Christmas Eve 2012

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Episcopal Church
December 24, 2012

Christmas Eve 2012

As a young child, Christmas was the object of much wonder to me. Relatives magically arrived from far off, bearing gifts to put under the tree. Delicious food seemed to appear on our table out of nowhere. I had no clue that my mother had spent days preparing that food, but I knew the house smelled wonderful. We children tried desperately to get along with each other so that we would not jinx our visit from Santa. I’m sure that, in itself, was a wonder to our parents, especially since all three of us piled into one bedroom to make space for all our relatives. The anticipation was so high that my brother, sister, and I rarely slept on Christmas Eve. Who could sleep the night before Christmas?

The next morning, we were out of bed early, ready-anxious, even- to begin the day. Presents were followed by breakfast, followed by the arrival of more friends and relatives, and more presents, and dinner, and playing with new toys, until at the end of the day we fell in bed, happy, exhausted children, oblivious to the mountain of dishes in the kitchen and with parents no doubt hoping we would not wake up quite so early the next day!

In the morning, the one day wonder was over and life was back to normal. Sure there were leftovers to eat and new toys to play with. But that feeling of escape from our everyday world was gone as was the motivation to be on our very best behavior. Even as children, we understood that Christmas lasted exactly one day. Not being a church going family, and having no understanding that the 12 days of Christmas actually begin on Christmas Day, even the tree came down on December. 26. Christmas was over. Once a year, there was one wonder-filled day when whatever was going on in the real world seemed distant and far away. But on December 26, life returned to normal.

I wonder what Mary and Joseph thought about that first Christmas Day. Was their day steeped in the sweaty reality of childbirth, or drenched in the wonder of a new life, or both? Luke’s gospel sets the birth of Jesus firmly in the midst of reality. The Emperor was Augustus and Quirinius was governor of Syria. Everyone was required to return to their hometown to be registered, no doubt for the purposes of being taxed by the Roman government. Turbo Tax is complicated enough, but at least I can do that from my own home! Joseph and Mary were engaged, expecting a baby that was unplanned to say the least, when they traveled to Bethlehem. Mary went into labor, away from home, and the best place Joseph could find for this delivery was a barn. Jesus’ first cradle was a feeding trough. Their first visitors as new parents were shepherds, who came straight from tending their sheep. Perhaps the smell of the shepherds was masked by the smell of the barn animals. Even in the first century, this hardly sounds like the perfect way to bring a child into the world.

The good news of the birth of Jesus was brought to the shepherds in the dark of the night by an angel. The shepherds were not waiting for anything particularly interesting or exciting to happen. They were just out living in the fields, keeping watch over their flocks by night. That’s every day life for a shepherd. But in the middle of the night, the glory of the Lord shown around them and they were terrified. The angel says to the shepherds "Do not fear....I bring you good news of great joy for all the people," and then a chorus of heavenly hosts sings God’s praises. For a moment, the gritty reality of a shepherd’s life was replaced by the wonder of the angel’s message and the radiant night sky, and that moment sent the shepherds off to find the Christ child.

I am particularly struck this year by the juxtaposition of the earthy, human reality of the birth of Jesus and the divine, wonder-filled message of the angel and the heavenly host. On the one hand, Mary and Joseph find themselves in a less than optimal situation as Mary gives birth to their first born child. Mary must have wondered if this birth in a barn was really what God had in mind. On the other hand, the dark night sky became bright with the radiance of the angel and all the heavenly host as they brought the shepherds the good news of great joy that the Messiah had been born. All of that happens in a quick 15 verses of Scripture. In our own lives, as much as we would like everything to be perfect for Christmas and to welcome the Christ Child into a world fitting for his birth, we know that we welcome the Christ Child into an imperfect world, where things sometimes go wrong beyond anything we could have predicted or even imagined. The earthly, human reality in which we find ourselves does not always seem compatible with what we imagine to be the wonder of the birth of the Christ child.

That is where the angels come in. The glory of the Lord broke into the darkness of night seemingly out of nowhere, delivered the good news that the Messiah is born, and the shepherds left to find Jesus. The light of Christmas breaks into our own lives each year, year after year, whether we are ready or not, in happy times and sad times, in time of prosperity and times of uncertainty, telling us not to fear, announcing that the Messiah is born, and sending us off to find the baby Jesus in our midst. All of our Christmas festivities-the gatherings of friends and relatives, the gifts, the music, the pageantry, our worship-point us to the light that shines in the darkness of our imperfect world. The wonder of Christmas is not a once a year, one day blessing. The wonder of Christmas is the reminder that, on this night and every night, the Christ light shines in the darkness and the angel says "Do not be afraid."

Amen

3 Advent C

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Episcopal Church
December 16, 2012

3 Advent C

On Friday morning, I checked my email and read the news online when I got up, then I went about what was a fairly busy day. Somehow I managed to avoid all contact with the outside world until about 3:30 that afternoon when my husband checked his email and had a news alert. "School massacre: 26 dead including 20 children," Don read out loud. The only appropriate response in the moment seemed silence, a stunned silence for there were simply no words. Don and I did not even talk about the tragedy. There was nothing to say in the face of such loss.

So here we find ourselves, just over a week from Christmas, with tragedy fresh on our minds and breaking our hearts. That is the backdrop against which we hear the stirring words of Zephaniah calling us to rejoice. "Sing aloud, o daughter Zion, shout, O Israel! Rejoice and exult with all your heart, O daughter Jerusalem." The canticle from Isaiah echoes the call to rejoice "Shout aloud inhabitants of Zion, sing out your joy, for the great one in the midst of you is the Holy One of Israel." And we hear from Paul in the letter to the Philippians "Rejoice in the Lord always; again, I say rejoice." How can we possibly rejoice in the face of unspeakable tragedy.

As we grieve with those who have suffered great loss, John the Baptist does not seem terribly helpful this morning, either. Did any of us really need to hear these words this morning? "You brood of vipers. Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come?" Or did we really need to be told about the unquenchable fire?

The response to John the Baptist, however, is not unlike our response to a tragedy. Three times we hear people respond to John the Baptist with the words "What, then, shall we do?" People did not flee from John the Baptist, which might have been the rational response. Instead, they engaged him. "What shall we do?" When tragedy strikes, we also say "What shall we do?" What shall we do to prevent this from happening again, or to comfort those who grieve, or to reach out with material help. "What shall we do?"

John’s response is quite concrete. To the crowds he said "Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none. Whoever has food must do likewise." To the tax collectors, he said "Collect no more than the amount prescribed for you." To the soldiers he said "Do not extort money from anyone by threats or false accusations, and be satisfied with your wages." Quite frankly, John’s demands of the people he has just called a brood of vipers seem a bit lame. Share. Be fair. Do not extort. How hard is that?

What John is actually demanding, however, is that the people live their lives, their regular, every day lives, faithfully and in accordance with the law of God. We think of Jesus when we think of sharing coats, or fair business practices. But these laws are rooted in the Hebrew Scriptures. When John says "Do not begin to say to yourselves ‘We have Abraham as our ancestor’ for God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham," John is telling the people (and us, by the way) that they can make all the sacrifices at the Temple they like, and observe the dietary laws, and pray in the synagogue, but if they do not live their every day lives faithfully, then they are like the chaff that will be burned with unquenchable fire.

At the end of the gospel lesson, we hear the words "So with many other exhortations, John proclaimed the good news to the people." Exactly which part of John’s rant was good news? The bit about the brood of vipers? Or the part about burning with unquenchable fire?

Thus far in Luke’s gospel, the good news has been proclaimed three times, twice by angels and once by John the Baptist. The first time, the angel Gabriel appears to John the Baptist’s father, Zechariah, to tell him that his wife, Elizabeth will bear a son. With good reason, Zechariah doubts the angel’s message. So the angel says to Zechariah "I am Gabriel. I stand in the presence of God, and I have been sent to speak to you and to bring you this good news." The second occasion of good news occurs after Jesus’ birth, when the angel of the Lord appears to the shepherds and says "Do not be afraid; for see~ I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people; to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah the Lord." And now, with many exhortations, John the Baptist proclaims the good news to the people.

Here is an often overlooked fact about Good News in Scripture. The Good News almost always goes hand in hand with judgement, which means that the Good News demands something of us. The words we hear from Zephaniah and Isaiah this morning ring out with joy, but both follow words of harsh judgement that come before our readings this morning. Both Zephaniah and Isaiah warn the people of the consequences of behaving as they do, ignoring the widows and orphans, worshiping false Gods, and otherwise not living according to the covenant they have with God. Those consequence would be grim and the people would suffer greatly. Which they did. Paul’s command to rejoice in the Lord always follows some harsh criticism of the Philippians’ failure to stand fast in the face of false teachings, and their failure to keep the peace among themselves. And John the Baptist warns the people about what will happen to the tree that does not bear good fruit, and he tells the people what repentance looks like, calling them to live according to the Covenant with God. Only then does he proclaims the good news that the Messiah is coming.

In these cases, unlike the tragedy in Connecticut, the darkness the people found themselves in was of their own making. The promise of the prophets is that God’s mercy always follows God’s judgement. In Connecticut, the tragedy had nothing to do with God’s judgement and God’s heart is shattered in the midst of the deep darkness of human brokenness. But whatever the cause of the deep darkness, the promise of Zephaniah, Isaiah, the Apostle Paul, John the Baptist and Christmas is best summed up in the opening words from the Gospel of John: "The light shines in the darkness and the darkness cannot put it out." In the midst of darkness, there is cause to rejoice.

Amen.

Advent 2

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Episcopal Church
December 9, 2012

2 Advent C

When my sister and I were little girls, we would spend a couple of weeks each summer with our grandmother in Alabama. Every year, our grandmother would have a party for us so we could see the grandchildren of her friends. The party was not just a play date with quick snacks on paper plates. This was a dress up party with fancy little cookies and punch served out off her good china. The other little girls would come over and we would play grown-up, imitating the way we saw our mothers and grandmothers interact with each other at their social events. We would sit on the nice lawn furniture, in our party dresses, sip our punch and pretend to be much older and more mature than we actually were at 6 or 7 years old. We could sustain this imaginary play as long as the cookies and punch lasted, and then we were all off to hunt bugs or play kick ball or whatever else there was to do in the hot Alabama sun. But even after the party was over, there was the lingering thought that we really could be like grown-ups if we wanted to be. We just chose not to be.

I am reminded of these dress up parties by the reading from Baruch this morning. We hear Baruch say "Take off the garment of your sorrow and affliction, O Jerusalem, and put on forever the beauty of the glory of God. Put on the robe of righteousness that comes from God, put on your head the diadem of the glory of the everlasting. For God will show your splendor everywhere under heaven." While scholars are quite uncertain about the date of Baruch, no doubt Baruch wrote to encourage the Hebrew people in a time of great trial and persecution. Baruch writes to tell a persecuted people that they should stand tall for God will deliver them. Then we hear the great echo of Isaiah "For God has ordered that every high mountain and the everlasting hills be made low, and the valleys filled up to make level ground so that Israel may walk safely in the glory of God." These are words of great hope and the promise that God will sustain the Hebrew people in their time of trial and deliver them in glory.

We hear the same refrains from the prophet Isaiah in John the Baptist’s words this morning. "Every valley shall be filled and every mountain and hill made low....and all flesh shall see the salvation of God." But while Baruch’s message is a message of encouragement and hope, John the Baptist is out in the wilderness, living off locusts and honey, and preaching repentance for the forgiveness of sins. Baruch’s language is beautiful. John the Baptist is scary.

Both Baruch and John the Baptist, however, look to the time when every mountain will be made low and all flesh shall see the glory of God. To my mind, the mountains themselves bear witness to the glory of God. Why would anyone want to flatten them? In the mid-winter, the mountains are laced with snow, which looks pure and clean, at least from a distance. In the spring, when the leaves return, the mountains are bursting with new life. In the summer, when the rest of the world is hot and humid, the mountains are cool and the nights are so quiet and clear that you can almost reach out your hand and touch the stars above you, or hear the train pass through the valley below. And in the fall, the leaves turn brilliant red and it looks like the mountains are on fire. The season does not matter; the mountains always bear witness to the glory of God. And to my mind, when the earth is flattened, the cause is a natural disaster or human caused catastrophe. No one wants that.

However, Isaiah, Baruch, and John the Baptist were not zipping through the mountains on the Interstate in a reasonably well maintained 4 wheel drive vehicle. For these men and their contemporaries, all a person had were his or her own two feet and maybe an animal or two take themselves and all their belongings through the mountains. Mountains and valleys were huge obstacles that not only made travel difficult, but made it dangerous and time consuming. In the mountains, especially on foot, it is often impossible to see where you are going until you get there. The dream that God would one day bring all people together, that people would one day stream from the east and west to God’s holy mountain, was at best only a dream and at worst a cruel joke unless the obstacles were removed and the land was leveled. And who could do that but God? And so, according to Baruch, the same God who created the mountains would take them down at the end time. Baruch never dreamed that in the 21^st century humans would have the capacity to do that ourselves.

John the Baptist has a different idea about how those mountains will come down. He also quotes Isaiah, but his words sound like a command: "The voice of one crying in the wilderness: ‘Prepare the way of the Lord. Make his paths straight. Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be made low, and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough ways made smooth; and all flesh shall see the salvation of God." While Baruch told us that God would create level ground, John is telling us to fill the valleys and level the mountains.

Even with 21^st century technology, that is a ridiculous task when taken literally. Fortunately, however, Baruch gives us a way to fulfill the command of John the Baptist without needing demolition equipment. Baruch’s instructions are these: "Take off the garment of sorrow and affliction, O Jerusalem, and put on forever the beauty of the glory of God. Put on the robe of righteousness; put on your head the diadem of the glory of the Everlasting...for God will give you the name "Righteous Peace, Godly Glory." Baruch is telling the people to live NOW as if the glory of God has already arrived in their midst. God’s promise to redeem the people is so trustworthy, so true, that the people are to behave NOW as if that for which they wait has already arrived. If we live like we believe that, our lives will reflect the glory of God for all the world to see, and the barriers that separate people from each other and from God will come down.

Advent calls us to put on the beauty of the glory of God and wait for Jesus by living as if Christ is among us now. If we do that, we will fulfill the demand of John the Baptist to repent and prepare the way so that there will be no obstacles and all flesh can see the salvation of God.

Amen.

Advent 1

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Episcopal Church
December 2, 2012

1 Advent C

Yesterday, Christ Church was honored to be one of three churches in the Turner Foundation’s "History Hymns and Holly" event. Every year the Foundation selects three or four of Springfield’s architectural jewels to showcase in this holiday walking tour. The idea behind the tour, and much of what the Turner Foundation does, is to help us appreciate the great history and treasures of our community. I know I drive down High Street all the time with barely a glance at Foos Manor, or the old Bushnell home, or the Buchwalter house, all of which actually have historic connections to Christ Church. The challenges our community faces are often much easier to see than the reminders of the community Springfield once was.

As I thought about our participation in the "History Hymns and Holly" tour, I realized that looking at our past is much more than a trip down nostalgia lane. Looking back does show us an era when Springfield was a growing, thriving city on the cutting edge of manufacturing and industry. But if all we do when we look back is long for the past, then our view in the rear view mirror accomplishes nothing. If our view of the past inspires us to imagine our future and how we get there, then we accomplish something. Then we begin to dream about what we would like the future to look like and make plans to make that future a reality. So, while I love talking about the history of this church, for me the real value of things like the "History Hymns and Holly" tour is how our past calls us to imagine our future.

As we begin Advent today, our thoughts naturally go back to the birth of the Christ Child so very long ago, and to all those who foretold his birth. In fact, you might have come to church today expecting to hear Isaiah say "The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light." Or to hear Micah say "But you, O Bethlehem...from you shall come forth for me one who is to rule in Israel." Or to hear Elizabeth greet Mary in Luke’s gospel and feel her child leap in her own womb. We probably expected to hear something this morning that points back to the birth of the Christ Child.

But here, on the first Sunday of Advent, three of our four readings point forward rather than backwards. Jeremiah says "the days are surely coming, says the Lord, when I will fulfill the promise I made to the house of Israel and the house of Judah." The apostle Paul writes to the Thessalonians "And may the Lord so strengthen your hearts in holiness that you may be blameless before our God and Father at the coming of our Lord Jesus with all his saints." And in Luke’s gospel, we hear Jesus predict the signs of his return, and those signs are ominous. Distress among nations confused by the roaring of sea and waves, and people will faint with fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world. Why, on the first Sunday of Advent, do we look to what sounds like an ominous future rather than the glorious past?

In the case of both Jeremiah and the writer of Luke’s gospel, all of the evidence is that their worlds are coming to an end and God is no where to be found. Jeremiah writes after Judah and Jerusalem have fallen to the Babylonians in the 6^th century BC, the Temple has been destroyed, the land has been ravaged, and the people have been taken from the Promised Land and exiled in Babylon. Life as they knew it had come to an end. What had happened to the God who led them out of bondage in Egypt, through the wilderness and into the Promised Land? Had that all been a hoax? Where is God now? The first century Christians to whom Luke wrote did not have life much easier. The Romans had destroyed Jerusalem and the Temple, both of which had been rebuilt after the Babylonians destroyed them the first time. The people had been exiled again, the Holy Land had been destroyed, again. Jesus had promised to return, but where was he? Life was about as bad as it could get, and Jesus was no where to be found. The first century Christians wondered if Jesus’ promise was a hoax.

While we, as people of faith, are not under direct assault as the Jews of the 6^th century BC or Christians of the first century were, we do live in a world that does not feel very stable sometimes. Between natural disasters, wars, illness, and an uncertain economy, we, too, can wonder if God is asleep on the job. Where is the God who led the Hebrew people out of Egypt, who sent Jesus and promised his return?

On this first Sunday of Advent, we hear Jeremiah say to the Hebrew people "the days are surely coming, says the Lord, when I will fulfill the promises made to the house of Israel and the house of Judah." We hear Jesus say, after describing the signs in the sun, the moon and the stars that will precede his coming, "Look at the fig tree and all the trees; as soon as they sprout leaves you can see for yourselves and know that summer is already near. So, also, when you see these things taking place, you know that the kingdom of God is near." Both Jeremiah and Jesus point the people to a new beginning. We look to the past so we will see the signs of the new beginning God is creating among us. The Hebrew people in Babylon remembered the way God led them out of exile in Egypt into the promised land, not to glorify the past, but to remind themselves of the signs that God will do likewise again. The disciples were to remember all that Jesus had said about the Kingdom of God, not to glorify the past, but so that his followers would know see signs of the Kingdom of God at work in their midst again. The days are surely coming...the Kingdom of God is near. The promise of the past is that there will be a new beginning when the old has passed away and the new has become. We look to the past to know that the promise that God is about to do something new is true and not a hoax.

Advent is about resting in the promise that God will do new things. The Psalmist prays "Make me to know your ways, O Lord, teach me your paths. Lead me in your truth and teach me, for you are the God of my salvation; for you I wait all the day long." That is the prayer of new beginnings as we look to the future and what God is doing among us. We look to the past, in Scripture, in our own lives, in our life together as Christ Church and in our collective life as Springfield, not to glorify the past, but to point to the future. The past is the promise that God will act again. In Advent, we prepare for the birth of the Christ Child, not by looking backwards as if God only acted that one time, but by asking God to lead us in God’s truth and teach us, to that we may look forward and see what God is doing in our midst, where the fig trees are sprouting leaves, where God’s promise to do a new thing is being fulfilled.

Amen.

Christ the King

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Episcopal Church
November 25, 2012

Christ the King

Normally, on Thanksgiving weekend, we celebrate the beginning of Advent. That seems fitting, as we move from Thanksgiving into preparation for the coming of the Christ Child. We have eaten the Thanksgiving feast, participated in whatever Thanksgiving rituals we might have, which in our family means watching the Arkansas Razorbacks get trounced by Louisiana State, and perhaps we have begun some Christmas shopping. While we do not actually celebrate Christmas here until Christmas Eve, after Thanksgiving, our thoughts turn to preparations for Christmas. This year, however, the calendar falls differently and on this Thanksgiving weekend we celebrate the Feast of Christ the King, waiting until next weekend to begin Advent, even if we are going to make Advent Wreaths later this morning.

Not too long ago, one of my colleagues wondered out loud why so many Episcopal Churches are named "Christ Church" and so few, if any, are named "Jesus Church." Here in our own diocese, there are at least 6 churches named Christ Episcopal Church, but there are no churches named "Jesus Episcopal Church." Christ the King Sunday is our patronal feast day, the day we celebrate the person for whom we are named and think about what we are called to do and be as a church that carries that name. Names are important-we put a lot of time and effort into choosing names for our children, and I imagine back many decades ago a lot of thought was put into the name of this church, especially since our name was changed from the Parish of All Souls to Christ Church on Christmas Day in 1841.

The images that come to mind when I think of Christ are images of resurrection, triumph, and exaltation. I see images of the resurrected Christ, the wounds of crucifixion healed, ascended into heaven and with a place of honor at the right hand of God, as the Nicene Creed describes. A church named Christ Church seems destined for success, a place to escape the messiness of day to day life and focus on things spiritual.

On the other hand, images that come to mind when I think of Jesus are a bit more earthy: Jesus making mud out of dirt and spit to heal a blind man. Jesus touching a person with leprosy and making him well. Jesus healing the woman with the flow of blood, or Jesus confronting the establishment or capsizing the tables in the Temple. Jesus is always making trouble and standing with those on the margins of society. This Jesus is certainly not elegant or dignified and for his efforts, he was crucified.

While I think that Jesus would be most unhappy with my distinction between Jesus and Christ, the distinction does force me to think about what it means to have Christ the King Sunday as our patronal feast day. Christ the King sounds quite appropriate. Jesus the King sounds a little....off. The standard image of royalty is, by definition, quite regal....someone with grand clothing and people to serve them, great wealth and considerable power. Certainly that is what the fairy tales would have us believe and that image is also supported through out much of history. At first glance, our readings this morning don’t do a lot to contradict that idea, either. In the reading from 2 Samuel, we hear King David described as "the man whom God exalted, the anointed of the God of Jacob, the favorite of the Strong One of Israel." That sounds fairly exalted to me, especially give some of the very bad decisions David was known to have made. The reading from Revelation describes Jesus as the "faithful witness, the firstborn of the dead, and the ruler of the kings of the earth." In the gospel, Jesus is asked by Pilate "Are you the King of the Jews?" Jesus does not deny that charge.

Interestingly, the gospel lesson for Christ the King this year is a part of the gospel reading for Good Friday. We mark this glorious feast day with the same reading that we mark the crucifixion of Jesus and here we find Jesus the King. Crucifixion is not a part of the typical image of successful royalty regardless of how many monarchs have met a violent end. In the fairy tales, if not history, monarchs who live with dominion and glory, and people, languages and nations serving them do not die a humiliating, painful, unfair and public death. And, at least in theory, when a monarch dies, there is a peaceful succession of power to the person next in line to inherit the throne. Jesus is obviously a different kind of king and his kingdom is not of this world, even though Jesus lived out that Kingdom here. Later in John’s gospel, when Jesus is crucified, Pilate has an inscription put on the cross that reads "Jesus of Nazareth. The King of the Jews." Jesus’ kingship was found, not in power or wealth, but in his death on the cross. Who is in line to inherit the throne? The writer of Revelation describes that succession of power by saying "To him who loves us and freed us from our sins by his blood, and made us to be kingdom, priests serving his God and Father, to him be glory forever and ever."

Jesus’ death and resurrection made us to be a kingdom, the Kingdom of God, and to serve that Kingdom as Jesus served. We have only to look at the gospels to see how Jesus the Christ served, and to see what his kingdom looked like. Jesus’ kingdom was messy, not elegant, as he raised up the poor, healed the sick, and fed the hungry, and he worked to bring about a kingdom in which there is no hunger or sickness, and no one lives on the margins. We are the heirs of Jesus’ throne as his death and resurrection empowered us to do and be the very kingdom Jesus proclaimed.

We may be Christ Church, but we understand the exalted Christ to be the very same Jesus who confronts Pilate about the nature of kingship. We are called not only serve, but to remember and to follow the Jesus who confronted power when necessary, who brought healing and wholeness to the broken, who proclaimed a reign of peace and justice. The Kingship of Christ sought no power, wealth, or strength for itself, but spent its life giving power to the powerless, hope to those without hope, strength to the weak, and resources to the poor. Christ the King and the crucified Jesus are one and the same, and in that peculiar kingship we find our joy and our identity as Christ Church.

Amen.

28 Proper B

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Episcopal Church
November 18, 2012

28 Proper B

One August afternoon a year ago, I was working in my office when I received a text message from my husband. The text message said "Was that an earthquake?" I had no idea. The Christ Church offices are in Hollenbeck House, a brick house build probably in the 1860's. Our offices shake every time a fire truck rolls down High Street. But, I went online and indeed, Don had felt his office shake. An earthquake centered in Virginia had run along the east coast, was felt in Ohio, and did considerable damage to the National Cathedral in Washington, DC. Add to that earthquake, the far more severe earthquake in Haiti, the current devastation along the east coast from Hurricane Sandy, the current intensification of the Israeli/Palestinian conflict, and the countless other disasters, both natural and human-caused, and no wonder there is speculation about the end of the world. Interest has surged in the Mayan calendar which seems to predict the end of the world on December 21 of this year. Just last year, radio host Harold Camping predicted the end of the world on May 21, then when that did not come to pass, adjusted the date to October 21, and yet we are still here. Human nature is to want to flee from harm, so we evacuate areas that are in the path of a deadly storm, or work to predict earthquakes and tornados so people can take shelter. Perhaps the hysteria that often surrounds concern about the end of the world is precisely because there will be no place to flee.

We hear the disciples express a similar concern in the gospel lesson this morning and in the verses that follow. Jesus tells the worried disciples that the temple will be destroyed, which has actually happened by the time Mark’s gospel was written. Of course the disciples want to know when this will happen and what the signs will be so they can prepare. The signs will be false messiahs, wars and rumors of wars, earthquakes and famines, and, we are told, this is only the beginning. If we read the verses that follow, Jesus tells the disciples that they will be handed over to councils, beaten in synagogues, families will be torn apart, all because of their faith in Jesus, and then, finally, when things could not get worse, Jesus will return.

What are we to do with this cheery news as we enter the week of Thanksgiving? Would not a gospel lesson that moves us to gratitude have been a better choice for the writers of the lectionary than one which seems to want to scare us to death?

Given that we have no choice in the matter of the lectionary, what are we, as faithful people, to do with a gospel lesson like this? One option is to write it off and cast it aside as something that comes from an antiquated world view. Certainly there is plenty of incentive to do this. After all, Christians have predicted the return of Jesus and the end of the world as we know it for some 2000 years now. Through out history, there have been plenty of wars, earthquakes, and other disasters, and we are still waiting for Jesus. For most of us, a 2000 year wait gets old and we move on to other things. Or we could take a wait and see approach- waiting to deal with the end times if and when they come.

And yet, at the core of the Biblical faith is the belief that all time moves forward to a point of ultimate fulfillment; the time when all creation will be made new again. In the Nicene Creed, which we say each week, we state the belief of the church that Jesus "will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead." Our Eucharistic Prayers proclaim the belief that Christ will return. Simply writing off the passages that describe the end time is not a faithful response to the gospel.

The one favor the lectionary does for us this morning is to pair Jesus’ words about the end of time with the story of Hannah from 1 Samuel. Hannah is in the midst of her own personal tragedy. She is childless, which, in that ancient culture, meant that she, herself, was as good as dead. Her husband, who has at least one other wife, loves her dearly despite her barrenness, and asks "Am I not worth more to you than 10 sons." Hannah pours out her heartbreak to God in the words we hear this morning. We are told that God hears her cry, and she conceives and bears a son, who she names Samuel, and Hannah dedicates her son to God.

What we do not hear this morning are the words of gratitude that Hannah sings after Samuel is born. These are familiar words because they are much like the words Mary sings after the angel tells her that she will conceive and bear a son and name him Jesus. Hannah sings, in part, "There is no Holy One like the Lord, no one besides you; there is no Rock like our God....Those who were full have hired themselves out for bread, but those who were hungry are fat with spoil. The barren has borne seven, but she who has many is forlorn. The Lord kills and brings to life, the Lord makes poor and makes rich, for the pillars of the earth are the Lord’s and on them he has set the world."

Hannah is not waiting for some future time to see God at work. She sees God at work in the poor and the rich, the full and the hungry, the barren and the blessed, the dead and the living. She gives thanks to God for God’s work and God’s presence in all of life. The danger with passages like our gospel reading this morning is that, taken alone, the passage makes it seem that God will only act in the end time; that Jesus will only be near once Jesus arrives in all his glory and the world as we know it is brought to an end. But together, passages like our gospel reading and the witness of Hannah, remind us of God’s activity in the world now. When Jesus finishes telling the disciples all that will come to pass before he returns, he then says "But be alert. I have already told you everything." What has Jesus told them? That the Kingdom of God has drawn near. Jesus has told parables that point the disciples to the Kingdom emerging in their midst. Yes, we are called to wait for something beyond our imaginations when the Kingdom of God arrives in all its glory. But equally we are called to look and be alert and see where God is at work now. Where is God at work in the earthquake and the flood? Where is God at work in the metaphorical earthquakes and floods of our own lives? In the words of Hannah, where has God drawn near in the lives of the hungry and the full, the rich and the poor, the sick and the healthy? We learn to trust the God whose Kingdom will someday arrive in all its fullness by trusting the God whose kingdom draws near to us day in and day out, earthquake after earthquake, heart break after heart break.. The good news is that God is present, and will be present, in the midst of all of life-including whatever the future may hold. With that, we can move into Thanksgiving week singing Hannah’s song of gratitude.

Amen.

27 Proper B

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Episcopal Church
November 11, 2012

27 Proper B

Recently I spent two days on retreat at the Convent of the Transfiguration in Cincinnati. I had been to the Convent years ago for a meeting, but had not been there recently and had never been on retreat there. To be honest, I found the experience somewhat disconcerting. On the one hand, I was in an utterly foreign environment. The worship habits were quite different from ours here, even though most of the services were from the Book of Common Prayer. I never knew quite when to stand or sit, what page we were on, or how we were supposed to say the Psalm. I had a hard time reciting the Creed at the pace the Sisters recite the Creed and kept forgetting the words. I actually confessed my faith one morning in the communion of sins, which was rather embarrassing. And most challenging of all-breakfast and lunch each day were eaten in silence while one of the Sisters read to us. There is clearly a beautiful rhythm to life at the Convent that I could not begin to understand in two days. But on the other hand, the hospitality of the Sisters was nothing short of magnificent. When I arrived, my name was on the door to my room. There was a card welcoming me, by name, on the bed. When I arrived at dinner the first night, there was a napkin ring for me with my name on it. Clearly they were expecting me. One Sister invited me on a walk with the Convent dog in the morning and another made sure I knew how to follow the worship services before they started. The Sisters prayed for me, and for all their guests, by name, at the Eucharist each morning. Another made sure I knew the protocol for the Dining Room before I got there, which had to be done for each meal since the protocol varies from day to day and meal to meal. So hospitality took some real effort on their part. This complete and fairly clueless stranger was welcomed by the Sisters as a treasured guest.

The parallels between the Sisters of the Transfiguration and the Widow in the gospel lesson may seem obvious. These women have given up all their earthly possessions and, in some sense, a good bit of their individual identity. They dress alike, worship without respect for individual preference, eat the same meals, and tend to the chores they are assigned at the appointed time. They are dependent on the convent, and thus the church and thus God, for their existence. In giving up their individual identity, they find their identity and their trust rooted in God. In the gospel lesson, we hear Jesus warn the disciples against finding their identity and their trust in long robes, places of honor and fancy prayers. The widow has given all that she has, her very life, resting her identity and her trust solely in her relationship with God.

But there is another parallel this morning. This parallel is between the hospitality of the Sisters and the hospitality seen in the book of Ruth. Naomi is a Hebrew woman who moves, with her husband and two sons, from Bethlehem to Moab because there is a famine in Bethlehem. While in Moab, Naomi’s husband dies. Her two sons marry Moabite women, Orpah and Ruth, but then the two sons die. Since the famine was over in Bethlehem, the three widows make plans to return there. But Naomi is insistent that her daughters-in-law return to their mothers in Moab rather than make the journey to Bethlehem. In the end, Orpah does stay in Moab, but Ruth insists on staying with Naomi. Out of the exchange between Naomi and Ruth, we get one of the loveliest passages in Scripture. Ruth says to her mother-in-law "Where you go, I will go, and where you stay, I will stay. Your people will be my people and your God my God. Where you die, I will die, and there I will be buried. May the Lord deal with me, be it ever so severely, if anything but death separates you and me."

From the beginning, the story of Ruth is a story of hospitality. When Naomi, her husband and two sons leave Bethlehem for Moab, which was actually enemy territory, these Hebrews are welcomed and live in Moab for over 10 years. The words of Ruth to Naomi are a deep expression of hospitality. We think of hospitality as the offering of food or a place to stay. But Ruth’s hospitality is the hospitality of presence. I will stay with you. In our reading this morning, we hear of Naomi’s great concern for Ruth’s security and Naomi’s plan to secure a husband for Ruth. Through what is clearly a deceptive plot, Boaz who has already offered his own hospitality to the two women, does indeed marry Ruth, another deep expression of hospitality. Their son is Obed, who would be the father of Jesse, the father of the great King David, who, other places in Scripture tell us is the ancestor of Jesus. Hospitality is what moves the story of Ruth from a young couple and their children fleeing famine to the birth of the ancestor of Jesus, who is God with us.

Hospitality is about making space in our lives for God and other people and then welcoming them into that space. Perhaps Jesus’ problem with the scribes is that is that their lives are full of long robes, self-importance, good seats, places of honor and long prayers. Perhaps they are unable to make space for other people and God in their lives and welcome them in. The widow, on the other hand, like the Sisters, is unencumbered by anything that prevents her from making space in her life for other people or God and welcoming them in. I do not think Jesus is either condemning wealth or glorifying poverty this morning. I don not think the story of the widow’s mite is primarily about money. After calling the disciples’ attention to the widow, Jesus does not say "Go and do likewise." I believe Jesus’ primary concern in this story is about making space in our lives to welcome other people and God. When our identity is rooted in that deep, radical, and sometimes inconvenient hospitality, something as wildly unexpected as Obed the ancestor of the Christ Child can be born in our midst. When our identity is rooted in divine hospitality, our relationship with earthly things will fall into place.

Amen.

All Saints Sunday

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Episcopal Church
November 4, 2012

All Saints Day

Week before last, the week before Hurricane Sandy, I attended a conference outside of Baltimore. The title of the conference was "Bold and Hopeful leadership for a missionary church". I was asked to make one of the presentations, and my assignment was to talk about how we, at Christ Church, nurture bold ministry. I had to start by telling the truth: I am not, but nature, a bold person. I don’t jump out of airplanes and I don’t eat raw fish. I don’t go looking for bold things to do. I also told the group that I think there is a fine line between bold and crazy. But as a congregation we have done some bold things because God seems to intend for us to be bold whether we feel bold or not. So I told the group about the day the doorbell rang in Hollenbeck and the gentleman who owned the two houses next door was there wanting to sell the property to us at a good price. His health was such that he could no longer take care of the homes and he wanted the church to own them. And the day the phone rang and the Executive Director of the Dayton Gay Men’s Chorus wanted to know if we would host the Chorus for their Christmas concert in their first venture outside of Dayton. And the day I was having lunch at Procter Camp, minding my own business, when someone invited us to be part of the pilot project to bring Reading Camp to the Diocese. In all those cases, we-you and I- said yes, because we understood that God was calling us to those ministries, even though we did not go looking for them. God calls us to do bold things even we are not particularly bold ourselves.

Today is All Saints Sunday, one of the most loved feast days in the Church. We sing magnificent hymns, light candles and offer prayers for our loved ones, and hear what I consider to be some of the greatest passages of Scripture. Isaiah and Revelation both show us that future time when God will gather up all people at the great banquet table for a feast of rich food and we watch as God wipes away the tears from all faces. On All Saints Sunday, we are reminded that at this banquet table, we are joined with all those who have gone before us for the feast that gathers us together and makes us one.

Then we watch as Jesus raises Lazarus from the dead. We understand Martha’s concern when Jesus asks that the stone be removed from the cave that contains Lazarus’ body. "Lord, already there is a stench because he has been dead four days." But Jesus insists. The stone is removed and we hear Jesus say with a loud voice "Lazarus, come out!" And the once dead man comes out, his hands and feet bound with strips of cloth, and his face wrapped in a cloth.

Next we hear one of my favorite lines in Scripture. "Then Jesus said to them ‘Unbind him and let him go.’" Unbind him and let him go. Jesus has just raised Lazarus from the dead. But as long as Lazarus’ hands and feet are bound, and his face is wrapped in cloth, he may be able to stumble out of the cave, but he can’t do much else. In order to be fully free, Lazarus must be unbound. Jesus’ work was the work of resurrection. Living into that resurrection is work that belongs to his followers. What I hear Jesus saying is "I have done the work of resurrection, now you do the work of living as resurrection people. So unbind him and let him go." What actually happens next in the story is that some who saw what Jesus did believed in him and others went to the Pharisees and told on Jesus. But in my imagination, what happens next is that Martha and Mary hang back at first, afraid to unbind Lazarus. For starters, they are being asked to touch this once dead man, whose body only moments ago they feared had decomposed to the point of stench. Secondly, if they unbind Lazarus, what will they be unleashing? The man had been dead. Now he is alive. What new power might he now have. Will he be the same brother he once was? But we know they swallow their fear and unbind Lazarus, because in just a few more verses, Mary and Martha will give a dinner party for Jesus and we are told that Lazarus is at the table. Unbound.

Unbind him and let him go. When we think about the great saints of the church we see people who heard Jesus say "I have done the work of resurrection, now you do the work of resurrection people" and they stepped out in faith to do things they could not have done on their own. From the words of Mary who hears the angel and says "Let it be with me according to your will," to Peter, who despite his many failings steps forward to be the rock on which Jesus built the church, to Mother Teresa and her work with the impoverished of Calcutta, they all come to believe that Jesus’ work is the work of resurrection and our work is the work of resurrection people. The Saints in our own lives are often those who have challenged us to be more than we think we can be, face what we think we cannot face, to live more fully than we think we can bear, and to give more generously than we think possible. The Saints of God, be they official saints of the Church or the saints of our own lives, show us how to do bold even if we can not be bold. Jesus has done the work of resurrection. Jesus calls us to live as resurrection people.

Amen.

22 Proper B

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Episcopal Church
October 7, 2012

22 Proper B

On the final day of Reading Camp at the end of June, after the children had gone home and we had cleaned up after the closing event and party, I went home to put the finishing touches on the meal for the after party. Most of the preparations had been finished earlier in the day, but there were a couple of things left to do.  My hope was that the party could be outside, but there was a storm blowing in, so there was a good chance that we would be in the house.

Just as I was getting ready to put a few last minute things in the oven, the storm most certainly did blow in. The wind blew limbs off trees, patio furniture across the patio, and knocked out the power. I had forty people coming to my house for dinner and no power. I also had no way to let them know we had no power because when the power is out, we have no phone service or Internet. I had never really worried about that before since we all have cell phones and I have a battery back up for mine. But the cell phone service was also out. Not only was I cut off from communication with the outside world, I also could not access any form of media to find out if we were under a tornado warning and needed to take shelter. Don and Caldwell were not home which only added to my sense of isolation. Our phone would ring because we have one land line in the basement that rings but doesn’t work, so I knew people were trying to reach me. The sense of isolation I felt, while temporary and brief, was eye opening. Caldwell finally got home and came down to see if there was power at the church, which there was, but he had to drive home to tell me since there was no other way to communicate. The traffic lights were out and limbs were across the road so the trip that should have taken him a total of 15 minutes, took over 30 which only added to my anxiety. In the end, we communicated the old fashioned way. As people arrived at our house, Don let them know that the party was moved to the church, and those people told other people. The phone here at the church worked, so we were able to connect with everyone who was missing and make sure they were okay. In the end, we all connected, and we knew that everyone was safe. But I also learned how important our connections are and how isolating it feels to be disconnected.

Job is feeling rather disconnected this morning, in a far more significant and long lasting way than I felt during a relatively short storm. In a story that will develop over many more chapters, Job is tested by Satan as he is disconnected from his health, his family and friends, his belongings, and seemingly his future in order to test his faith. In a sense, Job is isolated from everyone and everything around him to test his connection to God. God certainly does not come out looking too good in the verses we hear this morning where God agrees to Satan’s plan to test Job’s faith, and the book raises more questions than it answers. On the other hand, while the intent of the story is to answer the question "Why do bad things happen to good people?" and to refute the idea that everything bad that happens to us is a result of our sin, the story also points to the importance of our connection to other people as one of the ways we experience connection with God.

The Pharisees are really not interested in connections this morning as they arrive to test Jesus. They ask Jesus "Is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife? This is perhaps one of the most difficult and painful gospel lessons we have to deal with in the lectionary. I don’t think any of us came to church this morning to hear Jesus’ words about divorce. However, the Pharisees are far less interested in what Jesus has to say about divorce than they are in trying to trap Jesus . This is not a test to find out whether or not Jesus knows his Scripture. The Pharisees are trying to back Jesus into a loose/loose situation. The Pharisees ask Jesus "Is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife?" If Jesus says "no," he will contradict the teaching of Moses, which allowed a man to write his wife a certificate of dismissal and divorce her. He will also be in trouble with the Romans, since just 4 chapters earlier John the Baptist lost his head, literally, for being critical of Herod Antipas who had divorced his wife to marry his brother’s former wife. If Jesus says "yes," he will raise a whole host of legal and theological questions about marriage. Jesus appears to be trapped.

By this point in the story, Jesus may not be squirming, but we are. Jesus has hard teachings about divorce, ones we would rather not hear, and ones that can cause great pain. Our church takes the issue of divorce and remarriage very seriously, but Jesus’ words this morning are far more strict than church teaching. There are few people whose lives have not been affected by the pain of divorce, either in their own lives or the lives of someone they love. Jesus’ words are uncomfortable at best, and at worst they leave people feeling alienated from their church and condemned. Is that what Jesus intends?

To respond to the Pharisees’ test, Jesus appeals to Scripture as he usually does when being tested. But Jesus does not appeal to the law of Moses, which would give a straight forward answer to the question put to him. Instead Jesus raises the stakes much higher and appeals to the Creation stories which remind us that we are all connected, not just husband and wife. Jesus’ answer to the question about divorce is really a teaching about all those places where hardness of heart has caused separation and division that is contrary to creation as God intended it. The conflicts in the Middle East, division caused by terrorism and war, the rancor of political races, the ever widening division between rich and poor, both among individuals and among the nations of the world, are all examples of places where our connection to each other as humans is broken by hardness of heart.

The Pharisees came to test Jesus with a question about divorce. The answer they anticipated would give separation and division the final word. Instead the Pharisees found themselves tested by Jesus. Instead of reaching into the law of Moses’ to give them an answer about divorce, Jesus reaches all the way back to the creation of humankind to give them an answer that applies to all occasions of human brokenness, and lets none of us off the hook. Then Jesus takes little children into his arms and blesses them. Little children understand that their survival depends on their connection to God and other people. In answer to the Pharisees’ question, Jesus holds before us the deep connections God intended for us in creation and intends for us now. And in the face of human sin and brokenness, on Good Friday and Easter God will give connection the final word.

Amen.

21 Proper B

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Episcopal Church
September 30, 2012

21 Proper B

Several weeks ago, I was looking for a recipe that would tenderize a round steak without cooking it to pieces in a crock-pot. Basically, Don and I wanted to take an inexpensive, tough piece of meat and use the grill to produce something tender and juicy. I looked online and found a recipe that uses salt as a tenderizer. Sprinkle both sides of the meat liberally with kosher salt and let the meat sit for one hour per pound. The salt will pull the juice to the surface of the meat, then the salty juice will sink back into the meat, tenderizing it. Then rinse the meat throughly with running water and grill as usual. I am not a scientist, but the plan sounded reasonable to me. I followed the directions carefully, Don put the meat on the grill, and the result was a tough and very salty piece of meat. Don and Caldwell gamely ate theirs. I gave mine to the dog.

The disciples are having a different sort of failure with saltiness this morning. At the end of the gospel lesson, we hear Jesus chastize the disciples with the words "Salt is good. But if salt has lost its saltiness, how can you season it? Have salt in yourselves and be at peace with one another." Jesus is not talking about a recipe for beef here. Jesus is talking about a recipe for discipleship. What have the disciples done that causes Jesus to accuse them of having lost their saltiness?

The gospel lesson begins with John saying to Jesus "Teacher, we saw someone casting out demons in your name, and we tried to stop him because he was not following us." Tattle tale! But there is more to the story than John tattling on an outsider who is able to cast out a demon in Jesus’ name. Just a few verses earlier, the disciple are unable to cast a demon out of a young boy. After that experience, Jesus tells the disciples that whoever wants to be first must be last of all and a servant of all. So, in addition to being a tattle tale, and misunderstanding what discipleship is about, John is also probably a bit jealous of the person who is actually able to cast out a demon in Jesus name.

Jesus’ words to John and the disciples are harsh. The "little ones who believe in me" are not cute little children, but people on the margins of society who believe in Jesus and may even be able to do miracles in Jesus’ name. The punishment for putting a stumbling block in front of a little one, like telling that person to stop casting out demons in Jesus’ name simply because the person is not one of the 12 disciples, is so severe that the alternatives Jesus describes would be better. After hearing Jesus’ words about hands, eyes, and fee, Jesus sounds angry as he says "Salt is good but if salt has lost its saltiness, how can you season it? Have salt in yourselves and be at peace with one another."’ If the disciples have lost their saltiness, how can they possible have salt in themselves and be at peace with one another?

King Ahasuerus of Persia is also angry this morning. In short, the King has had his wife, Vashti, banished for disobedience. Esther is the orphaned Jewish niece of Mordecai. Esther becomes the new queen without the King knowing she is Jewish. Mordecai discovers a plot to kill King Ahasuerus, and tells Esther, who tells the King. Haman is the King’s prime minister, and custom requires everyone to bow to the Prime Minister. Because Mordecai is Jewish, he refuses to bow to any person. So Haman plots to kill not only Mordecai, but all the Jews, who are, at this point in history, in exile in Persia. Esther finds out about the plot, so when we hear King Ahasuerus ask Esther this morning for her request, and tell her that he will grant her request, even up to ½ his kingdom, she is ready.

Esther asks the King to spare her people and reminds him of the dangers to himself should the entire Jewish people be killed. When the King hears of the plan, he is outraged and asks who is behind such an evil deed. The answer is Haman, his own Prime Minister! Haman is hanged on the very gallows Haman had prepared for Mordecai, and we are told the anger of the King abated. Then we are told that the Jews keep a feast each year, known as Purim, to celebrate the days on which the Jews gained relief from their enemies and as the month that had been turned for them from sorrow into gladness and from mourning into a holiday.

The book of Esther has suspense and intrigue, and is, in places, quite humorous. But that is true of other stories in the Hebrew Scriptures. The story, like other stories in Scripture, would not receive a "G" rating from the Motion Picture Association of American, which the sermon version has to have. What makes the book of Esther unique in Scripture is that no where in the story is God ever mentioned. No where. There is no mention of prayer, or the Torah, or worship. Nothing. For all we can tell from the story itself, the Jewish people in Persia are spared strictly through the cunning and trickery of Esther. God is no where to be found.

The reading from Esther is paired with Psalm 124 in the lectionary. "If it had not been the Lord who was on our side when our enemies attacked us, then they would have swallowed us up alive..." While Psalm 124 can also refer to the Exodus or any of the other times God prevented God’s people from being swallowed alive, clearly we are to see God’s hand at work in the story of Esther, even if God is not mentioned by name. When we put Esther, Psalm 124, the reading from James, and the gospel reading together, we get a pretty comprehensive picture of the way God works in the world. Certainly God works through the prayer of the faithful. The reading from James tell us that the "prayer of the righteous is powerful and effective." The gospel reading reminds us that God does good works through people who may not be followers of Jesus in the way that the disciples are, or that we are for that matter. And the book of Esther tells us that God is at work even when God is unnamed or perhaps even unknown. The disciples’ problem was that they understood God’s work in the world far too narrowly and thought wrongly that God could only work through them. They thought discipleship meant protecting Jesus. That understanding caused them to be competitive and jealous. Jesus calls us to understand discipleship as seeing Jesus at work in all times, places and people, unbound by any notion we have about how God works in the world. Then, with jealousy and competitiveness aside, we can have salt in ourselves and be at peace with one another.

Amen.

20 Proper B

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Episcopal Church
September 23, 2012

20 Proper B

When I was a child, I loved going to church. We did not go to church as a family-rather my mom dropped the three children off at the little Presbyterian Church close to our house and our parents enjoyed some peace and quiet at home by themselves. And, as I have told you before, Mom always gave each of us 25 cents for the offering plate, because, as she said in 1965, you shouldn’t pay less than a quarter for good babysitting.

What I loved about church was that the playing field was leveled there. Church did not require a person to be athletic, which I was not, smart, which I was not, outgoing, which I was not, or any of the other qualities the world thought a person should have. Church was a place where people were happy to see us just because we were there. We could sing in the choir without tryouts, sit in Sunday School and say nothing, and no one chose teams for games of any sort. There were pictures of Jesus, who seemed to like children and sheep, arts and crafts that required more glue than skill, and some nice grown ups to make sure we all shared at snack time. Church was a place where we felt accepted and valued as children of God.

At Christ Church, we try to give children this same sort of experience. In the words from the baptismal service, we work hard to bring our children up in the Christian life and faith, and to help our children grow into the full stature of Christ. We have wonderfully decorated rooms for Sunday School, nurseries for the babies and younger children, and many adults committed to working with them. We have a Director of Christian Education and college students who work with our middle school and high school youth. On Sunday morning, our youth serve as lectors, ushers, greeters, and acolytes, and even our youngest parishioners are invited to bring the bread and wine to the altar at the offertory. We welcome neighborhood children to Christ Church for Reading Camp in the summer and treat them as the children of God that they are. We offer Safe Church training on a regular basis so that we offer the safest environment possible for our children.

So, when I see Jesus take a little child in his arms and hear him say "Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and who ever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me," I am so much happier than last week when we heard Jesus say "If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake and for the sake of the gospel will save it." That sounds hard. Welcoming children is easy. Not only can we do that, we already do.

However, this is not what Jesus is talking about. Jesus is not talking about 21^st century children. Jesus is talking about 1^st century children. In the first century, children were liabilities, not assets. Sixty percent of all children did not make it to their 16^th birthday, so parents had many children in order to have a few survive. Children had no rights; no status. If an adult male needed an heir, he adopted another adult to inherit his wealth, not a child. Children ranked below women and only slightly above slaves. So, for Jesus, an adult male, to bring someone from the very margins of society right into his own arms was outrageous. For Jesus to tell the disciples that whoever welcomed one such child in Jesus’ name, welcomed him, and welcomed the God who sent him was an abomination

The gospel lesson begins with Jesus’ prediction that he will be betrayed into human hands, be killed, and three days after being killed, rise again. We are told that the disciples did not understand what Jesus was saying but were afraid to ask. Their lack of understanding is emphasized when their immediate response to Jesus’ prediction of his suffering and death is to argue among themselves about which one of them is the greatest. Jesus settles their argument by telling them that whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all. Taking the child into his arms is an object lesson of sorts, to emphasize his point about the last being first. But Jesus is doing much more than simply settling an argument among his disciples and teaching them about true greatness. Jesus is teaching them the appropriate response to his teaching that he will be betrayed, killed and rise again. The appropriate response is not to argue over who will get first class tickets and reserved seating. The faithful response to Jesus’ crucifixion and resurrection is radical hospitality. The faithful response is to imitate the radical hospitality of God, in which Jesus gives his life for the life of the world, a world that betrayed him, rejected him, and handed him over to death and God’s response is to redeem the world nonetheless.

The reading from Proverbs and the reading from James both speak to this radical hospitality. The reading from Proverbs, when taken by itself, looks like a hopelessly outdated job description for the over worked, and probably exhausted, perfect wife and mother. However, the description given of the capable wife mirrors the description of Wisdom in the second and third chapters of Proverbs, making the description of the capable wife more the personification of wisdom than a description of a living, breathing human being. And what does Wisdom personified do? Wisdom provides hospitality, food and shelter and kindness, to both her family, which are the members of her community, as well as reaching out her hand to offer hospitality to those outside the fold, to the poor and needy. Example is piled upon example in this passage to show the depth of the hospitality Wisdom offers.

The letter from James describes a hospitality that is peaceable, gentle, full of mercy and good fruits, without a trace of partiality or hypocrisy. Conflicts and disputes, we are told, come from selfish ambition, or the opposite of radical hospitality. A community that is torn by strife and disagreement is not capable of genuine and radical hospitality. But a community infused with the wisdom from above, which is pure, then peaceable, gentle, willing to yield, full of mercy and good fruits, without a trace of partiality or hypocrisy, is able to welcome everyone from each other to the total stranger, with equal warmth and hospitality.

Jesus calls us to make our response to his suffering, death, and resurrection a radical hospitality, not arguing over who is the greatest, or who is right, or even who is the most hospitable, but welcoming and serving the least likely, the 21^st century equivalent of the 1^st century child, by bringing them into our arms as Jesus took that child into his. Jesus calls us to a life of radical hospitality, because radical hospitality is the faithful response to the gospel.

Amen.

19 Proper B

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Episcopal Church
September 16, 2012

19 Proper B

May a year ago, Don and I decided to try out our favorite vacation spot a little earlier in the summer. Usually, we go on vacation in early August, just before the school and program years start back up in the fall. That year, for some reason, the best time to go on vacation was in mid-May, right after the school year and the program year ended. I made a reservation at our usual hotel and found that, in May, the rates are significantly less expensive than in August, so I booked an extra night. We were looking forward to long walks, eating at our favorite restaurants, and getting a lot of reading done.

Well, let’s just say that we were lucky one of our vacation goals, if vacations have goals, was to get a lot of reading done. The weather on this island in mid-May is cold and rainy. The reason the hotel was so much less expensive is because few restaurants and attractions are open in mid-May. The boats to the other islands, which we enjoy exploring, don’t run until June. Neither the pool, nor, more importantly, the hot tub, were open yet. Good thing I took a lot of books!

In the end, however, we had a great time. We did get some after dinner walks in as the weather started to clear. Since most of our favorite restaurants were closed, we ate where the local folk ate and that gave us a different taste of the island. On the walks we were able to take, we practically had the island to ourselves. And we did get lots of reading done. The week was both enjoyable and relaxing, just not in the way we had planned.

The disciples are on a journey this morning, although their journey is a far cry from a vacation. They are on a journey to Caesarea Philippi and beyond. Along the way, Jesus asks them "Who do people say that I am?" But what Jesus really wants to know is "Who do you say that I am?" Peter’s answer is famous "You are the Messiah." In that one simple sentence, Peter sums up his itinerary for this journey. Jesus is the Messiah, the one the Jewish people have anticipated and expected for hundreds of years. Jesus is the one sent by God, anointed by God, to save the people from the Romans and restore Israel to the glory and power she had when David was King. Jesus is the one who will usher in the Kingdom of God, a kingdom of splendor and might. This is a journey of power and privilege, as the disciples follow Jesus and wait to see what will happen next, and imagine what their roles will be in this new dynasty. Just a few chapters later, this theme is repeated when James and John, two of the disciples, come to Jesus as ask to sit, one at his right hand and one at his left hands when Jesus comes into his glory.

The only problem is that Jesus is on a different journey. Even though Peter gives Jesus the correct title, he gives Jesus the wrong identity. Peter is thinking about power and privilege; Jesus is talking about pouring out his life. Peter is setting his mind on human things, not divine ones. Jesus’ itinerary goes through the cross, not around it, giving his life away rather than holding on ‘till his knuckles turn white, and he calls his followers to do the same. Jesus calls the crowd with the disciples and tells them that if they want to be his disciples, they must stop hanging on to their own itinerary, get rid of the map, quit limiting their possibilities, and live fully by taking up their crosses and actually following Jesus.

In a week when we have marked the 11^th anniversary of 9/11, and watched as violence spread against the United States because of the film "The innocence of Muslims" which was made in this country, in addition to encountering a variety of stumbling blocks in our own lives, we can easily wonder about this journey we are on with Jesus. We did not choose journeys such as these, and, quite frankly, we do not want to be on them. On a bad day, we can easily wonder why, if we are putting ourselves out for Jesus, Jesus does not rise to the occasion and give us, or our loved ones, or our country some divine protection from such challenges to our faith.

When Jesus says "Pick up your cross and follow me," I believe he means even more than asking us to follow him to the cross. Jesus also means follow him as he heals the sick, binds up the broken hearted, and works to show people that the Kingdom of God has come near. Following Jesus means not avoiding the hard questions or challenging situations, but trusting that God is present in them and working to figure out how. Following Jesus is to trust that there is no place we can find ourselves where Jesus has not already been and trusting that Jesus is already there, not necessarily to fix the situation, but to be present with us and guide us on the journey, even when we find ourselves some place we’d rather not be. Following Jesus means that we may not know where we are going or what we will do when we get there, but we trust that Jesus knows and will lead us. Jesus calls us to hand over the map, let go of our own personal itineraries, stop limiting our possibilities, and say to Jesus "You are the Messiah."

Amen.

18 Proper B

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Episcopal Church
September 9, 2012

                                                               18 Proper B

When I was a little girl, my mother used to say "If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all." Jesus seems to need to hear those words from my mother this morning. When the Syrophoenician woman comes to Jesus, begging him to heal her little daughter of an unclean spirit, Jesus’ response can only be considered rude. Jesus says to the woman seeking his help "Let the children be fed first, for it is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs." In the first century, dogs were not beloved house pets. Jesus would be out of line to compare the woman to a domesticated dog. But the dogs Jesus refers to were wild and dirty animals, that scrounged for food and were chased away from human company. Jesus is placing the woman beyond the margins of human society, which doesn’t sound at all like the Jesus who worked to make the outcasts insiders and said that whoever is last shall be first.

Perhaps Jesus should study the passage from James which we heard this morning. James writes "Has not God chosen the poor in the world to be rich in faith and to be heirs of the kingdom that he has promised to those who love him?" In this passage, James condemns the very behavior we see from Jesus this morning. Jesus is distinguishing between the children and the dogs, and the Syrophoenician woman falls in the later category. If this was one of the disciples, who, in Mark’s gospel, consistently misunderstand who Jesus is, that would be one thing. But this is Jesus.

At the end of the story, after Jesus has healed both the child of the Syrophonecian woman and the deaf man, I am left with two basic questions. The first concerns Jesus’ rudeness. Why Jesus is so rude to the Syrophoenician woman when she seeks his help. I can find no satisfactory answer to that question. The commentaries suggest that Jesus was testing her, or that Jesus had an ah-ha moment in the middle of the conversation and realized that he was sent to the Gentiles as well as the Hebrew people. Neither of those explanations are an adequate excuse for Jesus’ rudeness. Quite frankly, I think we have to let go of that question and just live with the fact that Jesus was rude. The second, and more important question, concerns the meaning of this story. What are we supposed to take from a story in which Jesus does actually heal the daughter of the Syrophoenician woman, then heals a deaf man with a speech impediment?

Last week, we heard the Pharisees and scribes wonder why Jesus’ disciples eat without washing their hands, thus disobeying the Jewish laws of ritual cleanliness. Jesus wasn’t terribly polite to the Pharisees and scribes, either, by the way, when he tells them that they abandon the commandment of God and hold to human tradition. He tells the crowd that there is nothing outside a person that by going inside can defile, but the things that come from within are what defile.

Our gospel lesson this morning with the stories of the healing of both the Syrophoenician woman’s daughter and the deaf man follow right on the heals of Jesus’ comments about what defiles. In Jesus’ time, many people thought that physical ailments were the result of sin and that is part of the reason the sick, the blind and the lame lived on the margins of society. They were considered unclean, or defiled. The Syrophoenician woman with the daughter who is possessed is on the margins of society for several reasons. She is a woman, she is a gentile, and she has a daughter who is possessed by a demon. In the first century, that was a combination that would put her on the edge of society to a Hebrew man. The deaf man with an impediment in his speech was on the fringes of society because his disability meant he had no way to support himself, he may well have had to beg for whatever he needed, and he was unlikely to marry and have a family.

In the end, Jesus’ actions this morning do demonstrate what James calls the "royal law according to scripture" which is to love our neighbor as ourselves. Jesus heals both of these people, and in the case of the deaf man, those who witness the healing proclaim to anyone who will listen that Jesus makes the deaf to hear and the mute to speak.

Through out the gospels, along with the prophet Isaiah, the sign of the Messiah, the sign that the reign of God is near, is that the deaf hear, the lame walk, the sick are healed, the oppressed are free. Those who previously had to eat whatever crumbs were thrown under the table are now given seats at the table. Jesus’ actions this morning tell us that the Kingdom of God is near. The relevant question for us today is not why Jesus was so rude to the woman who sought healing for her daughter. The real, and much more difficult question, is how our lives bear witness to the reign of God. How do we live so that those in the world around us who get only crumbs, whether in housing, health care, education, or food, know that the Kingdom of God has come near? That is the far more important, and the far more haunting question than why Jesus was so rude to the Syrophoenician woman, and the answer matters.

Amen.

17 Proper B

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Episcopal Church
September 2, 2012

17 Proper B

Several years ago, I was invited to serve as a volunteer chaplain for Clark County Mental Health. The time commitment was minimal-just one or two hours a month. The assignment was a bit tricky, though. The chaplains were to lead a discussion group that would be meaningful to people of any faith or no faith at all. The staff wanted to care for the spiritual needs of their clients, but they wanted the chaplains to be clear that those needs were many and varied and that whatever we did, however we used the hour, had to be accessible to all people.

So, when I go to Mental Health and meet with the clients there, we do two things that are on the one hand accessible to people of almost any faith, or no faith, and yet come from my utterly Episcopalian heart. We share homemade chocolate chip cookies and we talk about the things in life that we are thankful for.

I am sure someday, someone will tell me that they have absolutely nothing to be thankful for, but as yet that has never happened. When a room full of people begin to share the things they are thankful for, the gratitude becomes contagious and typically over the course of the hour, everyone thinks of more and more things for which they are thankful. And that gratitude is transformative. When we think of all the things for which we are thankful, somehow life’s challenges seem a little less daunting and a little easier to bear.

Our readings this morning all have something to do with gratitude. In the poetic words from the Song of Solomon, we can hear the gratitude that the winter is past, the rain is over and gone. The dark times are over and spring has arrived, bringing with it the new life of flowers and singing. The winter and rain are metaphors for the absence the people have felt from God, and the flowers and singing are metaphors for their renewed awareness of God’s presence. There is beauty and there is singing, and there is gratitude.

The reading from James begins with the words "Every generous act of giving, with every perfect gift, is from above, coming down from the Father of lights." Every good gift, says James, comes from God, and James goes on to talk about how we should live in response to God’s gifts. We are to be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to anger so that we can live as people who have received God’s generous gifts. We are to live as people who are grateful for all God has given us.

At first glance, the gospel reading appears to have nothing whatsoever to do with gratitude. Some of the Pharisees have noticed that Jesus’ disciples do not wash their hands in accordance with the laws of God before they eat. In response to this very reasonable query, Jesus refers to the prophets and says "This people honors me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me; in vain do they worship me, teaching human precepts and doctrines." To be very clear here, Jesus is not condemning Judaism. Jesus, himself, was a faithful Jew. Jesus was pointing a finger at anyone who, as the cliche says, talks the talk but does not walk the walk, whether in the first or the twenty-first century. The prophets and Jesus called the people to live in response to the God who brought them out of Egypt, though the wilderness and into the Land of Promise. The gratitude that comes from knowing all the God has done for them and for us, transforms hearts so that what emerges from our hearts is not the laundry list of sins Jesus names, but actions that give glory to the God who releases us from bondage.

"But be doers of the word, and not merely hearers who deceive themselves," says the writer of James. This morning, we have the privilege of baptizing Mac Sparks. At every baptism, we renew our baptismal covenant. The first part of that covenant affirms our belief in God, using the words of the ancient baptismal creed of the Church, the Apostles Creed. We are asked "Do you believe in God the Father?" "Do you believe in Jesus Christ, the Son of God?" and "Do you believe in God the Holy Spirit?" In each case, we give the answer found in the ancient baptismal creed of the church. But once we have affirmed our belief in God who is Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, the Baptismal Covenant goes on to ask how we will live in response to that statement of faith. "Will you continue in the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, the breaking of bread, and in the prayers?" Will you persevere in resisting evil, and whenever you fall into sin, repent and return to the Lord?" "Will you proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ?" "Will you seek and serve Christ in all people?" And "Will you strive for justice and peace among all people and respect the dignity of every human being?"

These are not actions we take in order to earn anything from God or to keep God from taking his love from us. This is the way God calls us to live simply because God loves us. In baptism, God makes us Christ’s own forever and raises us to the new life of grace. Baptism is all God’s action. We just show up. In response to the gracious love of God, we promise to live lives that reflect that same gracious love to the world.

The great prayer of the church over the bread and wine that brings the presence of Christ to dwell within them is called the Great Thanksgiving, and the Greek word for Thanksgiving is Eucharist. Our principal act of worship is giving thanks. The first words of that prayer, the Eucharistic prayer, are "It is right and a good and joyful thing, always and everywhere, to give thanks to you, Father Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth." The Christian life, the life into which little Mac is initiated today, calls us to live lives that reflect our gratitude, in all times and in all places.

Amen.

16 Proper B

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Episcopal Church
August 26, 2012

16 Proper B

When I was a child, one of my holy places was a creek not far from my grandparents house in the mountains in North Carolina. Around the lake and through some woods, across a street and past the "no trespassing signs," down a path and a fairly steep slope, there was a creek that ran over rock and down the mountain. Other than the sound of water running over rock, and maybe the sound of the birds, there was only silence. The sunlight reflected through the trees onto the water in a way that was almost magical. I do not think many people knew about this place as there was never any evidence (other than the no trespassing sign) that anyone else had been there. For me, this was what some people call a thin place-a place where the divine and the human come close. I could sit there for a long time and know the presence of God. But, as is true of most holy places, I could not sit there forever. Eventually I had to get up and be on my way, renewed and ready for whatever the rest of the day held.

This church is also a holy place. Holy things happen here: sins are confessed and forgiven, the Risen Christ becomes present in bread and wine, people are welcomed into the Body of Christ through baptism, joined in marriage, and eternally united with Christ in death. In this place, we experience the wonder and mystery of something beyond ourselves, beyond our wildest imagination, and beyond our comprehension. This is a holy place, set apart for the worship of God, and a place where the human and divine come close.

In the reading from I Kings this morning, we hear about another holy place where the human and the divine come near, a place set also apart for the worship of God, as we hear Solomon dedicate the temple in Jerusalem. Solomon has built this temple as a house for God. The year is around 960 BCE. The temple is large and ornate, appropriate housing for the God of Israel who led the people out of bondage in Israel, through the wilderness, and into the Promised Land. In the verses just prior to our reading this morning, the priests bring the Ark of the Covenant into the temple and place it in the inner sanctuary, the most holy place in the temple. The Ark of the Covenant contains the tablets with the 10 commandments and they signify the very presence of God. The moment is so sacred that once the priests come out of the inner sanctuary, a cloud fills the house of the Lord as the glory of the Lord fills the temple. Then Solomon begins his prayer dedicating the house he has built to the God of Israel, which is our reading from I Kings. Solomon’s prayer recalls God’s abundant faithfulness to the people, and he prays that God will hear the prayers of all people that pray in this place so that all the peoples of the earth may know God’s name and fear God.

Yet even in the midst of Solomon’s eloquent prayer of dedication, Solomon wonders if God will indeed dwell on earth. Can the God who is not contained by heaven and the highest heaven be contained in a house, even the house that God requested that Solomon build? Can the God who wandered in the wilderness with the Hebrew people, and led them with a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night, actually be expected to live in a house, no matter how large or ornate? What does it mean for God to dwell in the temple? At the very least, for the Hebrew people, it meant that God could be encountered in the temple in a way that God could be encountered in no other place on the earth.

But will God indeed really dwell on the earth? In John’s gospel, we are told that in Jesus, God has chosen to dwell among us in a new way. John’s gospel, from which our gospel lesson comes this morning, begins with these words "In the beginning was the Word. And the Word was with God, and the Word was God." And a few verses later, the gospel says "And the Word became flesh and dwelled among us, full of grace and truth." In Solomon’s time and for generations thereafter, the people believed that God dwelled among them in a unique way by God’s presence in the temple Solomon built. When the temple was destroyed in the 6^th century BC, the people feared that God had abandoned them. In John’s gospel, we are told that God dwelt among us in the person of Jesus, the Word made flesh. While the Hebrew people were concerned that when the Temple was destroyed, God ceased to be present among them, John’s gospel makes clear that in Jesus’ death and resurrection, God becomes even more present among us. In today’s gospel lesson, we hear Jesus say "Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood dwell in me and I in them." Through the bread and wine of the Eucharist, the Word that became flesh dwells within us and we encounter God in a unique way that transcends time and place and cannot be destroyed.

Holy places are places where we encounter the presence of God, where the divine and the human draw near. As powerful as those places might be, and as much meaning as those places might have, they are not places where we are meant to stay. Solomon asks "But will God indeed dwell on earth? Even heaven and the highest heaven cannot contain you, much less this house I have built." We do not claim that God can be contained here; quite the opposite. In holy places, whether the temple in Jerusalem in the 10^th century BC, or in this holy place, or in the other places in our lives that we find holy, we practice encountering God so that when we leave our holy place, we can encounter God in the world. When we have experienced the presence of God here, we can recognize God in our parking lot on a hot Saturday afternoon as we offer hospitality to our neighbors, or at the Rainbow Table or IHN, or in our places of work, or in a random visit to the grocery. When we practice the experience of God in our holy places, we can more easily experience the presence of God in the midst of our grief and our challenges. The Word made flesh tells us that there is no where we can go that is beyond the presence of God. The holy places of our lives help us recognize that presence beyond these walls.

Amen.

Jim Beardsell

Charlotte Collins Reed
Christ Episcopal Church
August 19, 2012

Jim Beardsell

When word of Jim’s death began to spread last weekend, from the stories I heard, I think pretty much everyone felt like they had lost a great friend, whether they had known Jim for most of their lives, or only a short time. Jim made us laugh. Jim gave us a shoulder to lean on. Jim gave us an encouraging word, or on occasion, a look that said more than words. But most of all, Jim made us feel welcome. When Don and I arrived in Springfield many years ago, with a three year old son in tow, Jim and Anita welcomed us and helped make all three of us feel at home here. Jim made it a point to get to know everyone whose life intersected with his, not because he wondered what they could do for him, but because he was interested and genuinely wanted to know everyone. Of course, if you were interested in football, that was icing on the friendship cake. Jim made his friends feel like family, and because of the way he talked about and loved his family, you feel like friends to us, even though many of us have just now met.

So we gather today to celebrate the long life of Jim Beardsell and Jim would be pleased to see his beloved family and so many of his friends all in the same place, singing the hymns he picked out. If we look around, we see all sorts of people here today-young and young at heart, conservative and liberal, gay and straight, black and white, members of different religious persuasions, and that doesn’t include the many people who wanted to be here today, but could not. Jim has brought together an amazing cross-section of the human family to celebrate his life because his life touched such a cross-section of people. And in this gathering, Jim’s life reflects something of the Kingdom of God and the Divine hospitality-the hospitality that embraces all and welcomes all people. Today we celebrate a life that has gathered us together and reminded us of the great welcome of the Kingdom of God.

As much as there is to celebrate this day, and as may Jim Beardsell stories as there are to share, we are also here to mourn Jim’s death. In the opening prayers, we asked God to grant Jim an entrance into the land of light and joy. In order for our loved ones to gain that entrance and pass through the gate of eternal life, we must lost them here on earth. That loss hurts, even when that loss represents the end of pain and suffering for Jim, even when we would not wish him back for a moment longer if that meant his suffering would continue. Even Jesus himself wept at the tomb of Lazarus, his friend. In our prayers this day, we pray for each other, that we may be consoled in our grief and be comforted in our sorrows. Our grief does not mean that our faith is not real. Our grief simply means that we have lost someone we love and that our lives will not be the same without him. Allow yourselves to grieve and know that, in the words of Paul in his letter to the Romans, even the deepest grief does not separate us from the love of God.

The most important reason we are here today is to celebrate Jim’s entry into eternal life. The reading from Isaiah says "Those who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength. The shall mount up with wings like eagles. They shall run and not be weary. They shall walk and not faint." Jim has waited. Jim was not afraid of death. He told me that, and I know he told some of you that. He believed that "neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation" could separate him from the love of God. He also firmly believed that "the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory about to be revealed to us.’ Ninety some years ago, in his baptism, Jim was joined with Christ in his death and resurrection. In his death early last Saturday morning, Jim was joined with Christ in new life and he was made new. In the gospel reading, Jesus tells us that he has gone ahead of us to prepare of a place for us, so that where he is, there we might also be. Jim has been welcomed into that place, where he can run and not be weary, where he is reunited with his loved ones who have gone before, where he has new people to meet, and where the whole great diversity of humankind is gathered.

Amen.