Showing posts with label Easter. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Easter. Show all posts

Monday, May 19, 2014

In the sanctuary and on the streets, alleluias and shared bread

Text posted first on Facebook last night.

 
Brewer Fountain, Boston Common


Two profoundly beautiful worship experiences today.

The first in the morning at Emmanuel Church in the City of Boston with Mendelssohn anthem; let's-tackle-this-one sermon with focused biblical analysis by the Rev. Pam Werntz; three baptisms; thanksgiving for 10 years of marriage equality; bread and wine blessed and shared; the final Bach cantata of Emmanuel Music's 2013-14 cantata season, glorious in praise and beauty. Candles and the play of light. Alleluias in hearts and voices.

The second, also with alleluias, a bit later in a very different setting: on Boston Common with Common Cathedral (often spelled common cathedral w/ no caps) in a congregation of mostly homeless men and women with some housed people as well, a dynamic young woman leading worship, and a youth group serving sandwich lunch before the service. A message of God's unconditional love for all and of God's very presence in our midst, a highly participatory service, with a structure but a lot of spontaneity (same structure as the other Sunday Eucharist but much simpler, pared down), and heartfelt Prayers of the People. Ragged at the edges in all the right ways, reverent, raw, with much assurance of forgiveness and comfort. Bread and grape juice blessed and shared. Sunlight, clouds, wind, the play of light.

Communion and contemplation in both places. And welcome. And song. And healing.

Not either/or. Both/and. The Church is a wide, deep, and diverse reality. Alleluia.



Emmanuel Church before the liturgy, 5th Sunday of Easter
Photos here are of parts of the worship space, the physical context. I don't take photos during worship; we do have photographers at Emmanuel who document some of our celebrations;  photographers and writers about common cathedral respect the anonymity and privacy of participants.

Monday, May 6, 2013

The sad, glorious, fragile spring of this year

Posted the paragraphs below the photo yesterday afternoon (Sunday, May 5) on Facebook - and (why was I surprised?) though I felt like a voice in the wilderness when I posted it, it drew many comments, most of which expressed kinship and understanding. So perhaps I was giving voice to something many of us feel right now.

The photos are from yesterday and the past few weeks in Boston.



This spring feels sad. Glorious flowers everywhere, here one week but gone the next, and the world a mess. Like my friend Lindy, who wrote about this a couple of days ago, I find that some days are just for weeping --or at least grieving if the tears don't come, which often they don't. It is worse on the days one can't cry, I think. I find consolation in the fact that Dorothy Day, surely one of the strong holy people of the 20th century and among the ones who did the most good, tough as she was, sat and wept with great frequency.

Once in a blue moon she got to weep with a friend. This is a passage about times with her friend Catherine de Hueck Doherty ("the Baroness"), a woman of very different background and temperament from hers, but who was her comrade in Christian work of mercy and justice, and who after Dorothy's death, remembered:

"When I moved to Harlem, Dorothy Day and I became even closer. There were only about five miles between her house and my Harlem house. So occasionally when we both had enough money, let’s say about a dollar, we would go to Child’s where you could get three coffee refills (for the price of one cup), and we used to enjoy each cup and just talk.

Talk about God. Talk about the apostolate. Talk about all the things that were dear to our hearts.
But we were both very lonely because, believe it or not, there were just the two of us in all of Canada and America, and we did feel lonely and no question about it.
Catherine de Hueck Doherty, Restoration, February 1981

This story came via Fr. Bob Wild (who is doing research on Day and Doherty) on the Madonna House website, but I remember reading it in the Dorothy Day anthology edited by Robert Ellsberg.









All photos (c) Jane C. Redmont. If you reproduce them without permission or attribution, the archangel in  charge of copyrights will get fiery mad. Please give credit where credit is due. Thank you.

Friday, April 27, 2012

Perseverance, suffering, a word from a Desert Father, a commentary, and a commentary on the commentary

During Lent I read excerpts from a book by David G.R. Keller (an Episcopal priest and scholar)  Desert Banquet: A Year of Wisdom from the Desert Mothers and Fathers (Liturgical Press 2011).

It is now the season of Easter (which lasts for 50 days, remember and celebrate!) but I picked up the book again yesterday. It has a meditation for each day and this was yesterday's. Each meditation is composed of a short saying by a Desert Father or Mother and a paragraph-long commentary by Keller.
Abba John continued, "Do your work in peace. Persevere in keeping vigil, in hunger and third, in cold and nakedness, and in sufferings."
Abba John knew the path to transformation must be single-minded but is not easy. The "work" is not an end in itself and we will have difficulty letting go of control of life and our false self. A decision to commit our lives to God does not automatically mean freedom from temptations or anxieties. We will be distracted from God's voice. The desert elders valued stillness because it helped them do their "work in peace." Their peace was not the absence of inner conflict. It was resting in an openness to God's grace. One example is "keeping vigil," a period, usually at night, where various postures of openness, combined with chanting psalms or expressions of a desire for God's presence, open the heart for God's presence. Fasts from food and water helped keep their focus on God rather than physical satisfaction. The desert nights were cold and their clothes were simple. The self-imposed hardships brought a variety of "sufferings" that would refine the soul's quest. (Meditation for April 26, Keller, p. 78.)
To which I add:
For us and for many around us, the desert is the daily reality: because of poverty, oppression, sorrow, alienating work, the demands of family and other relationships. 
 The question then becomes not so much choosing those sufferings and fasts in the night (and the day) but how to live in a holy manner with the desert fasts and hardships that are imposed on us. The same discipline applies. 
Amid the sufferings that we did not seek, can we keep our focus on God? Can we open our hearts? Can we somehow seek and find stillness and rest in God's grace? Can we decolonize our souls? Can we live in our bodies with hope in the Presence? Can we too, like the desert mothers and fathers, keep vigil?
Cross-posted in slightly different form on Facebook on April 26. 

William Henry Jackson (1843-1942), Granite Rocks Base of Laramie Peak, 1870.

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

Monday, May 25, 2009

Trinity as practical doctrine

A relational ontology* focuses on personhood, relationship, and communion as the modality of all existence. This secures for Christian theology a basis for a theology of God that is inherently related to every facet of Christian life. To say that the doctrine of the Trinity is ultimately a practical doctrine with radical implications for Christian life makes sense when the theology of God is removed from the realm of speculation on God in se** to the real of reflection on God-for-us as revealed in creation, in the face of Jesus Christ, and in the power of the Holy Spirit who brings about communion between God and creature.

* ontology: the study or concept or understanding of being.
** in se: Latin for "in itself" [herself/himself/godself].

If you ponder this passage, you'll see that it is not as dense as it seems at first.

With thanks to FranIAm for drawing my attention to this quote from Catherine Mowry LaCugna's God For Us: The Trinity and Christian Life. (New York: HarperCollins, 1991, [pbk] 1993), 250.

That conversation took place today. Two days ago, on Saturday afternoon, I wrote this Facebook update:

Three friends from East, South, and West strolled on a yacht club boardwalk talking about the mysteries of the Holy Trinity. Srsly. Now we are writing. (Two theological works, one novel.) Tonight: silliness, boogie-ing, pre-nuptial and natal day (the groom's) festivities.

Who knew? Unlike Paul the BB, I am not among the 0.5 percent of preachers who like to preach on Trinity Sunday. Maybe this will change! I did once write a little something on the Trinity, to my own surprise.

I'll be on the road on Trinity Sunday, two weekends from now, so this is a little advance resource -- though there is never an inappropriate time to ponder the mysteries of the Trinity. (Another thing I thought I'd never say.)

Speaking of FranIAm, if you are a liturgical Christian (or perhaps even if you are not), you will like her "Ascension to Pentecost" series.

Or you can just ponder the Rublev icon.

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

A sermon for the 2d Sunday of Easter

Here is Sunday's sermon, preached (twice) at All Saints' Episcopal Church, Greensboro, North Carolina.


Student Christian Movement meeting, Dhaka, Bangladesh, 2002
Photo: Peter Williams, WCC (World Council of Churches)

Revised Common Lectionary

Acts 4:32-35
Psalm 133
1 John 1:1-2:2
John 20:19-31


Now the whole group of those who believed were of one heart and soul, and no one
claimed private ownership of any possessions, but everything they owned was
held in common.
***************Acts 4:32


The Resurrection
may have been a one-time occurrence for Jesus,
but for us,
it is a life.
And it is a life
for Christ in our midst.

Easter is not just one day
in our church.
It is a whole season.
Not only do we have 50 days to let the joy sink in
–or to lift up our hearts, or both—
but we probably need those 50 days
to reflect on what it means
to live after the Resurrection,
to live the Resurrection,
to live after Easter
and be Easter people.

How will we live?
Who and what
will we become
after the Resurrection?

Today’s lessons,
especially the first one from the Acts of the Apostles
and the Gospel story
but also, in a more subtle way, the passage from the First Letter of John,
show us that post-Resurrection life
is a particular kind of community life.

They are not just about what happens to us as individuals
after the Resurrection.
In fact, the Resurrection is not
primarily
about what happens to us as individuals.
[1]

I want to invite us today
to reflect on what our life as a community looks like
after the Resurrection:
the community of the friends of Jesus,
the community of the friends of Christ
who is risen and present.

Our focus on this second Sunday of Easter
has often been on Thomas.
There’s nothing wrong with that:
many of us can identify with Thomas,
the one who wants concrete proof.
And for the author of the Gospel of John,
writing a generation or two after Jesus
for a no longer quite new Christian community,
the statement “Blessed are those who have not seen
and yet have come to believe” [John 20:29b]
is an important one in a church where most people
were not eyewitnesses,
not contemporaries of Jesus and Mary of Magdala
and Thomas and the rest of the Twelve;
that generation had passed away.
So believing
without that live connection to the beginnings
was important.

We can see other indications of how late the Gospel was written
in the odd and frightening language about “Fear of the Jews”
which makes no sense as language from Jesus’ day,
since Jesus and his friends in the house with the closed doors
were all Jews.
That language was born of a kind of family feud,
much later, when church and synagogue
were going their separate ways.
[2]

But back to our friend Thomas
And to what this Gospel story
might mean to us today.
This is not just the story of Thomas.
We can read and hear today’s Gospel
and all of the Scripture readings
to discover how communal
and how bodily
the experience of Resurrection is.

Let me say that again:
Today’s Scripture passages reveal to us
how communal and how bodily
the Resurrection is.

We have a preview
of the communal experience of the post-Resurrection life
in one of the preceding scenes in the same Gospel of John,
the crucifixion scene.

There we see and hear Jesus
helping to create a new household,
one not based on ties of blood,
as he speaks from the Cross
and tells his mother Mary and the Beloved Disciple
that now they are each other’s mother and son:
they are family.

And indeed, the disciple,
whom many have identified as John,
takes Mary into his home.
Jesus’ legacy
is a relationship,
a new kind of family.

If we think back to what we celebrated
in the holy days of Triduum,
the three days that are really one celebration,
Jesus’ legacy to us is deeply and widely communal.
His legacy is the washing of feet and serving of each other;
his legacy is the meal we celebrate in his memory and with his living presence.
They are meant to shape us and build us
again and again
into a body of believers and doers,
a community of friends of Christ
and friends of each other.

Jesus’ resurrection legacy is communal as well.
The texts today
have more than hints about living in community.

They speak of two of the most difficult realities to negotiate in our world
which are also
two of the most essential:

material possessions and reconciliation.

Think about it.

Material and economic realities:
Food,
water,
shelter,
safety,
health care,
and enough money for basic needs.

All this is part of “distributing to each as any had need.”

That’s not easy to do.

And there seems to be a connection
between being “of one heart and soul”
and not laying claim to private property.
I’m not giving you political ideology here,
I’m just having a look at a passage from the Bible
and how we might understand it!
So stay with me.

Material and economic realities:
There they are.
In one of the earliest communities after the resurrection,
living as Easter people involves particular relationships
to material realities,
to the needs of bodies and communities
-- and, we might add today on this Earth Day weekend,
to how we live on the Earth.

Material possessions… and reconciliation.

Reconciliation: right relationship.
Relationships between people:

Living the Resurrection is about
this forgiving of sins Jesus talks about,
--not just the fact that God forgives us, which of course God does,
but the fact that Jesus Christ,
risen and present among us,
gives us the power and the responsibility and the invitation
to forgive each other.

He gives us the power
and the responsibility
and the invitation
to forgive each other.

The prevention and healing of jealousy, of envy, of broken hearts,
of emotional abandonment and abuse,
of estrangement for reasons of
ideology, personal disagreement, national claims,
racism,
discrimination because of caste or religion
or economic class or social status,
the prevention and healing of
war and tyranny:
all this falls under the umbrella of
“be reconciled.”

Not to use people…
To see them as the image of God…
That too is part of living
reconciliation.

What you bind on earth will stay bound.
What you unbind, what you forgive,
will be
and stay
unbound and forgiven
[today’s Gospel says]
with God’s help,
as we say in our baptismal promises,
the promises we renewed at Easter.

We tend to focus on Thomas in this Gospel,
But what if we focus on Jesus?
Thomas says,
I will not believe
unless I see Jesus in some bodily way, and not just that--
unless I see Jesus with his wounds!

Last month a theologian named Nancy Eiesland [pron. EES-lund]
died at the age of 44.
Living all her life with multiple physical challenges,
she was the author of a book with a challenging and surprising title,
The Disabled God.
[3]

In the book Dr. Eiesland commented
on the resurrection appearance in the Gospel of Luke,
but that appearance features the same gesture
as the one we see today:
Jesus showing his wounds.

Nancy Eiesland
“proposes that the image of Christ’s resurrected body, with pierced hands a feet and scarred side, offers a way of seeing God as having lived through the fullness of human experience in a very physical way. Not only was [Jesus’] body broken in life,
but the signs, the symbols, of this brokenness remained after the resurrection.”[4]

“‘In presenting his impaired body to his startled friends, the resurrected Jesus is revealed as the disabled God,’ she wrote. God remains a God the disabled can
identify with, she argued…”[5]
and “the disabled” means not just 43 million people in this country,
but also most of us at some point or another in our lives,
as we age,
or as become ill or suffer accidents.

Christ crucified and risen
“…is not cured and made whole; his injury is part of him…”
It is not a divine punishment
or an opportunity for a cure.[6]

What happens when we view Christ this way?

What happens when we view God this way?

We Christians often have a thing about perfection.
Does Jesus Christ bring us perfection?
Not in the sense of a particular kind of beauty or
bodily wholeness.[7]
We meet in this season
a risen, wounded Christ
in a new kind of community.

We also tend to confuse resurrection
with immortality of the soul.
But the texts here do not talk about
immortality of the soul.
They proclaim
the resurrection of the body
and the victory of God’s justice:
the healing of the earth
and of society.
The resurrection is not,
as my mentor Krister Stendahl put it
in his inimitable way, about what happens to
“little me.”
When we pray as Jesus taught us,
We pray for God’s kin(g)dom,
not for our own immortality.[8]

What we do with our money;
whether we all have food;
how we feed each other;
how we walk on the earth;
how we view and treat each other’s bodies;
how we envision the Body of Christ;
how we go about the hard work of forgiveness
day after day after day:
This is the risen life.
This is Christ among us.
We are the community of Christ’s friends.

Alleluia!
Christ is risen!



[1] See Krister Stendahl, “Immortality Is Too Much and Too Little,” in Meanings: The Bible as Document and as Guide (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1984), 193-102. This essay was originally a lecture at the 1972 Nobel Conference at Gustavus Adolphus College and was first published in the conference proceedings in 1973.

[2] See Jane Carol Redmont, “Fear of the Jews,” Lectionary Reflections for Easter 2 (C), A Globe of Witnesses, The Witness, April 15, 2004. http://www.thewitness.org/agw/redmont041504.html

[3] Nancy Eiesland, The Disabled God: Toward a Liberatory Theology of Disability (Abingdon Press, 1994).

[4] Nancy Erickson, review of Nancy Eiesland, The Disabled God, United Church of Christ Disabilities Ministries 4/7/07, http://www.uccdm.org/2003/04/-7/the-disabled-god/ , accessed 4/18/09.

[5] Douglas Martin, “Nancy Eiesland Is Dead at 44; Wrote of a Disabled God.” The New York Times, March 22, 2009. http://www.nytimes.com/2009/03/22/us/22eiesland.html?em

[6] Ibid.

[7] I preached the weekend after Susan Boyle became an international sensation after her vocal performance on a British reality show, but chose not to mention her because most of the congregation, especially the one at the early liturgy, was not active on the internet, where hundreds of thousands of people had viewed and heard Ms. Boyle’s performance and read commentaries about her and attitudes toward her before and after her performance. The live audience and judges’ initial attitude and their surprise and delight were a consequence of their perception of Ms. Boyle as plain and ugly; the beauty of her voice and delivery stunned them.

[8] Stendahl, “Immortality.”

Sunday, April 12, 2009

The Disabled God - and some appropriately disjointed thoughts on resurrection


"In presenting his impaired body to his startled friends, the resurrected Jesus is revealed as the disabled God,” she wrote. God remains a God the disabled can identify with, she argued — he is not cured and made whole; his injury is part of him, neither a divine punishment nor an opportunity for healing.

I think I neglected to post this obituary for theologian Nancy Eieslund last month. I have finally ordered her book The Disabled God, which may be pertinent to next Sunday's sermon. (No preaching this Easter weekend, but I'm on for Low Sunday.) As may this, of course.

And then there's the rich reading in the book of Acts, the one about what we contemporary Christians mostly don't do. Except in some very poor communities, like the one I just read about in this book. Hmmm.

Kevin preached a kick-a** sermon at St. Mary's House this a.m. about the importance of how Jesus died (crucifixion) in relation to how we are to live post-Resurrection (in a way that subverts the powers that be - intentionally). There was more, but that is the part related to what I've been starting to think about for next Sunday. Of course, things could change between now and then.

This morning's sermon (one of them - I was also at the early Vigil at All Saints') also reminded me of Krister Stendahl's excellent essay "Immortality Is Too Much and Too Little." (Originally this essay was his 1972 Nobel Conference lecture at Gustavus Adolphus College. It is available in Stendahl's book of essays Meanings: the Bible as Document and as Guide.) Stendahl's point is that we confuse resurrection with immortality of the soul. We don't proclaim the latter. We proclaim the resurrection of the body - and the victory of God's justice. Not, as Stendahl in his inimitable way put it, "what this has to do with little me."

Alleluia. Go forth.
He Qi: After Resurrection

Alleluia in blue

He Qi, Women Arriving at the Tomb

Saturday, April 11, 2009

The "Harrowing of Hell" - Anastasis: Resurrection

A powerful fresco from one of my favorite churches (now a museum) in Istanbul. I particularly love the dynamic movement in the close-up below. Click to enlarge photos and see detail.

Christ is risen from the dead,
trampling down
death by death
and on those in the tombs
bestowing life,
bestowing life!



Photos:Dick Osseman

Sunday, April 27, 2008

Pascha

Christos Anesti! Or if you prefer, Christos Voskres!

It is Orthodox Easter (Pascha), and this comes with prayers for our Orthodox Christian sisters and brothers and thanksgiving for their witness.

Ormonde Plater has a lovely post on this occasion, with music, so I'll just send you there. Thank you, Ormonde.

Episcopal deacon (deaconissimus!) Ormonde Plater blogs at Through the Dust.

Sunday, March 23, 2008

Who will roll away the stone?

Who will roll away the stone?
Hanna Cheriyan Varghese - Malaysia


Friday, January 4, 2008

Eleventh Day of Christmas: Latin American reflection and appeal

They Have Threatened Us With Resurrection

Julia Esquivel


It isn't the noise in the streets
that keeps us from resting, my friend,
nor is it the shouts of the young people

coming out drunk from the "St. Pauli,"
nor is it the tumult of those who pass by excitedly
on their way to the mountains.

It is something within us that doesn't let us sleep,

that doesn't let us rest,
that won't stop pounding deep inside,
it is the silent, warm weeping
of Indian women without their husbands,
it is the sad gaze of the children
fixed somewhere beyond memory,
precious in our eyes
which during sleep,
though closed, keep watch,
systole,
diastole,
awake.

Now six have left us,

and nine in Rabinal, 1
and two, plus two, plus two,

and ten, a hundred, a thousand,
a whole army
witness to our pain,
our fear,
our courage,
our hope!

What keeps us from sleeping

is that they have threatened us with Resurrection!

Because every evening
though weary of killings,
an endless inventory since 1954, 2
yet we go on loving life

and do not accept their death!

They have threatened us with Resurrection
Because we have felt their inert bodies,
and their souls penetrated ours

doubly fortified,
because in this marathon of Hope,
there are always others to relieve us
who carry the strength
to reach the finish line
which lies beyond death.

They have threatened us with Resurrection
because they will not be able to take away from us

their bodies,
their souls,
their strength,
their spirit,
nor even their death
and least of all their life.
Because they live
today, tomorrow, and always
in the streets baptized with their blood,
in the air that absorbed their cry,
in the jungle that hid their shadows,
in the river that gathered up their laughter,
in the ocean that holds their secrets,
in the craters of the volcanoes,
Pyramids of the New Day,
which swallowed up their ashes.

They have threatened us with Resurrection
because they are more alive than ever before,
because they transform our agonies

and fertilize our struggle,
because they pick us up when we fall,
because they loom like giants

before the crazed gorillas' fear.

They have threatened us with Resurrection,

because they do not know life (poor things!).

That is the whirlwind

which does not let us sleep,
the reason why sleeping, we keep watch,
and awake, we dream.

No, it's not the street noises,

nor the shouts from the drunks in the "St. Pauli,"
nor the noise from the fans at the ball park.

It is the internal cyclone of kaleidoscopic struggle

which will heal that wound of the quetzal
fallen in Ixcán,
it is the earthquake soon to come
that will shake the world
and put everything in its place.

No, brother,

it is not the noise in the streets
which does not let us sleep.

Join us in this vigil

and you will know what it is to dream!
Then you will know how marvelous it is

to live threatened with Resurrection!

To dream awake,

to keep watch asleep,
to live while dying,
and to know ourselves already
resurrected!

***—Geneva, March 8, 1980

from Julia Esquivel, Threatened with Resurrection; Prayers and Poems from an Exiled Guatemalan (Ann Woehrle, trans. ; Brethren Press, 1994)

Julia Esquivel is a Guatemalan poet and theologian living in exile in Mexico. She has worked with several human rights organizations, and her poetry has been widely recognized in Latin and North America. She is also the author of The Certainty of Spring.


Notes
1. Rabinal: town in the province of Baja Verahaz where massacre took place.
2. Inventory since 1954: year in which the government of President Jacobo Arbenz was overthrown by a CIA-backed mercenary army coup, which initiated the unrelenting and ever-mounting repression by the military regimes in continuous power since then.

Notes and text courtesy of the journal Spiritus

P.S. Two more days till Epiphany! Please give. See below for good news and dunning letter to your household animals.

Sunday, December 16, 2007

Mosaics and frescoes from Chora (Kariye) Church



A church sort of day: morning worship with the local Anglicans (smells and bells!) and afternoon at the breathtaking church of St. Saviour in Chora, a.k.a. Kariye. I am up correcting the last of the student papers and calculating final grades, since the grades are due first thing in the a.m., so words will have to wait, but meanwhile, some pictures. The church is now a museum. But the icons still speak.


Photos by Dick Osseman. Thanks to Arthur Holder for the URL.

















Monday, July 23, 2007

Mary of Magdala, Disciple, Friend of Jesus, Witness, Apostle

In honor of this month of fabulous women saints... and of JohnieB's birthday, July 23. (Happy birthday, JohnieB. JB is a frequent visitor to this blog.) Mary of Magdala's feast is on July 22, but this year, because the 22d was on a Sunday, the Church transferred it to July 23. Which is all well and good, since we got to hear about Mary and Martha in Sunday's Gospel, but don't you think Mary Mag deserves a major feast?

* * * * * * *

A sermon preached at a special liturgy for the Feast of St. Mary of Magdala, Thursday, July 22, 2004, All Saints’ Chapel, Church Divinity School of the Pacific (CDSP), Berkeley, California.

The Rev. Dr. Lizette Larson-Miller, Dean of the Chapel at CDSP, was the presider.

Note: The Gospel was John 20:11-18; earlier in the liturgy, we read a passage from a non-canonical gospel, the Gospel of Mary.


Mary of Magdala. First witness to the Risen Christ –in all four Gospels. Apostle to the Apostles, as she is known in Catholic tradition. Equal to the Apostles, as she is still called in the Eastern Churches. Faithful to the end in times of betrayal, public torture, and death, and preacher and builder of new beginnings, not just for herself but for a whole community.

And then ... there is Mary of Magdala, or as she has more often been called, Mary Magdalen, in centuries of Western art and religious re-telling. Luscious, sensuous sinner –sexual sinner of course– saved by Jesus and then repentant, penitent, sorrowful, almost disembodied and nearly hidden devotee-at-a-distance.

What happened?

And even more importantly, why do we need this feast? Why do we need to remember? Why indeed do we honor Mary of Magdala?

Many of you are probably wondering what in the world that first reading was, and perhaps why we didn’t really go all out and read something from The Da Vinci Code. True confessions: I haven’t read The Da Vinci Code yet. It’s also gotten mixed reviews at best from the biblical scholars, though I gather it’s a riveting read. Some very smart church staff, both clergy and lay, and a publisher or two, have taken advantage of the public interest in the book and created spin-off adult education programs and study sessions to explore some of the questions it raises.

What I have read, and what you heard a little piece of, is a second-century document, one of those non-canonical gospels about which we hear much more these days than we used to, lost for fifteen hundred years until papyrus fragments resurfaced in discoveries of the 19th and 20th centuries. Most recently it comes to us thanks to the careful scholarship of Harvard professor Karen King. It is called, appropriately enough, “The Gospel according to Mary.”

Now, we don’t need this 2d century document to tell us that Mary of Magdala was one of the most important disciples and apostles. In the four gospels that are officially part of our canon –our approved-by-the-Church biblical books– there she is. The four gospels of Mark, Matthew, Luke and John come to us from four very different early Christian communities and even more strands of early Christian traditions, brought together in these four accounts of Jesus’ ministry, death and resurrection. Yet in every single one of them, Mary of Magdala is recorded as the first witness to the Resurrection –and as one who goes forth to speak, yea even to preach, the good news to Jesus’ other close friends. This in itself is remarkable, since women of that time and place were not permitted to be legal witnesses of anything. So the chances are good that Mary really was both an actual person and the faithful friend, receiver and preacher of good news that the gospels say she was.

What the Gospel of Mary does show is yet another witness to both Mary’s importance in the early church and the resistance with which she met because of her gender.

It is yet another early witness to the strength of her relationship with Jesus, to her wisdom and courage, and to the controversies and disagreements with which the church has been plagued, it seems, ever since there has been a church – in fact, since before there was a church. “Indeed, these teachings are strange ideas.”... “Are we to turn around and listen to her?” ... “If the Savior considered her to be worthy, who are you to disregard her? For he knew her completely and loved her steadfastly.”

What is not in the Gospel of Mary, of course, and what is not in the Gospel of John either, or in any of the other three canonical gospels, is any account of Mary’s being a fallen woman, a sexual sinner, or a prostitute.

For this –and I am abridging a very long story into a few sentences– we can thank the third and fourth centuries, Pope Gregory the Great in the 6th century, and years and decades and centuries of our own --Christians’ own-- promulgation and acceptance of a “romanticizing, allegorizing, mythologizing” of Mary into the epitome of both unredeemed sensuality and ascetic spirituality, bolstered by images which, though exquisitely beautiful, are often what one writer has called “little more than pious pornography.”

Mary, a Jewish woman from the commercial town of Magdala on the shore of the Sea of Galilee, had been, the gospel of Luke tells us, healed by Jesus of an illness referred to as “seven demons” –something we would probably identify today as either epilepsy or some other neurological disorder, or as mental illness. She experienced this healing in body and soul, and, thus freed, made the decision to follow Jesus and become a leader in the early community of Jesus people, known not by whose mother or sister or wife she was, but by her own name, and the name of the town from which she came.

We do not know what her age was when she joined Jesus and his other friends, whether her face was smooth or wrinkled, or whether she still bore traces of the illness from which Jesus had caused her to recover. We do know that Mary [Miriam, Mariam] was a common woman’s name in the time of Jesus. This combined with the closeness to one another in the Gospel of Luke of (on the one hand) the story of the unnamed woman who was a sinner and anointed Jesus’ feet and wept and (on the other hand) the naming of Mary of Magdala and the other women who ministered to and with Jesus -- and with the way women live in the imagination of men, and sometimes of other women. All this and more led to the persistent image of Mary as fallen woman who repents rather than disciple who proclaims.

This has begun to change. But even some of the recent scholarship and rediscovery is problematic: “She’s not a prostitute! She’s the top disciple!” Both of these are true. Mary was not a prostitute. She was indeed the first witness to the ultimate Good News. But the way that we well-meaning revisionists describe this can fall into the same pitfall as did the paintings of the bare-breasted harlot or statues of the emaciated penitent of centuries past.

She’s the top disciple; she’s not a prostitute. In other words, she’s not a bad girl! She’s really one of the good girlsl! This kind of thinking is part of our problem. It keeps pitting the good girls against the bad girls, as we still see done today in all kinds of ways and in all kinds of places.

This attitude ignores the fact that prostitution is not a sin but very often the only way that economically poor women have been able to support themselves.

It ignores the fact that women really can be, and are, spiritual AND sexual AND smart and gifted for ministry. All at once.

It also ignores the fact that pitting the good girls against the bad girls is not something Jesus ever, ever did. One thing that is abundantly clear is that he spent time with, and taught, and had dinner with, all kinds of women – “respectable” ones like Mary of Magdala and Mary his mother and Joanna and Salome and Mary the mother of James and John, and yes, a goodly number of prostitutes, whose names unfortunately are lost to us, doubtless because good Christians have felt that the names of bad girls are not worth remembering.

In fact, Jesus’ message was and is of a divine hospitality so great that in the eyes of God –and we see this in the life and ministry of Jesus and yes, in his death and resurrection too– there does not exist the kind of separation we tend to make between the good girls and the bad girls, the good boys and the bad boys.

So we remember. Today we teach the story, or stories, of Mary and we let her teach us.

Besides setting the record straight, we have some things to learn from this first among disciples, this apostle to the apostles, this bearer of good news.

Mary’s feast reminds us that we are called to live our lives consciously as Easter people: people who know that we preach Christ crucified, and who know equally that the Resurrection is real, and who live accordingly, and in whose lives it shows.

Think about it: It is very hard to face suffering and evil and death. We know that the women, Mary of Magdala, Mary the mother of Jesus, and the other women stayed by the cross, witnessing. By that time they were not really able to “do” anything. Sometimes we can and must resist evil actively and sometimes there is only presence, only witness, especially in the face of death; but witness is, contrary to popular belief, not nothing. And that is what Mary and her companions did.

But it is harder still to enter into joy. Think how hard it is to let go of your sadness, of your grief, of your resentment. To sing “Alleluia” and let it rip.

Today we honor one of our earliest and greatest saints, Mary, friend of Jesus, bearer in body and word of the Good News of resurrection; Mary, who experienced healing and witnessed death, and had to go through, as we all do, the sorrowful search for the living among the dead, the disbelief and the transformation.

This feast gives all of us a huge challenge: the challenge of living in resurrection mode. Now, every day, all the time. To live with that constancy and inner peace which Mary exhibits in our first reading today. To live as one who has understood, as Mary finally does in our second reading, that we have moved into a new relationship with Christ and with our world.

How many of us really, truly believe that change, real change, deep change, transformation into a new creation, is possible? How many of us believe it when we look at the morning paper or the television news? How many of us believe it when we look at the church? How many of us believe it when we look at ourselves?

It is this message of transformation that Mary of Magdala bears. She is the reminder. She goes before us, and she accompanies us, first among the cloud of witnesses who are not far away, but who are close at hand, walking by our side.


* * * * * * * *
Collect for Mary of Magdala / Resurrection of Christ
by Janet Morley

O unfamiliar God,
we seek you in the places
you have already left.
and fail to see you
even when you stand before us.
Grant us so to recognize your strangeness
that we need not cling to our familiar grief,
but may be freed to proclaim resurrection
in the name of Christ, Amen.

Sunday, May 6, 2007

A sermon for the 5th Sunday of Easter

A contextual note: here is where I pray and preach these days. The bit in italics is how the congregation describes itself.

St. Mary’s House is the Episcopal Campus Ministry for UNCG and Guilford College.

For 107 years, St. Mary's House has served college students in the community of Greensboro. We are a welcoming and inclusive communion of friends who come together to nurture faith through the Eucharist, nurture the spirit through fellowship, learning and the arts, and nurture change through social action.

Note: Our congregation's mission is to students, but many of them do not attend church, or they come to the Sunday evening gathering during the academic year. Much of our Sunday morning congregation is made up of non-students, though at least half of us are affiliated with the local colleges and universities as faculty, staff, and alums. The congregation is tiny, but a disproportionately high percentage of its members are active in a variety of endeavors in the community (with both local and international concerns) and in the Episcopal Diocese of North Carolina.

The Fifth Sunday of Easter
(Year C, Revised Common Lectionary)
May 6, 2007

Acts 11:1-18
Psalm 148
Revelation 21:1-6
John 13:31-35


In the name of the Triune God:
the One
***who is life and gives life,
Jesus Christ, savior,
***who makes us whole
and their Holy Spirit, consoler and advocate,
***who will dwell with us for eternity.


Mountains and all hills,
fruit trees and all cedars;

Wild beasts and all cattle,
creeping things and winged birds;

kings of the earth and all peoples;
princes and all rulers of the world;

Young men and maidens,
old and young together,

Let them praise the Name of Lord... [Psalm 148]


I saw a new heaven and a new earth;
For the first earth had passed away,
And the sea was no more...

See, the home of God is among mortals.
God will dwell with them as their God...

God herself will be with them
And will wipe every tear from their eyes.
Death will be no more...
For the first things have passed away. [Revelation 21:1, 3, 4]


The creation in which we live
and the new creation whose vision we dream:
into this dimension of today’s rich scriptures
I want to invite you.

But first, a story about a bird.

A couple of weeks ago, just a few days before Earth Day,
I was walking through the Guilford campus,
from the office to the house.
I was smelling the spring
and listening to the birds,
and one of the birds, a little one, chirping away,
was perched above me on a telephone wire.
“Hello, bird!” I said.

But of course the bird was up there on the wire
and probably didn’t hear me, or care,
which was just fine
because it made me think:
when we humans look
at what we know and perceive,
thinking
that our way of perceiving and seeing
is the only way,
we are not in our right minds.

The world looks entirely different
from a bird’s point of view.
I am curious to know how, but never will know.
One thing I can do, though,
is imagine that point of view enough
to displace or de-center myself.
I can imagine enough to realize
that the big lumbering human below who said “hello, bird!”
is of not much importance to the bird,
and that this is as it should be,
because the world does not revolve around humans,
much as we have thought of it that way.

Theology, biology,
philosophy, physics,
poetry,
and all manner of other fields
are finally telling us otherwise –
though it did take the environmental crisis
for Western philosophy and religion to wake up
and begin reformulating their vision of the universe.

In religious and spiritual traditions worldwide
–including our own Christian tradition–
we are both reformulating and re-examining.

Re-examining,
we delve into the meaning of our scriptures
and liturgies
for ancient insight
into new dilemmas.

But back to the bird, briefly.

Of course I like it when I say hello to a cat or a dog
and the animal talks back,
or when the deer come out of the woods
and we look at each other, curiously and quietly.

But there is something healthy in saying “hello, bird!”
and not getting back an answer, or even the slightest notice,
and realizing that the ecosystem functions just fine without us humans,
thank you very much,
and sometimes fares worse
because of the way we walk the earth.

Which is not to say that birds don’t speak to us sometimes.
I am not sure why, since that day,
birds have occasionally swooped down very close to me
as if to say
“I know you’re there”
or perhaps
“... and I’m telling you something!”
It is perhaps best that this bird behavior
remain a mystery
and that I not know
whether or not
the bird and I are having a conversation
or whether I have just, at last,
begun to notice
God’s creation at work
and my own smallness within it.

I have decided we would do well
to consider the bird-centered view of the world
as best we can
regularly,
as a spiritual discipline.

Which brings me to the Bible.

We live today
between the two creations:
the one of which the Psalm speaks
with its wild beasts and winged birds,
and the one in the book of Revelation,
written to console persecuted Christians
and raising for us all manner of questions:
Was the author in a trance?
What hallucinogen had this person ingested?
Or how had this person prayed?
And what did God mean
by offering to human mind and heart
these fantastical visions?
What do they mean today?
Why is this book, so full of symbol and coded speech,
one of the favorites of some –not all–
Christians who tend toward a literal interpretation of scripture?

We live between the two creations:
the vision of what is not yet
and the vision of what is already here;
but we have trouble remembering
even what is around us
until a bird
or a Psalm sung for four thousand years
brings us back
into divine perspective.

Birds and sea monsters and God’s perspective?
Let me say what I mean
and lift up one biblical value
that sings out from the Psalm today.

In the Bible, especially in the Psalms,
there is always an intertwining of nature and history.
Creatures both animal and human,
mountains and seas,
wild springs and cultivated olive trees
spring to life side by side in the text
as they do in God’s vast creation.

There is rarely a “nature” section and a “culture” section,
an “ecology” bookshelf
and a “history” bookshelf.
We made those.

Intertwined in the text,
the presence of God in history
and the glory of God in nature
are, for the biblical writers –in the Hebrew Bible certainly
and also in the stories of Jesus in the Gospels–
theologically, spiritually, practically,
yea even cosmically
interrelated.

Now, we have to be careful about reading into Scripture what is not really there.
but it is helpful and legitimate to look for
consistent insights and consistent lessons:
the trend of wisdom, as it were;
the holy threads.

One consistent lesson from many centuries of biblical writers
and from God whose ways they teach us to understand
is that the language of history and the language of nature
do not live in separate realms.
History and nature
are all part of creation.
All life, natural and social, is from God and returns to God.

All the creatures praise God in their own manner.
they have a life of their own.
At the same time they are interrelated with one another
and we with them.

Many commentators on the lectionary
note that the readings from Easter to Pentecost
–the season in which we find ourselves now–
are about community:
its formation, its shape, its struggles, its growing pains,
and the constant presence of Jesus
in the young and growing communities of his disciples,
Jewish and Gentile,
Palestinian and broadly Mediterranean.

We, the creatures, and our societies,
the seas and the trees,
are all part of the same community.

Our culture is paying increasing attention to the community of earth,
prompted, perhaps, by a certain Oscar-winning documentary.

I’m seeing this in many places,
from
the latest issue of People
which I read while standing in line at the supermarket checkout counter
this week, with the story of
“How One Family Went Green”
to
the new NPR series on climate change.

I saw it in an article informing me this past week
that Darfur may well be the first war influenced by climate change.
The article is from a magazine called Seed.

In recent years, increasing drought cycles and the Sahara's southward expansion
have created conflicts between nomadic and sedentary groups
over shortages of water and land.
This scarcity highlighted the central government's gross neglect of the Darfur region
—a trend stretching back to colonial rule.
Forsaken, desperate and hungry, groups of Darfurians
attacked government outposts in protest.
The response was the Janjaweed and supporting air strikes.

Chalking the Darfur conflict up to climate change alone
would be an oversimplification.
The governmental, religious, ethnic, and other factors are real,
as are our own inaction and the slowness of the United Nations to respond.
But the earth and climate factors are just as real,
and they are inextricably bound up with the social realities of Darfur.

I want to share with you one more story, closer to home,
about Earth and human community.

One of my students recently wrote a reflection paper
about his participation in Earth Day.
This student, who cares deeply about the earth
is committed to working for justice
and is not particularly religious
or interested in being religious.

Whenever the course examined religious beliefs and observances,
he had to be persuaded that these things were practical.
In the course on “Health, Spirituality, and Justice,”
we examined the relationship among health, poverty, race, and
the environment.
We also learned about four spiritual practices from different traditions:
Zen mindfulness practice;
the Jewish Sabbath;
the rule of St. Benedict and its applications both ancient and contemporary;
and Quaker testimonies of simplicity.

This student had the most trouble with the Rule of St. Benedict.
Even after our learning that the Rule begins with word “listen”
and after I had invited the class to ponder what it might mean
to “listen with the ear of the heart” as Benedict puts it,
the notion of following any communal path,
especially one intruding on individual freedom,
remained foreign to this young man.

Benedict’s invitation to the monks to sing
only to benefit their hearers
was not to the student's liking at all.
If you want to sing, sing out loud and have fun,
he wrote;
do it for the fun of it, and do it for yourself....
I think, he continued,
that when you sing for yourself
you are listening with the ear of your heart.
I think that you can listen to that ear quite well without a rule,
and in some cases...
that listening to the ear of your heart requires the abandonment
of the guidelines laid out by Benedict.

Reflecting on the first three of the spiritual practices we had examined, he noted:
I know that the ideal way to live would be in complete awareness of all my actions,
but I think that the Sabbath is a great alternate.
It is not ideal, but it is a good way to live,
especially in comparison to the craziness of the rule of Saint Benedict.
The Benedict tradition is just too intense.

All my professorial protestations in favor of old Benedict,
my explanations of the social chaos of the 6th century and
of the contribution of monasticism to civilization, and
my observation that whether we notice it or not, we all have a rule of life
– we do brush our teeth in the morning, don’t we? –
were unpersuasive.

But just weeks later, in the student’s reflection on his Earth Day project,
the value that surfaced,
surprisingly for him and surprisingly for me,
was community.

Originally, he wrote, he had wanted to focus on the woods on our campus,
their uniqueness in this urban setting, and
all the ways [as he put it] in which people
can improve their mental, physical, and emotional health
by simply taking a walk once in a while.

All this, he noted, makes sense and is very true,
but as we got up to the actual day of the event and then throughout Earth Day,
I realized that the community which had planned and executed
and the community that came out to the event
were much more... what I was looking for in improving communal and individual health.

From long meetings to plan the details of the festival day
to slicing potatoes in the shade,
care for the earth and life in human community came together, intertwined,
as they are in our Psalm and in our lives.
They became visible and conscious.

But what about that passage from the book of Revelation?
Read through our contemporary lens
it can be frightening.
And this is probably the most consoling passage of the entire book:
who can fail to be moved by the image of God wiping every tear from our eyes?
With its vision of the sea being no more
the passage raises in today’s climate
–and I mean climate both literally and metaphorically–
the specter of destruction,
though I am not sure that this is what the writer meant.
It is, most certainly, a vision that speaks of change, even in the earth we know.

We don’t know the shape of this change.
And, as Jesus reminds us in the gospels,
we know not the day nor the hour.
Speculation about the details of the end time is not a fruitful task.

What is striking, though, is what the vision says about God
in this transformed creation.

Revelation’s vision of the new creation has God dwelling among us.

How interesting.
We humans creatures are not raptured from above
or left behind.

The righteous do not fly up to heaven.
God and the new Jerusalem
come to earth.

The new life that we celebrate during this Easter season
is a new community among the creatures of earth.

Today’s lessons invite us to meditate on our place in creation – God’s creation.

It does not matter where we start;
whether in a conversation with a bird on a wire
or a student Earth Day project
or action in the Save Darfur coalition
or in the struggle to balance action and contemplation
in our busy lives.

The earth is the Lord’s,
says another well-known Psalm of creation.

The earth will be the dwelling-place of God,
says the early Christian mystic. [Rev. 21:3]

Living between the two creations,
still in the first one,
a foot in the next one because of the risen Christ,
how then shall we live?

How then shall we live?


*************************

I requested hymn 412 (“Earth and All Stars”) as a recessional. Everyone loves the “loud boiling test tubes” and it worked with the Psalm and the sermon. I love the syncopation and key it’s in, too. And it makes Episcopalians sing loud, which is always a good thing. Alleluia! Stir up them folks.

Sunday, April 15, 2007

Thomas story from the Resurrection season: more along the same lines

Bill Carroll of Anglican Resistance preached a fine sermon, quoting here from former Presiding Bishop of the Episcopal Church Frank Griswold:

Christ not only rises from the dead but destroys death—death in all its forms. And, as members of Christ’s risen body, we are called to trample down death.

What does it mean to trample down death? It means to confront all that is death-dealing: greed, disease, poverty, hunger, violence, war, oppression, neglect of the needy and vulnerable, pollution of our planet, disregard for the dignity of all people, and—yes—legalized executions carried out for the presumed good of society. All of these are within our human power to overcome. We, in virtue of the power of Christ’s Spirit at work within us, are able to be instruments of his death-destroying love. With this in mind, we keep the Easter feast.

Read the full sermon here.

It's the story of Thomas coming to believe

Kevin Matthews preached another excellent sermon at St. Mary's House, Greensboro, but he doesn't write them down, and though I was tempted to take notes, I didn't.

So, two little bits from it, from memory and probably paraphrased:

1. Thomas gets a bad rap with this doubting thing. As if the others didn't doubt. Peter, the most clueless of them all, and all the others. Yes, there is doubt here, but this is really the story of Thomas coming to believe.

2. We're all doubters, if we search ourselves and admit it. Because, if we really, really believed in the Resurrection, the world would look different. Because we would act differently. Believing in the Resurrection is not believing in a one-time event. It is part of the whole story of Jesus, which began long before the Resurrection occurred. Believing in the Resurrection means being willing to follow Jesus' path and to hear his word(s). If we really believed in the Resurrection, would there still be hunger? war? hate speech and hateful actions?

Except that Kevin said it much better.

Doubting Thomas and fear of the Jews

The Gospel reading for today is the wonderful story of doubting Thomas (John 20:19-31).

It is from the Gospel of John, with its language about "the Jews," in this case "for fear of the Jews" in the first sentence. The language makes it seem as if Thomas and the other disciples were not Jews -- which of course they were!

I wrote about this in an essay (also a sermon-help sort of thing) in the late lamented but still online The Witness.

This Sunday's Gospel and most of the other readings for the day – Psalms included – are about opening doors, not only literally but into new ways of seeing and being and doing. Easter is the season of openings and transformations: open tomb, walls traversed, truths revealed. Even the jaws of death and the gates of hell give way.

The Gospel also contains its own jagged gate: “for fear of the Jews.”

Mel Gibson's film The Passion of The Christ reminds many of us of the anti-Semitic uses of the Passion story and of the anti-Judaism within the Passion texts themselves. What we do not always attend to is the way in which this season of Resurrection is pervaded with some of the most deeply anti-Jewish material in the Christian testament.

As you can tell, I wrote it three years ago just as Mel Gibson's "The Passion of the Christ" was coming out.

You can find the rest of the essay here.

Yes, it does broaden out, while not losing sight of the jagged edge.

Reading together – in conversation – the text and its edges, its fissures, its uses and misuses, its past and present contexts, how will we define our Episcopal, Anglican, Christian, and Earth communities? Like the early disciples, we often huddle with walls about us and doors locked. But the Risen One walks through them. Will we follow?


P.S. A few of my clergy friends who don't want to spend the whole sermon explaining context substitute words and read the Gospel as "for fear of the authorities."