Sermon: Third Sunday After the Epiphany

The Very Rev. William Thomas Deneke, rector
> Scripture for the day

Call to me and I will answer you and show you great and mighty things you have not seen. (Jeremiah 33:3)

If you watch the Holy Trinity video on the parish web site, you will hear sung this remarkable scripture from the prophet Jeremiah. I want to use Jeremiah’s words to direct our thoughts to the gospel for today and to the ministry of Holy Trinity. Call to me and I will answer you and show you great and mighty things you have not seen.

What an invitation! One way to approach this invitation is through the eyes of stewardship. When we call to God, we are opening ourselves to a wider reality than just ourselves. We are coming out of the womb of self-service into the realm of God. It is in that larger reality that we are shown great and mighty things. It is here that we are enabled to see a larger vision than could ever be seen in the smaller world of self-service. The irony of the invitation is that as we move from self-focused stewardship to the values of God’s realm, we find our lives enriched. In the words of Jeremiah, we are shown great and mighty things we have not seen.
Great and mighty things in God’s realm are not always the things commonly counted as spectacular. Yesterday, I heard an interesting story on National Public Radio. A rabbi was being interviewed about how extravagant many bar and ba mitzvah celebrations had become over recent years. He described one bar mitzvah that was especially over the top. At an appointed time in the celebration the young man who was celebrating his bar mitzvah came out standing astride a replica of the Titantic with his arms outstretched like Leonardo de Caprio, saying something like, "I'm the king of the world". A replica of a killer whale also appeared to be jumping through a Star of David.

Especially interesting was the rabbi's take on this. He said that our present economic downturn could be an important time in our spiritual growth. Times like these force us to look at what is truly essential in life -- our stock portfolio or our soul. What is great and mighty in the eyes of God may have a better chance of being revealed when we are less distracted by the glitter of more worldly pursuits.

We also need to be careful that in seeking the promise of great and mighty things that we do not leave God behind in our exuberance. The pursuit of great and mighty things of God requires humility. At times the church has hitched its wagon to models of greatness that resembled more the values of the corporate world than that of servant-leadership. However attractive it may seem, we cannot depend upon success to be our savior. Our hope is in one who revealed that great and mighty things may be found where we do not expect to see them.

I was reminded of that at two recent funerals. Jimmie Ward and Josephine Ward, both deaf, died within a short time of one another. They had come to Holy Trinity with their daughter Conne because we made available an interpreter for principal services of worship. This ministry enriched their last years. Perhaps we would not have considered it a great and mighty thing, but for these two people cut off from the world of sound, it was a gift of grace from God’s realm.

In today’s gospel, Jesus invites Peter, Andrew, James and John to follow him into a holy realm where they will become fishers of people. Unfortunately, the NRSV rendering, I will make you fish for people, is a poor translation of the Greek text. Jesus is not simply giving them an additional job, but is transforming how they approach life. In the realm to which he is inviting them, their priorities will change. No longer will they be focused on maintaining themselves or even their families. They will still have basic human needs, but their energy will be mostly directed toward serving the realm of God. Life will be seen differently. Jesus makes it clear that they will be focused on enabling people to see God’s great and mighty things.

Jesus’ invitation captures the fishermen’s imaginations, and they follow him into the process of being born anew. We might say they were drawn into the possibility of becoming stewards of the realm of God. The disciples would come to see that the invitation to follow Christ would have to be visited over and over again. They would always be discovering what it meant to be stewards of God’s realm. They would come to see more and more that to follow Christ meant learning to trust the Spirit, to be open to reform, and to be adaptable. Their accomplishments would be measured more by faithfulness than success.

On this day of our Annual Parish Meeting, we might ponder these things. Are we faithfully calling to God? What are the great and mighty things God is showing us? Are we being faithful stewards of what God is enabling us to see? And what great and mighty things are we revealing to others about God’s realm?

As we read the annual reports of our various parish ministries (either on line or in printed booklets), we may be surprised by what we see. Hidden in words and statistics are stories of holy encounters. Behind ministries and programs are times of prayer and discernment. The reports present a portrait of a parish that is seeking to be faithful to its mission in Christ. Sometimes more faithfulness is needed. Sometimes great and mighty things emerge. The reports reveal something of the life and faith of this community as we continue to learn what it means to follow Christ.

The call to follow Christ is always at work in the world. It is an invitation to a journey of faith, a pilgrimage of discovery, a walk in hope. We are never too old or too young, too bad or too good to see great and mighty things of God. We are never too holy or too unholy to grow as stewards of God’s realm. We can make a difference for others and ourselves by calling to God, by following Christ, and by being transformed into fishers of people.

This morning please join with me in giving thanks to God for the journey of faith to which God calls Holy Trinity. Please join me in praying that we will call to God in hope, and that we will have the wisdom, courage, and strength of character to follow the wondrous path revealed in Jesus, affirmed by Peter, Andrew, James and John, and heralded by the prophet Jeremiah when he said of God, Call to me and I will answer you and show you great and mighty things you have not seen.

Let us pray.

Lord of grace and hope, Spirit of peace and encouragement, our life is a great and mighty thing. Even more glorious are your love for people and your caring for this planet. In this community of faith, you have revealed great and mighty things. You have called us to your mission of redemption and equipped us to be servant leaders. You have led us to feed the hungry through DEAM, give water to the thirsty through Food for the Poor, partner with poor villages in Honduras, work for human relief and development with our sister Episcopal churches. You bring us into communion with friends and strangers and invite us to your table. You send us into the world with a song in our heart and a story on our lips. We are more grateful than words can express.

Lead us, O Holy One, into the future. Open our eyes to your great and mighty things. Give us a vision of community and ministry that will deliver us from self-service and draw us more and more into your realm.

We pray in the name of Jesus who said long ago to four fishermen and continues to say to us, Follow me. Amen.

Sermon: Second Sunday After the Epiphany

The Rev. Allan Sandlin, associate rector
> click here for the Scripture for the day

Out of breath, Philip runs up to his friend, Nathanael, and can’t hold back a minute longer: We've found the One Moses wrote of in the Law, the One preached by the prophets. It's Jesus, Joseph's son, the one from Nazareth!

Raising an eyebrow, Nathanael seems skeptical: Nazareth? You’ve got to be kidding. Can anything good come out of Nazareth?

I like Nathanael. I like that he wants more than enthusiasm, more than an emotional, gushy introduction to this supposed Messiah. I like him, but he also makes me a little uncomfortable because his question isn’t just a doubting question. It’s a bigoted question. His question judges someone on the basis of where he comes from, who his people are.

Philip might have argued with Nathanael, but he doesn’t. Instead, Philip simply invites him to come and see. Come and find the answer for yourself. Come and see, discover who this person is for yourself.

That’s where I started with this sermon. I found myself drawn to those three words, wanting to invite you once again to come and see Jesus. Come and see Jesus in the unexpected person sitting next to you in the pew, see Jesus in the stranger you meet on the street or in a colleague at work. Come and see Jesus in the wondering questions of children, in the wisdom of our elders. Come and see Jesus in the bread and wine of the Eucharist.

That’s a sermon I’ve preached before. That’s where I thought we’d be headed this morning.

But keep reading. It’s not just Nathanael’s response that catches our attention this morning. The story doesn’t end with the invitation for him to come and see.

In fact, it’s Jesus, not Nathanael, who sees first. Jesus spots Nathanael coming toward him and says, out of the blue, without prompting “Here is truly an Israelite in whom there is no deceit!” Here's a real Israelite, not a false bone in his body, Jesus is saying.

Say you were out for a walk in the park with a friend and your friend introduced you to someone, someone you’d never seen before and instead of saying “Nice to meet you” that person said “I know more about you than you know about yourself”…you might be just a bit suspicious. Jesus’ greeting prompts Nathanael to ask “Where did you get to know me?” Who have you been talking to about me?

And Jesus’ answer is as perplexing to us as it was, no doubt, to Nathanael. “I saw you under the fig tree before Philip called you.”

Something about those words takes root in Nathanael and he changes his mind about Jesus. The one who had been skeptical, even bigoted in his initial response to the idea of Jesus, now meeting him face to face, recognizes him and proclaims him to be Son of God, King of Israel.

The recognition is mutual. Jesus sees Nathanael and recognizes in him a faithful, honest man, someone who could be trusted. And Nathanael sees in Jesus someone he can only begin to name, something divine, someone who invites him into a future he can scarcely imagine.

All in all, it was a strange first meeting.

We read about another surprising first encounter in the lesson from the Hebrew Scriptures this morning. It’s the middle of the night and the child Samuel is lying down in the temple keeping watch. His teacher, Eli, is in the next room, trying to get some sleep. Samuel keeps hearing someone call his name and three times he gets up, goes to Eli and presents himself, ready for service. “Here I am, for you called me.”

Eli must have assumed the boy was dreaming until finally, Samuel came to him for third time. Eli’s eyesight was failing him but he was also losing his spiritual vision and thus he didn’t see what was going on right away. It was only after Samuel’s 3rd visit that he realized it was God calling the boy.

Samuel needed Eli to interpret, to help him understand the call from God. And God is about to give this young boy who is both truthful and confused some very adult responsibilities.

Author and social ethicist, Christine Pohl, directs our attention to the similarity of experience between Samuel and Nathaniel.

On their own, neither (Samuel) nor Nathanael is able to interpret these strange encounters. Samuel doesn’t recognize God’s voice and Nathanael is puzzled by Jesus’ inauspicious origins and then by his extraordinary capacity to know and see.

But both of them are portrayed as truthful...the childlike innocence in Samuel is reflected in the description of Nathanael as an Israelite in whom there is “no deceit.” No cunning, no spin…just a purity of heart that helps open their eyes to see God. (1)

Those words describe our leading characters in this morning’s lessons. But they also remind me of Martin Luther King…a man who told the truth, with no cunning, no deceit, no spin…he had a purity of heart that opened his eyes and all of our eyes to see God.

This past Thursday, January 15, was Martin Luther King’s birthday. He would have been 80 years old. That’s hard to imagine. We remember him as that young man of 39: passionate, courageous and strong. In churches across the nation and indeed around the world today, we honor Dr. King in our prayers, in our hearts and in our songs.

We are told that Martin was a reluctant civil rights activist and even a reluctant preacher. He was embarrassed by the enthusiastic singing and shouting at the church he grew up in, Ebenezer Baptist Church, of course, and didn’t imagine that he’d grow up to be a preacher. His encounter with God must have been a surprise to him. But that encounter or rather, those encounters, I suspect, propelled him into the activist ministry that led to changes in the law and began to change American attitudes toward race.

And helped prepare the way for January 20th, 2009…

No matter how you voted, this is a remarkable thing that’s about to happen. 40 years after Martin Luther King was assassinated, an African-American, a man whose mother was a white Caucasian woman from Kansas and whose father was a black man from Kenya is about to become the President of the United States.

And whatever your hopes for him, whether or not you think you will agree with the decisions he will make and the actions he will take, we join together today in praying for him and for our country.

Our soon-to-be President has challenged all of us in a particular way that relates to the gospel this morning. He has called for a renewal of the Martin Luther King National Day to be a day of service. In 1994 Congress passed the King Holiday and Service Act, designating the King Holiday as a national day of volunteer service. Instead of a day off from work or school, Congress asked Americans of all backgrounds and ages to celebrate Dr. King's legacy by turning community concerns into citizen action.

So, tomorrow President-elect Obama and Vice President-elect Biden and their families will lead the way, volunteering to work in the Washington DC community. They will set an example for the nation: it will be a day for Americans of every race, every religion, from every corner of our country to give an hour or a morning or a day in the service of others. Not just a day off from work, but a day on, a day on in service of those in our beloved community who are in dire need of help and not just tomorrow.

Closer to home, I look around and see my friend at Holy Trinity who volunteers time working to prevent teenage suicide. And I think of those among us who work to provide clean water for Haiti and who teach children in Honduras to make rosaries to sell and those who will travel to New Orleans in a few weeks to help with the re-building effort there.

I remember the woman who regularly checks in on her lonely neighbors in the retirement community where she lives, offering a little company, a smile and always, a prayer. And the Holy Trinity family who brought in a trunk load of groceries to help restock the shelves at DEAM after Christmas.

If you’re looking for a place to volunteer some time tomorrow, here’s a website for you to visit: just go to mlkday.gov and you’ll find good options right in your neighborhood. I read on that website this morning that there are more than 11,000 projects happening tomorrow across America, more than double last year’s number. Americans will make it “a day on, not a day off” by delivering meals, refurbishing schools, reading to children, cleaning up neighborhood parks and much more.

Some of you have been to one of our Welcome Table services and you’ve experienced how we’re trying to connect our worship—come and see—with the work God calls all of us to do—go and serve. As we feast on bread and wine, as we taste God and are drawn into the mystery of this feast, we also have the opportunity to do something, to offer something for others within the context of worship.

For example, at one service recently, after receiving Communion, the congregation moved to tables set up along the edges and made sandwiches to be distributed to the homeless.

In Communion, we receive the gifts of God for the people of God and we ponder what our gifts will be back to the world, back to our city, to our communities.

Here’s the thing: our life in Christ only begins when we come and see. Don’t get me wrong.

Wherever you are on your spiritual journey, if you’ve been at Holy Trinity all your life or if you are new to Holy Trinity or especially if you’re new to the Christian faith, we invite you to come and see. Come and see because God is waiting for you at this table.

But once you’ve experienced God’s love here in Communion, offered freely with no strings attached, how can you keep from wanting to pass it on to someone else?

Today we can all aspire today to follow in the footsteps of Samuel and Nathaniel, open and receptive to God’s surprising call, to come and see.

And we can be inspired by Martin Luther King and Barack Obama to go and serve.

Some of you have heard this invitation to Communion often used in the Iona Community in Scotland:

This is the table,
not of the Church, but of the Lord.
It is to be made ready
for those who love God
and those who want to love God more.

So, come,
you who have much faith
and you who have little,
you who have been here often
and you who have not been for a long time,
you who have tried to follow and you who have failed.
Come,
because it is God who invites you.

It is God’s will that those who seek him
should meet him here.

That’s the come and see invitation.
Today we would add:

And having met the Holy One in this place,
go with strength and courage to seek and serve others
in the name of Christ.

Amen.



(1) from The Christian Century, ”Living by the Word” January 18, 2009

Sermon: The Baptism of Our Lord Jesus Christ

The Very Rev. William Thomas Deneke, rector
> Scripture for the day

James was in his 70’s and had been seriously ill. After he recovered, he began to see things differently. Each day was special; relationships were to be prized, life was to be celebrated.

We talked about his faith and James said he wanted to be baptized, something that had not appealed to him over the years. Now he had a new take on life and what truly mattered. He was grateful to God.

On the day of his baptism, James stood before the font smiling and eager to proceed. He had a glow about him. It was a sacred moment.

I thought of James’ baptism when I read today’s gospel. His baptism took place in a church rather than outdoors, at a font rather than a river, but in some ways the heavens also opened for him. Whenever someone is baptized in the name of Christ, the Spirit is hovering near by. Somehow a voice from heaven speaks.

Today’s account of the baptism of Jesus moves us beyond the Christmas story we heard a few days ago. The Christ child is now a man and ready to begin a mission of redemption that will turn the world upside down. The account is a transition story of how Jesus became empowered for the ministry that lay ahead.

There are two dynamics in the baptism story. The first is represented by John the Baptist and might be called the wilderness factor. John came from the wilderness and baptized people into the wilderness experience.

It was in the wilds of Sinai deserts that God had led the people of Israel from bondage to freedom through a covenant of righteousness. Just as the Israelites in the Exodus had crossed through the waters of the Red Sea so the prophet reenacted this passage through a water baptism in the desert. His baptism immersed those who were penitent into the wilderness of the Exodus.

This message would have been clear to John’s followers. They would have known just what he meant when he called Jews to remember the wilderness covenant, to repent, and to live in righteousness. This is what the wilderness baptism was about.

The story of Jesus’ baptism, however, is not just about wilderness baptism. It is also about spirit baptism. John told his followers that someone was coming after him who would baptize with the Holy Spirit. He spoke to a great hope of Israel. People longed for a fulfillment of the words of the prophet Joel, who said a time would come when the outpouring of God’s spirit would extend to all people, when God would:

Pour out my spirit on all flesh; your sons and your daughters shall prophesy; your old men shall dream dreams, and your young men shall see visions. Even on the male and female slaves, in those days, I will pour out my spirit.

The spirit factor completes wilderness baptism. In today’s reading from the Acts of the Apostles, Paul tells those who had received John’s wilderness baptism that they need to be baptized in the name of Jesus. And by this he brings into play all that was portrayed in the baptism of Jesus when the heavens were torn apart and the spirit descended like a dove on Jesus. This imagery demonstrated that in Jesus not only is the righteousness envisioned by John evident but so is the very presence of God. This is what was proclaimed by a voice from heaven. Jesus is fully equipped for ministry. That full spiritual immersion is what Paul is talking about. Wilderness plus spirit.

Sometimes when the scriptures speak of spirit, there can be found a cosmological dimension. We hear of a voice from heaven, and of a spirit that descends like a dove. From the beginning, the spirit, which can also be translated as wind, can be understood as the life force of the divine. We hear a reference to this life force in the Hebrew scriptures today in the words, …the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters. The life force is about to begin to create earth.

It is into this mystery and force that we are baptized in spirit baptism. And entry into this spiritual realm is made possible through the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Not as a ticket of admission but as a sign of the love of God. Not as a gate to freedom but as a life-long passage of trust. Baptism calls us into the deepest communion with Christ through faith and action. It calls us into communion with the very life force behind creation.

At the baptism of James, the man I mentioned earlier, he had received a glimpse of the spirit. I think for him his experience was something like that of the three disciples who witnessed the transfiguration of Christ on the mountain. He had seen the light and he wanted to be baptized into the One who embodies this divine life force. And so he was, and his life became one of more meaning and joy than he earlier would have thought possible.

This was wonderful for James but he had only a few years left in this life. In that remaining time he was a strong witness for Christ, but sometimes he wished that his baptism could have come earlier. Yet he was so thankful for what he had received. His life had been turned around.

It is important for us to remember how empowering our baptism is. It enables us to see life more as Christ envisions it. To relate to others in a more loving way than we think possible. To grow into empathy and not just sympathy, to develop the ability to embrace sacrificial stewardship as an opportunity, to see wonder in the world about us, to open our hearts wider to God than we imagine we can, and to be connected to the cosmological ground of our being. Those are gifts of wilderness baptism coupled with spirit baptism. We are called to journey through the wilderness of life in covenant with God through Christ and empowered by the Spirit.

Today we are invited to renew our baptismal vows. Notice how these vows proceed. First, we are asked to affirm our faith in God as Father, Son and Holy Spirit. This is the way our faith tradition maintains that God has been revealed to us. It is the starting point, the ground of our faith. The Holy Trinity opens doors into the mystery of God, into the redemptive work of divinity on earth. From this place of faith, we commit our selves to the ministry of the realm revealed in the Holy Trinity. In particular, we are empowered to continue in the way of the apostles, to resist evil and repent when we sin, to be witnesses to the gospel, to learn to see Christ in all persons, and to strive for justice among all people.

We are enabled to keep this baptismal covenant, to journey faithfully through the wilderness, because we are empowered by God’s spirit, the life force of all creation, embodied in Jesus Christ. It is a joy to renew our baptismal vows. It is empowering to know that we are joined forever in the life, death and resurrection of the One of whom a voice from heaven said, You are my Son, the Beloved: with you I am well pleased. Amen.

Sermon: Second Sunday After Christmas

The Rev. Allan Sandlin, associate rector
> click here for the Scripture for the day

If ever there was a Bible story that a 6th grader would love, this morning’s gospel lesson from Luke is it. And it’s a gem of a story. Our children know this story by heart. Sunday School teachers love to tell it and children everywhere love to hear it because it’s the only story in the whole Bible about Jesus’ childhood. What child wouldn’t be fascinated with a 12-year-old who manages to get himself left behind in the city? And for the grown-ups: it’s an exquisitely told story—Luke really was the master of all storytellers and this one is unforgettable.

Although…I have to wonder if this is really the way it happened. I can imagine a precocious 12-year-old pulling off a stunt like this. And I understand that biblical scholars tell us that since Mary and Joseph were traveling with a large group of people, it is entirely possible they wouldn’t have missed Jesus straight away. But can you believe that once they figured out he was missing--practically flew back to Jerusalem and spent 3 days looking for him, they would be simply “astonished”? I think it’s a bit of a stretch to imagine they wouldn’t have had stronger words than that for young Jesus. I don’t know about you, but I think Luke’s presented us with a cleaned-up version of the story. Surely his parents had more to say to him than “We were worried about you, son.”

Yet even in this cleaned-up version, Luke is helping us work out something about the identity of Jesus, the mystery of who Jesus is. Luke tells us this story about Jesus as a young boy, a very human boy who loves his parents and who, at the same time, is finding his life tethered to God.

The other gospel authors come at the mystery of Jesus in their own way. For example, in the first chapter of John’s gospel, the author shrouds the incarnation in mystery and leaves us struck by the poetry and the depth of meaning: In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God…and the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth.

Luke shares with John the need to wrestle with the whole question of Jesus’ fully human—fully divine identity. But he doesn’t shy away from the earthiness, the poor and humble beginnings of the One who will be Messiah. Luke doesn’t spiritualize the teachings of Jesus or the meaning of his life. He tells stories that are rooted in the earth, that connect us to the humanity of Jesus.

Only a few days ago, we listened to the story of his birth. Jesus wasn’t born in a comfortable and clean room with handmaidens bringing Mary everything she needed, caring for the newborn child. Jesus was born in a messy, smelly barn with animals and shepherds attending.

In this morning’s lesson, it’s the nitty-gritty of family life Luke invites us to witness—and if the author of John’s Gospel wants us to understand that Jesus is co-eternal with God, Luke identifies the rest of his family for us. He writes: When his parents saw him they were astonished; and his mother said to him, “Child, why have you treated us like this? Look, your father and I have been searching for you in great anxiety.”

Jesus had a real human family, flesh and blood parents and relatives. And Jesus was just beginning to search for his identity, wondering who he was and in this story, the discovery begins to unfold. Jesus is devoted to Mary and Joseph yet he finds that he has another allegiance, an even stronger allegiance.

And here is what captures my imagination most: how focused this 12-year-old boy is. The young Jesus seems lost in wonder, absorbed with listening to the teachers, sitting right in the middle of them, asking searching questions. When I picture him there in the Jerusalem temple, I am reminded of a poem by James Evans McReynolds about a child’s incredible capacity to explore,
to be caught up in things we grown ups either take for granted or have completely lost sight of…

The poem is called A Sense of Wonder:

Linda lies on the garage floor
totally absorbed
experimenting
trying to burn a leaf with the sun’s
rays shining through glass.

She is exploring reality
testing how it works
caught up in its mystery.

Her total absorption suggests something of
a child’s capacity
to be captivated by reality
to wonder at its mysterious workings
to want to get involved with its
creative processes.

Growing older, we lose that childlike
openness and wonder.
Why do we live only on the
surface of things
hurried, preoccupied,
dulled to the marvels of the world,
no longer entranced by the power of
sunrays and glass to spark a dead leaf?

Adults tend to live on the surface of things, always in a hurry, anxious about the economy, wondering, perhaps, about our place in the scheme of things. But unlike us, Jesus, a young just-beginning-to-awaken young man, is very unhurried, very non-anxious, self-aware and full of purpose.

Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house? he says. I must be in my Father’s house, Jesus says, because it wasn’t a childish whim or politics, family alliances or religious requirements that compelled him to stay in Jerusalem—Jesus stayed in Jerusalem because he is inextricably bound to God’s design for his life.

Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house? Or as other translations have it, “I must be about my Father’s business.”

Joseph and Mary, like many other faithful people in Luke’s gospel, failed to understand what Jesus was saying. They didn’t understand why he had stayed in the temple, they couldn’t imagine what he would do with his life.

And yet, Luke tells us that Mary “treasured all these things in her heart.” She kept them there, holding on to them, pondering them, knowing perhaps that this 12-year-old boy did not really belong to her. She knew that his identity, finally, was to be found not in the long branches of King David’s family tree, but in the One Jesus would come to call Abba, Father.

And our children? We can understand why Mary would have treasured these moments in her heart. We can understand because we want to hold onto our children, to mold them and shape them after our will. How we long for them to see God the way we see God and instead they are likely to go off exploring on their own, away from our sure and steady hands. But then, we can’t package God into neat, easy-to-digest nuggets of wisdom to pass on to the next generation. God cannot be contained on earth or in heaven and each of us comes to God or more likely God comes to each of us, in ways that we can’t fully understand. And mostly catches us off-guard and unprepared. Somehow, that’s the joy and surprise and wonder of it all.

I wonder if anyone else was listening to the radio early this morning? When I come in for the 8:00 service, I usually listen to Krista Tippett’s show called “Speaking of Faith”. This morning she was interviewing author Robert Coles who has written a great deal about the spirituality of children. They were discussing these very things. How children have the capacity to marvel, to explore, to be spontaneous, and inquisitive. And more, how they understand things about God that echo the prophets, the philosophers and theologians. They get it in ways that we often don’t and if we pay attention they may become our teachers.

Don’t you who are parents or teachers or grandparents, don’t you sometimes catch glimpses of holiness in children, something that reminds you that they don’t belong to us? Do you see indications once in awhile that the Divine has touched them, graced them with love and that all we are asked to do is give them all the love we can muster and then stand back and let go?

That’s what Mary and Joseph did. Were they worried beyond belief when they realized they’d lost track of their son? Most certainly. Sterner words than Luke wrote down may well have been spoken between parent and child in the temple that day. But Joseph and Mary would give Jesus room to grow, to increase in wisdom and to blossom into a man whose other names include
wonderful counselor, prince of peace, God incarnate, man divine.

As we begin another year, I invite you to take some time to be captivated by the reality of Jesus, to wonder at his mysterious workings, to get involved with his creative processes…To regain a childlike openness and wonder, to search and ask questions and listen. It may be that as we explore and ponder who Jesus is we will also come to understand, however fleetingly, however wrapped in mystery it may be, that we, too, are closely bound to the Father, by grace, pure and simple.

Then, we may consider our own identity, something about where our primary allegiances are tethered. Should we discover God searching for us, we may be reminded that allegiance to God is born out of our experience of God’s love for us. And our response to such generous, grace-filled love can only be expressed by finding ways to join in that redemptive love, to participate in loving others as God first loved us.

We may find there are things we just have to do because of who we are. Then perhaps we can begin to grasp why Jesus said I must be about my Father’s business. (1) Amen.

(1) from Alan Culpepper’s reflections in The New Interpreter’s Bible.

Sermon: Christmas Eve & Christmas Day

The Very Rev. William Thomas Deneke, rector
> Scripture for the day

Delane, Haitian projects manager for Food for the Poor and a friend I have gotten to know on trips to Haiti, had returned to her hotel in Cap-Haitien after visiting a poor village in the middle of a swamp. The village was so poor that rather than attend school, boys spent each day combing the dirty swamp water for tiny crabs that would be added to a weak soup for their supper. Even though the sun was fading, Delane had a sense that she needed to go back to the village that evening. She and a fellow worker drove to the village and began to walk along the paths built on islands in the swamp, islands created by mounds of garbage. They came to a hut. Able to see through the stick walls, they saw a woman inside placing a frying pan over a charcoal fire. It was suppertime. Only, the frying pan was empty.

As darkness began to fall, Delane and her companion knocked on the door. The woman welcomed them and explained that she had no food. She had prayed that God would provide her with food for a meal and placed the pan on the stove in faith that God would respond. And God did. Delane made sure the woman had something to eat.

Christmas is a story of discovery. A story about discovering light in the midst of darkness. About discovering wonder, hope and love.

Here is another Christmas story. Maybe you’ve heard this one.

In 1914 on a World War I battlefield in Flanders, German, French and British troops faced one another on Christmas Eve. A young German soldier began to sing “Silent Night” and others joined in. When they had finished, the British and French responded with other Christmas carols.

Eventually, the men from both sides left their trenches and met in the middle. They shook hands, exchanged gifts, and shared pictures of their families. Informal soccer games began in what had been "no-man's-land." And a joint service was held to bury the dead of both sides.

The generals, of course, were not pleased with these events. Men who have come to know each other's names and seen each other's families are much less likely to want to kill each other. War seems to require a nameless, faceless enemy.

So, following that magical night the men on both sides spent a few days simply firing aimlessly into the sky. Then the war was back in earnest and continued for three more bloody years. Yet the story of that Christmas Eve lingered - a night when the angels really did sing of peace on earth.

There are so many wonderful Christmas stories. Stories of hope. Stories of wonder. Stories of love.

Throughout the days of Advent we were reminded of how important it is to be ready to receive the gifts of God. Be prepared; be ready. In the twelve-day season of Christmas we embrace the wonder, feast on grace and sing with joy. Then the work begins.

Listen to a Christmas prayer by Howard Thurman:

When the star in the sky is gone,
when the kings and princes are home,
when the shepherds are back with their flocks,

The work of Christmas begins:
to find the lost,
to feed the hungry,
to release the prisoner,
to rebuild the nations,
to bring peace among the people
to make music in the heart.

Preparation, celebration, and the work of thanksgiving. This is the pattern of living out Christmas.

Consider again the story of Delane in Haiti. Delane was prepared to receive God’s gifts. She had grown up in a poor family and empathized with those in need. She had chosen a vocation of service to the poor and had worked in places around the world to this end. Delane was fervent in her faith, possessed a keen mind and considerable organizational ability. She was ready to be led by God’s Spirit.

That evening in Cap-Haitian Delane was prepared to hear a call to return to the village in the swamp and she was prepared to give as a Christ bearer.

The same was true for the woman with the empty skillet. Despite her dire circumstances, she clung to hope. She trusted in God as darkness descended. She was prepared to be filled with grace.

Then came that miracle moment when these two lives touched. Both women knew the Spirit of the Lord was upon them. And the celebration began. There was joy. There was gladness.

There followed the work of giving thanks, the work of Christmas. And since that night when Delane saw the woman standing before an empty frying pan, the village built in a swamp has been transformed. New homes are being built on dry land. Boys and girls are in school. New boats enable the fisherman to catch larger fish. In the center of the village is a stone tower that stores clean drinking water. And on its sides is written, “Hope”.

All of this is about Christmas. It is about opposing troops’ singing on a battlefield, having food in a frying pan, and learning to read rather than dig for crabs in polluted water. It is about discovering reconciliation in animosity, hope in emptiness and promise in despair. Christmas is about finding compassion, meaning and gratitude.

God comes to us not only in ancient stables but also in all sorts of unlikely places and not simply on Christmas day. We are asked only to be ready to behold Christ among us, calling us to be prepared, to celebrate with joy and to do the work of Christmas.

What a night of wonder this is! Heaven and earth have kissed each other. We celebrate with our hearts full to the brim with hope.

And when gratitude fills our being, when the spirit of Christmas opens us to God’s presence, and the star in the sky is gone, and the kings and princes are home, and the shepherds are back with their flocks, we will in gladness embrace the work of Christmas:

To find the lost,
To heal the broken,
To feed the hungry,
To release the prisoner,
To rebuild the nations,
To bring peace among the people,
To make music in the heart.

That is the call of such a night as this. Our hearts are born again into the fullness of grace and the work of Christmas. Glory to God in the highest and peace to all people on earth. Amen.

Sermon: Fourth Sunday of Advent

The Very Rev. William Thomas Deneke, rector
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This Christmas there has been more preparation than usual going on for my son, Chris, and his family. They have also been getting ready for the birth of their second child – a boy – William Courtland Deneke.

Ella, my son’s four year old first born, has been very excited about becoming a big sister. However, when it became apparent that her baby brother might arrive earlier than expected, Ella voiced her concern. “I want him to come after Christmas, and I want snow!”

Well, this past Wednesday, December 17, William Courtland Deneke was born. When Deborah talked to Ella on the phone after Ella saw her new baby brother at the hospital, Ella said with a deep sigh, “Mimi, he’s already here!” Ella might have thought she was all prepared for Christmas, but I don’t think she was truly ready for her baby brother’s birth.

Are you ready for Christmas? That’s a question we hear a lot. And the truth is we are never fully ready for Christmas. We are never totally prepared for the birth of the Christ child. The good news is that’s ok. Getting ready for Christmas means in part realizing that it is not all up to us.

That is one of the things so appealing about today’s gospel story of Mary. We have heard John the Baptist admonish folks to make a straight path for the Lord, but today we hear of another kind of preparation. An angel says to Mary, Do not be afraid; you have found favor with the Lord.

Advent weaves together the themes of judgment and grace. On this Sunday before Christmas the emphasis is upon grace, upon finding favor with the Lord. And that is something we need to hear.

I remember Christmas celebrations from my childhood. There was an emphasis on getting everything just right and working ever so hard to make sure it was. You had to be ready for Christmas. Nothing could be left to chance.

Today in the scriptures, we hear of a different kind of preparation: one of the heart. A letting go of our anxieties and fears. Mary trusted that God would do God’s part; it was not all up to her.

What a refreshing model of discipleship. Letting go of the need to be always in control, giving up the belief it is all up to us. Taking on the faith to trust in God and to let ourselves be empowered by God.

The early church struggled mightily with understanding the incarnation of God in Christ. Finally the vision emerged of seeing Christ as both fully divine and fully human. In Christ we see a partnership of humanity and divinity. In Mary we see humanity trusting and accepting the divinity of God.

Getting ready for Christmas is not only about making straight paths in our lives for God, but also about receiving the grace that transforms us into Christ bearers.

The frightening part of that is trusting God to do God’s part. Yet if we are to respond faithfully to the Christmas invitation to partner with God, we cannot stop with John the Baptist; we must also embrace Mary. With Mary we must find the courage to say, Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.

I like what Barbara Brown Taylor says about our fear of accepting God’s favor. She writes,

You can decide to say yes. You can decide to be a daredevil, a test pilot, a gambler. You can set your book down and listen to a creature’s strange idea. You can decide to take part in a plan you did not choose; doing things you do not know how to do for reasons you do not entirely understand. You can take part in a thrilling and dangerous scheme with no script and no guarantees. You can agree to smuggle God into the world inside your own body. Deciding to say yes does not mean that you are not afraid, by the way. It just means that you are not willing to let your fear stop you.

Following our Lord does not take away all fear. We can imagine that Mary had many fears over the years. As his mother, there were doubtless many times she was overcome with anxiety and fear of what lie might ahead for Jesus. However, she must have reminded herself time and time again that she had put her trust in God. She had accepted the mission presented to her by the angel. She would not let fear deter her from serving her Lord.

Today’s gospel reminds us that Mary was invited to step out boldly and act in faith. And to do so trusting that she was in partnership with God. It was not all up to her.

That invitation comes to all of us in some way. Somehow life conspires to lead us into holiness, into making decisions as servants of the Lord. In Mary that invitation was presented and received in such grace that we count the story as special and unique. But God’s spirit calls all of us. Calls us to be Christ bearers. Calls us through grace to give birth to God’s incarnated presence. From our humanity blessed by God can come hope and life and salvation. From us can emerge forgiveness and redemption not just because we have gotten ready for Christmas by making paths straight, but also because we have trusted the favor of God that rests upon each of us.

Thanks to Mary, we know that getting ready for Christmas is a process pregnant with possibilities beyond our imagining and beyond just our doing. Possibilities as wondrous as the incarnation of God in Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Sermon: Third Sunday of Advent

The Rev. Allan Sandlin, associate rector
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Come, Lord Jesus, come. We wait, we hope, we yearn. Come, find a people who wander in the wilderness. Come, bring hope to people who have given up hoping. Come, be light to our darkness. Come, speak a word into our silence. Come, Lord Jesus. We yearn for you, even when we don’t know it is you for whom we are yearning. Amen.

John the Baptist faithfully shows up on the church calendar every year around this time during Advent. We hear his story told and retold in the gospels and in fact, the same basic outline of the story is told in all 4 gospels—very few biblical characters rated that kind of coverage in the New Testament—and today we’ve listened to part of that story from the 4th Gospel, the Gospel according to St. John.

But did you notice? If you’re familiar with the character of John, did you notice he forgot to wear his camel-hair coat and he wasn’t munching on locusts and wild honey the way he does when Mark tells the story? In the 4th Gospel, the author doesn’t paint him with the same brush that Matthew, Mark and Luke do—we hear nothing about his being Jesus’ cousin, and there’s not a word about his baptizing Jesus. In fact, he’s not even called the Baptist. He’s just “a man sent from God, whose name was John.”

In this morning’s version of the story, his song sounds plaintive, restive, mysterious.

I am the voice of one crying out in the wilderness, make straight the way of the Lord…
Among you stands one whom you do not know, the one who is coming after me…

We can almost hear him singing…

What is the crying at Jordan? Who hears, O God, the prophecy? Dark is the season, dark our hearts and shut to mystery.

In the dark night, the uncertain crying of this mysterious stranger still catches us off-guard and unsettles us, asking questions, leaving space for us to wonder. Who is he, where did he come from? What is the crying, who can hear it?

He came as a witness to testify to the light…
But he himself was not the light…
He came to testify to the light.

It was the disbelieving clergy, priests and Levites from Jerusalem, who questioned him saying “Who are you?” and he replied, I’m not the Messiah. Well then, maybe you are Elijah? In other versions of the story, we almost imagine that John fancied himself a prophet like Elijah but not today. I am not, he says.

Ok, then, how about the prophet? Are you the prophet? No. Each time his answer gets shorter and shorter. I am not the Messiah. I am not. No.

And then finally he finds his voice. Pointing toward the One who was coming out of the darkness, pointing toward the light breaking into the world.

John the Baptist is particularly important to us in the season of Advent. All around us Christmas has already come. I know some us get frustrated that we aren’t singing Christmas carols in church yet, we’re not talking about baby Jesus yet. Ok, I’ll admit that at home, I’ve pulled our favorite Christmas carol book off the shelf and once or twice, just once or twice, I’ve sat down at the piano and played a few carols.

But John the Baptist helps us keep our eye on the coming light, reminding us of what has not yet come, pointing us in the right direction but saying “not yet” and reminding us that he is not the Messiah, nor are we.

A minute ago Ruby sang the 1st verse of a hauntingly beautiful hymn that reminds us of John the Baptist. It’s a song that sings of the mystery and darkness of Advent.

Who then shall stir in this darkness, prepare for joy in the winter night? Mortal in darkness we lie down, blind-hearted seeing no light.

John could have claimed greatness, he could have reminded the crowds that he was a blood relative of the One who was coming. But John cares nothing for his own fame. Not even to justify the good news he heralds. He is not the light coming into the darkness. He is the voice that announces the coming of that light. He is the trumpet blast, the resounding organ, he is the soft, humming cello that wakes us up, that rouses us from our deep slumber. He is the opening act for the main event.

He refuses to cooperate with his audience but he does have something of earth-shattering importance to tell them. And here’s the thing: If they have been confounded about who he is, if they have had a hard time fitting him into a category, just wait. Just wait for the one who will come after him. The light that is coming into the darkness will be so dazzling, so brilliant that it will shatter their illusions of life in the dimly lit world.

Yet, the light will not fit their expectations, conform to their carefully drawn plans, submit to their domination. In his response to the religious leaders, John turns out to be a very good witness to the light. But neither John nor the One coming after him will ever fit into anyone’s little box. John cannot be classified or catalogued—as such, he is witness to the indefinable, unknowable Messiah. No one can define this Lord, no one can conform this Lord to a pre-determined mold. John simply invites us to pay attention to the light that is coming into the world, to watch and wait. And trust that God will open our eyes when the time comes. It is enough to trust the light to be light enough to see…

We’d been waiting awhile. I think Mom knew the end was coming and maybe I knew it, too, though we’d not spoken about it. Shortly after we ate lunch in their apartment, Mom went back to Dad’s bed-side in the nursing home and found his breathing was becoming more and more shallow. She called the apartment and just said, “You should come.”

We stood around his bed, the priest prayed the Litany with us, Mom and I sang a hymn, we told him how much we loved him. And he died. I’d arranged with a local funeral home for someone to come immediately to take his body to the hospital so they could do an autopsy requested by his doctor. Two hours went by and no one came. They said they were short on ambulances and no one was available.

Finally, someone from Hospice said she knew a man could help. “He works for himself and he works by himself. Lawrence is a strong, black man and he’ll probably come dressed in overalls. Oh and he’ll probably want to say a prayer with y’all.” 20 minutes after my phone call asking him to come, Lawrence came around the corner, pushing a gurney with a dark red velvet body bag folded on top. As he approached us, he offered his outstretched hand, introduced himself and went straight into the room. My brother and his wife were standing with Mom at the bed.

While were waiting for someone to come, we’d been playing a Willie Nelson cd that Dad loved, crying one minute and laughing the next at the strangeness of it all: the family of this Baptist preacher, gathered around our dead father, listening to “On the road again” as we kept vigil.

Lawrence came into the room, gathered us all together in a circle and announced “We’re gonna have a prayer now.” And we grabbed each other’s hands and this big man prayed. He prayed that God would take Dad and welcome him home and bless his family and I don’t remember any more of his words but I’ll never forget the certainty of his presence, the certainly we all felt that God was very near.

When he finished praying he asked us to step out of the room so that he and the nurses could do their work. I was told later that he treated Dad’s body with care and reverence and in a few minutes, he was done and on his way. We never saw him again.

Now, Lawrence wasn’t Jesus. I told one or two people I thought he might have been an angel. But now I’m not even sure I’d go that far. But he was certainly a witness. At a moment when we most needed it, he pointed us toward the light and that light filled our hearts and brought comfort and relief and courage.

Lord, give us grace to awake us, to see the branch that begins to bloom; in great humility is hid all heaven in a little room.

Lawrence was a little like John the Baptist—one who’s willing to stand where few are willing: alone, in the wilderness of people’s lives, in the darkness.

You know, John the Baptist never said, Just follow Jesus and everything will turn out the way you have always wanted it to. No. That is not the promise of John. That is not the promise of Christmas.

Methodist Bishop Will Willimon once said, In order to see the fragile light of Christmas, one has first got to become accustomed to the dark. In order to see the stars in the highest heavens, one must sit for a while in the darkness here on earth. Are you up to such honesty?

If you are experiencing the wilderness this Advent, if you are feeling lost and cut-off, alone and bewildered, wandering in a sea of uncertainty…God is making a way. God will come again and will bring good news to the oppressed, God will bind up the brokenhearted, God will proclaim liberty to the captives and release to the prisoners, God will comfort those who mourn. God is making a way in the wilderness of our hearts, our lives.

So, stay awake. Wait and hope for the coming of our Emmanuel, our God who comes to be with us. Come, Lord Jesus, come.

Now comes the day of salvation, in joy and terror the Word is born! God gives himself into our lives; O let salvation dawn!

*The hymn is St. Mark’s, Berekley (“What is the crying at Jordan?”), #69 in the 1982 Hymnal.