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

“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.

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

“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.

“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.

“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)

“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.

“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!