Posted by stpauls on November 30, 2008 under Staff Blog | 
Mark 13:24-37 ~ The Gospel Reading for November 30, 2008
Jesus said to his disciples, “In those days, after that suffering, the sun will be darkened, and the moon will not give its light, and the stars will be falling from heaven, and the powers in the heavens will be shaken. Then they will see `the Son of Man coming in clouds’ with great power and glory. Then he will send out the angels, and gather his elect from the four winds, from the ends of the earth to the ends of heaven.
“From the fig tree learn its lesson: as soon as its branch becomes tender and puts forth its leaves, you know that summer is near. So also, when you see these things taking place, you know that he is near, at the very gates. Truly I tell you, this generation will not pass away until all these things have taken place. Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away.
“But about that day or hour no one knows, neither the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. Beware, keep alert; for you do not know when the time will come. It is like a man going on a journey, when he leaves home and puts his slaves in charge, each with his work, and commands the doorkeeper to be on the watch. Therefore, keep awake, for you do not know when the master of the house will come, in the evening, or at midnight, or at cockcrow, or at dawn, or else he may find you asleep when he comes suddenly. And what I say to you, I say to all: Keep awake.”
Posted by Webmaster on under Webmaster Blog |
Order of Service at 7:00 p.m.
Processional Hymn – “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel” (plainsong – arranged by Healy Willan – CP 89). To be sung by the choir. The congregation is invited to join in at the refrain.
Bidding Prayer
First Reading Genesis 3:8-15 – Read by Tim Conklin
Choir: “Carol for Advent” by Nancy Price and Don Besig
Second Reading Genesis 22:15-18 – Read by Dianne Davies
Hymn CP 117 “Lo, How a Rose E-er Blooming”
Third Reading Isaiah 9:2-7 – Read by Roy Simeon
Choir: “Do Not Find Me Sleeping” by Pamela Martin
Fourth Reading Isaiah 11:1-9 – Read by Anil Patade
Hymn CP 597 “Lion and Lamb Lying Together”
Fifth Reading Luke 1:26-38 – Read by Leslie Buck
Solo by Nina Shoroplova: “O, Holy Night” by Adolphe Adams
Sixth Reading Matthew 1:18-3 – Read by Rose Desrochers
Men of the Choir: “Joseph’s Song” by Jim Strathdee
Seventh Reading Luke 2:8-20 – James Mead
Choir with Solo by Nicola Law: “Midnight Clear” Words by Herb Fromback and Music by Vicki Tucker Courtney
Eighth Reading Matthew 2:1-11 – Read by Dorothy Barnes
Choir: “Christ Came to Bethlehem” by Victor C. Johnson
Ninth Reading John 1:1-14 – Read by Steve Shannon
Choir: “The Night He Was Born” by Bob Chilcott
Advent Litany
Choir: “Arise and Shine” by Joseph M. Martin
Blessing
Hymn CP 114 “Lo He Comes with Clouds Ascending”
Instrumentalists: Dianne Warren (piano and organ); Tony Nickels (flute and oboe); Sarah Tippett (cello)
Posted by Priest on under Sermons |
One of my favourite contemporary novelists is little-known Chicago author Robert Rodi. He is funny and over the top, but usually right to the point. His novel Drag Queen features a successful, well-established, and somewhat conservative Chicago lawyer. Right at the beginning of the novel, the lawyer’s mother tells him not only that he has an identical twin brother, who also happens to be a drag queen (hence the title of the book), but she also reveals in the very same conversation that he is not her biological son, but is adopted. Yet, and this shows Robert Rodi’s rather strange but brilliant sense of humour, the actual reason for the conversation is that the lawyer’s mother informs her son that she will join a Tibetan Buddhist convent in Wisconsin. Reacting to her son’s shock, she comments that at least she is not joining a Christian group, you know one of those, and I quote, “bitter, judgmental, and hate soaked” religious groups.
When I first read through the conversation, I had to laugh, then smile, and slowly my facial features changed and it made me actually sad. Why is it that we Christians are seen as “bitter, judgmental, and hate-soaked?” And it is not just Robert Rodi in his novel. You remember the old church lady in Saturday Night Live, right? And good old philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche once commented that he always wondered why Christians looked so gloomy. “I wish,” he said, “Christians would look more saved.”
Now, let me make one thing quite clear: I don’t find this to be a particular striking problem at St. Paul’s. We are a rather joyous and celebratory crowd, and our Friendly Feasts over the last week prove Robert Rodi, Friedrich Nietzsche and others quite wrong. I bet, though, you all know people who raise an eyebrow, or two, once you reveal to them that you attend church. It is a strange thing how we are seen outside church circles.
Furthermore, we all know Christians and Christian ministers whose sole occupation is to replace the love of God with the gloom of God. There are many people who label themselves Christian, but all they care about is preaching condemnation and judgment. There is no good news there; only scare-tactics and fear-mongering. Not just Fred Phelps and his weird cult of self-righteous demagogues seem to think that the Christian message is all about hellfire and brimstone. Even our Gospel text for today seems to be so full of doom and gloom. No wonder then, that we are labeled “bitter, judgmental, and hate-soaked.”
But is that really what we proclaim?
A few years back, I had the opportunity to spend six weeks in Israel and Palestine. It was a very exciting and wonderful opportunity to explore the land that is holy to so many people on our globe. I spent most of my time in Haifa at an Ulpan, a Hebrew language school, for this is what I was there for: to learn Hebrew. Two weeks into our experience, we embarked on a four day excursion to Jerusalem – and I was giddy to get there.
We arrived on a Friday afternoon, checked into our hotel and were met later at the reception of the hotel by a Lutheran deacon who gave us our first walking tour of the Old City. By then, the sun had set already and Shabbat had settled over the homes and houses of the people of Jerusalem. There was an eerie silence as we made our way through the small alleys and lanes. Everything had closed down and with the exception of a few monks and even fewer tourists like us, there were not many people finding their way through these narrow pathways that formed a real maze, whichcould swallow you up easily without any trace.
Our deacon tour guide, however, lead us through the twisted and crooked streets on sure footing – or at least I hoped she knew what she was doing. And she did. All of sudden, we turned a corner and stood on a balcony-like platform overlooking the square just in front of the Western Wall, which at one time had been known as the Wailing Wall.
For Jews this is haShekinah; this is where God touches the earth; this is where the divine presence resides. It was a powerful moment. Most people had already left to observe Shabbat in their homes, but a few had remained to pray and to be in the presence of God. It was a wonderful sight, a site filled with wonder. This is indeed a special place.
I know that God cannot be limited to just one spot on earth, but there are sacred spaces, places where God reveals God’s self in a particular, dense, and an especially experienceable way. These are what Celtic spirituality calls “thin places,” spaces where the separation between our existence and the realty of God is very thin. And the Western Wall is such a place. The divine presence is in this place for sure.
I approached the Western Wall with a certain sense of trepidation. I really could feel something. It wasn’t a strong feeling, but it was there. I guess I had dreamed of being there and hoped for this moment for such a long time and that’s why I felt nervous. At least, this is how my cerebral, German, male brain justified my feelings. It still came as a bit of a shock.
Slowly, I edged my way forward towards the Wall. At first, I did not have a strong desire to go within the enclosure that separates the public square from the place of prayer just in front of the Wall. But eventually I placed a kippa on my head and headed towards the wall. I stopped about an arm’s length away from the Wall, which is a massive pile of hewn stones, all different, but all of them also quite sizable, over towering, even overpowering. There was no way around this massive wall. It was right in front of me.
I stood there looking at and being mesmerized by this stone monstrosity for a while and joined those around me in prayer. I couldn’t help it, but eventually I looked around me and upward. And I saw a most curious thing:
About three to four metres above ground, a bush was growing out of the stone. It was a weird sight. Where did it come from? How did it stay there? On what did it live? But there it was. And it wasn’t just there. The most amazing thing was this: the bush was in full bloom. Tiny, light blue blossoms, surrounded by deep green leaves were dancing in night, illumined by the artificial light shining on the Western Wall. It was as if this plant defied the coldness of the stone, defied the dead material it grew on, defied the despair and anguish of those praying around it and of the whole city that is so entrenched in hate and injustice
And this is when it hit me. All of a sudden I was aware of the presence of something indescribably and unfathomably larger than me. The only word I can use to describe my emotions is “awe.” I was overwhelmed by awe. Yet, it was not frightening or scary. It just was. All. Encompassing. Presence. Life grew out of a dead stone. Flowers bloomed in a place no-one would choose to plant anything. Hope blossomed unexpectedly, mysteriously, and awe inspiringly. Yet, I almost missed it. But there it was: haShekinah, the presence of God.
Today’s story from Mark could be easily dismissed as a story that preaches gloom and doom. But this is not a scenario that sets us up to protract the stereotype we are so often faced with, as we live our life as Christians. This is no doom’s day scenario that speaks of end times in “bitter, judgmental, and hate-soaked” ways. In fact, it might not even speak of end-times at all.
Mark’s fellow Christians lived under threat. It was dangerous to be a follower of Christ. There were enemies everywhere. Stone-cold death was lingering everywhere, both literally and figuratively. Mark’s community was struggling to hold on to the message of hope revealed to them.
So, Mark today reminds the community around him – and he reminds us also in our times of trouble – not of things to come, not of hopes yet unfulfilled. Mark does not tell of the end of times, but of the end of an era that was finished with God’s appearing in the baby growing under Mary’s heart. The powers of the world, the powers that wield death and destruction to body, mind, and soul were toppled by a little baby that brought hope and life to the world. In Jesus Christ, a different reality is revealed, a reality filled with hope and life, blossoming in the most unlikely of places and surprising us in ways we have not even dreamed of. Just like a bush’s unlikely blooming in the midst of dead stones, so a baby reveals the power of a loving God in the midst of trouble and despair. The violence of this world, its death and destruction will not be overcome by might, but the violence of this world is already overthrown by the strongest power of all: Love, God’s love, God’s love made manifest in the little, fragile, yet, disarming baby born of our sister Mary. The bush is blooming. Now.
Stay alert and awake, therefore, not just in Advent, and discover the hope blossoming around us, the life blooming even in the midst of the desert, and God’s presence even in the most unlikely of places, even, like Mary, in and under our own hearts.
[Reverend Markus Duenzkofer delivered this sermon on November 30, 2007.]
Posted by Priest on November 23, 2008 under Sermons |
For some of you, today’s Gospel reading must be a déjà-vu. Didn’t we do this just recently? This sounds so familiar!
And indeed, just one and half weeks ago, those attending the Wednesday night Eucharist heard exactly today’s text from the Gospel according to Matthew. That day, we commemorated St. Martin of Tours, who was born around the year 330. His early years were spent in Pavia in Italy. After a term of service in the Roman army, he traveled about Europe, and settled in Poitiers. Eventually, he became the Bishop of Tours in France and he is the first saint commemorated by the church who had not been martyred. He is commemorated particularly for an incident that changed his life and deeply influenced the life of the church.
According to an old legend, while Martin was still a catechumen*, still preparing for baptism, he was approached by a poor man, who asked for alms in the name of Christ. Martin, drawing his sword, cut off half his military cloak right in the middle and gave it to the beggar. On the following night, Jesus appeared to Martin, clothed in half a cloak, and said to him, “Martin, a simple catechumen, covered me with this garment.”
Of course, this legend is a perfect illustration of the deep meaning and the profound revelation of today’s text from Matthew. There is such a close link between the Gospel and the legend that it does make me wonder if the gospel text served as a sketch for the legend. Maybe the legend was not so much meant to tell a historical truth, as it was intended to reemphasize the saintly character of Martin of Tours and to edify the faith of the faithful. This kind of “exaggeration” of the biography of a saint was not so uncommon in times past and happened in all realms of life. Only our modern minds struggle with the importance of historicity.
Be that as it may, St. Martin, or at least the commemoration of him, has had a deep impact on the church and on popular culture: I remember well St. Martin’s Day when I was a wee one. It was a feast day for us children. We would take a boot (a snow boot or a rubber boot) and place it outside our front door. We did so in anticipation … and with trepidation. There was always a bit of trembling, because if St. Martin had discovered that we had been undisciplined little rascals in the year past, he would come in and we would get a spanking. If, however, we had behaved, St. Martin would fill our boots with nuts and sweets and all kinds of little presents.
Just after dinner every November 11th, there would be an ominous knock and our hearts would sink. (I never noticed that my dad was nowhere close by when the knock happened….) We would wait, and our mother would egg us on to open the door, which took all the courage we could muster. And, yes, St. Martin never showed up – unlike St. Nicholas – but that is a different story. But our boots would always be filled to the rim!
In later years, after St. Martin, St. Nicholas and the Easter bunny had all shared the same, ultimate fate, we would still receive presents and it became our family tradition to receive our Advent calendars that day.
Of course, considering the legend, it seems more than appropriate to give gifts on St. Martin’s Day, right? After all, St. Martin gave away something too. But is that what the story is really about? Well, yes and no.
On first glance, the legend provides us with a heart-warming story about St. Martin giving something away – and I can hear the voices of kindergarten teachers: “It is all about sharing!” But if we stay with the giving of a gift, with a mere act of charity, I do think we miss the point. Now, don’t get me wrong. I have nothing against sharing or acts of charity. When we give, however, there is always a giver and a recipient. There is always a direction, someone who acts and someone who is on the receiving end of the action, someone who is active and someone who is passive, a saint and someone who is given saintly ministry. And the receiver had better be thankful! In the same way, acts of charity establish a kind of hierarchy: there is one who offers kindness and someone who is supposed to accept the kindness. And the giver is always the better person, right?
But that is not what the story of St. Martin really is about – and that’s not what today’s Gospel is about, either. In fact, if we give in to a kind of heart-warming story about giving and sharing, if we see Martin’s act merely as an act of charity, and if we let ourselves be drawn into an “awing” and “oohing” over the story, then we degrade the message to something cute, something that has more to do with filling boots with nuts and sweets, rather than the profound revelation of God’s self-giving for us in Jesus Christ. The Gospel ain’t cute. But the Gospel is radical, rooting out our understanding of how things work and challenging our way of doing things at the core.
The legend tells us that St. Martin halved his cloak in order to share it with the beggar. This was more than a charitable donation. This is more, not just because we never think of giving 50% when we think about a charitable donation. But this is more than a charitable donation also, because Martin, by giving half of his cloak away, exposed himself to the elements, exposed himself to the plight of the beggar, and exposed himself to what God had to teach him. He let his guard down, removed the layers of protection around his body, and, more importantly, around his heart. He dismounted from his high horse and met the beggar face to face. It was an embrace and it was an encounter leaving both changed.
Martin gave away his cloak and in return he received grace and understanding about the radical message of the Gospel: The kingdom of God is built not on lording over others, but it is founded on serving. Martin opened himself to interact with the beggar not top down, but as an equal, and both are changed. The beggar received warmth in body and hope for his soul, and Martin in return has to radically adjust his understanding of the world. In later life, he consistently butted heads with his colleagues in the college of bishops who had started to buy into the power games of the empire. By the time Martin had become Bishop of Tours, the Christian church in Gaul had once more started to turn into a religious elite, dancing to the tunes of the mighty, frequenting the halls of oppressors and exploiters, and enjoying the company of an Empire rooted in this world. The church had once again forgotten that justice and peace are central to the Gospel; that following Christ is not just a charitable act, but involves all that we have and all that we are; and that all of us, each and every one of us, whoever we are and wherever we find ourselves on the journey are created beautifully and awesomely in the image of God.
Today’s Gospel story is not just an adjunct, an appendix to the message of salvation in Jesus Christ, and an uncomfortable appendix at that. Jesus is quite clear in today’s Gospel text that charitable acts, as well-meaning as they are, are not a sufficient answer to God’s challenge in the Gospel. But working for justice here and now – whatever form it may take – is a central Gospel issue, is rooted deeply in the Incarnation of God in Jesus of Nazareth.
Those who do not house the homeless; those who do not feed the hungry; those who do not visit those in prison; those who fail to make themselves vulnerable for the needs of others, which in the end are God’s needs; those who limit the intent of the Gospel to an insurance policy for the afterlife; they miss the radical message of why God became one of us in Jesus Christ and walked this earth preaching good news to the poor, releasing the captives from prison, restoring sight to the blind, and lifting up the lowly. And they miss the restorative power of God in their own lives here on earth.
In the end, this is one of the reasons that got Jesus killed: His message of liberation, his challenge to pursue justice, his offer of life in abundance even for the least of us, all this was just too much for the powerful and the elites of his day and age. And one could argue it is a message that is still too much for our day and age, too.
Today, we are celebrating the Feast of Christ the King – and that he is. Jesus Christ is the King of kings, the Lord of lords, the ruler of the universe, the sovereign of heaven and earth. Through him, and with him, and in him everything was created and has its being. He is the omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent God, who was and is and is to come. This is what God has revealed to us; this is what we proclaim; to this we hold fast.
If we use this Feast, however, to lift Jesus up high, way high, then he becomes too high for us to reach and too high for him to reach us. God was not born of our sister Mary in a stable amongst ox and ass, so that we can put him on a pedestal and project our understanding of power on him in return. That would be absurd and would reverse the radicalism of the Gospel, which turns our world upside down and remains a challenge, even today.
In Jesus, God emptied himself, gave away his armour and protection, dismounted from the high horse of heaven, divested himself of the cloak of power, and made himself vulnerable, approachable, embraceable. In Jesus, God inseparably connected himself to each of us, but especially to the plight of the least of our sisters and brothers. In Jesus, God never abandons us, even when hunger, thirst, homelessness, or captivity threaten our very existence in body, mind or soul. In Jesus, God becomes a servant – for our sake and for the sake of the world. And in Jesus, God empowers the church to be servants too, servants who give all that they are and all that they have, servants who work for justice and peace, and servants who will reveal the glory of God, which, for now, is hidden inside the least of our brothers and sisters.
[Reverend Markus Duenzkofer delivered this sermon on November 23, 2008.]
* Merriam Webster defines catechumen as “one receiving instruction in the basic doctrines of Christianity before admission to communicant membership in a church.”
Posted by stpauls on under Staff Blog |
Matthew 25:31-46 ~ The Gospel Reading for November 23, 2008
Jesus said, “When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, then he will sit on the throne of his glory. All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats, and he will put the sheep at his right hand and the goats at the left. Then the king will say to those at his right hand, `Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.’ Then the righteous will answer him, `Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?’ And the king will answer them, `Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.’ Then he will say to those at his left hand, `You that are accursed, depart from me into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels; for I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not welcome me, naked and you did not give me clothing, sick and in prison and you did not visit me.’ Then they also will answer, `Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not take care of you?’ Then he will answer them, `Truly I tell you, just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.’ And these will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life.”
Posted by Priest on November 9, 2008 under Sermons |
On the road again. Do you remember the famous song by Willie Nelson? “On the road again. Just can’t wait to be on the road again.”
The song came to my mind when I was reading through today’s gospel story. Ten women – on the road again. This song also came to my mind as I was watching God or the Girl, a documentary that follows four young Roman Catholic men deciding whether to marry, or to become priests and therefore remain celibate.
I don’t really want to talk about mandatory clerical celibacy. At the end, it is something I cannot support, because I do not believe it can be justified by Holy Scripture or by a thorough studying of Christian tradition. It is a human-made decision of an ecclesiastical government that fails to listen to the murmur of the dove’s song, to the voice of Holy Spirit.
Yet, God or the Girl is a fascinating portrayal of this dilemma some Roman Catholics have to face. The interesting twist in the story is that almost all of the featured men come to a conclusion after a journey, after travelling to a place away from home. I was particularly fascinated by two men in the documentary: one went to Guatemala, the other made a pilgrimage to Niagara Falls. Yet, for both these men the journey was not so much about reaching the final destination. It was not about achieving something or about arriving at a certain place. Rather, it was about either being on the journey without a clear understanding of how to get to the destination or without knowing what the result of the journey would be. (Something to which those of us who walk the Labyrinth really can relate!)
When we first meet “Steve,” he is working as a campus missionary in Nebraska. He has left his high paying corporate job after reading a pamphlet about the priesthood. Something struck a cord within him, something that made him depart from the comfortable and superficially successful life he had known. Yet, he was not sure about this whole priesthood thing. In the midst of his struggles, his superior suggested he should spend some time at a mission in Guatemala, working among the poor and disenfranchised, among the forgotten and neglected. He wasn’t sure if that was “his cuppa tea.”
He accepted the challenge begrudgingly first, but gradually embraced it. His willingness to be on this journey prepared and opened him to hear what the Spirit was saying. Guatemala became a life-changing experience: one that not only made him understand how much God grieves the plight of the poor and wants the church to be a voice for the voiceless… but it was also an experience that showed him God’s presence, God’s compassion, and God’s love in his own life. Because he was open and ready, he heard God’s voice. He heard God’s voice in the voices of those he encountered on the way. And he heard God’s voice in the still small murmur he found waiting for him inside his soul.
“Joe” also was working as a campus minister; however, he had actually joined a religious order at one time – only to pull out again. As the documentary progressed, he became more and more tormented by the choices in front of him and so decided to go on his own pilgrimage using a technique he had learned during his time as a religious. Rather than plan the trip meticulously, the only thing he decided was his destination: a retreat centre in Niagara Falls, Ontario. He had no idea how he would get there. Furthermore, he left all forms of money, both cash and plastic, behind. To get to where he wanted to be, he had to depend on the goodness of strangers and on his own ability to work for food, shelter, and transportation.
On first sight, this looks like a foolish idea; however, this meant that there was only himself – and, more importantly, there was only God. He had to rely on his faith that God would provide. And God did provide! Throughout the pilgrimage God provided what he needed.
And God even provided an answer. Because Joe showed up, really showed up as himself, God spoke. Because he had been willing to listen, he learned. Because he was willing to discern, he discovered. Because he was willing to encounter, he experienced the true self that God intended for him.
On the road again.
These are two road stories that are rather unusual. Most of us would never travel like Joe, without any certainty of where to sleep and what to eat. Likewise, most of us would never leave behind the security and comfort of our home to embrace the lowliest of God’s daughters and sons. However, both Joe and Steve were willing to be vulnerable; they were willing to leave behind for a while the comfort they knew. Instead, there was an openness to listen, a preparedness to journey, and an intentionality to encounter what God has planned for them. This is why the journey, why God was able to speak to them in a way they understood. They were prepared. They were ready.
On the road again.
This of course also describes the people of the United States, who made a huge step forward on their journey with the election of a different kind of president last week. Whether or not we like it, what goes on South of the 49th impacts our lives here in Canada, too. Yes, we are not part of the United States, and I, for one, don’t think that is a bad thing. Yes, we are not just the wee sibling separated by an accident of history; Canada is unique, distinct, and different. And, yes, there are many things people in the U.S. could learn from the true North, not just about marriage-equality, social welfare, the abolition of capital punishment, – or hockey. However, there are also many things we can learn when we look beyond the horizon of our Dominion. And there are many things we can learn from the events of last week.
For one, I believe that Barak Obama’s election shows that it is time for all of us to dare a journey into a new way of being, into a new beginning. I will always remember the diversity of faces gathered in Chicago’s Grant Park last Tuesday night, the diversity of gender, of class, of sexual orientation, of age and, of course, most strikingly that particular night, the diversity of race. And this diversity of faces in Chicago has something to say about how to be a church in a changed and changing world, something about internationality and openness, something that speaks of hope, something profound and meaningful especially for a church that for the most part still looks like Tuesday’s gathering in Phoenix, Arizona, not like the one in Chicago.
And as Canadians got sucked into the U.S. election, it became clear that there is willingness not just in the U.S. to move on and to claim new shores, without giving up on the fundamentals of who we are. Yet, there is an urge to journey on. People are prepared. People are ready.
On the road again.
I think this is the biggest difference between the foolish and the wise bridesmaids in today’s story from Matthew. Yes, both decided to dare the journey. But the foolish bridesmaids came unprepared, came without a willingness to make the extra step, the extra effort. They weren’t ready. But the wise bridesmaids were ready. They were willing to be open, to be intentional and to be prepared.
This is the challenge of the Gospel. Yes, all are welcome, all are invited, and all are chosen to be bridesmaids at the feast. After all, Jesus says, “the kingdom of God is like ten bridesmaids,” not just five. But those who truly heed this invitation, those who let themselves be fully grasped by the joy of the feast, those who are fully immersed, fully alive in the abundance, compassion, and overflowing love of our triune God, they will want to do more than just show up, more than just trot along, more than equate faith with other interests and hobbies: They will be intentional to celebrate the faith of those who have gone before us, they will come prepared for the future that lies ahead, and they will be willing to be ready for what God has to offer and to offer all that they have and all that they are in return.
No, this is not some veiled stewardship message. But these are words right from Anglican wedding liturgies. Yet, they could also be words describing the wedding feast we read about in today’s gospel lesson from Matthew: The kingdom of God is like this: All that God is and all that God has God offers to us in the child born in Bethlehem of our sister Mary. And all that we have and all that we are we shall give in return.
Or as the Book of Common Prayer puts it: ourselves, our souls, and bodies.
This is God’s promise and this is our hope. Let’s be prepared. Let’s be willing. Let’s be ready.
Posted by Webmaster on under Webmaster Blog |
Matthew 25
2 “Five of them were foolish and five were wise.
3 “The foolish ones took their lamps but did not take any oil with them.
4 “The wise, however, took oil in jars along with their lamps.
5 “The bridegroom was a long time in coming, and they all became drowsy and fell asleep
6 “At midnight the cry rang out: ‘Here’s the bridegroom! Come out to meet him!’
7 “Then all the virgins woke up and trimmed their lamps.
8 “The foolish ones said to the wise, ‘Give us some of your oil; our lamps are going out.’
9 ” ‘No,’ they replied, ‘there may not be enough for both us and you. Instead, go to those who sell oil and buy some for yourselves.’
10 “But while they were on their way to buy the oil, the bridegroom arrived. The virgins who were ready went in with him to the wedding banquet. And the door was shut.
11 “Later the others also came. ‘Sir! Sir!’ they said. ‘Open the door for us!’
12 “But he replied, ‘I tell you the truth, I don’t know you.’
13 “Therefore, keep watch, because you do not know the day or the hour.
Posted by Webmaster on November 2, 2008 under Sermons |
Reverend Markus Dünzkofer’s sermon on Sunday, November 2, 2008, addressed the reading for the day, which came from Matthew 5:1-12.
When Jesus saw the crowds, he went up the mountain; and after he sat down, his disciples came to him. Then he began to speak, and taught them, saying:
“Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
“Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted.
“Blessed are the meek: for they shall inherit the earth.
“Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness: for they shall be filled.
“Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy.
“Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God.
“Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God.
“Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness’ sake: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
“Blessed are ye, when men shall revile you, and persecute you, and shall say all manner of evil against you falsely, for my sake.
“Rejoice, and be exceeding glad: for great is your reward in heaven: for so persecuted they the prophets which were before you.
