“As it is, there are many members,

yet one body.”

(1 Cor. 12:20)

Year C: Third Sunday after Epiphany                                                         Jan Robitscher

Nehemiah 8:1-6                                                                                  St. Mark’s Church

Psalm 19                                                                                                    Berkeley, CA

1 Corinthians 12:12-31a                                                                        January 24, 2016

Psalm 133, verse 1

Hineh mah tov, Umah nayim,

  Shevet achim Gam yachad.

Behold how good and pleasant it is

when brethren (kindred, all people)

dwell together in unity.

With these words from Psalm 131, Leonard Bernstein concludes his choral work, Chichester Psalms. The end of this movement is a quiet--almost inaudible--prayer for peace. Is it a wish or a pipedrean? On a global scale, maybe, but on Friday night, the choirs of St Mark’s and Temple Sinai came together at the Temple to sing this work for their Shabbat service, a work that is both startling and moving. Like Ezra reading the Law to the gathered people, we gathered, participated,  listened, sang, praised God and pondered the sense of what we were hearing and praying through music. This afternoon we will sing it again, this time here and in the context of a special Evensong. Again the choirs will come together to sing as one, ending with the quiet but urgent plea for peace. It is an expression of people “dwelling together in unity.”  I hope you will come.

All of today’s readings have to do with community. Fast forward from Ezra to St. Paul. Here is the most familiar analogy of community: The body of Christ. For Paul, the community gathered for worship is one of many members, but guided by the same Spirit. But what is most remarkable is that, for Paul,  its very unity is found in diversity: one body, many members.  No one has all the gifts. Each gift is necessrary to the others. One part cannot say to another, “I have no need of you”. Nor can one part say, 

“Because I am not like you, because I do not have your gifts, I do not belong to this body”.  Here Paul is speaking not of the church as institution (as it would become only a few centuries later) but as something quite literally organic, like a heart.1  The Christian community moves in procession to a heartbeat rhythm. 

Or does it? It is so easy for the Christian community, whether parish or province or denomination to become fractured and filled with what Paul calls in another place, “party spirit”, as opposed to unity in the Holy Spirit. Parts of the Anglican Communion have tried to say to the Episcopal Church, “I have no need of you and your liberal Church”. And we in the Episcopal Church might say to them, “I have no need of you and your conservative theology.” But such divisions do not only happen in the Church on a global level. At the risk of going “from preachin’ to medlin’”, in our own parish, the Altar Guild might be tempted to say to those serving at the Altar, ‘I have no need of you’ or the choir say to the congregation, ‘I have no need of you’, or anyone say, “Because I am not on this or that committee or in any other ministry, or I do not have all the gifts, I do not belong to this community”.  This is not Communion at all, but division.

But what does Paul mean by “unity”? In other letters, he describes it as being “of one mind” or “having the mind of Christ”. By this, he does not mean that everyone thinks alike, or agrees about everything, or that the community must be perfect. Of course not! Rather, all come together for the common good--a phrase and concept that is almost lost in our argumentative and self-centered society and, sadly,  even in the church. But in this passage we are encouraged to look beyond the norms of society (and even of the church) in encouraging membership and discerning ministry. We identify ourselves easily as the Body of Christ, yet it is often very difficult for us to discern the gifts of the Spirit.2  St. Paul turns this prayerful act of discerning gifts in the community on its head:

God has so arranged the body, giving the 

greater honor to the inferior member, that

there may be no dissension within the body,

but the members may have the same care for

one another.”  (1 Cor. 12:24)

Another place we can look to find guidance about living in community is from St. Benedict and his Rule. Here, the monastery becomes the “school for the Lord’s service3  where he admonishes juniors, seniors and children--all living in the community--to treat each other with respect,4 to honor the opinions of old and young members alike and, most famously, to welcome all guests as Christ, himself.5 

Perhaps today’s Gospel lesson is less obvious in what it speaks about community. Jesus is teaching in the synagogue. Once again the community is gathered to hear God’s Word, ponder its meaning and respond in worship. Jesus opens the scroll and reads from the prophet Isaiah and then, to the utter astonishment of his hearers says: “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing”.  Jesus is the fulfillment of the prophetic words. He came, anointed by the Spirit, to bring good news to the poor, liberty to captives, sight to the blind.... all these and more he did during his earthly ministry. But all of these works didn’t end with his death and resurrection! In the farewell discourses of the Gospel of John, Jesus says:

“Very truly I tell you, the one who believes 

in me will also do the works that I do and,

in fact, will do greater works than these...”

(John 14:12)

So Jesus is telling us that it is not enough to only live as a community unto ourselves. We must look outside these walls. Jesus came to seek and serve the marginalized, the captive, the lost and we must do the same.  Perhaps this is what Paul meant by his list of gifts and ministries: Apostles, prophets, teachers--those who lead and teach both inside and outside the community-- and the gifts of deeds of power, healing, forms of assistance, tongues and their interpretation--ministries of inreach and outreach.  

St Teresa of Avila said it another way with her poem which begins:

Christ has no body but yours,

No hands, no feet on earth but yours....

No one has all the gifts! All are necessary for the life of the community!  All rejoice and suffer together. St. Paul is right when he concludes:

Now you--[that is, we--] are the body of Christ

and individually members of it. 

We are the ones who must continue in the Apostles’ teaching and fellowship, the breaking of bread and in the prayers, as we promise in the baptismal vows.  But how do we do this?

The passage from the 1st letter to the Corinthians ends just before chapter 13 begins--the great chapter on love often read at weddings (the formation of yet another kind of community). St. Paul is clear that we are not alone ever as we strive to live in Community. We are the Body of CHRIST. Jesus is with us, now and always, and gives himself to us especially in the sacrament of Communion we are about to receive so that we become more and more His Body. Community and Communion. It is Love--not only as an emotion  but as  willed act--that will bind us together, especially in this time of transition. It is love--God’s love of us and our responding love of God-- that makes us the Body of Christ. 

The community of which St. Paul speaks may be a wish or a pipedream, but still we strive to live it out in St. Paul’s vision of the Body of Christ. But we remember that it’s roots are deep in the Psalmist’s poetic voice. Hear again the ancient words from Psalm 131 with which I began: 

Psalm 133, verse 1

Behold how good and pleasant it is

when brethren (kindred, all people)

dwell together in unity. Amen

Hineh mah tov, Umah nayim,

  Shevet achim Gam yachad.

Amen.

“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.

“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!