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Creative perishing; the Creator’s interventions (4th Sunday in Lent, 3/10/2024)

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Readings

“For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.” We’re now two weeks out from Palm Sunday and the beginning of Holy Week; the lectionary gives us this text to enter into its meaning.

Our texts are first about God’s love. Physicists talk about the different constants whose precise balance makes the universe possible: gravitation, electromagnetism, etc. Well, if God loved us any less, human history would have been very short.

Our verse talks about God’s love and our not perishing. Knowing God’s love, I can deal with the perishing part, and the ways I still opt for perishing. (That’s what we acknowledge when we confess.) Our three lessons offer portraits of what perishing looks like. Not all of it applies to any one of us; most of us will find something to chew on.

Finally, a word about “eternal life.” In the Gospel of John, ‘eternal life’ is not life after death. It’s God’s life in which we participate now. Because it’s God’s life, it’s not limited: it’s eternal. Because it’s God’s life, it’s full & festive. In the Gospel of John Jesus’ first miracle is turning a very large quantity of water into wine.

Numbers. Our first reading tells of Israel complaining —again— in the wilderness on the way from Egypt to the Promised Land. In the last two chapters God’s given them water from the rock —again— and given them victory over a local king —again— but Aaron the high priest has just died, and they’ve also been denied passage through Edom, which means a substantial detour.

So they are complaining against God and Moses: “Why have you brought us up out of Egypt to die in the wilderness?” That’s verse 5. On that trajectory, we’d be reading about them picking up stones to stone Moses in v.6. More, it’s a classic example of spin: all of this is your fault; we’re the innocent victims. The people neglect to mention that they’d asked for deliverance from Egypt & that they’d rejected God’s command to enter the Promised Land directly a few chapters back, which is why they’re in this wilderness. Spin.

To get the conversation back on track God sends serpents. Are all the bad things that happen to people God’s punishment? Of course not. Does God punish? Well, unless we thoroughly rewrite both the Old & New Testaments, yes. Here, for example. Both to get the conversation back on track and —probably— to save Moses’ skin, serpents. And when the people ask Moses to intercede, God tells Moses to put an image of a serpent on a pole, so that those who are bitten can look at that serpent and live. No natural connection between looking and living; just God’s choice. God seems to like physical signs: this one-time use of the bronze serpent, more enduring signs like the rainbow, or circumcision, or Holy Baptism, or Holy Eucharist.

‘Spin’…a new word for a very old practice. “The woman whom you gave to be with me, she gave me fruit from the tree, and I ate.” We learn it very early; by the time we hit puberty it’s become as natural as breathing. Worse, we often believe our own spin: it really is only their fault. And that erodes our capacity to repent. If I have nothing to repent of… If the words of the General Confession are mostly reminding me of other people’s sins, that’s perishing.

So it turns out that there are two portraits of perishing in these few verses. Getting bit by a serpent turns out to be the easy one: look at the bronze serpent. The other way of perishing is to be so deeply into spin that we know that it’s God & the rest of the world that’s not OK, not us. We don’t want to put God into the position of wondering whether more serpents are necessary. The good news is that God will not easily abandon us to our spin.

Ephesians. Paul’s letter gives us a different portrait of perishing. Recall the opening verses: “You were dead through the trespasses and sins in which you once lived, following the course of this world, following the ruler of the power of the air, the spirit that is now at work among those who are disobedient.”

It’s texts like these that drive the examination of candidates in our baptismal rite. “Do you renounce Satan and all the spiritual forces of wickedness that rebel against God?” “Do you renounce the evil powers of this world which corrupt and destroy the creatures of God?” (BCP 302)

OK. What are we talking about? We don’t find it difficult to come up with examples: Hitler’s concentration camps, Cambodia’s killing fields. Easy to come up with examples on our enemies’ turf! Where Satan might be active here? Ah, the blue state/red state, left/right divides. I suspect that one of Satan’s major accomplishments in this country is the frequency with which Christians simply parrot the Democratic and Republican talking points against each other. Righteous indignation is great for keeping the focus on the speck in the neighbor’s eye.

Relying on our own strength, renouncing Satan et al would be a futile exercise. In the context of Holy Baptism it’s a glad confession that God’s love in Jesus gives us a real alternative to following the course of this world.

But here we need another digression: “…following the course of this world.” What do we mean by ‘world’? “God so loved the world…” “…following the course of this world…” If we think about it, the New Testament uses ‘world’ in two very different senses. The first and primary sense: the world as God’s creation: as God’s creation it is good, God loves it, and God’s in the process of redeeming it. The second sense: the institutional opposition to God on the part of rebellious humanity in concert with Satan, the spiritual forces of wickedness, the evil powers of this world. In God’s world six days of work produce seven days of food. In the world we’ve laid on top of that sometimes not even seven days of work produce enough.

In other words, God’s world has been hijacked; Jesus is in the process of taking it back…and invites us to participate (baptism). As Paul puts it, “We are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand to be our way of life.”

Perishing: also about being part of this world order that sets itself in opposition to God. God’s love means that united to Jesus we can change sides.

Our Gospel. Here’s a third picture of perishing. “And this is the judgment, that the light has come into the world, and people loved darkness rather than light because their deeds were evil.” Really? Only in extreme cases do we experience ourselves as loving darkness. Most of the time it’s simply a matter of sensing that some things are better off in an obscure corner.

And so, at the family level, it’s remarkably easy to fence off areas as “what we don’t talk about.” And those fences can become walls which tend to thicken over time.

Secrets. Some things don’t start out as secrets. They become secrets as we make choices regarding what we tell to whom…or not. This is one of the reasons we offer private confession in our tradition. It can be hard to believe that God can forgive or redeem what I fear to name. (And, of course, sometimes what I fear to name is not a sin at all.)

“…that everyone who believes in him may not perish…” Again, believing in Jesus is not believing things about Jesus. The demons Jesus exorcised knew lots of things about Jesus, for all the good it did them. Believing in Jesus is putting your weight on Jesus, trusting Jesus. It’s like trusting the rope when you’re first learning to water ski, or trusting your soles when you’re rock climbing. Believing in Jesus: knowing he’s got my back—and getting on with the work he’s put between my hands.

Perishing: loving darkness more than light. God’s love: offering us a love that frees us to inch into the light and discover to our astonishment that we are not destroyed, but restored.

In sum we humans have an impressive arsenal of ways of perishing. From our 1st lesson: we end up believing our own spin. From our 2nd lesson: we’re born into a world in rebellion in which God’s creatures are corrupted and destroyed; that’s what’s normal. From our Gospel: there are situations in which darkness is really…convenient.

The good news is that God loves us, and that God’s arsenal is even better equipped than ours. With our consent —sometimes as small and vulnerable as a grain of mustard— God continues to transform us into daughters and sons who can live and dance in the light.

Coming together during the Longest Night / Celebrating the Feast of St Thomas (St Dunstan’s, Madison WI)

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Readings (For the 2023 Longest Night, only Habakkuk and John used, the John reading expanded as follows)

7 Then after [hearing that Lazarus was ill Jesus] said to the disciples, “Let us go to Judea again.” 8 The disciples said to him, “Rabbi, the Jews were just now trying to stone you, and are you going there again?” 9 Jesus answered, “Are there not twelve hours of daylight? Those who walk during the day do not stumble, because they see the light of this world. 10 But those who walk at night stumble, because the light is not in them.” 11 After saying this, he told them, “Our friend Lazarus has fallen asleep, but I am going there to awaken him.” 12 The disciples said to him, “Lord, if he has fallen asleep, he will be all right.” 13 Jesus, however, had been speaking about his death, but they thought that he was referring merely to sleep. 14 Then Jesus told them plainly, “Lazarus is dead. 15 For your sake I am glad I was not there, so that you may believe. But let us go to him.” 16 Thomas, who was called the Twin, said to his fellow disciples, “Let us also go, that we may die with him.” (Jn. 11:7-16)

3 And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also. 4 And you know the way to the place where I am going.” 5 Thomas said to him, “Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?” 6 Jesus said to him, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. (Jn. 14:3-6)

24 But Thomas (who was called the Twin), one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. 25 So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord.” But he said to them, “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.” 26 A week later his disciples were again in the house, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were shut, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” 27 Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe.” 28 Thomas answered him, “My Lord and my God!” 29 Jesus said to him, “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” (Jn. 20:24-29)

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This year our Longest Night Eucharist falls on December 21, the Feast of St Thomas, Apostle. That is an interesting coincidence; let’s wonder together about what Thomas’ Feast might contribute.

Were it not for the Gospel according to John we’d know nothing of Thomas besides the later legends. And what John tells us—three bits from chapters 11, 14, and 20—we heard in the Gospel reading. Hardly enough for any sort of biography, but enough to make us wonder whether there had been some serious loss in Thomas’ past.

Loss can leave us feeling unhinged, wondering if we belong—anywhere. So the first thing we might notice about Thomas is that Jesus’ words to the disciples—words to each one of us—apply also to him: “You did not choose me but I chose you” (Jn. 15:16). Thomas isn’t there by mistake. I wonder if Jesus chose Thomas also as a counterweight to some of the other apostles. Thomas is not going to be among those arguing about who can sit on Jesus’ right or left when they return to Judea.

“Let us also go, that we may die with him.” Just because you’re heading toward a brick wall is no reason by itself to change course. So Thomas shows himself an authentic son of Abraham and Sarah, promised descendants as numerous as the stars in the sky, but who spent decades as sojourners in the “Promised Land” having produced together exactly zero children. But of course John has not passed on the opportunity for irony: at the end of the story both Lazarus and Jesus will be alive. Perhaps it’s a sort of prequel to the resurrection stories.

I love that second bit out of the 14th chapter: “Thomas said to him, “Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?” Thomas is willing to acknowledge that he—like the rest of the disciples—has no idea what Jesus is saying. The usual strategy is to keep quiet; Thomas speaks up.

In passing, I wonder if we notice often enough that Jesus’ well-known response (“I am the way, and the truth, and the life…”) is not an answer in any obvious sense (“’Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?’ ‘I am the way…’”). It’s more a Zen koan (“The sound of one hand clapping.”) If we pay attention, we may catch glimpses of its meaning throughout our lives.

Then there’s that third portion of John, set a week after Easter. There are two surprises, that Jesus shows up and that the disciples are still together. The other disciples have been all “Hallelujah” and Thomas “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands…” Christians split over so much less, but here they are, together. It does look like something of Jesus’ “Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another” (Jn. 13:34) has sunk in.

This is maybe one of the more important things our brother Thomas contributes to our Longest Night observance: loss and grief are not meant to be experienced alone. Job’s friends got it right: they came and sat with him in silence— for seven days. The trouble started when they started talking—a standing warning, I suppose, to preachers.

Thomas and the other disciples are together. Jesus shows up. And Jesus gives Thomas what he needs. Thomas, like Jacob wrestling all night with the stranger: “I will not let you go, unless you bless me” (Gen. 32:26). Or Job, for that matter, who quickly figures out that the conversation he needs is not with his friends, but with the Almighty. And the Almighty shows up.

That story ends with these words from Jesus: “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” That’s not a criticism of Thomas. Rather, here, as in other resurrection accounts, the author’s wrestling with the question of how their audience relates to Jesus. So in Luke’s road to Emmaus story, how is the risen Jesus encountered? The Scriptures are opened, bread is broken: the two halves of our Eucharist.

The collect for Thomas’ Feast understandably focuses on Thomas’ faith (“Do not doubt but believe.”). I wonder if the story does not equally encourage us to focus on the love that holds Thomas and the other disciples together. Faith and love: how often these get disconnected, with “faith” that uses all the right words (hear the scare quotes) underwriting loveless conduct. This is one of the main problems the author of 1st John, a sort of dummy’s guide to reading John’s Gospel, is trying to address:

Beloved, let us love one another, because love is from God; everyone who loves is born of God and knows God. Whoever does not love does not know God, for God is love. (4:7-8)

Those who say, “I love God,” and hate their brothers or sisters, are liars; for those who do not love a brother or sister whom they have seen, cannot love God whom they have not seen. (4:20)

The author of 1st John has, of course, no interest in undervaluing faith, but equally no interest in letting it get disconnected from love. He pulls the two together elsewhere in the letter:

And this is his commandment, that we should believe in the name of his Son Jesus Christ and love one another, just as he has commanded us. All who obey his commandments abide in him, and he abides in them. And by this we know that he abides in us, by the Spirit that he has given us. (3:23-24)

And we might extrapolate: the community of love that the Spirit nurtures is the context we need when life’s experiences make faith, trust, and hope difficult if not near impossible. That’s one of the things tonight’s gathering is about.

That community of love—do we always get that right? Of course not, and that’s one of the elements of loss and grief with which we struggle. Fortunately the Spirit is more patient with us than we ourselves are, keeps nurturing our capacity to love.

How to summarize? We sell John short when we hear his story about that encounter a week after Easter as simply Thomas’ story. It’s a story about what happens when Jesus’ “love one another” is heeded in the midst of loss and grief, so that together—and only together—are the other disciples able to witness and share Thomas’ confession “My Lord and my God!”

The Second Sunday of Advent: A Sermon

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Readings

In our second reading from Paul’s letter to the Philippians we heard: “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.” Philippians is known as Paul’s joyful epistle: God is powerfully at work in Philippi; Paul and the Philippians get to be part of it. But Paul’s words caution: there’s been a good beginning; there’s still a good way to go for the completion. And in between the beginning and completion he calls even the Philippians to repentance.

Paul, we might say, is happy to channel Malachi and John the Baptist—also when addressing the baptized!

Last Sunday we entered Advent praying “Almighty God, give us grace to cast away the works of darkness…” Casting away the works of darkness is, of course, not simply what we do the first week of Advent, but what we do continually as Christians. We learn—and it is a lifelong task—how to recognize ourselves as sinners. It is like peeling an onion: layer after layer, and sometimes involving tears. As Luther put it in the first of his 95 theses: “When our Lord and Master Jesus Christ said, “Repent” (Mt 4:17), he willed the entire life of believers to be one of repentance.”

Repentance, of course, is not a stand-alone project. The “entire life of believers” revolves around loving God and neighbor. Repentance is about what gets in the way of that love.

Repentance, the core of our work in Advent. The classic treatment of repentance is in one of the homilies Queen Elizabeth sent to us clergy in 1562. This sermon is simply a summary and contextualization of that homily. Repentance: a process involving four steps: contrition, confession, faith, and amendment of life.

Contrition Contrition is expressed chiefly in the confession itself: “We acknowledge and bewail our manifold sins and wickedness, / which we from time to time most grievously have committed, / by thought, word, and deed… / We do earnestly repent, / and are heartily sorry for these our misdoings; / the remembrance of them is grievous unto us, / the burden of them is intolerable.” A great deal of Scripture’s testimony is condensed in these words. God loves us—yes. We’re created in God’s image—yes. But we’ve responded to that love rather badly and marred that image. And so we return again and again to these words. They may or may not match my current self-image. If there’s a disconnect between the words and my self-image, the problem isn’t with the words.

Contrition involves both awareness of sin and sorrow for sin. Sometimes this comes easily. We screw up royally, we know it, we do what’s necessary so that it doesn’t happen again. There are some mistakes we only have to make once. That’s how contrition is supposed to work.

Often awareness of sin and sorrow for sin don’t come quite so easily. The minority party within us is aware; the majority is all for blurring the issue, changing the subject. We lack the imagination to see the effects of our sin on us and those around us.

Here’s one test. I should be able to talk about everything I do with someone. If I’m doing things that I can’t talk to anyone about, that isn’t simply a red flag. That’s all the klaxons going off and all the red lights flashing.

Sometimes the contrition we need has to do with sins we’re completely unaware of, but which those around us are quite aware of. So here’s the question: am I listening for what they might be telling me? Most of us do not like criticism, and our neighbors know that. So they’d be crazy to give a direct answer to “Tell me what you really think.” But if we’re trying to listen to both what is said and to the silences—with minimal filtering from our own fears and agendas we might pick up what we need to hear.

But whether it takes a short time or a long time to get to awareness of and sorrow for sin, in all cases it’s a matter of keeping the eye on the goal, love of God and neighbor. What’s making that harder? What’s eroding my desire to even achieve that goal?

And when for a particular sin we get to awareness and sorrow, it’s time to move on to the next step. There’s no value in wallowing in contrition (“Oh, what a terrible person I am!”), and it can quickly become counterproductive.

Confession Confession,expressed chiefly in the confession itself, is a matter of taking responsibility for these manifold sins and wickedness. Of course, none of these happened in a vacuum, but however much nature or nurture made these easier, they are still our acts, and we remain trapped by them until we acknowledge them as ours, until we confess.

Faith Here we’re not talking about faith in general, but the faith or trust that God will in fact forgive my sins, be merciful to me. There’s an important circle here that can spiral either upwards or downwards. If I feel little need for God’s mercy, I don’t need much faith in God’s mercy. I may not dare open myself to knowledge of that need without some of that faith. As I learn how much I need that mercy, the faith needs to keep up with the knowledge, or I end up in denial, spiral downwards. To assist that faith, in Rite I itself, after the absolution there is the option of reading one or more sentences that emphasize God’s mercy (page 332). To the degree that I’ve let myself acknowledge my need, I may really need to hear those! And, hearing those, I can continue to grow in self knowledge, and in faith in God’s mercy, and the spiral can continue upward.

By the way, sometimes believing that God will forgive my sins, be merciful to me, is difficult enough that it’s worth scheduling private confession with a priest. Sometimes hearing “The Lord has put away all your sins” face to face is exactly what I need to hear.

Amendment of life The invitation to confession already points us toward amendment of life: “and intend to lead a new life, following the commandments of God, and walking from henceforth in his holy ways” Toward the end of the confession we pray “and grant that we may ever hereafter / serve and please thee in newness of life, / to the honor and glory of thy Name.” In the Absolution: “confirm and strengthen you in all goodness”: this is not going to be easy. Were it easy, “strengthen you” would be an unnecessary petition.

Amendment of life isn’t easy. It involves change. It can be painful. The good news is that we don’t have to do it alone. It helps to have a friend with whom you can share your journey and get some accountability. You have a deacon and will soon have a regular priest: make use of them!

In our tradition we don’t expect to reach perfection in this life—but that’s no reason not to work towards it. We might work towards it for the sake of better loving God and neighbor, but few of us are far enough along spiritually for that to be a reliably sustainable motive. So here’s a more sustainable motive: the alternatives to amendment of life are even more painful. Recall M Scott Peck’s opening argument in his book The Road Less Traveled: “Life is difficult.… What makes life difficult is that the process of confronting and solving problems is a painful one.… Fearing the pain involved, almost all of us, to a greater or lesser degree, attempt to avoid problems” And, finally, this attempt “becomes more painful than the legitimate suffering it was designed to avoid.” So, amendment of life, the less painful option.

“And I am sure that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ.” We live between the beginning and the completion, and repentance is an ongoing part of our commitment to love God and neighbor. Repentance: Contrition, confession, faith, amendment of life. Sustained and empowered by Almighty God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, let us renew our dedication to this work as we continue in Advent.