And they shall name him Emmanuel, homily by Jan Robitscher

“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.

"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.

“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.”

“[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.

“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.

“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.

“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.