Liturgy 4 Life

Jesus: 'I am the Light of the world'...a sermon by Jan Robitscher

2011-03-07T19:58:00.000-08:00

“Again, Jesus spoke to them, saying,

‘ I am the light of the world.’”
(Jn. 8:12)

Year 1: Epiphany VI
Jan Robitscher
Evensong
St. Mark’s Church
February 13, 2011

Psalm 19
Isaiah 62:6-12
John 8: 12-19

In the Name of God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

So, here we are, in the midst of the service of Evensong, as the sun is setting, singing God’s praises, in the middle of the Season of the Epiphany--or “showing forth” of God in Christ--the Season of Light.

But in a way, it would be hard to tell, as we are surrounded by electric lights that almost obliterate the difference between day and night. And what of all those candles? Are they not superfluous? And yet we do watch the sky darken and catch the light mediated by the stained glass and we must admit that our world is often a pretty dark and scary place, especially at night. Sometimes all the lights of our streets and cities--and even here--only mask our anxiety. Maybe we really are afraid of the dark. Maybe we really are comforted by those candles. Maybe they remind us that we do need Jesus to be our light. But how does this happen and what does Jesus mean anyway claiming himself to be “the light of the world” (?) And what does this mean for us?

I think the way in might be through the words of the Phos Hilaron, the hymn “O Gracious Light” that we sang just a few moments ago. It dates from at least the 3rd century and is among the oldest of Christian hymns in continuous use. Basil the Great (d. A.D. 379) speaks of this hymn as so ancient that no one knows its author. (The Hymnal 1982 Companion, Vol. Two, p. 24) It was sung as the lamps were lit (and still is in Orthodox Vespers--you can see it and hear it on YouTube). Let’s look at the words again from the Book of Common Prayer (p, 64):

Said: O Gracious Light.
Pure brightness of the everliving Father in heaven.
O Jesus Christ, holy and blessed!

It is here that we find the very claim Jesus makes of himself in our Gospel reading: I AM the light of the world. The hymn-prayer addresses Jesus: Phos hilaron--O gracious light, quite literally, O happy--O hilarious light--Jesus, the Light that is the source of our joy and our peace as night approaches. Jesus, the merciful and redeeming light, not only of the People Israel, but of the whole world. Jesus, the Light that the darkness cannot overcome.

Now as we come to the setting of the sun,
and our eyes behold the vesper light,
we sing thy praises, O God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

It is in this second verse that we find the purpose of all these lights and especially all the candles we see. They remind us, who have not seen Jesus in the flesh, that we are surrounded by God in Trinity of Persons and unity of being. Jesus is right here. Knowing this, we will pray for protection through the coming night.

And the final verse:
Thou art worthy at all times
to be praised by happy voices,
O Son of God, O giver of life,
and to be glorified through all the worlds.

Here another translation and tune might be helpful:
Sung: O Son of God, O source of light,
praise is your due by night and day.
Unsullied lips must raise the strain
Of your proclaimed and splendid name.
Words: William C. Storey, Morning Praise and Evensong
Music: Notre Dame, Jan Robitscher

Unsullied lips... The same joyful light--Jesus--is also a searching light. This light will show us our sins, each and all of us--but it will also be a purifying and merciful light. In this way, we are able to “praise God with happy voices”, no matter how we feel at the moment, for God is worthy of such praise always. And Jesus is not only our light, for us, individually, but for us as a community here; not only for the dark streets of this neighborhood or this city or even our country, but for the whole world.

And Jesus said something else, beyond tonight’s Gospel reading: he said, “YOU are the light of the world.” If we follow Jesus the Light, then what we do in this world matters. We must be the Light of Jesus for those in the darkness of poverty or sickness or prison or despair or, like the people of Egypt in recent days, yearning to be free.

So we gather here for Evensong and hymn the setting sun, light the lamps and sing the praises of Jesus the Light of the world. And we will go from here carrying that Light into a dark and weary world so much in need of that Light--that gracious, happy Light; that light no darkness can extinguish; to whom be praise and glory for ever and ever. AMEN.

COLLECTS AT THE PRAYERS

We thank thee, O God, that thou didst give thy Son Jesus Christ
to be the light to the world, and that in him thou has revealed thy
glory and the wonder of thy saving love. Help us to love thee who
hast so loved us; strengthen us for the service of thy kingdom; and
grant that the light of Christ may so shine throughout the world
that [people] everywhere may be drawn to him who is the saviour and
Lord of all, and the whole earth be filled with thy glory; through the
same Jesus Christ our Lord. AMEN.

(Parish Prayers, Frank Colquhoun, Ed. #103)

A Prayer of St. Chrysostom

Almighty God, who hast given us grace at this time with one accord
to make our common supplication unto thee, and hast promised
through thy well-beloved Son that when two or three are gathered
together in his Name thou wilt be in the midst of them: Fulfill now,
O Lord, the desires and petitions of thy servants as may be best
for us; granting us in this world knowledge of thy truth, and in the
world to come life everlasting. AMEN.

Let us bless the Lord.

Thanks be to God.

The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the
fellowship of the Holy Ghost, be with us all evermore. AMEN.

Samuel Isaac Joseph Schereschewsky -- sermon by Jan Robitscher

2011-02-10T15:15:00.000-08:00

“So we do not lose heart.”
(2 Cor. 4:16)
Samuel Isaac Joseph Schereschewsky
Bishop of Shanghai, 1906

Jan Robitscher
Thursday, Oct. 14, 2010
All Saints Chapel
CDSP

Isaiah 12:1-6
Psalm 84:1-6
2 Corinthians 4:11-18
Luke 24:44-48

In the Name of God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

When I was a child I remember well the visits of my Aunt Ida Mae Flagler Daly. She was actually my great aunt, the sister of my mother’s mother, but we always called her “Aunt Ida Mae”. What was so special about her visits was that she came with her wheel chair, and I watched spellbound to see how she managed everything from makeup to meals, all with barely the use of one arm due to some kind of muscular dystrophy which was never really diagnosed. She was pretty and kind, was a talented artist and designed the first apartments for persons with disabilities in Seattle. Though I never knew her religion or spirituality (I think she was Presbyterian) she was, to me, a saint.

Samuel Isaac Joseph Schereschewsky

Today we remember Samuel Isaac Joseph Schereschewsky. Also a person of many talents and much patience; a convert to Christianity, a bishop with a gift for languages and, toward the end of his life, an example of patience and perseverance. For he was--and is--a saint in the most classic sense--a man whose life became totally dedicated to God and to the evangelizing work of translating the Scriptures into various Chinese dialects--all this in the face of suffering and disability. But we are getting ahead of ourselves.

Born in Lithuania in 1831 to a Jewish family, Schereschewsky wanted to become a rabbi, and studied at the Rabbinical College in Zhitomeer in Russia. He also spent two years studying in Germany. While there, he met a group called the London Society for Promoting Christianity Amongst the Jews. That and his own reading of a Hebrew translation of the New Testament (interesting in itself) led to his conversion. In 1854 he emigrated to America and began studies at the Western Theological Seminary in Pittsburgh in order to become a Presbyterian minister, but left there after two years, became Episcopalian and finished his seminary studies at the General Seminary in New York.

It was in response to Bp. Boone’s call for missionary helpers in China that Schereschewsky left for Shanghai. On the way there he learned to read and write Mandarin. From 1862-1875, he translated the Old Testament and parts of the Prayer Book from Hebrew into Mandarin and the New Testament from Greek into Mongolian. He also translated the New Testament from Greek into Mandarin. He then began a translation of the whole Bible into Wenli, another Chinese dialect.

He won so much respect for his work that in 1875 he was elected Bishop, but he declined, and instead earned two doctorates! In 1877 he was elected Bishop again and this time, with some urging, he accepted.

In 1883, Bp. Schereschewsky’s life changed dramatically when he was stricken with a form of Parkinson’s disease, confining him to a wheelchair. He resigned his see. But his paralysis did not diminish his work of translating the Bible into Wenli, typing some two thousand pages with the one finger of his hand that did work. He is an extraordinary example of St. Paul’s words:

So we do not lose heart. Even though our
outer nature is wasting away, our inner
nature is being renewed day by day.

Chinese translation

It is worth noting that, if Schereschewsky had been paralyzed any sooner, he would never have been educated, much less ordained. His disability was considered an impediment. Our own buildings here at CDSP which, until recently, were not accessible, were built for able-bodied men. God only called those who were physically perfect, the “unblemished lamb” of Leviticus (21:18ff). But there is something more subtle. Where formerly Schereschewsky was recognized (and chosen bishop) for his accomplishments in languages, education and works of evangelism, it is sad to note that after he became disabled, the accolades faded, and the attitudes toward persons with disabilities in general, and Bp. Schereschewsky in particular were fraught with negative images and labels. Here is a description of him at the end of his life. One who knew Bishop Schereschewsky in Tokyo said of him:

"I have often wondered at the patience of the man as he sat with his Hebrew Bible before him, reading it into Chinese for the Chinese scribe who acted as amanuensis. That in itself was a very pathetic sight, but far more pathetic it must have been to watch the crippled scholar working all by himself in America, and slowly spelling out his translation with the aid of a typewriter and one finger, which was only a little less useless than the others. [The Churchman, October 20, 1906.]

Bishop at his work

But Schereschewsky had no such thoughts of himself or of God. Four years before his death, he said,

I have sat in this chair for over twenty years.
It seemed very hard at first. But God knew best.
He kept me for the work for which I was best fitted.

For he knew, as St. Paul said:

(2 Cor. 4: 17-18)

For this slight momentary affliction is preparing us
for an eternal weigh of glory beyond all measure. For
we look not at what can be seen but at what cannot
be seen; for what can be seen is temporary but what
cannot be seen is eternal.

Maybe--just maybe--God really does call those who are not physically perfect. St. Paul attests to this:

(1Cor.1: 27-28)

But God chose what is foolish in the world
to shame the wise; God chose what is weak
in the world to shame the strong; God chose
what is low and despised in the world, even
things that are not...so that no one might boast
in the presence of God.

Almost twenty years after Schereschewsky, Henry Winter Syle became the first deaf person to receive Holy Orders. But it would take the church another hundred years to even begin the process of changing canon law to officially permit the ordination of persons with disabilities. And even at that, it does not happen often. Both men were, by the grace given them, able to glorify God not in spite of their disabilities, but through them. Here is some Good News!

But what about today? Are our attitudes really that different from the comment about Schereschewsky at the end of his life? Joni Erickson Tada was paralyzed in an accident, uses a wheelchair and is often in a lot of pain. Like my Aunt Ida Mae, she taught herself to paint and, holding pencils in her mouth, expresses herself in art, as well as through music and writing. She says, of our “culture of comfort”:

We want to erase suffering out of the dictionary. We want to eradicate it,
avoid it, give it ibuprofen, institutionalize is, divorce it, surgically exorcise it,
do anything but live with it.

Like Bp. Schereschewsky, she has been looked upon as “pathetic”. Like the good bishop, like Henry Winter Syle and my great Aunt, Joni has found in God--by God’s grace--a way to live through her disability.

I only remember receiving one short letter from Aunt Ida Mae, but I will never forget what she said. From one person with a disability to another she wrote,“The alternative to a good education is unthinkable!” I am grateful that Samuel Isaac Joseph Schereschewsky was able to be educated and to use his education and gifts right to the end of his life. I am grateful that, finally schools of all kinds, including ours, are more accessible to persons with disabilities. I am grateful for the education I have received. And I hope that, in addition to being a shining example of a good life well lived, Bp. Schereschewsky can add his prayers that one day it will be common --or at least less uncommon--to see persons with disabilities in all leadership positions and all ministries in the Church.

Bp. Schereschewsky, Henry Winter Syle, my Aunt Ida Mae and Joni Erickson Tada had at least one thing in common other than their disabilities. Each was able to say YES to the call of God, each in their own way, through their various gifts and talents. Each found in God the grace to persevere in that call in the midst of suffering. And each lay hold of a faith beyond seeing that leads through suffering to resurrection. May we join with them in celebrating this greatest Good News of all!

Sources: The Rev. Michael Dresbach,
http://padremickey.blogspot.com anglicanhistory.org/asia/china/bishops1908

Religion and Ethics Newsweekly, September 24, 2010
Report on Joni Erickson Tada

Ascension & Outpouring of the Holy Spirit--Homily by Jan Robitscher

2010-07-31T16:49:00.000-07:00

“...[B]ut I will see you again, and your hearts will rejoice...”
(Jn. 16:22)
Friday in the Sixth Week of Easter,
LFF 80

Ezekiel 34:11-16
Psalm 98:1-4
Acts 18:1-8
John 16:20-23a

May 14, 2010
Jan Robitscher
All Saints Chapel
Church Divinity School of the Pacific

Come, Holy Spirit.
Fill the hearts of your faithful people
and kindle in us the fire of your love.
Send forth your breath and we shall be created
and you shall renew the face of the earth. AMEN.

I have very few books from what was my father’s extensive library. One is a
copy of T.S. Eliot’s Four Quartets.

One of my favorite quotes is this:
What we call the beginning is often the end.
And to make an end is to make a beginning.
The end is where we start from.

So here we are, at the end. It is the end of the week, the end of the semester, the end of the school year, and, for some, the end of your time here at CDSP. With our celebration of the Ascension of Our Lord last night, it is the end of the time when Jesus appeared to his disciples in his resurrected, glorified body. The disciples must have ached with loneliness all over again, not knowing what would come next. Perhaps they were not able to hear or understand
the words Jesus spoke to them before:
So you have pain now; but I will see you again,
and your hearts will rejoice, and no one will take
your joy from you. (Jn. 16:22)

Our readings are curious ones for this day. They seem to be alive with activity: tending sheep (literal and allegorical), traveling, preaching the Gospel, baptizing, and Jesus’ cryptic words about pain now and joy later. I think these readings won’t make much sense unless we take a step back and get a different perspective.

Just before his Ascension, Jesus left some instructions, which St. Luke records in the first chapter of Acts:

While staying with them, [Jesus] ordered them not to leave
Jerusalem, but to wait there for the promise of the Father… (Acts 1:4)

They had to WAIT. If I could borrow the line from Fr. Tom Brackett’s sermon-story that we heard just a few weeks ago, it was one of those “STOP EVERYTHING” moments. Before they could go out and preach and teach and heal and grow the Church, they had to WAIT:
…constantly devoting themselves to prayer, together with
certain women, including Mary the mother of Jesus, as well
as his brothers. (Acts 1:14)

Only in waiting could the disciples and the women come to terms with the pain of their (seeming) double loss of Jesus. Only in waiting could they empty themselves, making space for the Holy Spirit to come. Then, as Jesus said when he tried to prepare them before his Passion, then they would know a joy that no one could take from them. On that day—the Day of Pentecost—they needed to ask nothing of Jesus. Only after they had received the Holy Spirit could they ask for what they needed of the Father, so that their joy could be complete.

Is it any different for us? We are now in that liminal space between Jesus’ Ascension and the Day of Pentecost. What would happen if we laid aside everything that was not absolutely necessary and devoted ourselves, as a community, to prayer, readying ourselves to receive the promised Holy Spirit? What if our parishes did this? Our dioceses? The Episcopal Church? The whole Anglican Communion? What would happen if we were to WAIT to discern what it is that God really wants us to do? Discernment is, after all, one of the gifts of the Spirit. What if we prayed the ancient prayer with which I began, and what if it were really answered?

We do have some idea of what it is Jesus wants us to do. From the moment of his Ascension,

Jesus made clear what Teresa of Avila would later say so well:
"Christ has no body on earth but ours, no hands but ours, no feet but ours. Ours are the eyes through which the compassion of Christ looks out upon the world, ours are the feet with which he goes about doing good, ours are the hands with which he blesses his people."

We are now to be Jesus’ hands and feet and heart in the world. If we read a few verses beyond our Gospel reading, we know that Jesus wants us to have eternal life; and he wants us to be one, as Jesus and the Father are one. Jesus makes all of this possible by the gift of the Holy Spirit, leading us into all truth.

But that is only the beginning. We are constantly nourished and strengthened by Jesus’ giving us himself in Communion each time we come to this Table. Then, when we receive Jesus, we become “Christ-bearers”—empowered by the Holy Spirit to bring Jesus into a wounded world.

So this is a time of endings and T.S. Eliot is right:
What we call the beginning is often the end.
And to make an end is to make a beginning.
The end is where we start from.
It is from here, at the end, that we must start. But it is also a time of beginnings, of commencement in the best sense of the word. It is a time to prepare for a fresh outpouring of the Holy Spirit, so that the Church can begin anew, and we can do the first Apostles did—preach and teach to anyone who would listen, and to baptize in Jesus’ name and in the power of the Holy Spirit. Then we will have—as they did--the joy that Jesus promised: “…and your hearts will rejoice, and no one will take your joy from you.” AMEN.

Artwork: Descending like a Dove
Sally
Brower
e-Mail sbrowerphd@aol.com

My art emerges from the intersection of the deepening of the personal spiritual life and participation in the communal life of faith. Through photography, I retrace the footsteps of Christian pilgrims and record the vestiges of their journeys, the shrines, altars, and thin places where they meet God. My art is both my spiritual practice and an invitation to others to awaken to the mystery of God, risk holy encounter, and cross the threshold of their heart's deep hopes.

As seen on Episcopal Church Visual Arts here.

Easter 2 Evensong, 2010--St. Mark's Church, Berkeley

2010-07-30T15:47:00.000-07:00

“Blessed are they who have not seen
and yet have come to believe.”

(John 20:29)
Year A: Easter 2

Genesis 8:6-16; 9:8-16
Psalm 118:19-24
John 20:19-31

Jan Robitscher
Evensong
St. Mark’s Church

April 11, 2010

Alleluia! Christ is risen.
The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia!

This day has several names: It is Sunday, the Lord’s Day. Sometimes it is called “Low Sunday” because of low attendance after Easter. But it is also known as the Second Sunday of Easter, or “Thomas Sunday”, in honor of our Gospel reading, which is always heard on this day.

Maybe it should be called “Doubting Thomas Sunday”. After all, it was Thomas who insisted on seeing and touching Jesus for himself if he was going to believe that the Lord was truly risen from the dead. But I think Thomas gets a bad rap. Doubt--the ability to ask questions (or even to demand signs) is not the same thing as unbelief--willfully rejecting one’s faith. The opposite of faith is fear--not doubt.

Which reminds me of an occasion some 30 years ago. I can still picture the scene. While a student at the University of Notre Dame, I sat in the office of my spiritual director, the Dean the Episcopal Cathedral. We were talking about perceiving Jesus’ presence in Communion and in our daily lives and I blurted out, I WANT TO SEE JESUS!”

This was my “Doubting Thomas” moment. Wisely, the Dean did not panic! Instead, he remained calm and I still remember what he said:
“I understand that you want to see Jesus, but
it is not given to us to see Him physically in
this life.”

Perhaps that is what Jesus meant when he told Thomas:
“Have you believed because you have seen me?
Blessed are those who have not seen and yet
have come to believe.”

Jesus’ words came at the end of the story, but let’s back up a bit. Thomas, who was not present the first time Jesus appeared in resurrection form, wanted to be sure that the Jesus he was now seeing was the same one whose Passion he had witnessed. And he was looking for something quite specific; the wounds of Jesus. Why should this make a difference in his ability to believe?

The only way for him to tell was to see and touch the wounds. He did indeed see them, though the Scripture never tells us that he touched them. Perhaps it was enough for him to hear Jesus’ invitation to do so. Thomas response was to acclaim Jesus’ divinity--that God was in their very midst.

All well and good for Thomas! But I wanted to say as a retort to the Dean’s gentle reply, “IT’S NOT FAIR! THOMAS GOT TO SEE JESUS!”

Like Thomas, we want to see Jesus; to relate to him physically as our earthly Master. But if Thomas is our model in doubt, he must also be our model in faith. Thomas was invited by Jesus into a transformation as remarkable as Jesus’ own resurrection.

Moreover, Jesus wanted to relate to the disciples, to Thomas--and to us--in a spiritual way, as a friend, even as he said (seemingly) so long ago:
“I do not call you servants any longer, because
the servant does not know what the master is doing;
but I have called you friends, because I have made
known to you everything that I have heard from
my Father.” (Jn. 15:15)

+++

“Blessed are they who have not seen, and yet
have come to believe.” (Jn 20:29)

So what are we to do? We must come to faith the same way Thomas did, except that we do not have the benefit of being able to see Jesus. How do we do this?

First, we must KNOW the wounds of Jesus. This is not as easy as it sounds. We seem to be much better at keeping the disciplines of Lent than the joys of Easter, but I am not sure we can really celebrate Easter if we do not really KNOW the wounds of Jesus; meditate on them, look beyond our own roundedness to them. Remember, it was by his wounds that Thomas recognized Jesus.

We don’t hear much about sharing in Jesus’ sufferings in our own roundedness. This is a hard process, but a vital one if we are to know Jesus as a friend--and this is important. But looking beyond our own wounds, both individually and as a community, will lead us to share in Jesus’ sufferings as we share in the sufferings of others, whether family or friends, the hungry we feed here at St. Mark’s or those who are suffering around the world. Perhaps the most remarkable reversal of all is that we cannot look beyond our own wounds to KNOW the wounds of Jesus unless we allow him to touch them. Jesus must be able to touch our wounds in order for us to touch his--or at least to hear his invitation as Thomas did.

Then we can--we must--allow the risen Christ to raise us up after we have known the wounds (that is, God’s pain) and felt them in ourselves and in others. Then we can acclaim with Thomas:
“MY LORD AND MY GOD!”

May this Easter Season be a time for us to risk doubt that we might come to a deeper faith; to know God’s wounds that we nay be healed; to be willing to share in Jesus’ sufferings in ourselves and in the sufferings of others; to come to believe without having to see Jesus--and all that we may have life in His name. Amen.

This is my beloved Son, homily by Jan Robitscher

2010-02-19T20:14:00.002-08:00

“This is my beloved Son, the beloved...;
Listen to him!”
(Matt 17: 5)

Last Epiphany , Yr. II
Exodus 24: 12-18
Matthew 17:1-9

Jan Robitscher
St. Mark’s Church
Berkeley, CA
February 14, 2010

In the Name of God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

If I were to ask you what day it is, you might well answer “Sunday. Perhaps, if you were well versed in the Prayer Book, you would might say, “The Last Sunday after the Epiphany” or maybe even, “The Feast of Cyril and Methodius”, two Orthodox saints. But I’ll bet most of you would say, “It’s Valentine’s Day”, of course! And no matter which answer you gave, you would be right. But what do any or all of these answers have to do with our lessons or this service? Hear again this portion:

While [Peter] was still speaking, suddenly
a bright cloud overshadowed them, and from
the cloud a voice said, “This is my Son, the
beloved; with whom I am well pleased; listen
to him!”

The card shops have told us for a month that today is Valentine’s Day. And all the cards say, in so many words, “I love you”. What about love? How is love reflected in these lessons and on this day?

The Roman Church did celebrate the Feast of St. Valentine until their most recent reform of the liturgical calendar. Sometimes the life of a saint turns out to be mostly legends, but in this case, legends have obscured what was a real life.

Valentine, a Roman priest, together with ST. Marius
and his family, assisted the martyrs who suffered
during the reign of Emperor Claudius II in the 3rd.
century. Being apprehended, Valentine sent to the
Prefect in Rome, who ordered that he be [put to death].
He was martyred about the year 270.
(from Lives of the Saints)

So red would be the color for St. Valentine; the red of Martyrs’ blood. For the love Valentine expressed was far deeper than anything we see on Valentine’s Day cards. It was a love sprung from his own confession of Jesus as the Christ, “God’s Son, the beloved...” which enabled Valentine to assist others who would be martyred for just such a confession until he was martyred, too.

It did not take long for the Church to discover, however, that there were others who led equally heroic lives in the confession of Jesus’ name but who did not become martyrs. These they called confessors. Into this category we can place Sts. Cyril and Methodius, who are now celebrated on this day (when not a Sunday) by Episcopalians, Roman Catholics and the Orthodox Churches. The lives of these ninth century missionaries (who were, incidentally, brothers) were given over to the work of bringing the Gospel message to the Slavonic peoples. This included inventing a written alphabet, preaching and eventually
being made bishops so they could assist in ordaining new clergy. Their work was not without resistance, though, and Methodius endured a brief time in prison on false charges of heresy. Their lives represent another dimension of love; love of God, love of the message of the Good News in Jesus Christ.

And so we come to the Last Sunday after the Epiphany, and are impelled toward another Lenten Season. We bid farewell to Alleluia and Gloria and, llike Peter, James and John, fall silent before the glorious vision of God. It is a time to take the words spoken from the cloud to heart:

“This is my Son, the beloved; with whom I am well pleased;
listen to him!”

In Lent, we are asked to listen to God, even as these saints did; to allow God to show us, in Jesus, how to show our love for one another. We are asked to walk with Jesus in a love that takes us all the way through his passion and death to the celebration of his
resurrection on Easter Day. This kind of listening and loving will change us; not just for 40 days, but for life.

It has been said that every Sunday is a little Easter. Perhaps it would be better to say that every Easter is a big Sunday. Week by week on Sunday morning, and month by month at this service of Evensong, we celebrate the love God has for us in the dying and rising of Jesus--and we seek to return that love to God and to one another, however small and faltering our efforts. Today--once the Feast of St. Valentine, sometimes the Feast of Sts. Cyril and Methodius and now the Last Sunday after the Epiphany--today is Sunday, the Lord’s Day. To this we can only echo the words of the Psalmist:

>“This is the day that the Lord has made;*
let us rejoice and be glad in it.”
(Psalm 118:24)

For He is our peace, homily by Jan Robitscher

2010-02-19T20:14:00.001-08:00

"For he is our peace; in his flesh
he has made both groups into one..."
(Ephesians 2:14)

Eve of Holy Cross Day,
Evensong
I Kings 8:22-30
Psalm 46, 87
Ephesians 2: 11-22

Jan Robitscher
St. Mark's Church
Berkeley, CA
September 13, 2009

In the Name of God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

Today is Sunday, the Lord's Day, and it is also the eve of Holy Cross Day. Derived from the dedication of church buildings in Jerusalem where the Church of the Holy Sepulcher now stands on September 14, 335. Tradition has it that in the process of overseeing the work, St. Helena, mother of Emperor Constantine, found a relic of the true cross. This date also marked the dedication of Solomon's Temple hundreds of years earlier. But more than the dedication of church buildings or the finding of relics is the focus of this Feast: the cross, which, in many and varied forms, has remained an object of veneration for the gift of Jesus' death and resurrection for our salvation. But it also brought to mind a story:

Several years ago, I watched an ABC Television Special on religion in America. The program featured those large “mega-churches” that resemble shopping malls and seem to attract enough people to fill them. As he toured one of these churches, Peter Jennings noticed that there was no cross to be seen anywhere. When he asked the pastor about it, the reply came, “Oh, the cross might get in the way.” I think I was as startled as Peter Jennings was!

But I have to admit it’s true. The cross does seem to get in the way. While some folks don’t like to see it at all, we see the cross all the time and tune it out. We Episcopalians can’t bear to look upon a crucifix (there is one in this room, but you will have to look carefully to find it!) Instead, we have the cross that is carried in procession, or the ornamented cross over the Rood Screen, the brass cross on the High Altar, or the crosses we wear. We make the sign of the cross and forget it as an instrument of an awful death or its origins in baptism. Maybe we would notice if churches were adorned with a more modern form of execution...

We don’t like the cross because it puts death in the middle of our Alleluias; it reminds us of the betrayal and failure that led to Jesus’ death. In the middle of our successes, it recalls the times we have failed to trust God and one another. We hear Paul’s words that “[God] did not withhold his own Son, but gave him up for all of us...”(Rom. 8:32) and this does not fit our image of a merciful, loving God. Or the beautiful Philippians Hymn which tells us that Jesus gave himself completely, even to death on a cross. And we hear Jesus' words, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves, and take up their cross and follow me.” (Mark 8:34) This is strong stuff! But if we will look at the cross--contemplate it, gaze upon it--there we will find the Good News.

It is interesting that Christians in the first centuries after Jesus’ death never depicted him suffering on the cross. This was probably not denial (they knew how horrible a death it was) but for their safety, until Christianity became legal. The empty cross, a symbol of the resurrection, did not become popular until the Reformation. The suffering Christ did not appear until around the 6th century. Celtic crosses are particularly striking. In one type Jesus is there, but not suffering. Rather, he is gazing straight ahead with arms outstretched. The hands, however, are much larger--all out of proportion--as if to gather the whole world into an embrace. Jesus said:

"And I, when I am lifted up from the earth,
will draw all people to myself."

But what is the Good News of Jesus' crucifixion? Jesus’ self-offering on the cross was the ultimate demonstration of God's forgiveness--that God still loves us in spite of our sinfulness. It restores our trust in God’s ability to redeem even the most awful of failures; it proclaims that evil and death have been defeated. Most of all, it is the ultimate sign of reconciliation. Hear again the words of St. Paul:

But now in Christ Jesus you who were once far off have been
brought near by the blood of Christ. For he is our peace: in his
flesh he has made both groups into one and has broken down
the dividing wall, that is, the hostility between us. (Eph. 2:14)

How much we need to hear this--and believe it--in the midst of a divided Church, a polarized society and a warring world! It is Jesus' death on the cross, which is beyond all our opinions and politics--that is the source of our peace and reconciliation. To bear the cross, then, is to be willing to suffer for the sake of Jesus (as many reconcilers do), and to take up the call of Paul's words in another letter:

...[I]n Christ God was reconciling the world to himself,
not counting their trespasses against them, and entrusting
the message of reconciliation to us. So we are ambassadors
for Christ... (2 Cor. 5: 19-20)

The goal of the Christian life is to be brought to God by way of Jesus’ death and resurrection--and then to bring each other to God--and finally to bring the world to God. Here is the most wonderful redemption of such an awful death!

Look at the cross--contemplate it, gaze upon it-- there we will find the Good News.

Perhaps the simple words of the 19th century hymn writer Walter Russell Bowie put it best:
O love that triumphs over loss,
we bring our hearts before thy cross,
to finish thy salvation.

In the Name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

THE COLLECTS AT THE PRAYERS

FOR THE HUMAN FAMILY

O God, you made is in your own image and redeemed us through Jesus your Son: look with compassion on the whole human family; take away the arrogance and hatred which infect our hearts; break down the walls that separate us; unite us in bonds of love; and work through our struggle and confusion to accomplish your purposes on earth; that, in your good time, all nations and races may serve you in harmony around your heavenly throne, through Jesus Christ our Lord. AMEN.

FOR THE CHURCH

Gracious Father, we pray for your holy Catholic Church. Fill it with all truth, in all truth, with all peace. Where it is corrupt, purify it; where it is in error, direct it; where in anything it is amiss, reform it. Where it is right, strengthen it; where it is in want, provide for it; where it is divided, reunite it, for the sake of Jesus Christ thy Son our Savior. AMEN.

FOR THOSE WHO INFLUENCE PUBLIC OPINION

Almighty God, you proclaim your truth in every age by many voices: Direct, in our time, we pray, those who speak where many listen and write where many read; that they may do their part in making the heart of this people wise, its mind sound, nd its will righteous; to the honor of Jesus Christ our Lord. AMEN.

FOR THE MISSION OF THE CHURCH

Everliving God, whose will it is that all should come to you through your Son Jesus Christ: Inspire our witness to him, that all may know the power of his forgiveness and the hope of his resurrection; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. AMEN.

V. Let us bless the Lord.
R. Thanks be to God.

And they shall name him Emmanuel, homily by Jan Robitscher

2010-02-19T20:12:00.000-08:00

“And they shall name him Emmanuel,”
which means, “God is with us.”
(Matt. 1:23)

Friday, Week of Advent 3, Feria
Jeremiah 23:5-8
Ps. 72:11-18
Romans 8:18-27
Matthew 1: 18-25

Jan Robitscher
All Saints Chapel
CDSP
December 19, 2009

In the Name of God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

This is the truth sent from above,
The truth of God, the God of love,
Therefore don’t turn me from your door,
But hearken all, both rich and poor.1

So here we are. It is a time of beginnings and endings. Yesterday was the beginning of the Great O Antiphons, those beautiful names for Emmanuel (God-with-us) which we sing as the hymn “O Come O Come Emmanuel”. It is a time of beginnings: of the Church Year, the first half of which takes us through the story of our salvation from Advent to Pentecost; of the anticipation of our celebrations of Jesus’ birth. And it is a time of endings: the end of the semester, the end of the frenetic shopping marathon, almost the end of the year 2009, the end of the third week of Advent, and our, perhaps fearful, ponderings of the End when Christ will come again. Advent means “to come to”--God to us--and us to God. We feel caught between the times in what one commentator has called “the anxiety of Advent”.

Our lessons speak of beginnings, endings and the anxiety of Advent. It is the end of the long search for a savior--someone to redeem us from sin and death--though it would be some
time before the whole story of Jesus’ life, death and resurrection would play out. But we often miss the very beginning of the story, and here our lectionary could be of more help. Unless you are fortunate to attend a service of Lessons and Carols (come to St. Mark’s this Sunday at 4:30 p.m.) or the Great Vigil of Easter, the whole sweeping story of salvation history is never presented. But wait! Though sacred Scripture is the primary--but not the only place-- to find this story. Almost every Christmas carol we know (and some Easter carols besides) begin at the very beginning, with the creation and the Fall and go on to tell the story of the coming of Jesus to redeem us, and look to his coming again. How I would love to sing them all! But I will let the English carol “The Truth From Above” suffice for now. The next verses tell the beginning of the story:

The first thing which I do relate
Is that God did man create;
The next thing which to you I’ll tell,
Woman was made with man to dwell.

Then after this was God’s own choice
To place them both in Paradise,
There to remain from evil free
Except if they ate from such a tree.

We live in a world suffering from the effects of the Fall. Torn by wars abroad and violence at home, where there is sickness, evil and death, poverty and pollution all around us. Our world is literally melting away before our eyes, and every day people suffer and die for lack of daily necessities and health care. In many ways, we are like those who, for thousands of years, hoped for a savior. Indeed, St. Paul cries out that:

the whole creation has been groaning
in labor pains until now; and not only
the creation, but we ourselves...groan
inwardly while we wait for adoption,
the redemption of our bodies... (Romans 8: 22)

OK, we have permission to groan, at least inwardly! But our groaning is not without hope. In fact, we (and the whole creation) are groaning for what we already have! St. Paul goes on “For in hope we were saved”. Back to our carol:

And they did eat, which was a sin,
And thus their ruin did begin;
Ruined themselves, both you and me
And all of our posterity.

The anxiety of Advent becomes much more specific in St. Matthew’s account of Jesus’ birth, which emphasizes Joseph’s experience. Here we see Joseph’s questions about the past and
anxiety about the future: what to do about Mary, already pregnant and not yet married. Fortunately, Joseph’s response to his anxiety is not to despair, but to be attentive to his dreams and willing to change his course of action by following the angel’s instructions. Hear another verse from our carol:

Thus we were heirs to endless woes,
Til God the Lord did interpose;
And so a promise soon did run
That he would redeem us by his Son.

So what do we do about the anxiety of Advent? How do we live in the already and the not yet? In this last week, do we try to escape the anxiety of Advent in frantic shopping? Do we just give in and hole up in despair? Or can we put aside the rush and the temptation to despair and, in the present moments of the next week, walk the prayerful path that will lead us to the manger? We can do this by doing as Joseph did: commending the events of the past that had brought him to this holy birth to God, and commending the future to God by accepting that the Child to be born would somehow play the ultimate part in God’s plan for the salvation of the whole world. And we can do as St. Paul tells us: to join the whole creation’s groan for redemption of our bodies, for the coming of God’s reign.

I would close with the last two verses of our English carol:

And at this season of the year
Our blest Redeemer did appear;
He here did live and here did preach.
And many thousands he did teach.

Thus he in love to us behaved,
To show us how we must be saved.
And if you want to know the way,
Be pleased to hear what he did say.

FROM ST. JOHN'S ABBEY

2009-09-24T11:11:00.000-07:00

This week I am doing another Benedictine Experience Retreat, this time at St. John's Abbey in Collegeville, MN. Our group of 10 people is staying at the Episcopal House of Prayer, an ecumenical retreat center on the grounds of St. John's Abbey. We are just off a quiet road, nestled in the woods, and about a 20 minute walk from the Abbey Church. The weather is beautiful, with just a hint of the autumn colors to come. Each day we live the Benedictine rhythm of Morning Prayer at the Abbey (7 a.m.) Eucharist here in the Oratory of the House of Prayer (11:30 a.m.), Evensong at the Abbey (7 p.m.) and Compline (here at 9 p.m). We also have talks given by monks of the Abbey and the Rev. WArd Bauman, our "abbot" and chaplain of the House of Prayer. Tomorrow we will go over to St. Benedict's, where the Benedictine sisters live, for a talk, noon prayer and lunch.

Today is our "Desert Day", mostly spent in silence, with little of the regular structure and rhythm. It is a time for quiet reading (lectio divina), prayer and, most of all, listening to God. I am not good at sitting still, so I do a lot of prayer and meditation while walking with my guide dog, "Lorelle". I also spent some time on campus this morning gathering some books for further reading and hope to spend some time in prayer at the Abbey Church or the Oratory here this afternoon. Our silence extends through dinner and evening tonight until after breakfast tomorrow morning. Then we will go back to our daily rhythm of prayer, study and work.

This is a grace-filled time! No meetings, no street noise, no TV, no phone calls (almost), very few emails and no liturgical or other responsibilities. It is a time apart, yet with many people and places on my heart and in my prayers. There is no escaping the world; only redirecting our attention, thoughts and prayers to God. But that is the gift of being in the beauty of nature and in silence--to be able to hear the natural sounds and allow the sun's light to filter through the shadows of the trees and to be supported by a little week-long community of Beneditines wanting to find and be found by God.

2009-09-19T19:11:00.000-07:00

"For he is our peace; in his flesh
he has made both groups into one..."
(Ephesians 2:14)

Eve of Holy Cross Day,
Evensong
I Kings 8:22-30
Psalm 46, 87
Ephesians 2: 11-22
Jan Robitscher
St. Mark's Church
CDSP, Berkeley, CA
September 13, 2009

In the Name of God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

Today is Sunday, the Lord's Day, and it is also the eve of Holy Cross Day. Derived from the dedication of church buildings in Jerusalem where the Church of the Holy Sepulcher now stands on September 14, 335. Tradition has it that in the process of overseeing the work, St. Helena, mother of Emperor Constantine, found a relic of the true cross. This date also marked the dedication of Solomon's Temple hundreds of years earlier. But more than the dedication of church buildings or the finding of relics is the focus of this Feast: the cross, which, in many and varied forms, has remained an object of veneration for the gift of Jesus' death and resurrection for our salvation. But it also brought to mind a story:

Several years ago, I watched an ABC Television Special on religion in America. The program featured those large “mega-churches” that resemble shopping malls and seem to attract enough people to fill them. As he toured one of these churches, Peter Jennings noticed that there was no cross to be seen anywhere. When he asked the pastor about it, the reply came, “Oh, the cross might get in the way.” I think I was as startled as Peter Jennings was!

But I have to admit it’s true. The cross does seem to get in the way. While some folks don’t like to see it at all, we see the cross all the time and tune it out. We Episcopalians can’t bear to look upon a crucifix (there is one in this room, but you will have to look carefully to find it!) Instead, we have the cross that is carried in procession, or the ornamented cross over the Rood Screen, the brass cross on the High Altar, or the crosses we wear. We make the sign of the cross and forget it as an instrument of an awful death or its origins in baptism. Maybe we would notice if churches were adorned with a more modern form of execution...

We don’t like the cross because it puts death in the middle of our Alleluias; it reminds us of the betrayal and failure that led to Jesus’ death. In the middle of our successes, it recalls the times we have failed to trust God and one another. We hear Paul’s words that “[God] did not withhold his own Son, but gave him up for all of us...”(Rom. 8:32) and this does not fit our image of a merciful, loving God. Or the beautiful Philippians Hymn which tells us that Jesus gave himself completely, even to death on a cross. And we hear Jesus' words, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves, and take up their cross and follow me.” (Mark 8:34) This is strong stuff! But if we will look at the cross--contemplate it, gaze upon it--there we will find the Good News.

It is interesting that Christians in the first centuries after Jesus’ death never depicted him suffering on the cross. This was probably not denial (they knew how horrible a death it was) but for their safety, until Christianity became legal. The empty cross, a symbol of the resurrection, did not become popular until the Reformation. The suffering Christ did not appear until around the 6th century. Celtic crosses are particularly striking. In one type Jesus is there, but not suffering. Rather, he is gazing straight ahead with arms outstretched. The hands, however, are much larger--all out of proportion--as if to gather the whole world into an embrace. Jesus said:
"And I, when I am lifted up from the earth,
will draw all people to myself."

But what is the Good News of Jesus' crucifixion? Jesus’ self-offering on the cross was the ultimate demonstration of God's forgiveness--that God still loves us in spite of our sinfulness. It restores our trust in God’s ability to redeem even the most awful of failures; it proclaims that evil and death have been defeated. Most of all, it is the ultimate sign of reconciliation. Hear again the words of St. Paul:
But now in Christ Jesus you who were once far off have been
brought near by the blood of Christ. For he is our peace: in his
flesh he has made both groups into one and has broken down
the dividing wall, that is, the hostility between us. (Eph. 2:14)

How much we need to hear this--and believe it--in the midst of a divided Church, a polarized society and a warring world! It is Jesus' death on the cross, which is beyond all our opinions and politics--that is the source of our peace and reconciliation. To bear the cross, then, is to be willing to suffer for the sake of Jesus (as many reconcilers do), and to take up the call of Paul's words in another letter:

...[I]n Christ God was reconciling the world to himself,
not counting their trespasses against them, and entrusting
the message of reconciliation to us. So we are ambassadors
for Christ... (2 Cor. 5: 19-20)

The goal of the Christian life is to be brought to God by way of Jesus’ death and resurrection--and then to bring each other to God--and finally to bring the world to God. Here is the most wonderful redemption of such an awful death!

Look at the cross--contemplate it, gaze upon it-- there we will find the Good News.

Perhaps the simple words of the 19th century hymn writer Walter Russell Bowie put it best:
O love that triumphs over loss,
we bring our hearts before thy cross,
to finish thy salvation.

In the Name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

THE COLLECTS AT THE PRAYERS

FOR THE HUMAN FAMILY
O God, you made is in your own image and redeemed us through Jesus your Son: look with compassion on the whole human family; take away the arrogance and hatred which infect our hearts; break down the walls that separate us; unite us in bonds of love; and work through our struggle and confusion to accomplish your purposes on earth; that, in your good time, all nations and races may serve you in harmony around your heavenly throne, through Jesus Christ our Lord. AMEN.

FOR THE CHURCH
Gracious Father, we pray for your holy Catholic Church. Fill it with all truth, in all truth, with all peace. Where it is corrupt, purify it; where it is in error, direct it; where in anything it is amiss, reform it. Where it is right, strengthen it; where it is in want, provide for it; where it is divided, reunite it, for the sake of Jesus Christ thy Son our Savior. AMEN.

FOR THOSE WHO INFLUENCE PUBLIC OPINION
Almighty God, you proclaim your truth in every age by many voices: Direct, in our time, we pray, those who speak where many listen and write where many read; that they may do their part in making the heart of this people wise, its mind sound, nd its will righteous; to the honor of Jesus Christ our Lord. AMEN.

FOR THE MISSION OF THE CHURCH
Everliving God, whose will it is that all should come to you through your Son Jesus Christ: Inspire our witness to him, that all may know the power of his forgiveness and the hope of his resurrection; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. AMEN.

Images: (1) Celtic Cross by William Burns (ink and color Pencil).

V. Let us bless the Lord.
R. Thanks be to God.

2009-09-19T18:52:00.000-07:00

“The Bread that I shall give
for the life of the world is my flesh.”
(Jn. 6:51)

Year B Proper 14
2 Samuel 18: 15, 31-33
Psalm 130
John 6: 35, 41-51
Jan Robitscher
St. Mark’s Church
Berkeley, CA
August 9, 2009

In the Name of God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

My encounter with the sixth chapter of John’s Gospel, which we have over several weeks each summer, began with a poster on the wall of my college dorm room. It had a loaf of bread and a glass of wine and it read:

JESUS OF NAZARETH REQUESTS
THE HONOR OF YOUR PRESENCE
AT A BANQUET TO BE GIVEN
IN HIS HONOR

It was a reference to the Eucharist, and I took it as a personal invitation. But then I encountered the very verses of our Gospel reading today, and especially the last verses--
I am the living bread that came down from heaven.
Whoever eats this bread will live forever; and the
bread that I shall give for the life of the world is my flesh.

For the life of the world... I was as perplexed as the disciples and wondered: Did the Gospel writer get it right? Has Jesus taken leave of his senses? Today I hope to leave you with the assurance that John did indeed get it right and that Jesus meant what he said in this passage and in the even harder words that follow it, which I will leave to next week’s preacher. My journey toward the meaning of these words continued:

Just after college and graduate school, I made a retreat at the Convent of St. Helena in Augusta, GA. I needed a couple of days of quiet and hoped to write a sermon while I was there on almost this very text (actually next week’s readings). On the bus trip from Atlanta, I thought of the sisters, of the place itself and of the home-made bread that is the hallmark of all their meals--and of the bread they made (and perhaps still make) for the Eucharist--all special experiences. Then my thoughts turned to the sixth chapter of John’s Gospel: bread...from heaven...manna...flesh...Jesus... Soon my eager anticipation became a feeling of being overwhelmed by the Gospel passage.

I arrived at the convent in time for Noonday Prayers and lunch. As I entered the Refectory (their dining hall) my eyes caught a large banner on the wall which read:

THE PURPOSE OF ALL BREAD
IS TO BECOME THE BODY OF CHRIST

Moving closer, I read and re-read the banner. Rebellious thoughts arose: “No! Not ALL bread. Only the bread of the Eucharist, duly consecrated.” It was a hard saying, indeed, that was on that banner--every bit as hard for me as Jesus’ words were for his disciples. Not the reassuring invitation of the poster on my dorm room wall. And for the next three days I would be confronted with those words at every meal. I pondered the invitation on the poster and that banner and wondered: Which one is right?

And what do the words of Jesus in our Gospel reading have to do with the banquet invitation of my dorm room poster or the banner on the Convent wall?

Let’s start small. I’ve been thinking a lot about friendships--how they are formed and sustained. Suddenly I realized that, at some point, I have shared a meal with every close friend I have. How I wish I could have this experience with everyone here, but there are people here today who can attest to this. The defining moment of a close relationship is when friends literally become companions--ones who share the bread.

My experience of companions--sharers in the bread--expended when, several years after I made that retreat in Georgia, I moved out here to Berkeley and experienced the hospitality around food that is a hallmark and charism of this parish and, a few years later, began to teach at the School for Deacons. As our own Deacon Ellen (on sabbatical this summer) has said on many occasions, the diaconal call and ministry are bound up in proclaiming the Good News to, praying for, and serving with the marginalized of all kinds. I am still teaching at the School for Deacons and at every class session we are at a Eucharist in which we pray for the needs of the world. Shortly after that I began to help with Hot Meals here at St. Mark’s. “Friend” became “Friends” in a larger way, and I began to understand a little of what Jesus meant when he said:

The bread that I shall give for the life
of the world is my flesh.

The ultimate experience of being a companion is here at this Altar. At one level, it is the way in which we become one with Jesus. That is what Communion means. Certainly this is true for each of us, individually. In that sense, the poster on my dorm room wall was correct:
JESUS OF NAZARETH REQUESTS
THE HONOR OF YOUR PRESENCE
AT A BANQUET TO BE GIVEN
IN HIS HONOR

But it is much more. We don’t have to read far in the headlines--or far from this place--to see a world hurting and so badly in need of the life for which Jesus died. Whether far-away wars in the Middle East or the Anglican Communion divided, or within this very room, we can be aware of the world and each other and know that there are many needs. Community, after all, comes from the same root as Communion. We are what we eat. When Jesus gives himself for us, we become his Body, and we are expected, as St. Paul says so well in our second reading, to give ourselves to others--friends and enemies alike--in his name.

Now if only I could stop here! If only I could wind up this nice Social Gospel sermon and sit down. But it goes on and gets harder.

Jesus’ identification of himself with the bread must have shocked his hearers. Even so, they would have heard the words literally--and they would have heard in them deeper meanings than our English translations can impart. For to Jewish and early Christian ears, “Flesh” and “Blood” meant far more than physical (and separate) parts of the body. “Flesh” meant one’s whole person: body, soul, mind and spirit. “Blood” meant the very essence of life, itself.

But knowing this did not keep Jesus’ hearers from disputing among themselves at his words, “I am the bread which came down from heaven.” They didn’t understand how this could be--and we can’t, either. What matters is not HOW Jesus becomes present in the bread and wine of Communion, but THAT he does become present, and gives himself to us each time we come to receive him. Jesus answered the dispute not by explaining HOW he would “get into “the bread and cup, nor did he brush the whole thing off as an empty symbol. Instead, he impressed upon them that if they wanted life--life with any meaning--life for the world--eternal life--they would have to partake of the Lord of Life, himself.

What difference should this make in our lives? Here is where the words of Paul’s Letter to the Ephesians speak to us more directly. The Eucharist, as lovely as it is, does not stand apart from our actions in the world. Or, to put it another way, each time we receive Communion, we leave here carrying Jesus within ourselves and to each other and to the world. So, says Paul, to each of us and to the Church:

Put away from you all bitterness and wrath and anger and
wrangling and slander, together with all malice, and be kind
to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another as God
in Christ has forgiven you.

To receive Communion, then, is to become companions in the deepest sense--those who share the bread of life that Jesus gives. But there is that banner:

THE PURPOSE OF ALL BREAD
IS TO BECOME THE BODY OF CHRIST

Besides bringing us individually into union with Jesus, being a companion of Jesus at this Altar also gives us a different world-view. It helps us pray “for the life of the world” and enlarges our definition of “friend”. It helps us see where help is needed and energizes us (as St. Teresa says) to be “Christ’s hands and feet in the world. It helps us grow as a community, both in our love for one another and in our desire to bring more people here. In receiving Communion, we not only rededicate ourselves to our baptismal vows “to seek and serve Christ in all persons...”-- we ask to see everything through Jesus’ eyes.

In the end, though, Communion is larger than our individual or even our corporate journeys. “Eucharist” means “thanksgiving” and is the way Jesus gave us to remember--literally to re-member--his death and resurrection--the bread of his flesh that he gave for the life of the world--until he comes again.

And what about the poster and the banner? Which one was right?

I think they are both right, but perhaps in unexpected ways. I wonder: What if the poster on my dorm room wall was an invitation not just for me but for all of us?
JESUS OF NAZARETH REQUESTS
THE HONOR OF YOUR [plural--all of you--all of us] PRESENCE
AT A BANQUET TO BE GIVEN
IN HIS HONOR

What would happen if, instead of reducing Communion to a common meal, we elevated all our meals as mirrors or echoes of the Eucharist? What if, as the banner said,
THE PURPOSE OF ALL BREAD
[really] IS TO BECOME THE BODY OF CHRIST?

Come to this banquet at Jesus’ invitation. Come longing to receive the whole person of Jesus. Most of all, come in thanksgiving for his love in giving himself as bread “for the life of the world.” Then, together, let us be willing and ready to carry Jesus from this place into a world both beautiful and hurting, so that all may know the Good News of his love.

2009-06-11T06:43:00.000-07:00

“...and the seed would sprout and grow...”
(Mark 4:26)

Year B Proper 6
Ezekiel 17: 22-24
Psalm 92:1-4, 11-14
2 Corinthians 5:6-10, 14-17
Mark 4:26-34
Jan Robitscher
Trinity Parish
Seattle, WA
June 14, 2009

There are three things that make us Christians:
faith, baptism and sharing at the altar.
Guerric of Igny, Twelfth century.
Sourcebook on Baptism, p. 160)

In the Name of God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

So here we are. The Great Fifty Days of Easter and its feasting are over. Last week you had your patronal festival of Trinity Sunday, the capstone of six months of tracing the life, death and resurrection of Jesus and the birthing of the church, I am sure it was all glorious! We are now at the beginning of the long, green season which is sometimes called “Ordinary Time”. Why green? Green is for the leaves of summer, and for the growth which, we hope, will happen during these months.

But this particular day is not ordinary. Today we celebrate two very special baptisms. Today Antonio and cousin Natalie, (great-grandchildren of Mary Alice Legge) will become friends of Jesus and we will adopt them as children of this community. In a way, we are “planting seeds”, and, over time, they will grow. Sometimes this growth will be noticeable, sometimes, as our lessons say, it will happen “we know not how”. Suddenly, they will be teenagers and then young adults. Hopefully, they will, as St. Paul says, grow up into the full stature of Christ.

Our readings today attest to this. The prophet Ezekiel speaks of God planting a special cedar tree.

“Under it every kind of bird will live... All the trees of the field
shall know that I am the LORD.”

And our Gospel lessons speaks a lot about seeds in two little parables: of a sower
scattering seed and noticing over time how the seed grows, he knows not how, and the Parable of the Mustard Seed. The tiny mustard seed (I have one on my bracelet) grows up into the largest shrub, providing branches “so that the birds of the air can make nests in its shade.” Somehow, God seems to be about planting seeds and nurturing them as they grow. What can we learn from this?

Let's take these two Gospel parables and look at them closely. Remember that a parable is a story with one main teaching point--sort of a “one point sermon”. Jesus used parables a lot in his ministry as a way of describing, in ordinary, every-day terms, what the Kingdom of God--that time when God?s reign will be fully known among us. A parable today could be that the Kingdom of God is like one of those greeting cards that starts off “you know you are old when...” or maybe we could have one that said “you know you?re an Episcopalian when...” or a special baptismal card that says “You know you?re a friend of Jesus when...” The Kingdom of God, Jesus says, is like seeds growing secretly.

People in Jesus' time did not know the science, as we do now, of how seeds grow. They only knew that if you planted seeds and tended them, watered and fertilized them, you would wake up one morning and wow!--suddenly they would be tall stalks of wheat or barley, or tall date-palm or olive trees. That?s what the Kingdom of God is like. We plant the seeds of loving God and each other and we trust that, while we are sleeping or going about our daily tasks, one day God?s Kingdom will become fully known to us and all things will come to their fulfillment in Jesus, by the power of the Holy Spirit. So, our special baptismal greeting card would say: you will know the Kingdom of God has come when the seeds of God?s love you planted at baptism have , with God?s help, taken root and grown up inside you, even if you don't see it happen.

There are three things that make us Christians:
faith, baptism and sharing at the altar.

And from even the tiniest mustard seed, the largest shrub grows, giving shelter to birds and other animals in its shade. So with our faith--even the tiniest faith--grows to embrace God and all those around us, so that we love as Jesus loved, giving shelter to all who are in need and welcoming all who, as Jesus did, come to the waters of baptism in faith.

But how do we plant the seeds? Remember, these seeds are not annuals. They are perennials and so they only get planted once. Baptism--our once and for all incorporation into the Body of Christ--is the way we Christians plant our seeds. As the early Christian writer put it, “Christians are made, not born.” Permit me to speak as a liturgist for just a moment.

From its beginnings at Jesus'own baptism, which was the inauguration of his public ministry, those desiring to becomes friends of Jesus have done as Jesus did, entered the waters in a wonderful participation in Jesus' death for us and his resurrection to new life. In the beginning, these were mostly adults. But by the 4th century, after Christianity became legal (and therefore public) several generations might be baptized at the same time, including young children. Infant baptism did not become common until about the 7th century--but that's another sermon!

Back to our seeds. Once the seeds are planted, whether they the
seeds growing secretly or the tiny mustard seed or our special “baptismal seeds”, they must be nurtured by God, who sends good weather and rain, and also by the plant food and other tending given by the gardener sent by God?s Holy Spirit. In other words, the seed, once planted, gives itself up to God's care and the farmer appointed by the Holy Spirit, in order to grow.

So it is with our “baptismal seeds”. Once a person is baptized, whether an infant with parents and godparents making promises on their behalf, a young child (or two) or an adult making their own profession of faith, the circle of care-takers becomes much larger. The African adage “It takes a village to raise a child” applies here. In effect, we all become the adoptive parents and godparents of those being baptized. Or, as St. Paul says:

What then is Apollos? What then is Paul? Servants through whom you came to believe,
as the Lord assigned to each. I [Paul] planted,
Apolos watered, but God gave the growth.
(1 Cor. 2:5ff)
+ + +

There are three things that make us Christians:
faith, baptism and sharing at the altar.

But baptism does not exist by itself in the Christian life. It is accompanied by the anointing with oil and the words, “You are sealed by the Holy Spirit in Baptism and marked as Christ's own for ever.”, the giving of a candle (Receive the Light of CHrist. Now you be the light of the world.) and then we celebrate the Eucharist together. It is in Communion, that Jesus gives himself to us in a very special way through bread and wine. This is the repeatable, ongoing part of baptism. Like plant food for our seeds, so is the Eucharist, the “sharing in the altar” as our Medieval friend Guerric says, for our “baptismal seeds”; food for our journey, Christ's very self with us so that we become “little Christs”--Christians--carrying him out into the world. So every time we receive Communion we recall our baptism, whether or not we can remember the actual event.

Jesus said,I am the true vine and my Father is the
winegrower... abide in me as I abide in you.
My Father is glorified in this, that you bear
much fruit.
(Jn. 15:1ff, 8)

So let's plant some seeds--real seeds and baptismal seeds! Let's help Antonio and Natalie become friends of Jesus and welcome them into the Body of Christ. Let's take seriously the promises we make to nurture these special children, these “baptismal seeds”, to help them grow in faith, hope and love. And let?s continue to come, week by week, to receive Jesus, food for our journey, so that we, too, as St. Paul says, may grow into the full stature of Christ.

2009-05-12T08:47:00.000-07:00

“Rise, let us be on our way.”(John 14:31b)
Easter 5 Tuesday Jan Robitscher
Acts 14: 19-28 All Saints Chapel
Psalm 145:9-14 Church Divinity School of the Pacific
John 14: 27-31a May 12, 2009

Alleluia! Christ is risen.
The Lord is risen, indeed. Alleluia!

Why is Easter--or rather the Easter Season--so hard to keep? We seem to have little trouble keeping Advent for four weeks. We save Christmas Carols (if not our decorations) for Christmas, or just before. And we withhold our Alleluias for all of the six weeks of Lent and Holy Week and we manage to keep the fast until the dawn of Easter Day. But Easter? How shall we keep the whole 7 seeks of Easter? The mantra at my parish (St. Mark?s) is: We are compelled to Feast! --and we are really good at that! But even feasting is hard to keep up for the whole Easter Season. And it is hard to sing Easter hymns--to keep up the joy for seven weeks. It is not that we don?t believe that Jesus lives, or that, through baptism, we have new life in him to all eternity. And it is true that each season of the Church Year at some time turns a corner, pointing toward what is coming next. But I think there is something more here that our readings today will help us discover.

In preparing this sermon, I had one of those startling moments, finding a phrase of Scripture I had not seen or heard before. It is just beyond the end of our Gospel Reading.

Jesus says, “Rise, let us be on our way.”

Although we know these discourses of Jesus were his farewell words before his crucifixion, I also hear them--or at least this part of them--as words before his Ascension, or perhaps words his disciples remembered then. After giving his disciples a benediction of Peace (which was always his “Easter greeting”), he says, “I go away, and I will come to you.”

The disciples must have been totally bewildered and even bereft. They would endure the parting of his death and then the fear and joy of his resurrection. Now he was about to leave them again. Here is the undercurrent of the Easter Season: comings, and goings.

If we look at our reading from Acts, it is downright frenetic. Jesus was not the only one coming and going. The disciples moved from Lystra to Iconium to Antioch; Pisida, Pamphylia and Perga. In order for faith in the risen Lord to spread, the disciples, too, had to be active and on the move.

But it was not easy. Paul was nearly stoned to death. They preached the Gospel, made many disciples, exhorted the new believers to remain firm in their faith, reminding them that it is “through many tribulations that [they] must enter the Kingdom of God. They appointed elders in every church and committed them all to the Lord. On to Attalia and then returning to Antioch, “where they had been commended to the grace of God for the work which they had fulfilled.” Whew!

So back to my startling discovery. After the last verse of our Gospel reading comes the other half of verse 31 where Jesus says: “Rise, let us be on our way”.

“Rise, let us be on our way.”

We are within two weeks of the end of the semester. We are still in the Easter Season, but, like other seasons of the Church Year, turning the corner toward what comes next: Ascension and Pentecost. In the academic year, we are turning the corner toward graduation and ordinations, or whatever comes next. As one who lives here, this is a hard, sometimes sad time. Friends I have made over three years at CDSP and at the School for Deacons depart to do the ministries God has prepared for them in many places. And each September, a whole new class enters, and we must learn to live with each other all over again.

But Jesus, when he gave his benediction of Peace, promised his disciples that although it was necessary for him to leave, he would not leave them--or us--alone. He promised to send the Holy Spirit to comfort us, to remind us of all that Jesus taught, to lead us into all truth and, he said, “that the world may know that I love the Father.” He promised to be present when two or three are gathered, as we are now. And he promised to be very present with us, giving himself in bread and wine each time we remember his death (and resurrection) until he comes. His parting words were that he would be with us always, even to the end of the age.

And more than that, Jesus ascended to the Father whom he loved and sent the Holy Spirit so that we can--and must-- become his hands and feet and heart. We must become Christ for each other--in a world so full of hurt and in so much need of the love he showed us.

Here is the Good News! The comings and goings of Jesus and his disciples, and of our various communities, are not without purpose or hope. Jesus must leave in order for the Holy Spirit to come. Students must graduate from CDSP and the School for Deacons to begin new ministries and make room for new students to come. This is how the Gospel is spread. This is how the Church grows. This is how we become Christ for the world. The time is short and there is much to do!

“Rise.”, Jesus says to us, “Let us be on our way.”

2009-02-14T16:14:00.000-08:00

“When the time came for their purification...
the parents of Jesus brought [Jesus]... to present him to the Lord.”

(Luke 2:22)
Feast of the Presentation
Jan Robitscher
February 2, 2009
All Saints' Chapel
CDSP

Malachi 3:1-4
Ps. 84:1-6
Hebrews 2:14-18
Luke 2: 22-40

In honor of the divine mystery that we celebrate today,
let us hasten to meet Christ. Everyone should be eager
to join the procession and carry a light.

(Sophronius of Jerusalem, Bishop, The Prayer Book Office, p. 734)

So we enter into this celebration of the Presentation of Our Lord Jesus Christ in the Temple, the Purification of the Blessed Virgin Mary, Candlemas, The Encounter, The Meeting of the Lordor simply “The Meeting” as it is known in the East. By whatever name we call it, this is a hinge Feast, half way between Christmas and Easter, half way between winter and Spring, which has been in the Church?s calendar from the fourth century and has had a long and interesting history, of which I will give you only a small part:

Egeria, writing around AD 380, attests to a feast of the Presentation in the Jerusalem Church. It was kept on February 14th. However, the feast had no proper name at this point; it was simply called the 40th day after Epiphany.

In 542, the Emperor Justinian introduced the feast to the entire Eastern Roman empire in thanksgiving for the end to a great pestilence afflicting the city of Constantinople. Perhaps this is when Pope Gregory I brought the feast to Rome. Pope Sergius (687-701) introduced the procession to the Candlemas service. The blessing of candles did not come into common use until the 11th century.

Some superstitions developed about Candlemas, including the belief that if one does not take down Christmas decorations by Candlemas, traces of the holly and berries will bring about the death of the person involved!1

And yes, there is a connection between this Feast and Groundhog Day, but that?s another sermon!

Let us enter into just one aspect of this Feast: it's Eastern title “The Meeting”.
Meetings. Our lives are filled with meetings: annual parish meetings, board meetings, committee meetings, counseling or spiritual direction meetings. Many of these are long and involve hard work and get results. Others are long, unproductive and downright boring! They have agendas and minutes and sometimes forms for opening and closing. If all goes well, each one present gets a turn to speak and, hopefully, all are listening.. In the best case, meetings are useful, promote community, and some good fruit comes from them.

In one way, it was an ordinary meeting on an ordinary day when an ordinary couple came to fulfill an ordinary “agenda” of customs required of them by the Law. Mary and Joseph came 40 days after Jesus? birth in order to sacrifice two turtle doves (required of poorer folk) and so that Mary could undergo the rites of purification. Just another meeting... But this was not just a meeting; it was the Meeting. Today?s Feast is the celebration of a more-than-cooincidental coming together where Mary, Joseph and the Child Jesus met with Simeon and Anna in the Temple.

Here was the prophesy of Malachi fulfilled:
Thus says the Lord, See, I am sending my messenger
to prepare the way before me, and the Lord whom you
seek will suddenly come to his temple...

Here Simeon took into his arms the Lord's Messiah for whom he had waited so long, and sang for joy:
Now, Lord, you have released your servant (from duty),

in accord with your Word, in peace.
Because my eyes have seen your Salvation,
which you have prepared in the presence of all peoples,
A light for revelation to the Gentiles
and glory for your people Israel

(Tr. Nolland)

God's Salvation brings light to the Gentiles and glory to the people Israel! But Simeon goes on to speak a word to Mary, that the infant Jesus she held in her arms would grow up to be “the fall and the rising of many...a sign that will be opposed...” and Simeon declared to Mary that she would witness Jesus? own sacrifice, far greater than two turtle doves, “a sword, too, shall pierce your own heart...” And here was the promised redemption of Jerusalem which the prophet Anna could finally announce to anyone who would listen. So the cycle of the Christian Year continues, as one mystery leads into another...

Individually, Simeon, Anna, Mary and Joseph did not expect anything to be different when they went to do their duty in the Temple that day. Yet they were all impelled, whether by obedience or by divine action, to be there.. Meeting together, they received in the infant Jesus the wonderful revelation of God?s salvation.

But that's how God is--gifting us with the unexpected, even if we don't recognize or understand it at the time. We are invited--as they were--to a meeting--The Meeting--to celebrate the presence of Jesus, who is God-With-Us. The ordinary meeting became an extraordinary encounter with God and a revelation of salvation--an Epiphany-- right in their midst.

So it is with us. We have come to The Meeting. We, too, can come with Mary and Joseph, and can have an encounter with God. We, too, can receive Jesus in bread and wine and proclaim with Simeon that he is the Savior of the world. We, too, can sing Semeon?s Song, and when we light a candle and pray at evening, we can sing it to commend ourselves and one another to God for this life and the life to come. We, too, can go out from here and, like Anna, tell of God?s redeeming love.

And may this be so for all for our meetings here in this Chapel, day by day, but also for all our meetings in our parishes or here at seminary or in the world. Whenever two or three (or more) are gathered in his Name, Jesus is in our very midst. (Light a candle for a reminder.) May the Holy Spirit guide us as we set the agenda and help us to speak the truth with love. May our meetings bear much fruit, and may we go out from them changed by our encounters with one another and with God.

As Sophronius of Jerusalem invited us to enter the candle-lit procession which marks this feast, so Origen invites us carry it with us in this comment and prayer:

Let us too stand in the Temple and hold God's Son
and embrace him; and that we may deserve leave
to withdraw and start on our way towards a better
land, let us pray to God, the all-powerful, and to
the little Jesus himself, whom we so much want
to speak to and hold in our arms.
To God be the glory and power now and always.

Amen.

(A Christmas Sourcebook, p. 85)

2009-02-14T16:04:00.000-08:00

“Master, we have worked all night long,
but have caught nothing...”

Click on image to enlarge.

Jan Robitscher
St. Mark's Church
Evensong

(Luke 5:5)
Year C Epiphany 5
Judges 6:11-24a
Psalm 85: 7-13
Luke 5:1-11
February 8, 2009

In the Name of God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

As we enter tonight?s Gospel story, Jesus needs a place from which to preach. So he borrowed Simon?s boat for a podium, sat down in it and taught the crowds. It must have been something to see! Whether or not they recognized Jesus as God?s Son, the sermon must have been a good one.

But just after that Jesus goes from “preachin? to meddlin?”. He commands Simon, “Put out into the deep water and let down your nets for a catch..” Now times were hard. Very hard. Whether they had not worked hard enough or the fish were elsewhere (or perhaps over-fished) did not change the reality: No fish, no food. God must have seemed very far away.

Does this sound at all familiar? It would be easy to feel Simon?s panic. “Master, we have worked all night and caught nothing. But if you say so...”

Every day we hear about and experience more and more of our new economic reality. Unfathomable amounts of money has gone to bailouts, and a good portion of that has been wasted by CEOs on high living, while the Stock Market has fallen sharply. Millions of people have lost their jobs and their homes and businesses. This has touched us right here in Berkeley. The face of hunger in America is changing, so that many in food lines are working, most making choices between food and rent or medicine. And even if we still have a job and a home, our appetite for cars and other material things has helped bring about the climate change that is drying up our water supply. The problems are not just ours. They encompass the whole world. We feel Simon?s panic,“We have worked hard all night and caught nothing.” We wonder: Where is God in our new economic reality?

To Simon's credit, he was at least able to hear Jesus? command and obey it. “If you say so, I will let down the nets.” Jesus? command must have seemed preposterous--counter to anything he knew about fishing. But the result of his obedience was a catch of fish so large he needed to call for help, and Simon recognized that Jesus, the Lord, was the source of his great catch.

Overwhelmed by the miracle, Simon fell at Jesus? feet and cried, “Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man.” Like Isaiah, Jeremiah, or Gideon (from tonight?s first reading) before or saints and martyrs after him, the recognition of being in the very presence of God, of Jesus, often in their darkest hour, seemed too much and they too unworthy. Perhaps we know best the opening lines of George Herbert?s poem “Love (I)”:

Love bade me welcome, but my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin...

Surely Jesus knew Simon's sins as well as he knew Simon would catch a load of fish, but that did not matter now. Jesus had other plans for Simon and his fishing partners--plans that would change the world. But there was a catch, so to speak. “Do not be afraid.” said Jesus. “From now on, you will be catching people.”

Do not be afraid. Nothing in Simon's past, or yours or mine--no amount of sin, could keep Simon (later named Peter)--or can keep us-- from doing the work Jesus has for us. But, like Simon, we must be willing to listen to him (and he often speaks through other people and events) and to do as he asks.

Fortunately, Simon, and James and John were able to take Jesus at his word and lay hold of the grace that he offered, even if they had no idea what it meant for their future. Moreover, they had the courage to to trust that others would catch fish for the table so they could leave everything--boats, nets and all--and follow him. Were it not for their obedient actions, their willingness to drop everything and follow Jesus, in spite of their sins or whatever else hindered them in the past, we would not be here at Evensong today.

In a few moments we will say the General Thanksgiving. In that prayer, we will declare our trust in God as the source and provider of all that sustains us as we pray in thanksgiving “for our creation, preservation, and all the blessings of this life”. (BCP. p. 71) And we will ask for the grace to “show forth [God?s] praise not only with our lips [as we do here in liturgy and music], but in our lives, by giving up ourselves to [God?s] service”, just as Simon and his companions did. And who knows? With God?s help, our “catch”, whether of people or whatever else God plans for us, may be very large, indeed!

CLOSING PRAYERS

Prayer from Salisbury Cathedral

Help us, Father,
to live like Jesus,
to live freely and joyfully,
willing to take risks for love;
willing to trust ourselves to your wisdon when we cannot see;
willing to believe that even out of the troubles of our lives
and the tragedies of our times
you can always bring new life both for us and for our world;
through Jesus Christ who is Lord of this time and of eternity..

(from Heart in Pilgrimage: Prayers in Salisbury Cathedral
by Hugh Dickenson, The Dean of Salisbury)

PARIPATETIC PILGRIM: RETURN TO CANTERBURY

2009-01-08T13:35:00.000-08:00

Last June I spent a glorious week at Canterbury Cathedral participating in a Benedictine Experience retreat. During that time, I prayed, worked (I dusted in the Great Quire) and studied with a wonderful group of people under the able leadership of Esther de Waal and Fr. Robert Hale.

When I returned home, I discovered that Church Divinity School was offering a course on "Canterbury as Place"--a broad title encompassing the architecture of the Cathedral, liturgy, theology, hospitality and the "place" of Canterbury Cathedral as the heart of the Anglican Communion. Having been moved by my experiences there last June, I could not resist the opportunity to be there again, albeit "In the Bleak Midwinter". So tomorrow I "hop the pond" for a week of study, prayer and reflection, hoping to gain an even deeper understanding of the place that is Canterbury Cathedral,

In addition, I hope to do a "side-bar" project. While there last June, I felt a deep sense of belonging and acceptance. Part of this was due to their efforts to incorporate persons with disabilities into their life and worship. But it was more than being handed materials in Large Print, which proved very helpful. I would like to find out where their open and welcoming attitude comes from and how it is nurtured.

Hopefully, I will be able to post while I am there, or shortly after, to tell you of my experience returning to one of my favorite places in all the world, Canterbury Cathedral.

2008-11-29T15:17:00.000-08:00

“Keep alert; you do not know when
the hour will come.”
(Mark 13:33)

Year B Advent I

Jan Robitscher
St. Mark’s Church
Berkeley, CA
November 30, 2008

Isaiah 64:1-9
Psalm 80: 1-7, 16018

I Corinthians1:3-9
Mark 13: 24-37

With inward pain my heartstrings sound,
my soul dissolves away;
Dear Sovereign, whirl the seasons round,
Dear Sovereign, whirl the seasons round,
And bring, and bring the promised day,
And bring the promised day.
(Early American Hymn-from An Advent Sourcebook, p. 4)

In the Name of God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

Today we begin another Church Year. It is the season of Advent, which means literally “to come to”--primarily God to us--and us to God. It is a season of waiting, of hoping, of longing--and, especially in these times, impatience, despair and frustration. Hoping and longing. Already and not yet. Trying to keep our focus, our intention on waiting in hope is the work of this season. But what are we waiting for? And, when we are impatient, why does it seem that God does not hear our cry?

Advent always begins for me with a vision of the cosmos--deep space, “galaxies, suns, the planets in their courses”1 --a peaceful and silent scene of God’s pristine creation. Close your eyes just for a moment and imagine it.

But then I see the ring of space junk around the earth and I remember again the Story, beginning with the creation and the stories of Adam and Eve how for their disobedience they were expelled from the garden, and how that propels the whole story of Salvation History. Look at the windows around the church, you will see it there. We hear it each week in the eucharistic prayer. And we will see it play out writ large over the seasons of the Church Year between now and Pentecost.

I think of the People Israel; their Exodus from slavery, their wanderings in the desert, both physically and spiritually; how they received the Law, then begged God for judges and kings, and still they wandered from God. And God sent them prophets (lots of prophets) who came with dire warnings and imploring prayers:
But you [God] were angry, and we sinned...We all fade like a leaf
and our iniquities, like the wind, take us away...Do not be
exceedingly angry, O Lord... (Isaiah 64: 5, 9)

The Psalms are full of both the exhortation to wait patiently upon God and the cry of impatience in bad times:
Restore us, O God of hosts;
show the light of your countenance and we shall be saved. (Ps. 80:3)

And we want to cry out:

“O that you would tear open the heavens and come down!”

Then came John the Baptist, preaching a baptism of repentance. “Make straight the Way of the Lord!” John the Forerunner, preparing the way for Jesus to come. Of John Jesus said:
What then did you go out to see? A prophet? Yes, I tell you, and more
than a prophet. (Matt. 11:9)

And God did rend the heavens and come down--though not in a way that anyone expected: the First Coming of Christ.

That was not the end of the waiting--30 years before Jesus’ public ministry; three days in the tomb before his resurrection. Yet there were many times in his earthly ministry that Jesus did “rend the heavens” to heal the sick, give peace to those in mental distress and raise the dead, and finally trampled down death by his own death to gift us with eternal life. Eventually the disciples could look back, as we can, and see that they were never alone--and neither are we. Jesus was there all along--from the beginning, “the Word made flesh” --and he is here with us now, walking with us on our journey through hard economic times and wars and change and transition. “And remember,” he has promised, “I am with you always, even to the end of the age. This is the gift of the First Coming of Christ.

And Jesus ascended to heaven and the disciples waited until God sent the Holy Spirit upon them and the Church was born. And from its beginnings, has been waiting with expectation and longing (and, at times, great fear) for the Second Coming of Christ. St. Paul encourages us with the words he used to encourage the Church at Corinth:
[Christ] will strengthen you to the end, that you may be
blameless on the day of our Lord Jesus Christ. (I Cor. 3:9)

And the Church is still waiting for that great and terrible and joyful day when Christ will come again. We say so every Sunday in the Creed, that we believe that Christ will come to judge the living and the dead. But, says Jesus,

...about that day or hour no one knows, neither the
angels in heaven nor the Son, but only the Father... (Mark 13:32)

Three times in this Gospel passage Jesus exhorts us: Keep Awake! And we need to hear it in an age of anxiety when we would rather hibernate in the dark days and nights or rush headlong into whatever is left of the shopping season to take our minds off the news. Keep awake! Watch the Advent wreath each week as we light another candle. Listen as the music of this season gives us both expressions of Christ coming again in glory and the most tender consolations of his lowly birth. Hear the story again. Stay alert! Keep awake!

And if you are wondering what this all means or what this kind of waiting looks like, we need look no farther than our Communion anthem today to find out. Paul Manz wrote “E’en So, Lord Jesus Quickly Come” by the hospital bed of his dying son in the late hours of one dark night, so the story goes (perhaps now embellished by urban legend). With words from the end of the book of Revelation, it is at once a “Rend the heavens! cry and an act of waiting in hope, and even of letting go, knowing that God will act at just the right time. God did act, and the child lived.

Which brings me back to that opening vision of Advent: the stars of night, but this time unspoiled by space junk. I see new heavens and a peaceful earth, restored and healed. And surprises beyond our deepest longings and expectations. These are the gifts of the Second Coming of Christ.

So what do we do in the meantime? We wait. And if the times are too hard and the waiting becomes unbearable, we cry out to God:
O that you would tear upon the heavens and come down!

Or we can pray again that Early American hymn:

With inward pain my heartstrings sound,
my soul dissolves away;
Dear Sovereign, whirl the seasons round,
And bring, and bring the promised day,
And bring the promised day.

2008-11-05T16:24:00.000-08:00

“The souls of the righteous are in the
hand of God...”
(Wisdom 3:1)

All Faithful Departed
Jan Robitscher
St. Mark’s Church
Berkeley, CA
November 3, 2008

Wisdom 3:1-9
Psalm 130
1 Cor. 15:50-58
John 5:24-27
In the Name of God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

Yesterday we celebrated All Saints’ Day with festival hymns and banners, and great confidence that those whom the Church calls Saints (Apostles, Martyrs and those who lead heroic lives for the faith) dwell with God and we with them--the Communion of Saints. And we said bravely that “we look for the resurrection of the body, and the life everlasting”.

But then the music fades and the banners are put away, we are suddenly left in silence. What then? What of those near and dear to us? After all, the earliest Church called them “saints”, too. And yet we wonder: How is it with them? Where are they? Do they remember us? Will we remember them? How will we ever fill the hole they have left? We feel so alone. Perhaps it is for these reasons that the Church invites us to gather and offers us the commemoration of All Faithful Departed.

The mystery, the human anguish, the sense of loss, the desire for continued communion... these things have from antiquity found their ritualized form of expression in each culture and age...1 One expression of these is a Mexican saying that we die three deaths: the first when our bodies die, the second when our bodies are lowered into the earth out of sight, and the third when our loved ones forget us.2 These are fearful questions that are reflected in our society by an almost absolute silence about death. But this is not the response of Christians, and here is where we can learn from the practices of different cultures. In Mexico, in the mixture of Christian traditions and indigenous cultures, death is not feared; rather, it is celebrated. Tonight we have chosen to share in a part of that celebration. Look over there! See the Día de los Muertos altar we have constructed together. Many photos stand as a testimony to those whom we love but see no longer. Like icons of the better-known saints, they are windows to God in whom they now live and move and have their being, though in a different way than we do now. That is one way we can overcome the “three deaths”.

Another way is through the music which the Choir offers tonight. Jacob Clemens non Papa lived from 1515-1555, almost all of his short (and at the end, fraught) life of 40 years in the Netherlands. Little is known about his life except that he was a priest, a composer of many choral works including masses, motets, Psalm settings, and the Requiem which comprises most of our liturgical music tonight.3 While we don’t know for whom this Requiem was written, we do know that Clemens (the appellation “non Papa”--not the pope of the same name--is more humor than humility) has infused it with an intimacy and emotion that was not common in his time. Each part begins with the liturgical chant and then continues with Clemens’ beautiful polyphony.4 I hope you will allow the music to surround you; to hold and enfold you like a lullaby and give you the words and notes to go with the pictures on the table or in your mind’s eye of those who have died.

Music reaches into us in deep and profound ways, but it, and the picture-altar we have created are not the only ways to overcome “the three deaths”. Our readings all attest to God’s unfailing care of us for this life and for the next. Indeed, all the words and actions of our liturgy bring us the Good News that “life is changed, not ended”. It is Jesus who begs an invitation to come to us in Communion to fill the holes left by our departed loved ones. And it is the Holy Spirit who prays in us when we are not able to find the words... which leads us back to the music of this night’s liturgy.

The Funeral Ikos, of the contemporary composer John Tavener, which we will hear at the end of the Liturgy, gives us another way in which to hold our loved ones before God. Here, in words gathered from the Orthodox funeral of a priest, we encounter the questions I posed at the beginning--and the answer. At the death of a loved one we are always left wondering: Why? How are they now? Do they remember us as we do them? All of these questions are a natural part of the mystery of death and of our grief. But we must listen to the very end! For, like a procession, this piece begins far away. Yet even as the questions grow more urgent and the description of death more real, the Alleluias after each verse grow more confident until they become a cry of victory. And at the very end we hear that our departed loved ones dwell in God’s presence, and we are invited to join the procession:

Let us all, also, enter into Christ,
that all we may cry aloud thus unto God:

Alleluia, Alleluia, alleluia.
ALLELUIA!

2008-10-16T20:03:00.000-07:00

“Who then is the faithful and wise servant...?”
(Matt. 24:45)
Theodore of Tarsus
by Jan Robitscher
2 Timothy 2: 1-5, 10
Ps. 34: 9-14
Matthew 24:42-47
All Saints Chapel
CDSP
September 18, 2008

In the name of God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

O Countenance like the Ember,
bid me remember.
(from an anonymous Irish text)

Today we remember the life and work of Theodore of Tarsus who died on this day in 690. Today is also an Ember Day. Encompassing both in one liturgy is a lot, and you may well ask, “ What do these Theodore and Ember Days have to do with each other, and why is it so important to remember them?

In June, about a month before the Lambeth Conference, I spent a week doing a Benedictine Experience retreat at Canterbury Cathedral. Much of the retreat went to praying for the Lambeth, that is, when we were not working around the Cathedral, visiting the place of Thomas Becket’s martyrdom or studying. But I also took a lot of time simply absorbing the place that is Canterbury Cathedral. I tried to absorb the communal prayers and memories which saturate every stone, window, statue and altar of the place. Part of my prayer was before the long list of Archbishops of Canterbury. Among these was Theodore of Tarsus, whom we remember today.
O Countenance like the Ember,
bid me remember.

It was by a convoluted route that Theodore became Archbishop of Canterbury. When Deusdedit died, Wighard was chosen, but he died before he could be consecrated in Rome. Then the pope decided to choose his own man, Adrian, an African-born abbot from Naples, but he refused and proposed Andrew, who was well qualified except for his health. Stories vary, but one goes that the pope tried again to force Adrian, but this time he put forward a healthy, sixty-six year old African-born Greek monk (not a priest) named Theodore who had been schooled in Antioch and Rome. The pope finally relented, but said the Adrian had to accompany Theodore to England.

Once there (complete with proper Roman tonsure), Theodore set about a circuit of the entire nation. One thing he must have discovered is that Christians there were familiar with the celebration of Ember Days. These had existed from the earliest Church, partly to counter Roman agricultural ceremonies and mostly to enjoin all the faithful to a time of fasting and prayer to thank God for the gifts of nature, to use its gifts wisely and to help the needy. The practice of Ember Days was brought to England by Augustine of Canterbury. It was not until the 11th century that Pope Gregory VII made a definite arrangement of the Ember Days: the Wednesday, Friday and Saturday after St. Lucy’s Day (Dec. 13), Ash Wednesday, Pentecost and Holy Cross Day. Later, ordinations were held on the Saturdays of Ember weeks, with prayers for fruitful ministries. They are now an occasion to pray for all vocations and to “rekindle the fire” of our worship and ministry.
O Countenance like the Ember,
bid me remember.

In 672, Theodore presided over the first council of the whole English Church. This was a major feat, as the Council of Whitby, at which Abbess Hilda persuaded the various factions to adopt the practices of the church in Rome, was only nine years earlier. He could have introduced yet a third way, of the Christian East, but instead strove to unify the Church as it was. In addition, he established boundaries for dioceses, revised canon law and ordained bishops where needed. In short, Theodore took what he found--a “disorganized missionary body” and left it “a fully ordered province of the universal Church”1

And remember Adrian? He became head of a school Theodore founded in Canterbury to train both Celtic and Roman Christians, and he, too, did much to unite the two groups.

Beyond the “physical” marks of unity that Theodore brought to the English Church lies something much deeper. Theodore was originally from Tarsus (yes, the Tarsus of St. Paul) and it was Theodore’s theology, grounded in the Schools of Antioch and Rome, and much influenced by two giants: Ireneus and Ephrem the Deacon. This was perhaps his greatest gift to the Church. Ireneus gave us the wonderful words, “The Glory of God is humanity fully alive!” Ephrem gave us poetry and hymns to express the mystery of the Incarnation (see hymn #443). Both are hallmarks of Anglican theology right down to the present day. Thanks be to God for Theodore, the “faithful and wise servant”!

So what do Theodore, Ember Days and remembering have to do with each other? Listen to a bit more of the celtic poem I have been quoting:

O Countenance like the Ember,
bid me remember
The Lamb of God, sore taken,
The Lamb of God forsaken,
The Lamb of God under clay,
Three days till Resurrection Day!

Here, in remembering--in re-membering Christ crucified and risen, is the deepest memory, steeped in the stones of Canterbury Cathedral and of every church and altar; of Theodore and all the saints; in the Ember Days and in all our days; in each of us gathered here and in the hearts of all God’s faithful people; in all our celebrations of the Eucharist.

O Countenance like the Ember,
bid me remember!

PILGRIMAGE TO CANTERBURY

2008-06-22T10:52:00.001-07:00

I am currently in the midst of a week-long Benedictine Experience at Canterbury Cathedral. But before that, I spent two nights and a day at Salisbury and the weekend in Cambridge--both good experiences which gave me some time to prepare for the retreat part of the trip. Now I am staying at the International Study Centre, right in the Cathedral Precincts--a lovely new conference centre.

Our days (we are a group of about 30 people) are a reflection of the Benedictine life: Morning Prayer at 7:30 a.m., followed by breakfast, a little break and then a morning conference given at first by famed author Esther de Wall and then by Fr. Robert Hale. Then Eucharist at noon followed by lunch and another short break. Then we do some work around the Cathedral, followed by Evensong at 5:30, dinner, evening conference and Compline. It is a balanced day of prayer, study, work and rest, just as St. Benedict laid out in his Rule.

We are so fortunate to be able to do this at Canterbury Cathedral, which was for many centuries a Benedictine monastery. To be able to absorb the Cathedral, wandering its sacred spaces, hearing the music of the Choir of men and boys, and having our own services of Eucharist and Compline in the Cathedral is truly a privelege.

This has been a time of deep reflection and prayer, especially for the upcoming Lambeth Conference of Anglican bishops from around the world, which will meet here in Canterbury next month.

The week has gone very fast. Tomorrow is our last day and on Tuesday I move on to Norwich and, in a few days' time, Scotland.

If possible I will try to write again on this trip, or will write more reflections when I at home.

On Pilgrimage

2008-06-09T10:49:00.001-07:00

For the next two and a half weeks I will be in the U.K. The major reason for the trip is to join a group making a Benedictine Experience retreat at Canturbury Cathedral from June 17-24. A Benedictine Experience is a way of giving persons, both lay and ordained, who are devoted to ST. Benedict and sometimes are associates of religious orders a way of experiencing the Benedictine life of prayer, work and study.

One of my hopes is to spend time praying for the Lambeth Conference of Anglican bishops which will take place in Canterbury in late July/early August, specifically for peacful dialogue about the issues facing the world-wide church in the 21st century. On either side of the retreat week I will visit friends in England and Scotland.

I hope to be able to post some entries while I am in Canterbury and will add pictures later. In this way, perhaps you can share a bit of my Benedictine Experience.

2008-05-10T10:34:00.001-07:00

Counter for following statistics

2008-04-17T21:38:00.000-07:00

“[Jesus] said to them, ‘Do you not know
that I must be in my Father’s house?’”
(Luke 2: 49)

Feast of St. Joseph (transferred)
Jan Robitscher
All Saints Chapel
CDSP
March 31, 2008
2 Samuel 7:4, 8-16
Psalm 89:1-4m 26-29
Romans 4: 13-18
Luke 2: 41-52

Alleluia. Christ is risen.
The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia.
When I was a child I used to listen to my father’s LP collection, which included a wonderful Christmas recording by the Robert Shaw Chorale, happily now on a CD. I remember listening (and trying hard to imitate) the wonderful contralto, almost tenor voice of Florence Kopleff singing The Cherry Tree Carol to the beautiful Kentucky Harmony tune.
When Joseph was an old man.
an old man was he,
he married Virgin Mary
the queen of Galilee.
He married Virgin Mary,
the queen of Galilee.
(from The Cherry Tree Carol)[1]
I’d love to sing it all, but that would make a long sermon, indeed! Not until later did I discover other versions of this carol, my other favorite being one sung by King’s College Choir. I was Presbyterian, and it was through this carol that I became acquainted with Joseph as an important biblical character in his own right. Perhaps this seems strange, as the carol (with it’s many versions) tells a story much embellished over the scant biblical accounts--but it was a way into the lives of Mary and Joseph, whose feasts (transferred) we celebrate today and tomorrow. We will hear much more about Mary tomorrow. For now, let’s take a moment and dwell on Joseph.

Joseph was a man of royal lineage, from David. In spite of this, he was a person of humble work as a carpenter. So he has become the patron of workers, especially appropriate on this Cesar Chaves Day. He is only mentioned some 15 times in the Gospels and, at that, is silent. In the Western Church, Joseph was almost completely absent from the celebrations of Christendom until the 14th century, and only added to the Litany of Saints in 1729. In 1870 he was named Patron and Protector of the Universal Church, and many churches and cities bear his name, including our own San Jose. He still remains in the background of Eastern Orthodox spirituality (where he is called Joseph the Elder), though he does appear in iconography and his supporting role is considered essential to the working out of the divine plan.[2] In the Counter-Reformation, however, his image was recast as a younger, more vigorous man, but this never really “took”.

That we know so little about him may be the reason behind the profusion of apocryphal stories, carols and customs about him, among them that he was a widower before marrying Mary. He is often pictured with a walking staff with lily blossoms, indicating that he was divinely chosen. And customs range from the “Joseph Table” which Italians and others used to to thank St. Joseph for favors granted and to feed the poor, to burying a statue of St. Joseph upside-down in your yard to sell the house!

So what is it about Joseph that we are celebrating? What draws us to him?

Throughout the biblical narrative, Joseph was open to hearing the voice of God and was obedient, without knowing the final outcome. When the angel of the Lord revealed to him in a dream that Mary was with child “from the Holy Spirit” and that he would be called Jesus, he immediately and without question took Mary for his wife and took up his role as Jesus’ foster father. (Matt. 1:20-21) So he is also the patron of fathers, families and doubters.

When the angel warned him again of Herod’s impending slaughter, Joseph gathered his family (the name Joseph means “God gathers”) and fled to Egypt until he was told it was safe to return.

Joseph respected God. He went to Jerusalem to have Jesus circumcised and took Mary and Jesus to the Temple for her purification. And every year they went to Jerusalem to celebrate the Passover.
ê=
In today’s Gospel reading, we hear the story of young Jesus in the Temple, with his parents searching for him “in great anxiety for three days for him. (Luke 2:48). Jesus’ own explanation “...I must be in my Father’s house” must have been bewildering and even hurtful for Joseph--as for any parent who wants to give their child “roots and wings”--or perhaps by then he understood who and whose Jesus was. That Joseph treated Jesus as his own son is attested in several places where the people of Nazareth say of Jesus, “Is this not the son of Joseph?” (Luke 4:22)

Perhaps most of all, Joseph was a person who, through his own love for Jesus, gave him the primary metaphor for God: a patient and loving Father.

We have no record of Joseph during Jesus’ public life, his death and resurrection, so most historians believe he died sometime before then. For this he is the patron of a “happy” (or peaceful) death.

Of all these qualities of openness and obedience to God, compassion and faith, what is it about this simple, silent man that attracts us to him? In the end, it is Joseph’s self-giving love that draws us most: Love of his family in spite of the stupendous circumstances that brought them together; Love of the honest work of his hands, which dignifies all labor; love of Jesus, who was himself Love Incarnate. Would that we could all be mirrors with such a reflection!

And if you are wondering by now what the connection is between St. Joseph and the Easter season. Well, there isn’t any--at least not directly. We will find it in another version of The Cherry Tree Carol. Several years have passed since Joseph married Mary and, by a miracle, she had her cherries from the tree. Joseph has faded from the scene. Mary asks Jesus “how the world will be”. He foretells his death and then says:

4. On Easter Day My mother
My rising will be,
O the sun and the moon, mother,
They shall uprise with Me.[3]

The Cherry Tree Carol
Kentucky Mountain Ballad[4]

When Joseph was an old man,
An old man was he,
He married Virgin Mary
The Queen of Galilee.
Then Mary spoke to Joseph,
So meek and so mild:
“Joseph, gather me some cherries,
For I am with child.”

Then Joseph flew in anger,
In anger flew he:
“Let the father of the baby
Gather cherries for thee.”

Then Jesus spoke a few words,
A few words spoke He:
“Let my Mother have some cherries,
Bow low down, cherry tree.”

The cherry tree bowed low down,
Bowed low down to the ground,
And Mary gathered cherries
While Joseph stood around.

The Joseph took Mary
All on his right knee,
“What have I done Lord?
Have mercy on me.”

Then Joseph took Jesus
All on his left knee:
“Oh tell me, little baby,
When thy birthday will be.”

“The sixth day of Januar[y]
My birthday will be,
When the stars in the elements
Will tremble with glee.”

[1] transcribed from a field recording by John A. Lomax in the Archive of Folk Culture, Library of Congress, AFS 1010 Al, Joseph and Mary, sung by Jilson Setters (James W. Day) at Ashland, Kentucky, 28 June 1937. From Elizabeth Poston and Malcolm Williamson, A Book of Christmas Carols. (New York: Prentice Hall, 1988).
[2] Sandra Miesel, Finding St. Joseph.
[3] The Cherry Tree Carol Part 3: Mary's Question Terry: Words (adapted) from various collections. Melody traditional.
[4] from Christmas with the Robert Shaw Chorale , CD from the Musical Heritage Society.

2007-08-30T10:31:00.000-07:00

“...for indeed our God is a consuming fire.”
(Hebrews 12:29)

Year C Proper 16
Isaiah 28: 14-22
Psalm 46
Hebrews 12: 18-19; 22-29
Luke 13:22-30
Trinity Parish
Seattle, WA
August 26, 2007
Jan Robitscher

With flame of incandescent terror
Of which the tongues declare
The one discharge from sin and error.
The only hope, or else despair
Lies in the choice of pyre of pyre—
To be redeemed from fire by fire.
(The Four Quartets, T.S. Eliot)
In the Name of God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

One of the most interesting and challenging aspects of living in a seminary community (actually I live in two: Church Divinity School and the School for Deacons) is hearing sermons on a daily basis. Over twenty years I have heard many and preached a few. For most, the theme was some nonjudgmental aspect of the love of God, and in a very few the theme was our love of God. They all meant well, I am sure, but somehow God always came off as being too tame. But on a cold January afternoon I sat in Westminster Abbey at Evensong and heard Canon-in-Residence Collin Semper preach on this very text from the Letter to the Hebrews:

For God is a consuming fire.

No, it was not in any way a “fire and Brimstone” sermon. In fact, Canon Semper’s voice was both quiet and emphatic and his sermon touched me to the core.1 And in case you are wondering--no, you won’t hear a “Fire and Brimstone” sermon from me, either--well, at least not ultimately.

For God is a consuming fire.

Why did you come here? Because you wanted to, or because you felt you had to? Did you come because you love God or because you need to experience the love of God? Did you come because you love the beautiful language of Rite I or the Renaissance music we are doing and hearing today? I do. Did you come because you are searching? Perhaps because you are worried about the present divisions in the Church or in the world (I am) or about the future? Did you come in brokenness and wanting healing? Canon Semper made the surprising statement: that it is “precisely why we have come to church--because our God is a consuming fire.”

Yes, we come searching, broken and--if we come in the right way, wanting to present ourselves as we are and as best we can to God. But then we are startled by the ‘Consuming Fire”! We encounter the presence of God in a prayer, a hymn, a reading or even a sermon and hear our name in it! And that’s only the beginning...

For God is a consuming fire.

From Genesis to Revelation, the Scripture has used Fire as denoting the presence of God. Whether that Presence is benign or not depends upon the circumstances, and upon whether those involved intended a closer relationship to God or were fleeing in fear. Consider these examples:

Moses noticed the bush with flame coming from it and
turned toward it and encountered the living God. “Come no
closer!” said God. “Remove your shoes from your feet, for the
place on which you are standing is holy ground.” Moses hid
his face, for he was afraid to look at God. (Exodus 3: 4-6)

From this benign yet terrifying meeting came the story of the Exodus--the very story we hear at the Great Vigil of Easter huddled around the Paschal Candle, lighting the room with our little candles... Or consider these:

In Leviticus, God accepts burnt-offerings and sacrifices, and what is left is to be “consumed by fire”. (Lev. 19:6)

In Advent we hear that God will come

“like a refiner’s fire... and he will purify the descendants
of Levi...until they present offerings to the Lord in
Righteousness.” (Malachi 3: 2ff)

Just last week we heard the words of an impatient Jesus:

I have come to bring fire to the earth, and how I
wish it were already kindled!” (Luke 12:49)

We celebrate Pentecost, when the Holy Spirit appeared over the heads of the Apostles as “tongues of fire” (Acts 2:3)

And in the book of Revelation we hear about the seven flaming torches which surround the throne of God... Rev. (Ch. 4) and of how all evil will one day be thrown into the lake of fire (Rev. 21: 8) and there will be new heavens and a new earth--the heavenly Jerusalem, where “the glory of God is its light, and the lamp is the Lamb--the final redeeming of fire. (Rev. 21:23)

And saints down through the centuries have encountered God the consuming fire in the experience of contemplative prayer. A Renaissance saint, Teresa of Avila, wrote this:

“The fire of divine love is more quickly enkindled
when we blow a little with our intellects. Since
we are close to the fire, a little spark will ignite
and set everything ablaze. Because there is
no impediment from outside, the soul is alone
with its God; it is well prepared for this enkindling.
[I would like you to understand clearly this manner
of prayer, which, as I have said, is called recollection.]
(The Interior Castle, Chapter 28)

Now if we admit that we come to Church as we are to encounter the living God, we must move on to a harder question: Why do we stay? In the face of the issues of human sexuality dividing our church, some have decided to leave and for the rest of us it could seem a tempting escape. But that issue is, for some, a cover for other issues. Some, on the conservative end, are still arguing still over the ordination of women and the Prayer Book. Others, on the liberal end, argue over inclusive language or the necessity of baptism or the irrelevance of the parts of the Bible they don’t like--perhaps including today’s lesson from Hebrews! We may have no choice, given the possibility (though not likely) that the Episcopal Church in the United States might be thrown out of the Anglican Communion. In the end, these issues--all of them--pale before God the consuming fire. But let us not panic! How can we find the courage to to stay?

Consider the reasons why folks leave. Either the Church is:

1) too conservative (THEM)
2) too liberal (US) OR
3) our spiritual life has gone flat (ALL OF US)

Which brings us back again to our reading from Hebrews. This letter was written very early--before the destruction of the Second Temple in 70 A.D.--to encourage Jewish Christians not to abandon their new-found faith in Jesus. In addition to arguments from the Hebrew Scriptures they knew, St. Paul (or more probably a student of St. Paul) warns them that they do not come to worship “something that can be touched”, but to nothing less than the “heavenly Jerusalem, and to innumerable angels in festal gathering...and to Jesus the mediator of a new covenant. ( Hebrews 12: 23-24) The warning continues: See that you do not refuse the one who is speaking to you...

For God is a consuming fire.

The real question is not the whether the Church is too conservative, too liberal, or just not meeting our needs. It is whether we are ready and willing to recognize the presence of God in recollection, as St. Teresa says, and in community. We are in the Church because it is the Body of Christ, and the Word of God is a consuming fire because if we hear it, it either challenges or frightens us. If we don’t hear it, something is blocking it and we need to allow the Holy Spirit’s fire to burn away those things which are blocking it. We must do this because if we flee from it, then the Word of God will indeed consume us in a more destructive way.

But this is not the end of the story. On the other side of for God is a consuming fire, the author of Hebrews goes on to say this:

Let mutual love continue. Do not neglect to show hospitality
to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels
without knowing it. Remember those who are in prison...Let
marriage be held in honor... Keep your lives free from the
love of money and be content with what you have... Remember
your leaders... [And finally]-- Jesus Christ is the same
yesterday, today and forever.

The surprise is that the author of Hebrews says that the fruits of an encounter with God the consuming fire--for those who intend a closer relationship with God--are not fear and death and destruction, but love, hospitality, intercessory prayer, community life (summarized by, but not limited to marriage)--all the things we do when we come together for worship that prepare us for the moment of Communion--when, as St. Augustine says, in receiving the very life of Jesus, we become who we truly are: the Body of Christ. Here, in the consuming of bread and wine-become-Jesus, is the place where we most closely encounter God the consuming fire.

Where is the Good News in all this? If we come to God honestly, not afraid to bring whatever we have: our searching, our longing, our brokenness, our love--then we can have the courage (by God’s grace) to remain in the presence of God the consuming fire and be transformed by it into the Body of Christ. Therefore, says the Letter to the Hebrews:

... since we are receiving a kingdom which cannot
be shaken, let us give thanks,by which we offer to God
an acceptable worship with reverence and awe;

for indeed our God is a consuming fire.
(Hebrews 12:29)

Let us pray:
Come, Holy Spirit,
fill the hearts of your faithful people
and kindle in us the fire of your love;
Send forth your breath and we shall be created
and you shall renew the face of the earth. Amen.

2007-08-30T10:11:00.000-07:00

“Lord, teach us to pray...”
(Luke 11:1)

Year C Proper 12
Genesis 18:20-32
Psalm 85
Col 2:6-15 (17-19)
Luke 11:1-13
St. Andrew’s
Brechin, Scotland
July 29, 2007
Jan Robitscher

Be careful of simple words said often.
“Amen”: We are present. We are open.
We hearken. We understand.
Here we are. We are listening to your word.1
(Barbara Schmich)

First, I would like to thank Ursula for inviting me here to preach. I have just come from singing at Lincoln Cathedral and then at Durham with the choir of St. Mark’s Church, Berkeley, California. Our week (and a bit more) of leading people in sung prayer has been an experience both exhilarating and exhausting. St. Benedict was right--prayer really is the “Work of God”! At home, during term-time, I am an Instructor at the Episcopal School for Deacons, an intensive program for the training of vocational deacons for all of the diocese of northern California and beyond. Ursula suggested that I speak about this, and I think there might be a connection between our readings--especially the Gospel-- and the ministry of deacons, though it may not seem obvious at first.

Our reading from St. Luke’s Gospel speaks to us of prayer. It is notable that Jesus knows how to pray, how to have an intimate conversation, speaking and listening to and with God, his Abba, his Father in the closest sense. But his disciples must ask to learn how to pray, “Lord, teach us to pray as John taught his disciples.” So if, as St. Paul says, we are buried with [Christ] in baptism and raised with him through faith (the Early Church Fathers would say, “Christians are made (through baptism), not born”) then prayer is more taught than caught. It is something we teach our children. One of my earliest memories is of my Presbyterian mother saying bedtime prayers with me, which always included the Lord’s prayer. And we hone our “prayer lessons” over the days and years of our lives, growing in our relationship with God; listening more and speaking less. Sometimes, however, we encounter dry times, or simply take our prayers for granted, or fail to pray at all. Fortunately for us we have little excuse, for there is not a service in the Prayer Book (whether of the Episcopal Church of Scotland of of the Episcopal Church in the United States or anywhere else in the Anglican Communion) that does not have somewhere within it the Lord’s prayer.

Be careful of simple words said often...

Jesus’ prayer reflects his deepest desires: for reverence for God as Father (or loving parent, if you prefer); for the coming of the Kingdom in which God’s will is perfectly reflected from heaven to earth and back again; for everyone to have what they need to feed body and soul each day; for reconciliation with God and each other; and for our safety in times of trial. To pray as Jesus prays is to make Jesus’ deepest longings and desires our own.2 But this is not just a little theological nicety or a pious thought. Jesus’ prayer makes demands upon us that affect the way we live our lives in the world. Which brings us to the second part of our Gospel lesson--and to the School for Deacons.

Perhaps the disciples’ next question after “Teach us to pray” was “And what does this prayer have to do with us”. So Jesus tells this little parable about a persistent friend and what it means to persevere in prayer. That someone would get up in the middle of the night to give his neighbor some bread for his persistent friend--daily bread--this could be called “applied theology”--what it means to pray in the real world.

Each weekend at the School for Deacons students engage in course work which focuses on all the normal seminary subjects, but with an emphasis on the service of deacons to the poor and marginalized, which is the essence of the diaconate and will comprise a large part of their ministry. They apply this knowledge in Field Education, Hospital Ministry, in many ministries around the diocese and in their home parishes, as well as in their secular jobs which they will continue after graduation and ordination. But there is also a regular schedule of worship, in which every student participates and where the liturgical ministry of deacons is modeled. To form deacons, we engage them in a constant conversation between ministry in the church and in the world. We try to teach them, as Gail Ramshaw says, that:

When [the deacon] who works with the poor also
proclaims the Good News, calls on the people for
prayers of compassion and waits on the table and
the people recognize the connection between the
deacon’s ministry without...and within, liturgy forms
the people of God in a life of Christian service.3

The final part of the Gospel reading speaks of the overwhelming desire of God to shower good things upon us--even more than a parent wanting to do good his or her children. This is how God is. God has no need of our prayers, yet desires that we take up Jesus’ own words, and then to shower upon us everything we ask, encompassed in the gift of the Holy Spirit.

Now if you are thinking that there is a large gap between Jesus’ desires and our own, between what we ask of God and what God gives, you are right. We have only to look at a verse in the Psalm for today to see this:

Mercy and truth have met together;*
righteousness and peace have kissed each other.
(Ps. 85:10)

I love this verse and only wish it would come to pass. On one of my previous trips to the U.K. I visited Westminster Abbey, a favorite place. Someone pointed out to me (really too far for me to see) that there are four statues: Mercy, Truth, Justice (Righteousness) and Peace: the Four Virtues. At Evensong, I heard a sermon from the then Sub-Dean which pointed out that the statues of Mercy and Truth actually look away from each other. How far from a perfect alignment with God we are! Yet we persevere in prayer, just as Abraham of our Old Testament reading, or the neighbor of Jesus’ story, or as the disciples who wanted to learn to pray. But we must remember that it is God who gives us the desire to pray in the first place, which makes our prayers a reflection of God’s work in us.
Be careful of simple words said often...

In a few minutes we will say the Lord’s Prayer--our final act of preparation before receiving the very life of Jesus in Holy Communion. When we place our “Amen” on that prayer, we take upon ourselves Jesus’ desires and we allow him to take our “Common Prayer” and make it holy. We take all of the pain of our lives and of the world, all of the divisions in our Anglican Communion and we offer them to Jesus for healing and reconciliation. We take all of the service of our lives and offer it to Jesus, asking for strength and grace and safety. We take all the thanksgivings of our lives and offer them to Jesus for praise. And to Jesus’ prayer (and returning to the poetry of Barbara Schmich) we say:

“Amen”: We support. We approve.
We are of one mind. We promise.
May this come to pass. So be it.

Amen. Amen.

2007-08-14T15:23:00.000-07:00

“...[H]er sins, though many, are forgiven;
hence, she has shown great love.”
(Luke 7:49)

Year C Proper 6
2 Samuel 11:26-12:10, 13-15
Psalm 32:1-8
Galatians 2:11-21
Luke 7:36-50
Jan Robitscher
Trinity Parish
Seattle, WA
June 13, 2004

Said General Oglethorpe to Wesley, “I never forgive.”
“Then I hope sir,” said Wesley, “you never sin.”
(George Eliot, Nineteenth Century)[1]

In the Name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Whatever possessed the creators of our lectionary to place these readings right at the beginning of the long, green season? We might have expected to find them during Lent for--in a rare confluence, they all have to do with sin and forgiveness, with law and grace, with repentance and love. But green is the color representing growth--growth in our life-in-Christ--so maybe there’s a purpose here.

All of the people in these lessons acted in ways that separated them from the truth. King David is in a heap of trouble. He desires Bathsheba, and, after committing adultery with her, he has her husband Uriah killed off in battle. God is not pleased, but David does not “get it” until Nathan comes to him with a parable (a one-point story) about the ewe-lamb, which finally breaks through to David and prompts his confession. God is merciful and David is forgiven, though his sin does have consequences for the child that is born--but that’s another sermon.

Our Gospel reading presents another illustration of God’s forgiveness and how people respond to it. Jesus visits the home of a rabbi, a Pharisee--one who would have prided himself on his ability to keep the whole Law to the letter, and who would have looked down on those who did not. We don’t know why Simon invited Jesus to dinner. Perhaps he admired him or even wanted to entrap him. Probably, he was just curious, as Jesus had become a celebrity. What Simon has not anticipated was the presence of the “woman from the city, who was a sinner”. How could such a notorious person--a woman, considered to be an outcast and at the bottom of society--get into the Pharisee’s house? How could she come right up to Jesus? Then she did the unthinkable and broke open her vial of perfume, something often worn by women, and began to anoint Jesus’ feet and, weeping, to wipe his feet with her hair. This was an incredibly sensuous gesture and the Pharisee was scandalized, though he did not voice it. He didn’t “get it” any more than King David did. So Jesus, reading his thoughts, and seeing through the woman’s acts to a love much deeper than sensuality, tells another parable, the story of the creditor and the two debtors.

At the end of the story, when both of the debts are forgiven, Jesus asks, “Now which of them will love him more?” And he answered, correctly, “The one for whom he canceled the greater debt.” Jesus then explains that this notorious woman has done for him all of the customary things which the Pharasee-host is supposed to do. Then comes the heart of his message:
“Therefore I tell you, her sins, which were many,
have been forgiven; hence she has shown great love.”

This is the part that is so hard for us to understand. We often remember that other verse of Scripture, “Love covereth a multitude of sins.” (I Peter 2:8) And it does. But what we think that means is that we can earn God’s forgiveness with our love, by our own efforts. In this lesson, we think that Jesus said that those who love much are forgiven much. But listen carefully. What Jesus says of the woman is that her response to being forgiven overflows into acts of love. This is what St. Paul is trying so hard to say in our second reading--that we must act consistently with the truth of the Gospel because “we are justified by faith in Christ, and not by doing works of the Law.”

Now what does all of this have to do with us? In an age where many folks are saying that they can’t find God anywhere, it is important to remember that, in order to begin to find God, we must first be willing to admit our personal and corporate sinfulness. This is not easy. Look at the headlines and see how hard we try to justify (and we even lie to do it) all sorts of things. Take the reasons for going to war in Iraq. Most were exaggerated at best and fabricated at worst. And, according to one commentator, talk show host Phil Donahue was the lone voice raising questions about this, and for his efforts, his show got canceled. Or how about the greed of multi-national corporations like Enron. While California burned, the corporate execs laughed--all the way to the bank. Add to these the pollution of our earth; and all the various forms of discrimination which still pervade our society...

But if we think the Church is exempt, we would be quite wrong. One only has to see the split over the issue of homosexuality, for example. On one side are extreme conservatives who are trying to exclude anyone unlike themselves. On the other are extreme liberals who are advocating a hedonistic society in which anything goes and there is no sin. This is not the only issue, and we are not alone. Our Roman Catholic brothers and sisters continue to struggle through a sexual abuse scandal of monumental proportions.

On a more personal level--perhaps the hardest to see--we might ask: What do we lie about? What separates us from the truth? What angers or resentments or jealousies keep us from loving God and one another?

Now lest we fall into despair over all of these kinds of corporate and personal sin, we have only to look at our Psalm to find help:
While I held my tongue, my bones withered away,*
because of my groaning all the day long.
Then I acknowledged my sin to you,*
and did not conceal my guilt.
I said, “I will confess my transgressions to the Lord.”*
Then you forgave me the guilt of my sin.

Our liturgy provides us with a way to do just this. In a few minutes, after we have professed our faith and prayed for the Church and the world (Heaven knows they need it!) we will say the General Confession. Here is our best opportunity to confess not only our own personal sins, but also the sins we commit corporately: as a parish, as Christ’s Body, the Church, and as a society.

The truth is, as St. Paul has said,
For there is no distinction, since All have sinned
and fall short of the glory of God...
(Romans 3:23)
But he goes on to say:
...they [and we] are now justified by...
grace as a gift, through the redemption
that is in Christ Jesus...

After the General Confession, we exchange the Peace. This is an ancient act of reconciliation and a sign that those who desire it are now ready to participate in the Holy Communion. No one is worthy and, as your rector, Paul likes to say, all are welcome. And Jesus is there, willing to accept us, just as he was willing to accept that notorious woman, who knew that her many sins were forgiven, and whose gratitude overflowed in love.[2]

So maybe the lectionary writers weren’t wrong after all. Maybe, in order to find God, to grow in our life-in-Christ during this long, green season, we must begin by first recognizing our own sinfulness--and that of our parish and our society. Then, thankful for God’s unfailing mercy, we can, like the woman of our Gospel story, be overflowing with acts of love.

[1] From A Reconciliation Sourcebook, LTP, p. 53
[2] Some ideas for this sermon came from the Rev. Nicholas R.D.Dyke’s sermon on the website, Worship that Works.

2007-08-14T14:54:00.000-07:00

“...Son of David, have mercy on me!”
(Mark 10:47)

Year B Proper 25 (Special Healing Service)
Job 42:1-6, 10-17
Psalm 34:1-8
Hebrews 7:23-28
Mark 10:46-52

Jan Robitscher

St. Mark’s Church

Berkeley, CA

October 29, 2006

In the name of God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

O lead my blindness by the hand,
Lead me to thy familiar feast,
Not here or now to understand,
Yet even here and now to taste,
How the eternal Word of heaven
On earth in broken bread is given.
(William Ewart Gladstone, 19th century)[1]

What an irritating soul was Bartimaeus! Sitting by the side of the road, calling out at the top of his voice, “Son of God, have mercy on me!” Little wonder they tried to shush him up. Although he seemed to be yelling at the air, he knew that Jesus was close by, and, though he may not have known much about Jesus, where Jesus was, there was God’s help. So he cried out all the louder, “Son of David, have mercy on me!”

I can relate to Bartimaeus at lots of levels. I, too, have received my sight--but that’s another sermon. I also know something of what it is to cry out for mercy. In second grade, we had to copy long outlines and assignments from the blackboard. Even sitting in the front row, this was a daunting task. One day, I got completely overwhelmed and yelled out a 7 yr. old’s equivalent of “Son of David, have mercy on me!” The teacher, using methods we would now call abusive, silenced me and segregated me to the back of the room. Healing of the memory and forgiveness (renouncing revenge) came later when I understood more about this teacher and her problems. I can remember other times. In Junior High the children made a circle around me and began to taunt... Again, healing and forgiveness came later. But these and other such experiences only made me want to spend the rest of my life speaking and writing and working to improve the treatment of all persons--especially persons with disabilities--both within and without the Church, and cry out all the louder, “Son of David, have mercy!” Each time, in some way, I have been told “Oh Jan, sit down. Be quiet.” Still, I persist...

Back to our Gospel reading. What happened next was--really--a miracle. First, Jesus stood still long enough to hear Bartimaeus’ cry. Then, ignoring the crowd trying to hush Bartimaeus, he said “Call him here.” The fickle crowd then changes its attitude toward the blind man, saying, “Take heart; get up, he is calling you.” Then Bartimaeus does something remarkable: he throws off his cloak--his dearest possession--and runs to Jesus, who asks, “What do you want me to do for you?” And Bartimaeus, no longer shouting to the air for help or harassed by the crowd, asks simply, “My teacher, let me see again.”

Now, Bartimaeus could have asked for anything: fame, fortune, maybe for a less dysfunctional family or a better place in society. But he says, “My teacher, let me see again.” Perhaps he has had sight before. Yet, does he really know what he is asking? Does he really want to see the world that is both beautiful and, at times, brutal? He does not hesitate: “My teacher, let me see again.” Jesus, the Son of David had mercy on him, and he was healed.

But it does not end there. For, in Mark’s good style, it says that “Immediately, he followed him on the way.” In early Christianity, “The Way” meant to follow Jesus. So he went on his way, and most likely told anyone who would listen the story of his healing encounter with Jesus.

I could stop right here and tell you (and it’s true) that Jesus cares about each of us and wants to heal us, to give us what we need to be whole and sound. In return, we thank him and follow him on the way. But I believe there is more for us--yes, US. This story is not only about an encounter between Bartimaeus and Jesus. It is about the crowd, too. It is not just a “me and Jesus” story. It is an “US and Jesus” story.

What if we, as a parish, were to live out this story? What if this story is really a story about Healing, Stewardship and Evangelism? How would it look? First, we must admit that we are sometimes like blind Bartimaeus. We can’t see what is going on, but we can admit before God that we need healing and keep crying out until God’s help comes. What if we lifted our parish up to God in this way? Oh, we know some things: that our long and wonderful history includes the collective memory (an actual memory for some who have been here that long) of the tragic death of our former Rector George Tittmann; our present budget problems; all the buildings, programs and personnel we wish we could add to what we have; perhaps a few forgotten “skeletons” in our parish closet? And beyond us, what about the divisions that threaten the Anglican Communion? What if we just lifted it all up to God? What if we took a lesson from our Amish brothers and sisters who have endured such unspeakable violence and made the choice to pray and to forgive? Or we could learn from the courageous and articulate response of Michael J. Fox to the unkind remarks of Rush Limbaugh. Can we lift up our society to God? Or our war-torn, global-warmed-out world? That’s the Healing part.

Sometimes we are like the crowd. One moment we try to hush up those crying out for help, the next we are encouraging them to come. It might be a parishioner, a committee, a clergy or staff person, or maybe a homeless person who come to us for Hot Meals. We are often impatient, unwilling to stand still long enough to hear their cry. Or sometimes no one is patient enough to hear ours. How would it be if, like Jesus, we did stand still long enough to hear our own cry, our collective community cry? What if we then took that cry to Jesus for help and healing?

From Bartimaeus, we have learned that healing is costly. Are we willing, as Bartimaeus was, to let go of our collective cloak--our dearest possession? What if we gave of ourselves--all of us in as many ways as we are able--and ask God’s help to build up this parish? To build up the larger Church? To build up our society and our world? That’s the Stewardship part.

Yet we dare not stop there! For when we receive healing or any kind of help, we must return thanks to God and then, like Bartimaeus, follow Jesus on the way. That’s the Evangelism part. We must tell the story of God’s creation, of Jesus, “God-with-us”, of the Holy Spirit blowing its healing power where it will--gently and lovingly--to anyone who will listen and even to those who don’t seem to hear. We must tell them how God is active in our lives, tell them what it really means to be an inclusive community not just in word but in action, invite them to “come and see”, as I often do to those whom I meet walking across the Cal campus to St. Mark’s each Sunday.

Now let me tell you a positive story: One Sunday over the summer, while visiting my family in Atlanta, I attended the Cathedral of St. Philip, where my brother and sister-in-law and their son are members. At Communion, I approached the Altar, led by my (now retired) guide dog, “Christmas”. An usher showed me the stairs and which way to go to receive Communion, and I did. Then, coming around and through the ambulatory, I encountered another usher who asked earnestly, “May I help you down the stairs?” Everything in me wanted to say, “No, thank you, my dog and I can do this together.” but I resisted the temptation in mid-sentence, put down the harness handle and allowed him to take my arm and help me. He told me, in so many words, that he had always wanted to do this, to help someone with a guide dog, someone who could not see, so that he or she could have a good experience of God, of church, of the Cathedral. For that moment, even though I could see, he was my eyes. For that moment, the healing presence of Jesus was there, in the midst of us. I got safely back to my place and he went away happy, his prayer finally having been answered.

O lead my blindness by the hand,
Lead me to thy familiar feast,
Not here or now to understand,
Yet even here and now to taste,
How the eternal Word of heaven
On earth in broken bread is given.

So come forward for prayer and anointing for healing. Come ready to give over your private hurts and illnesses, but also the hurts and illnesses of the Body of Christ in this parish, in the Church, in our world. Come and ask Jesus our Great High Priest who continually makes intercession for us. Ask for healing or whatever else you want and need. Come to give thanks for healing already given or some other special occasion. Come, loved ones and caregivers and stand with us. [Whether you come forward or remain quietly in prayer, listen to the music the choir has lovingly prepared, for music can be a way that God heals us, too.][2] Then, at the time of Communion, come to this Altar, the Lord’s Table, to the Healing Feast that brings forgiveness and the gift of eternal life. Finally, filled with the very life of Jesus, go into the world, ready to tell the Good News of how healing has come to this place.

[1] A Eucharist Sourcebook, p. 25
[2] Omit at 8 a.m. service.

2007-07-01T14:02:00.000-07:00

“The bread that I shall give for he life of the world
is my flesh.”[1]
(Jn. 6:51)

Year B Proper 14
Deut. 8:1-10
Psalm 34:1-8
Eph. 4: (25-29) 30-5:2
John 6:37-51ff

Jan Robitscher
Church of the Redeemer
San Rafael, CA
August 13, 2006

O lead my blindness by the hand
Lead me to my familiar Feast
Not here or now to understand,
Yet even here and now to taste,
How the eternal Word of heaven
On earth in broken bread is given.[2]
William Ewart Gladstone
Nineteenth Century

In the Name of God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

Every preacher has a sermon with a capital “S”--a theme which returns again and again, though in different ways, like facets in a prism. While the Sermon (capital S) might be a passionately favorite topic of the preacher, it is not always easy. So today, God has given it to me to preach on one of the most difficult passages of Scripture. You see, it’s easy to preach on a lesson that tells a story or sings a Psalm. But when we enter the scene right at the climax of Jesus’ “sermon” on the day after the feeding of the five thousand, and hear him saying “The bread that I shall give for the life of the world is my flesh”[3] we suddenly wonder if the Gospel writer got it right--or even whether Jesus has taken leave of his senses! Today I hope to leave you with the assurance that John indeed got it right and that Jesus meant what he said in this passage and in the even harder verses which follows it.
For the bread that I shall give for the life
of the world is my flesh.

It starts small. I’ve been thinking about friendship--how it forms and what things sustain it. Suddenly I realized that, at one time or another, I have shared a meal with every close friend I have. Your vicar, Carol can attest to this. We first met briefly while she was working at Guide Dogs (where, indecently, she probably knew “Christmas” as a puppy). When she came to seminary, near where I live, we became friends and often shared cup of coffee or hot chocolate at Brewed Awakening. Then lunch and conversation in the Refectory. Then I invited her to tea at my home. And, of course, we attended seminary Chapel almost daily together. Always, there was bread of one kind or another. We literally became companions--ones who share the bread.

Just after I met Carol, I began to teach at the School for Deacons. Because the diaconal call and ministry are bound up in proclaiming the Good News to, praying for and serving the marginalized, not a class session weekend would go by without being at a Eucharist and hearing of and praying for the needs of the world: “For the poor, the sick, the hungry and those who suffer...for prisoners, captives and all who are in danger...”[4] And about this same time, I began to help with Hot Meals for the Homeless at St. Mark’s in Berkeley. “Friend” became “Friends” in a larger way, and I began to understand what Jesus meant when he said:
The bread that I shall give for the life
of the world is my flesh.

Receiving Communion is more than just the “me and Jesus” experience most of us had in our childhood when we went to church. We don’t have to read far in the headlines to see a world so badly in need of the life for which Jesus died: the tragic fighting in the Middle East, starvation and AIDS in Africa and here, poverty, homelessness, crime, global warming and the Anglican Communion, so badly divided. And we don’t have to look far in this room to be aware of each other and know each others’ needs. Communion and Community come from the same root. When Jesus gives himself to us, we become his Body, and we are expected to give ourselves to others--friends and enemies, near and far--in his Name.

Now if only I could stop here! If only I could wind up this nice Social Gospel sermon to and sit down. But it goes on and gets harder. Jesus’ identification of himself with the bread must have shocked his hearers. After all, Jewish law forbade the eating of food not completely drained of blood and, though there were some abuses of the sacrificial system, cannibalism was unthinkable. Even so, Jesus’ hearers would have understood his words literally--and they would have heard in them deeper meanings that our English translations can impart. For to Jewish and early Christian ears, the words “flesh” and “blood” meant far more than the physical (and separate) parts of the body we know. “Flesh” meant one’s whole person: body, soul, mind and spirit. “Blood” meant the very essence of life itself.

But knowing this did not keep Jesus hearers from disputing among themselves saying, “How can this man give us his flesh to eat?” For centuries to come, the Church debated the question in an attempt to explain this bread-become-the Body of Christ. Actually, those Medieval theologians got a bad press, but perhaps it was Queen Elizabeth I who said it best when she came up with an Anglican “Middle Way” of explaining the mystery:
It was the Word that spake it.
He took the bread and brake it,
And what his word doth make it,
That I believe and take it.[5]

And the debate goes on today. Only now scholars don’t debate HOW the bread becomes the Body of Christ, but WHETHER it does. They spiritualize the passage and say that Jesus didn’t really mean those words. Jesus answered the dispute not by explaining HOW his flesh and blood would “get into” the bread and cup, nor did he brush the whole thing aside as an empty symbol. Rather, he impressed upon them that if they wanted life at all--life with any meaning--life for the world--they would have to partake of the Lord of Life, himself. And he speaks to us too. He promised that whoever gathered in his Name to celebrate the mystery of his death and resurrection would find him--all of him-- present in bread and wine. To receive Communion (or, as the Gospel says, when we partake of Jesus’ flesh and blood) is literally to become one with Jesus and to have Jesus become one with us. And it is to become companions in the deepest sense--those who share the Bread that Jesus gives.

What difference should this make in our lives? Communion gives us strength for our individual journeys. It will help me entrust my beloved “Christmas” to Carol today and it will help her entrust me to receive a new dog tomorrow and train with it for the next three weeks and then to let us loose on the world beyond. And I’m sure each of you needs Jesus’ strength for your journey, too.

But it also gives us a different world-view. It helps us pray “for the life of the world” and enlarge our definition of “Friend”. It helps us see where help is needed and energizes us to (as St. Teresa puts it, “Be Christ’s eyes and hands and feet in the world”. It helps us grow as a community, both in our love for one another and in our desire to bring more people here. In receiving Communion, we ask to see everything through Jesus’ eyes. But that’s not all. In a world filled with terrorism and war and the rumors of war, Jesus gives himeslf to us so that we can know that our ultimate safety is found only in God. This is what the Prayer Book Catechism means when it says:
The benefits we receive [from the Eucharist] are
the forgiveness of our sins, the strengthening of
our union with Christ and one another, and the
foretaste of the heavenly banquet which is our
nourishment in eternal life.[6]

In the end, though, the Eucharist is larger than our individual or even our corporate journeys. Eucharist means “thanksgiving” and is the way Jesus gave us of remembering--literally re-membering--in thanksgiving his life, death and resurrection--his supreme act of love for us.

So I invite you to come to this Table. Come prepared by reconciling yourself to God and your neighbors. Come longing to receive the whole Person of Jesus. Most of all, come in thanksgiving for his love. Then be willing to carry Jesus from this place into the world for which he gave his life and for which he rose again. Perhaps the great liturgist Balthazar Fischer said it best:

The table awaits us at which our baptismal life is fed
over and over again. We have every reason to cry out
in gratitude: Alleluia, alleluia![7]

[1] This sermon is adapted from one I preached in September, 1985.
[2] A Eucharist Sourcebook, p. 25
[3] Italics mine.
[4] Compiled from Prayers of the People, Book of Common Prayer.
[5] Norman Fox, Christ in the Daily Bread <> Quatrain attributed to Queen Elizabeth I.
[6] An Outline of the Faith, Book of Common Prayer, pp. 859-860.
[7] Balthasar Fischer, from A Eucharist Sourcebook, p. 39.

2007-07-01T13:46:00.000-07:00

"This is none other than the house of God,
and this the gate of heaven."
(Gen. 28:17)

St. Michael and All Angels
Gen. 28:10-17
Rev. 12:7-12
Jn. 1:47-51
Jan Robitscher
Sept 29, 2006
All Saints Chapel
CDSP

Note: It is rare for a preacher to admit to pulling a sermon
out of the file, but this one has a story: Nineteen years ago
and a newly-arrived doctoral student (that didn’t last long),
I was asked to preach on this Feast on short notice.[1] Well, it
happened again! Fortunately, neither angels nor the essentials
of the Gospel message have changed much in nineteen years.
Here, slightly revised, is what I said:
+
Visit this place, O Lord, and drive far from it
all snares of the enemy; let your holy angels
dwell with us to preserve us in peace; and let
your blessing be upon us always; through Jesus
Christ our Lord. Amen.

That ancient collect, from the Office of Compline, is among my favorite in all the Prayer Book--and so is this Feast of St. Michael and All Angels. But it is a curious Feast, dating from the foundation of a church dedicated to St. Michael in the fifth century and expanded to include ALL angels in the 1549 Prayer Book. But what are we really celebrating? After all, we don't think of angels as a part of our every-day experience. Yet we encounter them often in our prayers and our liturgical life, and they come up at regular intervals in our lectionary readings. So we must deal with them... But how?

Most of you are probably familiar with The Screwtape Letters of C.S. Lewis. You remember, the chronicle of demon Screwtape's replies to his nephew Wormwood who is trying very hard to defeat the new-found Christian life of his human subject. (He fails, thank God!) Well, I have unearthed one of the unpublished letters of nephew Wormwood, who sees this Feast from what might be called a "Via Negativa" point of view. I share it now, with his permission. Only remember that the Devil is a liar, and Uncle Screwtape taught Wormwood very well...

My dearest Uncle Screwtape,

Well, it's THEIR day again! Oh, they call it "St. Michael and ALL Angels, but we deceivers are not deceived. They can't describe them. Even the Sacred Writings are quite vague. But, put simply, angels (as they're called) are messengers--a special order of beings (says the collect for this day) which, when they are not (dare I say it?) singing the praises of God, are intermediaries between God and humankind.

We have tried for so long to confuse the description of these beings: Medieval creations with peaceful (if somber) expressions; chubby cherubs of Baroque art; even human beings (a bishop once asked me, “Are you an angel?”. But alas! those familiar with the Sacred Writings know better. THEY are really such fierce and awesome figures that the recipients of their messages must first be calmed with the words, "Be not afraid".

Though only four of them are named: Michael, Rafael, Gabriel and Uriel, their presence has been felt throughout Salvation History: in Jacob's dream of today's lesson, or his wrestling match with an angel a few chapters later; at the vision which accompanied Isaiah's calling; ministering to Elijah in his moment of despair; announcing the Incarnation to Mary and Jesus' birth to the shepherds; with Jesus at His baptism, His temptation in the desert, His agony in the garden, and as the very first witnesses of the resurrection; finally as the victors-in-Christ over our Leader and us his fallen angels as so--er--beautifully depicted in the lesson from Revelation.

We angels here Below want so much to get those humans on earth to dismiss THEM (and us) as figments of their (or some ancient writer's) worst fantasies! Origen said that angels belong to the proclamation of the Church. We had more success with Gregory of Nazianzus who said that "it is difficult to find the right words in which to speak of angels". Yet even Karl Barth could not entirely demythologize angels, pointing out that, whereas WE (fallen angels) exist for ourselves here Below, THEY, in that horribly beautiful place called heaven,
"...are not independent and autonomous subjects...
merging as it were into their function, which is
wholly and exemplary that of SERVICE." (Church Dogmatics)

And C.S. Lewis (by whose hand your letters, Uncle Screwtape, were published) has this to say:
The commonest question is whether I really "believe
in the Devil". The proper question is whether I believe
in devils. I do. That is to say, I believe in angels, and
I believe that some of these, by the abuse of their
free will, have become enemies to God...and to us.
Satan, the leader...of devils, is not the opposite of
God, but of Michael... (whose name, incidentally,
means "who can compare with God?") (Screwtape Letters)

Or, if these humans who call themselves “Christians” find angels unavoidable, they take them for granted. They confuse them for human messengers--important and even necessary at times, but not angels. I have stumbled upon these Christians' celebrations of this day. In a few moments the familiar words of the Preface will sound again which, in every Eucharist, leads them into the hymn of Isaiah's vision:
Therefore we praise you, joining our voices with
Angels and Archangels (no, not “dark angels”!),
and with all the company of heaven, who forever
sing this hymn to proclaim the glory of your Name...

And their hymns! (Sung:) Angels from the Realms of Glory; Angels, we have heard on high; The angel Gabriel from heaven came; Ye holy angels bright; Christ the fair glory of the holy angels...(or if you prefer the chant version...) I could go on and on--but this angelic music hurts my demonic ears!

I cannot stay in church much longer! For (in Jacob's words) "This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven."

Dear Uncle Screwtape, I tried my best to stifle the joy of these Christians and their "St. Michael and THEIR Angels" celebrations. But I'm afraid it's hopeless. You see, the (dare I say it) Good News is that they keep asking God to send angels to “defend them here on earth” and they keep striving, with God’s help, to make the example of the Angels' reflected glory and service their own. Once that's done, nothing here Below can overcome it. But maybe someday, at the Consummation of All Things, we will give in and surrender ourselves to Jesus the Christ. Then it really will be the Feast of St. Michael and ALL angels.

Meanwhile, Uncle Screwtape, I await your learned response.

Your affectionate nephew,

Wormwood

[1] I owe a great debt to my friend the Rev. Dr. Tina Pippin, who was here on sabbatical at the time and helped me do the research for this sermon.

2007-07-01T13:29:00.000-07:00

“On that day the root of Jesse shall stand as a signal to the peoples.. and his dwelling shall be glorious”
(Isaiah 11:10)

Year A Advent II
Isaiah 11:1-10
Psalm 72
Matthew :1-12
Jan Robitscher
St. Mark’s Church
Berkeley, CA
December 10, 2006

Creator of the stars of light
Your peoples’ everlasting light;
O Christ, redeemer of us all,
We pray you hear us when we call.

We have entered the season of Advent, that time of preparation for the comings of Christ, yes, comings: past, present and future. But the image I had again as Advent began a week ago goes back long before Jesus’ birth. It goes back, back to the creation of the cosmos. Perhaps it is what the astronauts on the Shuttle see, or pictures from the Hubble Telescope. It is at once beautiful and terrifying. That’s why Advent would not really be Advent (at least for me) without singing “Creator of the stars of night”.[1] In order to prepare for our celebrations of Christmas we must hear the whole story from the very beginning if it is all going to make sense. That really happens only two times each Church Year: at our annual Festival of Lessons and Carols (next Sunday) and at the Great Vigil of Easter. In the meantime, this little evening hymn which dates from the ninth century[2], Conditor alme siderum, helps us do just that.

We don’t know much about darkness these days. Night is lit up like the day. We can’t even see the stars for the street lights. Even the candles of our Altar and Advent wreath are drowned by the electricity that lights this sacred space. And our nights are turned into days with the noise of Christmas commerce and days are turned to nights in the horrors of sickness, crime and war. So we have to imagine the real, silent darkness--of winter--of the cosmos.

What comes next in our hymn is the whole story of Salvation history in a verse:
In sorrow that the ancient curse
Should doom to death a universe,
You came, O Savior, to set free
Your own in glorious liberty.

A pristine universe and an earth with its creatures and people created in quiet harmony with God soon became a place of disobedience, shame and destruction--the story of Adam and Eve. And God, who called (and still calls) it all good, tried again and again to call God’s chosen people Israel back, producing kings, judges and prophets, great signs and miracles, love songs--anything to woo people back to life in God. Finally, God sent John the Baptist to announce the coming Kingdom and Jesus’ place in it:
“Repent, for the kingdom of heaven
has come near.” (Matt. 3:2)

God decided to risk taking on human flesh, to be born into our world, and so Jesus came to live and die to redeem us. All along, God knew that we needed a Savior.

Of course, we know the end of the story. We know that Advent, is about “Jesus’ glorious coming to complete his Easter work.”[3] So we celebrate not only Jesus’ birth but his earthly ministry, redeeming death and resurrection. As Martin Luther said, “The wood of the crib is the wood of the cross.” But we also celebrate his presence here. And we look for his second coming, which, says John the Baptist, does involve judgment:
“His winnowing fork is in his hand and he
will clear the threshing floor...” (Matt 3: 12)

Though, as Isaiah says,
He shall not judge by what his eyes see,
or decide by what his ears hear:
but with righteousness he shall judge the poor,
and decide with equity for the meek of the earth.

Not much has changed. We have ravaged our beautiful earth--our “fragile island home”[4] in the cosmos. We still long for what we already have--a Savior. Yet we live in hope for a time, the time Isaiah describes, when all creatures will again live in harmony with God. And we believe that when Jesus comes again he will bring the final restoration of all things. So our hymn says:
At your great Name, O Jesus, now
All knees must bend, all hearts must bow;
All things on earth with one accord,
Like those in heaven, shall call you Lord.

Which leaves us where we are: right here, at Evensong, at night, in approaching winter, at prayer. We are here to prepare ourselves--no, to ask God to help prepare us--for the celebration of the comings of Jesus.

And when we give each other Christmas gifts in His name,
let us remember that He has given us the sun and the moon
and the stars, and the Earth with its forests and mountains
and oceans--and all that lives and moves upon them... and all
that we quarrel about and all that we have misused--and to
save us from our own foolishness, from all our sins, He came
down to Earth and gave us himself.[5]

The Good News is that the comings of Jesus--all of them--tell us that we need no longer fear the darkness. The vision of the beautiful and terrifying, dark and silent cosmos with which I started is both the beginning and the end of the story of our salvation. Jesus came to free us from sickness, evil and death, and will bring us to that day where there will be no more cancer, crime or war, and no more darkness, but a restored world in a universe at peace in the glorious light of the Reign of God where the stars sing for joy. For this greatest gift of God’s redeeming love, we cannot help but sing:

To God the Father, God the Son
And God the Spirit, Three in One,
Praise, honor, might and glory be
From age to age eternally. Amen.

[1] from a quote of Chrysogonus Waddell, from An Advent Sourcebook, pp 2-3.
[2] The Hymnal 1982 Companion, Vol. Three A, pp. 113-115,
[3] from a quote of Charles K. Riepe, An Advent Sourcebook, p. 12.
[4] Eucharistic Prayer C, BCP, p. 369ff.
[5] Sigrid Undset

2007-06-22T19:53:00.000-07:00

“Jesus said to [the Samaritan woman],
‘Give me a drink.’”

(Jn. 4:5)
Yr. A Lent 3
Exodus 17:1-7 Ps. 95
Jn. 4:5-26 (27-38) 39-42
Evensong
St. Mark’s Church
March 11, 2007

In the Name of God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

Water. It covers most of the earth. It comprises most of our bodies. It is the essence of life, itself. While we could go for many days without food, it would take only about 3 days for us to die without water. The Israelites were keenly aware of this as they traversed the desert. Our reading says they quarreled with Moses and said “Give us water to drink.” Eventually, Moses went to God with the request and God granted it, though not without consequences because they doubted God’s presence and ability to sustain them on their journey. This is only one of many references to water we hear in the Hebrew Scriptures, perhaps the most dramatic being the deliverance of Israel at the Red Sea, which we will hear at the Great Vigil of Easter.

Then there was the well. It was a hot, sultry day. Jacob’s well had been a place of meeting and of conversation among the women who had gathered there early in the morning. Now it was an empty, lonely place. Jesus came and sat down by the well. A Samaritan woman came, alone, to draw water. She was, by every standard, an outcast of her society. Alone, in a foreign country, of “ill repute”. There she was, trying not to be seen when she encounters a man. And not just a man--a Jewish man. For his part, Jesus did the unthinkable: he spoke to her. “Give me a drink”, he asked. And this prompted a conversation of gentle listening and honest questions which would lead her to encounter Jesus as Messiah, and to leave her precious water jar to go and tell the townspeople what she had heard and seen. Through her words, they, in turn, came to see and believe for themselves.

“Give me a drink”, said Jesus. Of the many surprises in this story, perhaps the most startling is that it was Jesus who asked for a drink of water.[1] An antiphon from Orthodox vespers captures this well:

Jesus met the Samaritan woman at Jacob’s well.
The One who covers the earth with clouds
asks water of her.
Oh! What a wonder!...

Jesus was willing to become vulnerable and to break every taboo so that a conversation with this woman could happen. But it quickly turns as Jesus speaks of giving her “living water”:
“Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again,
but those who drink of the water that I will give will never
be thirsty...”

Now Jesus and the woman have found common ground. They are both thirsty. Jesus’ human thirst would echo again from the cross with the words, “I thirst”. But his thirst goes deeper. It is a thirst for peace--shalom. The woman also thirsts--for dignity, for respect, for a purpose in life. Suddenly there is something she can do for him. This, too, reminds us of Jesus’ words,
“And whoever gives a cup of cold water to one of
these little ones in the name of a disciple--truly I
tell you none of these will lose their reward.” (Matt. 10:42)

Here is a wonderful exchange! The woman gives Jesus a cup of cold water and he offers the “living water” of eternal life.

When the disciples returned, they must have been scandalized to see Jesus speaking with a Samaritan woman. Yet, this is the example he is giving them of the very ministry to which he is calling them: to listen across all boundaries and taboos, and to allow others--perhaps the least likely others--to minister to them, too. The woman runs away, leaving her water jar behind. She doesn’t need it any more, for the spring of living water is welling up inside her, just as Jesus said.

We, too, thirst for “living water”. Not the water of the grumbling Israelites in the desert, but the “living water” which we find in Jesus. This story was used by the Early Church to prepare candidates for baptism--and for good reason. Baptisms were done in “living water”--running water. In baptism we are reborn to new life in Christ. But it does not stop there! It is the water of Jesus’ gift of eternal life. But what does this encounter at the well--and Jesus’ gift of “living water” have for us?

Perhaps if we were to approach others as Jesus did we would find the world and the Church less divided. Perhaps we could find the common ground of our thirst--our real thirst--and then ask Jesus to give us the “living water” that wells up inside us.

As we continue toward Holy Week, let us remember that this story moves us, with those preparing for baptism, toward the “living water”. It also moves us to remember Jesus’ death and resurrection. Let us remember that Jesus still thirsts today, and let us see ourselves as that Samaritan woman. For we come here to Evensong month after month to drink of this well.

But Jesus comes here, too, and asks us for a drink.
Are we ready to give Jesus a cup of cold water?
To talk with him?
To listen to him?
To reveal our brokenness to him?
To make our full commitment to him?
To go and tell others about him so that they, too, might believe that
“[Jesus] is truly the Savior of the world”? (Jn. 4:42)

If we are, then we will be ready to hear the invitation from the Revelation to John:
The Spirit and the bride say,
“Come.”
And let everyone who hears say,
“Come.”
And let everyone who is
thirsty come.
Let anyone who wishes
take the water of life as a gift. (Rev. 22:17)

Receive a drink from Jesus--the “living water that...will become.. a spring of water gushing up to eternal life” (Jn. 4:14)

[1] the Rev. Kirk Alan Kubicek, sermon for Yr. A Lent 3 found on the website Used with permission.