“We preach not ourselves, but Christ Jesus as Lord

and ourselves as your servants, for Jesus’ sake.”

(2 Cor.4:5, RSV)

Installatio n of Fr. Brian Rebholtz

Joshua 1:1-9                                                                                   Jan Robitscher

Psalms 133 and 134                                                             St. Luke’s, Auburn, CA

2 Corinthians 4:1-11                                                                    October 28, 2015

Luke 10:1-11

(Sung) In the silent hours of night,

bless the Lord.

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

Bishop Beisner, Fr. Brian and your family, dear People of God: It hardly seems possible that it was three and a half years ago that I witnessed Fr. Brian’s ordination to the priesthood. Now, after a time of learning and growing as an Associate for Christian Formatio on the Other Coast, Fr. Brian has been called here to be your Priest-in-Charge; a new ministry with its joys and perils.  

The readings chosen for this service could fill several sermons! I will resist that temptation and follow the admonition I often give my preaching students at the School for Deacons. A closer look will reveal several over-arching themes that I believe are part and parcel of the ministry Fr. Brian is called to do here, with and among you. There is also a word that came to me from each reading. Together, these will form the Good News of this sermon.

All of these readings have to do with God’s call and  the process of responding to it. This is important because we have almost lost the language of “call” from the process of finding and naming those who will lead us, and from the discernment of the ministries we do in Christ’s Name. We say that a Rector or Priest-in-Charge is “elected” or “named” or “chosen” to serve a parish or mission--anything but “call”.  But call is what God does. So before anything is done, that call must be heard.

Joshua was called by God from being an assistant to Moses to being a leader of the People Israel.  No preparation. No asking if he was ready. But God did have things to say to Joshua; specific instructions about how he was to lead the people and what would be the outcome; about claiming the land promised to Moses, but which Moses never lived to see. And words of encouragement: 

As I was with Moses, so I will be with you;

I will not fail you or forsake you. Be strong

and courageous...

God calls, and Joshua listens and obeys. Listen!

St. Paul came to ministry by a very different route, transformed by a profound conversion from persecutor of the earliest Christians to being a leader ranked among the Apostles.  God called out in the voice of Jesus, “Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?” Again, God had specific instructions for the now-converted Paul, and he listened and obeyed. But did you notice something unique in this passage? Here, Paul never speaks of himself in the first person singular: I. No, he always refers to himself and his ministry in the plural--a ministry among God’s people; not to or for them.  Here “ourselves” has a double meaning: that of the preachers of the Good News and, more generally, the earliest Christians:

For we preach not ourselves, but Christ Jesus

as Lord and ourselves as your servants for

Jesus’ sake.

And he goes on to give God all the credit--all the glory--for the Good News he is proclaiming:

For it is the God who said “Let light shine out of darkness,”

who has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge

of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.

The word from this passage is: Proclaim!

In our Gospel reading Jesus sends out the seventy ahead of him--about as many as this little parish!  And he sent them in pairs and, like the other two readings, with specific instructions. This is not accidental. We think of ministry as a solitary endeavor, something we figure out and do as individuals. This is especially true of clergy, who often find themselves isolated and lonely. Jesus will have no such thing! Notice that he sends out the seventy by twos, and ahead of him to proclaim the Kingdom of God. He is the Good Shepherd, who, like ordinary shepherds, watches the flock from behind, always guarding and guiding them. So it should be in the Church. YOU are the ministers of the Church! Fr. Brian is here to help show you how and where your gifts are needed, and to send you out.  Serve!

Now what might all of this really have to do with Fr. Brian’s call to be Priest-in-Charge here at St. Luke’s? These readings show a pattern of God’s call: Listen, Proclaim, Serve. Hearing God’s voice,  then acting on the call that God has made, serving each other and the wider community. This is not only the way that Fr. Brian came to you, it is the pattern I hope you will take up as a way of being Church. 

Listen. Proclaim. Serve. If this sounds at all familiar it is because I have taken a page from Anne Lamott’s popular book on prayer, Help, Thanks, Wow.  I think she is onto something here, and it brings me to the one reading we have not mentioned yet, the Psalm, and to the charge that I have for Fr. Brian.

(Sung) In the silent hours of night,

    bless the Lord.

The final word from the readings tonight is: Pray.  Psalm 134 is one of those that monks use at the end of the day, at the Office of Compline. It is very short, only two verses. But it speaks an invitation to “Bless the Lord... you that stand by night in the house of the Lord”; to lift holy hands in prayer always, even, at times, in the dark through the night. It is an invitation for all of us to a very different kind of prayer. We think of receiving God’s blessing, and it is wonderful to hear ourselves pronounced good in God’s sight. But this Psalm asks us to bless God. To bless God is to give thanks, to call God good--what we are about to do in the Eucharist--and in turn, the Psalmist prays that God will bless us; the Lord who made both heaven and earth.

Most clergy can’t remember the charge given to them at their ordination. So I will offer a new one, first to the congregation assembled (I won’t make you stand!) and then to Fr. Brian. 

Now I say to the church: Rejoice and give thanks that God’s Grace calls us all to a wide variety of ministries, yet brings us to unity in Christ through the Spirit. Be willing to look beyond your walls for these ministries, and invite those outside to come and see this community. Always remember that Fr. Brian (or any priest, deacon or anyone leading worship) does not do this in a vacuum. We--all of us--are necessary to complete the prayer. And rejoice that God has called Fr. Brian here to listen, proclaim, serve and pray with and for you. 

Now to Fr. Brian: It has been (and continues to be) an honor to watch  you learn and grow in your faith and in the vocation God has given you. From your first days in seminary I have seen you move from studying theology to developing a deep prayer life, falling in love and starting a family, ordination and now to applying in your ministry the theology you have studied. 

I want to paraphrase some words of Archbishop Ramsey and add a few verses from the Second Letter to Timothy, which contains perhaps the earliest charge we have:

As a priest, you have bound yourself to “the strong name

of the Trinity” and asked Jesus to be with you all ways. And you have been called to display in your person the the total response

to Christ=--to be a beacon of the Church’s pastoral,

prophetic and priestly concern, to which we are all pledged

at Baptism. I solemnly urge you: Proclaim the message

[in season and out of season]; convince, rebuke and 

encourage with all patience in teaching... Always be sober, 

endure suffering, do the work of an evangelist, 

carry out your ministry fully.

...The Lord be with your spirit. Grace be with you.1 

Listen. Proclaim. Serve and pray! And be among us in all the ways

that we are about to hear in the Induction, but especially 

as a person of prayer.    

(Sung) In the silent hours of night

bless the Lord.

May God bless this New Ministry, of Fr. Brian and of this congregation, now and always.  Amen.

“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.

“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!