruction and
devastation I take in each day, how much chaos I attend to. Even so, happiness,
hopefulness, contentment – these things are more elusive these days.

I know there are those – many, actually, who feel like it’s Christmas morning with
each new order coming out of the White House. And I honor that they feel that
way. But I cannot even pretend to understand it.

Ok – so that’s where many of you might find yourselves as well.

And the truth is, we try to keep politics – in the mainline denominations, we try to
keep politics out of the pulpit, but politics has come to us. That’s just the reality.

On the day after the Inauguration, at the National Prayer Service for Unity, Bishop
Budde of the Diocese of Washington asked for mercy for those who are now living
in true fear. She became the target of calls for defrocking and deportation and for
the National Cathedral to be taken over.

Diana Butler Bass, a theologian and an author, says we can no longer ignore that
politics has been brought to us. The historical witness of the church – the church’s
good works of service, to which we are commanded by our Lord, the Beatitudes,
which is our gospel this morning – have become political.

Feeding hungry people? Political.

Preaching about mercy? Political.

Hosting a Spanish-speaking church service?
Hiring a pastor of color?
Having a woman preacher?
Displaying a sign or a flag welcoming everyone? Political.

Believing that empathy and compassion are central to Christian faith? Political.

Loving your neighbor as yourself, one of the twin commandments upon which
Jesus said hang all the law and the prophets? Political.

So things like mercy and justice – I mean things like our faith – the core of our faith
– have become politicized whether we want them to or not, Butler Bass says – and
I say, we can either fold in and become very very quiet leading to our spiritual
death – or we can ever more robustly and wholly follow Jesus, our Lord and Savior, who came to earth especially to bring us life and to bring it ever more abundantly.
Because we are not made for despair or desolation. We feel those things, yes, but
because we have each other and our Lord, we do not have to fall into the pit of
despair, or give credence and undue attention to those whose actions lead to
devastation. In the middle of the night when we are most prone to depression, we
can remind ourselves that they are, as Psalm 1 says, they are destined to be blown
away by the wind as chaff, to have no standing, no lasting endurance.

We are not made for desolation – we human beings are made for life, for joy, for
happiness. And Psalm 1 gives us a very short course, an incredibly abbreviated
course in life and joy and happiness, those things for which Jesus came to show
us the way.

Now I said at all times – I just want to acknowledge you can be a very very good
person – you can follow the way of the Law and the Prophets – you can love God
with all your heart…. you can meditate day and night – and it doesn’t mean that
bad things won’t happen to you, that terrible suffering won’t come your way. Jesus
pretty much guarantees that it will – blessed are you when people hate you and
revile you because of your faith – look at what happens to pretty much every
prophet and to Jesus and to the apostles – So the way of life, the way that leads to
happiness does not mean that nothing bad will happen – it does mean that you will
have through, a way under and through.

Ok – so what is this short course in happiness that we are made for that Psalm
gives us? It might surprise you to hear what this psalm says: Happy are those,
who delight in the law of the Lord, who meditate on it day and night.

Now I don’t know about you, but I don’t find the words – law of the Lord – to elicit
particularly delightfully warm and cuddly feelings – honestly, it gives off a
generalized sense of guilt or shame even. Not much about happiness.

That cannot be what the psalm means. So what is it about this law that brings
delight and happiness to those who meditate on it? That allows them to become
like trees planted by water, whose leaves don’t wither, and whose fruit is
abundant, even when circumstances, like the current ones, mitigate against
prospering.

And by prospering I do not mean becoming wealthy. Prospering in the biblical
sense of things means fully alive – rooted and grounded and fruitful, blessing
others – that’s prospering, regardless of what other people are doing or not doing.

So Law in the Bible means Torah – which Jesus summarized with the word Love.
Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your mind, with all your
strength, and your neighbor as yourself – on this, he said, hang all the law and the
prophets. And it doesn’t matter who calls this political or woke or whatever, it’s
what we are called to do. Meditate on this. Love. Love. Love.

But let’s get a little more specific with Psalm 1, because it’s our psalm for the
morning, and it is the first psalm, and it begins with the letter Aleph, the first letter
in the Hebrew alphabet, which is also the first letter of the word Happy, in Hebrew
– Asher – and this was the prayer book for Jesus and the disciples – and it
continues to this day to be fundamental to our worship life. So what might it mean
to meditate on the psalms themselves as law?

They are clearly human words to God. There are some very cringe worthy calls for
retribution on enemies. There are. Read the psalms and you’ll get quite
uncomfortable. There is also full-throated praise that includes all of nature. I love
the poetry. Trees clap their hands. The seas roll mightily in praise.

It’s all there – Happiness. Sadness. Grief. Anger. Despair – John Calvin called the
Psalter “the anatomy of all the parts of the human soul.”

The psalms meet us in wholehearted thanksgiving and praise – corralling us into
joining our voices with the whole forces of nature – with the heavens, the earth,
the sea, the trees in praise of God.

They also meet us in the ash heap of sorrow, of grief, of complaint, of anger. The
kind of a place, where many of us find ourselves right now. In the ash heap of grief
over what appears to the destruction of our democracy and our leadership in good
causes around the world. The ash heap. The psalms meet us here.

And they meet us in those hidden places of anger and desire for retribution and in
those shameful places of fear and shrinking.

Kierkegaard said that to meditate on the psalms is to choose to will to be fully and
wholeheartedly ourselves before God.

And this requires a very honest presentation of all the parts of us before God.
letting ourselves be fully known and fully seen.

And that requires us to get really honest with how we are really feeling. If you know
the 12 steps, you could say that the psalms invite us into a kind of 4th step – which
is to regularly do a searching and fearless moral inventory – which is the basis for
all further progress in recovery, in change, in health and salvation.

It is the very opposite of what Adam does in the garden when he hides. remember
when God comes for their daily walk and talk in the garden – and he calls “Adam,
Adam, where are you?” And of course, God knows where Adam is, but Adam is
hiding because he is ashamed.

Meditating on the law of the Lord means to bring our very ordinary selves, our
daily ups and downs, our boringness and our pettiness and our sweet small joys
and big excitements – all of it to God.

And the promise is that when we do this, when we are honest with our own dark
places and our light, with our ugliness and our beauty – when we allow all of that
to come before God – the promise is that we become like trees, who produce good
fruit – the fruit of love, the fruit of forgiveness, the fruit of life.

When we bring our whole selves to God, without hiding, without shame, we
become people of courage and resilience who can provide comfort and safety to
others who are in need.

We join the nation of those living around the world, and those of all times, of all
generations, living in faithful humility before God who are able to go beyond fear
and to stand up and be counted, knowing, intimately knowing that we are watched
over and that we are fully known and loved beyond measure.

Happy are those who meditate day and night on the law of the Lord! Amen.

A side note – not part of the homily: Meditating on the law of the Lord,
meditating with the psalms means to join our voices and our hearts with all
humanity – because while a particular psalm may or may not speak to your
particular condition in the moment, it is speaking to someone else’s condition. We
learn that, just as in the prayers of the people, prayer and meditation on God’s
ways is not simply for our own benefit, but for the benefit of others. This is pretty
much the definition of Love – that which Jesus commands of us.

I really like what one member of the Church has referred to as our 21st Century version of First Century Christianity; each of us pitches in to enable our church to function and put on Sunday services, music and all! Today, it’s my turn to reflect!

Very recently we heard one of us Reflectors say: “Christians are touched, not by ideas or philosophies, not by humanitarianism and ethics, but by God’s own personality and loveliness.”

I have studied today’s readings, and it seems to me that they reflect that same mysterious God, and remind me that, no matter how hard I might have tried during my life, I have never been able to believe that there is no God.

The readings are about “faith” that God is greater than we are, and they suggest that we need God’s grace and love. They also tell us that we must acknowledge these needs, and then take the suggested action, even if we don’t really understand all the hows and whys of God’s direction.

With Isaiah, he gets the Old Testament’s “tough love,” by having a live coal touch his mouth, which results in having his sin “atoned for,” and his guilt for being “a man of unclean lips” and “liv[ing] among a people of unclean lips” taken away. Thus, he volunteers for the tough job of carrying God’s searing message of death and destruction to “those who call evil good and good evil.”

In Corinthians, Paul addresses Christian believers who thought that they had achieved a level of what we might today call “spirituality,” which had resulted in their rejecting Christian morality.  They had put their trust elsewhere, and Paul wanted them to return to their lives in Jesus Christ. 

To make his point, he addresses Jesus’ resurrection by reminding them that it is by the “good news” that they are being saved, and that if they fail to “hold firmly” to the message, they will have “believed in vain.”

Paul also reminds them that Christ died for our sins “in accordance with the scriptures,” and then reappeared to many brothers and sisters, including Paul, who said of himself: “I worked harder than any of them — though it was not I, but the grace of God that is within me. Whether then it was I or they, so we proclaim, and so you have come to believe.”

Most versions of this passage that I found in my research use the phrase “according to the scriptures,” rather than “in accordance with the scriptures.” The former directs us to the origins of the prophesy, whereas the latter suggests the resurrection as fact, because it is spoken of in the scriptures. More on this to come.

In Luke’s Gospel, the fishermen follow Jesus’ directions by trying something they knew wouldn’t work, which then reaps them rewards beyond their wildest dreams!

They had fished all night and caught nothing. When Jesus finished preaching to the crowd and they had gone home, he asked Simon to “put out into deepwater” and “let your nets down for a catch.” Simon told Jesus that they’d tried all night, and there was no point doing what was suggested. 

But Simon nevertheless rowed out to the deeper water and put their nets down. When they did that, they were engulfed by so many fish that their nets began to break; there were so many fish that their friends were able to also fill their boat with fish, almost to the point of sinking it!

When Simon said that he didn’t deserve this bounty, Jesus told him that he’d just witnessed how to “catch people;” don’t be afraid to reach out – go beyond the familiar and you will be amazed.

Why did Simon Peter agree to do what Jesus suggested, even when he was certain it wouldn’t work? Perhaps because he was willing to take a “leap of faith?”

I continue to be reminded that if I keep only to myself and rely on only my own thinking, I’ll only keep getting what I’ve been getting. But if I am willing to follow suggestions that have worked for others, I will probably get results similar to what they got. That’s called “faith,” guided by “trust.”

A friend of mine likes to give this example of the difference between “faith” and “trust”: You are at the circus, and the person up on the high wire is preparing to push a wheelbarrow along the wire. You have “faith” that they will make it safely, but if you “trust” you’ll go up and get in the wheelbarrow!

Another friend likes to call those words “verbs,” because they are calls to action, not thinking or feeling. And the required action is sometimes “fearless;” that is, it’s taken in spite of inevitable fear.

As I said previously, I cannot honestly say there is no God, and I have also come to believe that I, as a finite and imperfect human, cannot fully know God. So, I like to say that the only thing I can truly know about God is that I’m not it!

But I must also acknowledge that other people I have come to know and trust, and who have what I want, are living happy and productive lives by trying to do God’s will. The truth seems to be that if I do what they do, I’ll likely get what they’re getting!

But that’s not all of it; because in retrospect my colleagues and I must sometimes humbly admit that at any given time, our apparent use to God may have been by being a bad example, so others can learn from our mistakes. It’s progress not perfection in this life.

Like the Corinthians, I have sought refuge in practices that could be called “spiritual,” which at least temporarily made me “feel good,” but which ultimately took me in an unhealthy direction, and away from doing what Jesus preached.

So in conclusion, I return to the “according to the scriptures”/ “in accordance with the scriptures” dichotomy, because I believe it may be a small example of a larger problem that is contributing to some of our current “troubles,” as the late Queen Elizabeth II used to call such things; specifically, Christian fundamentalism, which seems to focus on who is right and who is wrong,  rather than Jesus’ teachings.

I believe that some Christians may have unwittingly become more “fundamental” as a result of   our efforts to “modernize” the words used in our literature to express how and what we believe. In the eyes of many we have become more exclusive because we have hardened our boundaries, rather than welcoming all who come to the door by remaining open to the mystery of God manifest in Jesus’ teaching. 

Here’s a personal experience: Long ago, when I was confirmed, the Nicene Creed used the phrase “according to the scriptures” when referring to Jesus’ resurrection. Now it says that Jesus rose again: “in accordance with the scriptures.” That change suggests that Jesus’ resurrection is confirmed by its inclusion in the scriptures, as opposed to “according to the scriptures,” which directs readers to the scriptures to determine for themselves whether Jesus rose from the dead. 

Maybe that is for many a distinction without a difference, but “according to the scriptures” allowed me to feel that I was being honest when reciting the Nicene Creed, even though, perhaps like Doubting Thomas, I was not absolutely certain that Jesus rose from the dead. It also allowed me the time I needed to accept the mystery, in the same way that I now believe that the only two things I know FOR SURE are that there is a God, and it’s not me. 

My thinking went like this: the First Council of Nicaea in AD 325 was an effort to reach consensus among divided Christian bishops on the nature of Jesus, and that to do that, a certain amount of what we today refer to as “mediation” must have been necessary. 

Describing Jesus’ resurrection as “according to the scriptures” is part of how the bishops reached their consensus on the new creed, and perhaps they adopted that language because it would allow their existing and potential followers room and time to decide whether they could believe in the miraculous. 

I see “according to the scriptures” as potentially more inclusive, because it allowed this sinner, who is still sometimes unsure of his beliefs and on the fence about some of the church’s doctrine, to come to worship and fully participate; eventually and in his own way, coming to believe. 

My suggestion is that we try to grow the church by being attractive, practicing what Jesus preached, and, wherever possible, doing so without promoting ourselves.

Normally the Feast Day of the Presentation of the Lord does not fall on a Sunday – but this year it does, so we are going to forget Groundhog Day and get a taste for the historical and liturgical richness of the feast day!

In the Christian calendar, this feast is the culmination of the cycle of light – beginning in Advent, four weeks before Christmas, when we light candles for hope, peace, joy and love and then Christmas, when we celebrate the birth of the Christ child, the very Light of God come into the world. Then the Feast of the Epiphany, when the wise men from far away, follow the star of light to honor this child as a light to the nations, and now the final Feast of Light – the Feast of the Presentation of Jesus at the Temple, also called Candlemas.

This is the Feast in which Mary and Joseph bring their newborn son to the Temple, so Mary can complete the purification cleansing ritual forty days after giving birth to a son. When he sees them, the elderly blind prophet, Simeon, takes the child into his arms and proclaims that he can now depart in peace because he has seen God’s salvation, a light for all peoples.

This is an incredibly ancient festival. In 380 A.D., Egeria, an intrepid pilgrim to the Holy Land from the area we now call Portugal, wrote about it in her letters back to her people at home. Here’s a portion of what she wrote:

XXVI. “The fortieth day after the Birth of Christ is undoubtedly celebrated here with the very highest honor, for on that day there is a procession, in which all take part, as in the Anastasis, and all things are done in their order with the greatest joy, just as at Easter. All the priests, and after them the bishop, preach, always taking for their subject that part of the Gospel where Joseph and Mary brought the Lord into the Temple on the fortieth day, and Symeon and Anna the prophetess, the daughter of Phanuel, saw him…And when everything that is customary has been done in order, the sacrament is celebrated, and the dismissal takes place.”

This is long church, friends! Hours and hours- not sitting in pews, but most likely standing. All the priests and the Bishop preach on the passage that is our Gospel reading for today! The church still has many of the sermons preached on this passage from early church luminaries, including among others the bishops Methodius of Patarg in 312, Gregory the Theologian in 389, Gregory of Nyssa in 400 and John Chrysostom in 407.

Super Bowl is our huge feast day occurring during February! But this infancy narrative scripture is still so important that it is reflected in our own modern day prayer book – in sections that may or may not be very familiar to you. The first is the Thanksgiving for a Child found on page 439, and the second is in our daily offices, Evening Prayer, found on page 115, and Compline, found on page 127. Let’s first turn to the service for Thanksgiving for a Child. The instructions for this service say, that ‘as soon as convenient after the birth of a child, or after receiving a children by adoption, the parents, with other members other the family, should come to the church to be welcomed by the congregation, to give thanks to Almighty God… and at the proper time, the parents and other members the family present themselves before the Altar.” Sound similar to what is happening with Jesus and his mother and father?

 For Anglicans, this service has replaced what used to be known as The Churching of Women – which was practiced for many, many years among, many Orthodox, Roman Catholic, Anglican and other denominations. The Churching of Women occurred forty days after the birth of a child, reflecting this passage from our Gospel today. The ceremony included thanksgiving for the woman’s survival of childbirth, and was performed even when the child is stillborn, or had died unbaptized. The Churching of Women was not only a liturgical event, but a social event, in which the new configuration of the family was welcomed by the community back into the swing of things!

All these ways of honoring the physical, emotional and spiritual health of the mother and of dedicating children to God and to the care of the community are a way of acknowledging the sacredness of birth and the sacredness of the family.

When we advocate for parents, for parental and family leave, for children, for safe schools and safe drinking water, safe playgrounds, safe streets, enough food and medical care, we are taking the spiritual insights of our scriptures and our sacred cycles of time and applying them to the public sphere. We honor this feast day when we advocate for all forms of family, and all children, regardless of gender or identity, or nationality.

The second place this passage shows up in our prayer book is in Compline, which is the last of a round of four daily prayer services, morning, noon, evening, and Compline – just before bed. It’s a lovely way to end one’s day in peace, rather than in the blue light of scrolling Instagram or binging on the latest Netflix series.

The service begins with this request: ‘The Lord Almighty grant us a peaceful night and a perfect end.” And it ends with Simeon’s words from our gospel reading today, his prayer as he gathers the infant Jesus in his arms: “Lord, you now have set your servant free, to go in peace as you have promised. For these eyes of mine have seen the Savior, a light to enlighten the nations and the glory of your people Israel.” Because he held this child, the very Light of God made visible, in his own arms, Simeon could face death in peace, his own transition into the Light from which all Light comes, in trust.

It is the same for us. When we hold this Divine Child of Light close to our hearts, we too can face into darkness with courage and with peace, whether that is the literal darkness of the night hours, or of our own death, or the figurative darkness of disruption and chaos and cruelty we are in already, barely two weeks into the change of administration.

So friends, along with Simeon, gather the Christ child close to your heart, feel his divine heartbeat against your own, align your own breathing with his divine peace and warmth. With him, together we can face into whatever darkness comes our way in confidence and trust. And we can carry the light that has been given us for however long we are given to carry it, advocating for parents, advocating for children, advocating for health and wellbeing and light for all. Amen.