Posted by Webmaster on April 12, 2009 under Bible Readings, Webmaster Blog | 
Mark 16:1-8 ~ Gospel reading for Easter Sunday, April 12, 2009
When the sabbath was over, Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James, and Salome bought spices, so that they might go and anoint him. And very early on the first day of the week, when the sun had risen, they went to the tomb. They had been saying to one another, ‘Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?’ When they looked up, they saw that the stone, which was very large, had already been rolled back. As they entered the tomb, they saw a young man, dressed in a white robe, sitting on the right side; and they were alarmed. But he said to them, ‘Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised; he is not here. Look, there is the place they laid him. But go, tell his disciples and Peter that he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him, just as he told you.’ So they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.
Posted by Priest on April 10, 2009 under Sermons |
God is dead!
This was the name of a theology prominent in the 1960s: The God-is-dead theology, sometimes called the Death-of-God-theology. First formulated in the United States as a reaction and as a protest to the way society talked about God, it was meant to challenge any superficiality in our dealings with God and as an antidote to the emergence of Civil Religion, a neo-conservative movement within the churches, which in the wake of World War II used religion to justify ardent patriotism and fiery nationalism and in the end really distorted the radical claims of the Christian Gospel.
Utilizing the insights of Rudolf Bultman, who had demythologised the Bible and opened biblical interpretations to the understandings of the modern age, people like P. M. van Buren, Friedrich Gogarten, or Dorothee Soelle strongly opposed a theology that advocated any “cozy” or sweet understanding of God and that relegated God to a heaven high above. It was a struggle with any form of a numinous understanding of God and it led these theologians to believe that we really cannot talk of “God” at all, because God, or any concept of God, is not verifiable. The idea of “God” as the totally other had died and members of the theological school could only believe in God (if you can call it “believe”) in atheistic, non-religious ways.
In the end, like Civil Religion, the Death-of-God theology went over the cliff and severed its connection to the fundamentals of the Christian faith. Unlike Civil Religion, however, which still rears its ugly head not just among U.S. American fundamentalist Evangelicals, the God-is-dead-theology disappeared as fast as it had appeared. For the proponents of the God-is-dead theology, Christianity had merely become an ethical value system without any metaphysical connection. God is dead, they proclaimed in absolute terms. And God cannot save anymore.
As a Christian, I just cannot go there.
But I wonder, as we gather today on this Good Friday, as we let the darkness of death cover our hearts and our souls, and as we look at the cross, I wonder if there isn’t a prophetic edge to the God-is-dead-theology.
As I read about the human suffering in Darfur, as I contemplate the starvation in Ethiopia, as I observe the violence against women in Afghanistan, as I let the reports about poverty in the Lower Mainland sink in, as I learn more about the drug abuse in the West End and in the Downtown Eastside and the gang-related violence all over Vancouver, God’s omnipotence seems to vanish into thin air. And of course, there are the disturbing pictures from the recent earthquake in Italy. The hundreds of victims, just like in any other natural catastrophe, cry to heaven. Are heaven’s ears deaf, or is there nobody on high to listen? It really does seem as if God is dead!
In Germany, the idea of a dying or an even dead God was appropriately raised less than 20 years after the end of World War II. When allied troops marched through Europe, they not only liberated peoples from the yoke of an occupying force, they also set free thousands and thousands of concentration camp inmates who had been tortured by the Nazis and their accomplices. Yet, for millions and millions of Jews, Sinti and Roma, Gays, Lesbians, Christians, Pacifists, Jehovah’s Witnesses, Socialists, Communists, Democrats, Poles, Russians, war prisoners, forced labourers, and many others, it was too late. The flames of the gas ovens in death camps and concentration camps had swallowed up the lives of some 6 million Jews alone. And the firestorm kindled by Hitler and his war-crazed generals had consumed another 55 million human lives. A sinister moloch beyond imagining with a giant fauces had consumed innocent lives. And in the aftermath, it consumed the very idea of a benevolent deity. The poisonous gas of the death chambers also killed God. In the midst of this dark night, God can only be dead. And today, this is the picture we must contemplate: God nailed to the cross, his arms stretched out wide, but immobile, not able to embrace. He is stripped of his omnipotence, robbed of his almightiness, deprived of his supremacy.
This is why we are here. We are here to remember and commemorate the death of God, who some 2000 years ago emptied himself and became one of us in Jesus of Nazareth, only to let himself be nailed to a cross. There he hangs, a lifeless body, to whom Mary had given birth, with nails hammered into his hands, nails driven through his feet, and a wound oozing blood and water from his side. If you think you have come to encounter God in all of God’s glory today, think again. Today, you will encounter God in a way that is nerve-wrecking, scandalous, disturbing, and maybe even disgusting. Today, the comforted will be more than disturbed. The comfortable will find their world turned upside-down. The cozy will have their reality destroyed. God is dead. Yes, you heard right: God is dead.
Yet, unlike the proponents of the God-is-dead-theology, I believe this is not the end of the metaphysical. Rather the metaphysical, that is, God, dies so that even death is penetrated by the metaphysical, that even the void is embraced by God. God lets himself be crucified, not first so that our sins are forgiven, but because the love of God wills to reach into our darkest nights, wills to be accessible even when death swallows us up and when the night drowns us in terror and fear.
There really is not much space on Good Friday for a “substitutional atonement theology” that understands the cross as the place where God sacrifices his Son for our sins. This kind of theology still places God firmly away in the heavens and denies that God embraced the fullness of the human experience: even our failures and even our death.
Good Friday is not cozy, is not sweet, is not saccharine. If we cannot understand that God died, really died, and if we find theological justification in this senseless act of horror without being horrified and scandalized by it, then we recreate a chasm that cannot be crossed. God remains inaccessible, if he is the one who sent his son down from heaven to die. Then, God maintains being a player and God is still the subject, the person behind the curtain, who takes care of business. Despite the reality that “substitutional atonement theology” speaks of God as one whose love is willing to sacrifice all, even his son, this is still a success story taken from the pages of Hollywood: God comes out big in it – and so do we.
But, Good Friday is no success story. If God dies, if God is overcome by the failure of the cross, then God becomes one, who is vulnerable, who is fragile, and who is accessible in ways beyond believing. God makes himself absolutely and completely disposable for us. God becomes an object.
It is the difference between a god, to whom we have to reach up, and God, who is waiting for us at the very bottom when we fall. It is the difference between a god, who seems to be too elevated for our struggles, and God, who is right in the midst of them. It is the difference between a god, who is dead to our pain and God, who dies in the midst of it. God experienced deep night, so that our night would not be God-less anymore. God was swallowed up by darkness, so that in our darkness we could be found by God. God died, so that death is not void of God anymore. And this is how the power of death and evil are broken by the cross for ever.
So, where is God in L’Aquila right now? Where is God in Darfur? And where was God in Auschwitz? God was buried under the rubble, shot at by marauding armies, and gassed in the chambers. God never exited the deep night, did not avoid the darkness, and did not run from death. God stayed, even when life ebbed away.
For us Christians, this has deep implications, not just for our own darkness, for our own dying, or for our own death. But if we search for God, if we want to be with God more intimately, more closely, and more authentically, we will not find God solely in the heavens, enthroned in power and might. And we will not find out about God exclusively by studying scripture or through regular church attendance. But we will discover God among the victims and failures of society; as one of those hurting in body, mind, or soul; among the marginalized and downtrodden; as one, who is paralysed by disease or by the ills of the world; amid those held in darkness and those captured by death. There is God’s home. And from there God is crying out to us in despair, for us to join him, for us to be part of God’s selfless and self-giving love, for us to discover God in God’s darkness, in God’s night, in God’s death.
On that first Good Friday, God died. And God dies every Good Friday, every time one of our sisters or brothers is nailed to a cross, every time darkness and night seem to take the upper hand. Yet, as God enters into the deepest depths of our existence, as God does not shy away from the most profound pain and the darkness of death, the power and the void of our darkness, of our dying, and of our death are broken, and we will find abundant life in the midst of it all.
But that is for Sunday’s sermon.
[The Reverend Markus Duenzkofer delivered this sermon on Good Friday, April 10, 2009.]
Posted by Priest on April 9, 2009 under Sermons |
A few weeks ago, I attended the induction of Craig Tenksley as rector of St. Mark’s Anglican Church, Ocean Park, British Columbia. Some of you might remember Craig: he was a student-intern here at St. Paul’s some time back and served as rector of St. Alban’s, Burnaby, until his move to St. Mark’s.
It was a wonderful occasion, marked by beautiful liturgy within a community very glad to move into a new stage on their journey with God. Our bishop looked great. The sermon was inspiring. The music was beautiful. I even saw some hands in the air, worshipping God – a rather unusual sight for most Anglicans, but a genuine, honest, and quite prayerful response to the movement of the Spirit at this parish.
I, however, was in a sombre mood. Maybe Lent with all its solemn and penitential trappings had finally gotten to me. Maybe it was the realization of how difficult St. Mark’s journey had been over the last couple of years…. And I might have picked up on it.
Whatever the reason, I felt particularly puny and fragile that day. I was very much aware of my own sinfulness, my own failings, my own failures. It was not pretty and I was not sure if I would receive communion. Was I worthy? Probably not!
This should come as no shock to you: Yes, I am a sinner, I have fallen – over and over and over and over again. I sing along with the psalmist: “Against God … have I sinned and done what is evil in God’s sight.” And I remember well the words from the first letter of John: “If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us.” At the induction service, I was very much aware that there is evil that enslaves me, that there is evil done on my behalf, and that there is evil I have done.
I did not expect God’s reconciling love to enwrap me with compassion at St. Mark’s. Yes, I know that God is love, and that there is no room for fear or shame or guilt in love. God’s love turns our fear into hope, our shame into joy, and our guilt into new life. I also trust that the words prayed sincerely in the Lord’s Prayer just before communion – “Father, forgive us our sins” – are always sufficient to come to God’s table, whoever we are and wherever we find ourselves on the journey – even when the journey is rough and tough at a given moment. (Or I should say: particularly when the journey is rough and tough.) But sometimes this knowledge and trust is a rather cerebral undertaking and does not connect with my soul, does not reach down into the darkness of my heart, where there is fear, and death, and a void. A fear that pushes away Christ’s reconciling embrace. A death that annihilates the life-breath, which the Spirit blows into my soul over and over again. A void that silences God’s love song for me. Priests really aren’t holier than thou! I struggle at times….
However, during this induction service, the divine mystery reached out to me in a strange, unexpected, and in an almost unnoticeable way. I almost missed it.
It was during the Eucharistic Prayer.
I cannot remember how often I have prayed the words of this prayer. By now, I probably have presided at the Eucharist over a thousand times. And I cannot even begin to calculate how many times I have joined in the celebration as a member of the congregation. Yet, I’d never especially noticed the part that hit me that day.
What struck me at Craig’s induction were neither the “Words of Institution”; you know, the “This-is-my-Body” and the “This-is-my-Blood” – bit, nor was I moved by the epiclesis, when we pray the Spirit of God to transform bread and wine and thus the community present and the whole world.
What moved me deep within my soul was what we pray right before the “Words of Institution.” I bet I missed it so many uncountable times before, because we place so much emphasis on the “Words of Institution” that we forget that they are just one part, granted a major part, a part sine qua non, yet, still only one part of a prayer. There are many other parts, stressing different aspects on how to enter into communion with one another and with our triune God.
“On the night before his death,” our bishop prayed, and then continued, “Jesus took bread, broke it and gave it to his friends.”
– Wait a minute!
“His friends?” His friends??!!!???
You gotta be kiddin’ me! What kind of friends were these???
These were a bunch of dirty, messy, simple folk from a forgotten part of the Roman Empire, from the hinterlands of Israel. These were the people, who despite traveling with Jesus for three years, didn’t get it, messed up royally, screwed over each other and Jesus, and plotted to get ahead of one another. These were the guys who stumbled more than they walked, who had to be pushed, prodded, pulled and sometimes even dragged along. No, no, no! These really are not people to whose honour we should erect beautiful statues and commission marvellous paintings. These are not the shining examples of Christian virtue and faithful lives, who we are so eager to venerate, remember, and place on a pedestal. These are Christ’s disciples for Christ’s sake! These are the ones who either plot to hand him over to the authorities or who run away scared and afraid. They weren’t willing to stand up for the One who had called them out of darkness and despair! There is enough evidence of fear, death, and void in the lives of the apostles to fill volumes of anthologies on sin and failure. There was evil that enslaved them, evil done on their behalves, and evil they had done or were just about to do. Distrust, failure, and betrayal were written on their foreheads, and written in their hearts – just like in my heart.
Still, Jesus called them “friends”….
I had known this before, of course. But as I wallowed in my own sin during Craig’s induction, as I got lost in and scared by my own night and darkness, I was joined by Peter, and James, and John and all the others – and of course I was joined by Judas. But it did not matter who and what they were. Jesus called them his friends. And it did not matter where I was on my journey either. Jesus calls me a friend too. There is no question asked. No process required. It is simply stating a fact that was already established when God called me by name before I was born and when the floods of baptism raised me to new life: I am Jesus’ friend. Not: I was, when I was a good Christian. Or: I will be, when I return to the fold. But: I am. I am Jesus’ friend.
And then we all broke bread together.
Yes, I am still a sinner. I know that I cannot not sin. And there are days when my guilt, my shame, and, especially, my fear seem to overpower me and drain the life out of me for good. But now I can also remember the words spoken every time we break bread and proclaim Christ’s death and resurrection until he comes again: At the night of his betrayal, Jesus took bread and gave it to his friends. And Jesus still gives, gives to his friends whoever they are and wherever they find themselves on the journey; gives to me, and to you: to each and every one of us. Even today.
[The Reverend Markus Duenzkofer delivered this sermon on Maundy Thursday, April 9, 2009.]
Posted by stpauls on under Contributors, Webmaster Blog |
Written by Linda Sklazeski.
Lent
What is it? Something we give away and when do we get it back?
Are we supposed to give up something for lent? Like chocolate, ice cream. But maybe further in our thoughts would be to give up time to be with GOD, to start to build a relationship with GOD. But how does one do that?
Or HOW WILL I DO THAT?! With GOD’S HELP….
In the past, I always thought in the negative about the season of LENT, but this year It is not negative to give up time for GOD…. I think about all the blessings that GOD has given me in the last year, and I think each one of us has personal blessings that GOD has given us over the past year….
Maybe small insignificant ones, medium ones or huge ones.
Getting back to a relationship with GOD, and spending time reading scripture, writing, and meditating, how do I do that? Well, I turn off the TV, get the day-by-day forward, read the scripture of the day, write it down, look at the psalm in the BAS, and write down the prayer of the psalm.
I try to think of my day, and what I could have done differently, or how I said something, or just the emotion that my baby cousin gives me everytime I see him. He is just learning to crawl, to learn baby sign language and a big smile. Then I think of the scripture, “come to me all that is weary and I will give you strength,” or “come to me all my children.”
I think of my cats and what a delight they are. My oldest is MECAH and she is 15. She is the matriarch of the family. Then comes Daisy. She is a total princess; and then there’s Samson, who is a MOMMA’S BOY and he knows it. I think of what the four of us have been through over the last eight years, and what they are teaching me.
When Samson wants my attention, he will gently pat me with his paw, and when I pick him up he puts his paws around my neck to hug me. He is my boy. Daisy is such a princess and when I am not paying attention to her she will come and sit on me and basically tell me to take time for me… and it works. Mecah (originally “Micah”) has taught me to love again, to love her unconditionally and for GOD to love us unconditionally too. When I take the kids to animal blessings at St. Paul’s, I well up in tears as Markus prays over the kids and me. I am so Glad that GOD trusted me enough to give me his cats to look after. He knew one day that this moment would come that I would appreciate and thank him for his animals, and thank him and spend time with GOD and the KIDS together.
Getting back to LENT, as the services begin each night this week at 7:00 p.m. in the labryinth, I am totally taken back by a “TING” that happened on Monday night.
After the service was over and people were milling about, I decided to walk the labyrinth as most times not knowing where God is taking me on this journey of his (masked as a Labryinth). I started walking, doing the loops, trying to get centred and grounded in my head, at least get the slow methodical step happening. It just wasn’t happening.
But, the TING happened. There was my focus.
In the middle was the leftover wine, bread, the cup of our Lord and saviour Jesus Christ and his body that was broken for me. For US. The “TING” was happening. There I was, standing in the middle of the Labryinth, looking at the mystical gifts when a thought came to me. This is what it is all about, just this cup and this bread:fragmented, fermented, for us. God gave up his son that he loved, knew, when Jesus was born, that his death would save us.
I just think of something that big to give up, but it doesn’t have to be big. A simple smile, a simple hello, a simple flower and a simple Thanks to GOD.
Posted by stpauls on April 8, 2009 under Contributors, Sermons |
Sermon written by Sharon Connaughty.
Marcus Borg, author of Reading the Bible Again for the First Time, describes John’s gospel as the most mystical of the gospels, rich in symbolic language and metaphor. It is more about the person of Jesus and is understood through allegory in the style familiar to his first century Gentile audience. Indeed, John begins his gospel with, “The Word was with God…. The Word became flesh and made his dwelling amongst us.” (Jn 1:1, 14 NIV).
In this passage from John’s gospel, Jesus and the chosen twelve are seated and sharing their last meal together. It is for the Jewish Passover feast symbolizing the freeing of the chosen people, the Israelites, from 400 years of slavery in Egypt. Jesus is about to give new meaning to this festive meal. He has told the twelve earlier that His hour has come, that it is time for Him to be glorified, that He is to be lifted up.
This highly symbolic and meaningful Seder meal is the occasion upon which Jesus announces to the twelve that He is about to be betrayed, not by some outsider, but by one of them, seated around the table with Him, sharing the meal with Him.
How does John characterize those seated around the table, those sharing this highly symbolic and meaningful supper, the high point of the seven-day Jewish festival? (As we are gathered here tonight, April 8th, our Jewish friends are celebrating this same Seder meal.) As the twelve met in what we have since called the Upper Room, the entire city is charged up. The High Priest sees Jesus as the leader of a subversive movement and a threat to both church and state. Anyone seeing Jesus was to report Him to the religious authorities so that they could arrest Him.
Eleven of the twelve are not surprised at Jesus’ announcement of His betrayal. However, they don’t understand how it could be one of them. What could Jesus mean, one of us?? Get Him to name that person! Surely He’s not suggesting I’m a traitor, setting Him up to be killed. We’ve had our differences but this is treachery!
For three years, these are the ones, including Judas, who were there for Jesus’ teaching, for intimate dialogue, to see first-hand the living out of One in divine relationship with God, for confrontations with the political and religious systems of their world, and they had been sent out themselves with others to teach and to heal. Even after Judas leaves the table, they think he has gone to perform one of the usual tasks in response to Jesus’ request.
What does this passage tell us about Judas? The Bible does not give us a biography of Judas and many have speculated a number of reasons why Judas failed. With such close contact with Jesus one would think that he would fully comprehend and be transformed by what he saw, heard and experienced. The version that I find most credible is that Judas was like many young men in his home province of Judea at the time, a zealot or activist committed to the cause of political freedom from Rome and social justice for his people. Jesus, he saw as the ticket to that freedom. The passion that made him follow Jesus was misdirected. Perhaps Judas was the one feeling betrayed and in turn became the betrayer. His dream of political and social restitution in oppressed Israel was not going to be realized; Jesus wasn’t their man after all!
It has also been suggested that he wanted to force Jesus to act by coming against Him with a vigilante mob. John says that as Judas took the bread from Jesus and departed both literally and figuratively from Him, that Satan entered into Judas. The story of Jesus’ temptation in the wilderness comes to mind. The devil says to Jesus, “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down”. (Mt 4:5 NIV) If Jesus is who He claims to be He will declare Himself now. Judas apparently hasn’t taken to heart Jesus’ earlier warning, “…you have seen me and still you do not believe.” (Jn 6:36 NIV)
What does this passage say about Jesus? I see in this passage the self-giving love Jesus shows, not only for the eleven, but also for Judas. Jesus chose him to be His disciple and gave him considerable responsibility. He would have known Judas’ weak spots, about his political aspirations and his love of both power and money. Such trust would have given him the opportunity to face his human tendencies and learn the true meaning of the power and resources that are of God and not dependent upon his own cleverness or status in the group. Jesus would also have seen his passion for his countrymen and that Judas would think that his dipping into the public purse was justified as a fringe benefit. He would have known his motivation for his alliance with the priests to deliver Jesus over to them, his seeking under a religious banner, justification for a violent act.
Rather than expose Judas on both previous occasions and now at this critical time, Jesus none-the-less continued to keep him alongside as long as He could, giving Judas every opportunity to learn and to know Who it was that had chosen him and what it meant to follow. Jesus not only kept him in this intimate group all this time, He knew that each of His followers need only look at their own hearts. He refrained from directly naming His betrayer. I believe that had the others known in such a public way they might well have felt self-righteous knowing who the bad guy was. Such knowledge would have resulted in Judas being excluded from their company – bad apples and all that!
In their last get-together, Jesus washes Judas’ feet as well as those of the others. He gives bread to him both literally and figuratively, knowing what Judas is about to do. Even at the end of His earthly life, Jesus could do nothing but love and care for all. He can do nothing less than that which gives Life.
The gospel reading this evening begins by recording that Jesus is troubled in spirit. I see this as His awareness that the end of His earthly ministry has come, and yet, there among those closest to Him is one who has not come to know Him for Who He truly is. Many of us know how troubling it is to watch someone we care for making choices that are self-destructive. He gives bread to Judas as a symbol of His physical existence knowing that as He gives up His bodily identity He will arise and reclaim His True Identity, not as an earthly authority (Judas’ vision) but as One with God and the realization of God’s purposes.
The last verse says, “Now the Son of Man has been glorified….” The highly symbolic language of John’s gospel earlier quotes Jesus as saying, “For the bread of God is he who comes down from heaven and gives life to the world,” (Jn 6:33 NIV) and, “I am the bread of life.” (Jn 6:35 NIV) The remaining disciples see the betrayal as a treacherous human act. Jesus uses the time to leave a lasting reminder, a final word, for those present and for all time, that He gave up His earthly life freely so that God might be glorified. Those who have eyes to see and ears to hear might know and experience the Life that only God can give.
Posted by Webmaster on April 7, 2009 under Sermons |
Sermon written by Jeff Hipson.
Over Lent, we have heard of the Love and Sacrifice that Jesus has made for us. Things have changed a lot since then; there are many more people than when Jesus was on Earth. Think of it: who ever thought that one day a black man would ever be president. I’m sure back then it was also hard to think that a mere carpenter’s son was the Messiah, yet some did. It was difficult for me to give up my way of living and thinking with drugs and alcohol, for a belief that a person named Jesus died for my sins and that following him would make me feel better than any drug or alcoholic beverage could ever have. For me, this was a hard pill to swallow. I also know people at the other end of the scale where they look as though they have all the pleasures in life: a good job, a nice home, a charming spouse and finances, but they seem to be lacking in happiness and purpose.
When Jesus was put to death, he paved the way and paid the price with his life, so the hard part is done. For years, I’ve wasted my life through addiction and self-will run riot; this action got me nowhere.
When I was introduced to Jesus and recovery, I was like a man lost in the desert wandering aimlessly with no direction or purpose in life; in the dark, one could say. When I came upon water, I was like most people: I was more focus on quenching my thirst and I did not care how I did it. Unfortunately, I made a mess of myself and did very little for my thirst: I was still wanting. Over time and with continuous effort, I learnt that if I cupped my hands and got closer to the water and did not bring them completely out of the water, I could drink as much as I wanted and my thirst was satisfied. I needed to let the water flow around my hands, instead of trying to force the water to my lips. For me, Jesus is the water and my Salvation, and a new chance at Life.
I did not understand at first,
“The man who loves his life will lose it, while the man who hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life.”
“Whoever serves me must follow me, and where I am, there will my servant be also. Whoever serves me the Father will honor.”
This was the end of my old life and the beginning of my new one. It was a slow process for me, but I began learning about all the sacrifices that Jesus made for me. At this point in time, I had very little faith. Thank GOD for forgiveness. I found that by helping other people with similar problems, this was a way to heal my past. At times, following the Lord is not always easy, and sometimes, it was down right difficult, especially if you try doing it by yourself. This brings me back to the water in the desert where Jesus gives me my strength. It seems, the more I drink from the water, the more fruit my life seems to bear.
Jesus said to them,
“THE LIGHT IS WITH YOU FOR A LITTLE LONGER. WALK WHILE YOU HAVE LIGHT, SO THAT THE DARKNESS MAY NOT OVERTAKE YOU. IF YOU WALK IN THE DARKNESS, YOU DO NOT KNOW WHERE YOU ARE GOING. WHILE YOU HAVE THE LIGHT, BELIEVE IN THE LIGHT, SO THAT YOU MAY BECOME CHILDREN OF LIGHT.”
In closing, there is something I once read, a while back: Blessed are those who believe and have not seen, than those who have seen and don’t believe.
Thanks be to GOD,
AMEN
Posted by Webmaster on April 6, 2009 under Contributors, Sermons |
[Leslie Buck preached this homily at the evening Eucharist on April 6, 2009, during Holy Week.]
We have begun our journey into Holy Week. Unlike Jesus and his disciples who first made that journey, we know the outcome. So we must to some extent disencumber ourselves of that knowledge if we are to make the journey as they did.
Today, as we begin, we are in Bethany at the home of Martha and Mary and Lazarus, friends of Jesus. We hear the beautiful story as told by John of Mary anointing Jesus’ feet with the precious ointment. The house was filled with its fragrance. Everyone was enchanted, except Judas.
The story is told also by Mark and by Matthew, with slight variations. Mark says that some who were there objected. Matthew says that the disciples objected. Only John pins it down to Judas. John did not like Judas.
All three gospel writers tell us that Jesus gladly received Mary’s attention. Mark and Matthew add Jesus’ comment that wherever the gospel is proclaimed this story will be told. Indeed, that is so. This evening it is told to us.
It is a beautiful story, one for us to cherish and enjoy. It is beautiful, even somewhat erotic. The gospel writers tell us that it was done to prepare Jesus for his death, but of course, Mary could not have known that his death was imminent and could not have done it for that reason. For her, it was simply an expression of love.
In reflecting upon this story, two thoughts come to me. First, that it was an extravagant action, and secondly that it was a sacrifice.
It was certainly extravagant in that the ointment was costly: hence the objections to Mary’s action. But it was extravagant in another sense also. It was extravagant in the sense of being immoderate, unrestrained, superfluous, and even unnecessary.
Mary did not have to do it. The idea that it prepared Jesus for his death must have been an insight added after the event. From this point of view, the fact that the ointment was costly is irrelevant. Mary’s action would have been extravagant cost or no cost.
It was also, I believe, a sacrifice. Let me enlarge on this.
I do not mean that Mary’s action entailed suffering. Of course, Judas may have suffered but that is beside the point. On the contrary, the anointing was wholly delightful, with no collateral damage, as one might say.
We talk about sacrifice and suffering as if they were two words with the same meaning. I believe that we should disabuse ourselves of that idea.
As this week unfolds, we will think more and more about Jesus’ suffering and about his sacrifice. Jesus did indeed suffer. There is no doubt about that. He suffered bodily through a horrible and degrading death by exposure. He suffered mentally as when he struggled with his conscience in the Garden of Gethsemane. He suffered spiritually as he felt himself abandoned and forsaken by God.
But did the suffering constitute the sacrifice? I think not. To suggest otherwise would mean that more suffering would have made the sacrifice more effective, and that is not the case. Jesus offered the one true, pure, immortal sacrifice. It entailed suffering, but it was not dependent on suffering.
Our word “sacrifice” is related to “sacred,” or “holy,” and “sacrifice” means “to make holy.” Those of you with a classical education will recognize the Latin word “sacrificium,” “to make holy.” Jesus by his life and teaching, and his willingness to accept the consequences of that teaching, offers us the way of holiness.
To return to Mary, I believe that her anointing of Jesus’ feet was a sacrifice. It involved no suffering, far from it, but it was a holy act. It was an extravagant, immoderate and unnecessary service to one whom she loved. And it was an act that brought herself, and those around her, closer to Jesus, and so closer to God. It made them holy. It was sacrificial.
This way of sacrifice is open to us also. We do not have to use costly and expensive materials, and we do not necessarily have to suffer.
Perhaps sometime and one day both cost and suffering may be demanded of us. In the meantime, we can still offer our sacrifices by extravagant acts, words and even gestures. A touch, a word, a small service, one to another, given and received, can be a means of bringing both giver and receiver closer to God.
As we move through this week towards our remembrance of the ultimate sacrifice that takes away the sin of the world, let us remember the sacrifice of Mary of Bethany and, like her, make holy our interactions one with another so that by them we may experience the divine and come closer to God.
Amen.
[The stories are told in John 12:1-8, Mark 14:3-9 and Matthew 26:6-13.]
Posted by stpauls on April 5, 2009 under Webmaster Blog |
The altar guild is busy purchasing flowers and planning how to arrange them; Markus Dünzkofer, Leslie Buck, Jeff Hipson, and Sharon Connaughty are busy writing their sermons; Dale Pleven and Cathryn Schultz are working hard to keep the church and offices clean and tidy, with all the comings and goings; the men and women of St. Paul’s choir, under the direction of Dianne Warren, is working hard to sort out and get a handle on all the music they will be singing throughout the week; bulletins are being prepared; the Maundy Thursday meal is being prepared; readers are familiarizing themselves with chapters of the Gospel According to Mark; the list goes on and on.
Be sure to join us at St. Paul’s this week at one or more of this Holy Week’s eleven services.
Posted by Priest on under Sermons |
It had not been easy for Israel and Juda. The Romans had invaded the tiny land strip they called home. They had become second-class citizens in their own country. This was not the first time they had been overrun by a global military power. There had been Babylonians, Persians, and the armies of Alexander the Great. Their religious, cultural, economic and political elites at one point had even been forced into exile to the banks of the River Euphrates and Tigris. And only after years and years had they been able to return to rebuild Jerusalem, the city that was so much at the heart of their identity.
The Romans, unlike the Babylonians, had at least left them their religious practices, even though the monotheism, the belief in only one God, which so much reflected their exodus experience in the emptiness of the desert, was suspect to the Romans, who were used to a pantheon of gods. Roman religiosity could easily integrate other deities. Syncretism was not alien to these conquerors. But the religion of the Hebrews had been different: difficult to understand and impossible to assimilate. One God and one God only? The creator of all, the source of all being, past, present and yet to come? The Romans watched with suspicion – and maybe even with some intrigue.
In the end, however, Palestine, as the Romans had called Israel and Judea, was of marginal interest to the Empire. There were much bigger fish to fry, even in close proximity to the Promised Land. This was not the centre of their universe, despite the claims of the Torah and the revelations of the prophets that the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, the God of Sarah, Miriam and Ruth was, is, and always will be haMelech haOlam, the King of the Universe.
For the people that had come together as God’s Israel after years of vagabonding, their perceived insignificance was not news, and it bonded them together in a link that was bigger than their religious observances as they yearned for a time when they would be self-governing again, when the likes of King David and King Salomon would reign again, when the world would flock to Mount Zion to listen to God’s voice, and when the temple would truly be a house for prayer for all peoples.
For an outsider, life was not all too bad under Roman rule. And there were some who even profited from the system, as there always are. But Rome did not treat Palestine any differently than other province, as long as it would remain at peace with the will of the Emperor. But that was exactly the problem. For the Hebrew people, the mere existence of an occupying force was a blasphemy, was a sign that God had turned his back on them, that they did not and could not live up the promises of Mount Sinai, and that the covenant could not be kept. It was as if somebody had ripped out and obliterated their communal soul. And the Jews yearned for freedom.
Now we must remember, though, that any notion of individual freedom as defined by 21st century sensibilities would be missing the point. For the little folk, it really didn’t matter if the authorities that pressed upon them were Jewish or mere Goyim, mere heathens. Yes, there were extra taxes and the random acts of cruelty by an invading and marauding occupying force – and these merited liberation all in themselves. Yet, the whole of the nation, the very idea of who they were, was oppressed, because their identity as God’s people created to worship God and to be a sign of God’s will and God’s presence in the world had been smashed by a ruler who claimed to be a deity, which was the ultimate insult to Jews and to God’s self revelation in Holy Scripture. Their own individual lives had been so intrinsically tied to the nation. Yet, the nation had been smashed, their identity stifled, and their raison d’etre as a people had been obliterated. And all would be better, all would return to the old, divinely ordained ways if haMeshuah, the Messiah, the chosen and anointed One, would be sent by God to liberate them from the yoke. The people yearned for the re-establishment of the covenant of old by the One promised by the prophets of old.
Enter Jeshua BenMiriam. Enter Jesus of Nazareth, son of Mary.
There were all the signs. Wonders. Miracles. A charisma that made people listen. Some had reported to have seen visions of Elijah and Moses with Jesus, even hearing a voice from heaven, God’s voice? And of course, in an environment of disorientation and oppression, when people are yearning for liberation, there was ample projection. People just focused all their hopes and wishes on Jesus, because they wanted him to be their saviour, wanted him to be their liberator, wanted him to be the Messiah, wanted him to be the one leading them to the old freedoms, the old glory, the old ways of King David and King Salomon. Of course it helped, that Jesus was of the house of David.
And when they opened their doors wide, Jesus rode in in triumph. And all were singing “Hosanna.” Blessed be he who comes in the name of the Lord.
But Jesus would not be instrumentalized by them. Soon, they discovered that Jesus did not return them to the good ole’ days, because Jesus revealed that the old days weren’t so good after all. You can never go back, nor should you want to! After all, they might live in the Promised Land, but they were a far cry from living into being the Promised People. God’s people had committed the same crimes against God’s laws as their pagan neighbours. They had not heeded the radical claims to a radically different way of life by the one true God. God’s self-revelation in the Tanakh, in Holy Scripture, had been turned into a religion used by the powerful for their own power games. The covenant forged between God and Abraham had become stale.
Jesus offered something quite different, something radically different. He wasn’t just a miracle worker who did a little healing to alleviate the pain. He wasn’t just a messenger who might speak in God’s name, but whose message could always be interpreted and twisted to fit one’s own needs and desires. No, in Jesus, God walked among God’s people. In Jesus, God lived out God’s truth. In Jesus, God revealed God’s self-giving ways and called God’s people to do likewise. When the people of Israel looked into Jesus’ eyes they looked directly into the eyes of God, a God full of compassion and mercy, who yearned for his people to be one with him and his will again. And it was a radical challenge to their way of doing business, their way of doing religion: Jesus didn’t talk about throwing out the occupiers with a violent uprising, but challenged God’s people to offer the other cheek. Jesus didn’t affirm the established order, but talked of following God’s way by serving others, by lifting up the lowly, by honouring the rights of women, aliens, orphans, and the bereaved. Jesus didn’t confirm the exploitative ways of the powerful, but revealed God’s reign as a reign of peace and justice. Jesus didn’t limit access to God, but opened the gates of heaven and made salvation accessible for all who believe. And Jesus didn’t relegate religion to the margins of life, but made real and called for a faith that enveloped and penetrated the whole being, every fibre of who and what we are. In a way, these were not new things, because the Scriptures of old had offered the same insights, the same divine truth, but over the centuries, ears had grown deaf and hearts had grown cold.
Consequently, what Jesus had to offer did not go down well, to say the least. He was not at all what people expected. In fact, he was just too much. And so the cries of “Hosannah!” quickly turned to “Crucify him!”
And God’s people are still chanting today: Crucify him, crucify him, crucify him. And I am not talking about those who by birthright are God’s people. No, the covenant of God established by Christ Jesus still challenges, and it challenges us today. It is all nice and well to practice religion as part of our cultural heritage. It is also rather pleasant to see the Christian faith as an insurance policy for the hereafter. Jesus died to take our sins away, yada, yada, yada. But it is not enough. It is not what we sign up for when we open our hearts like the people of Jerusalem opened their city gates to let Jesus come in.
This is still a message that is hard to swallow. It is a reality that more than challenges us in a world that tells us to look out for our own interests, to seek the quick fix and the easy salvation, and to close our gates to the needs of the world. And, yes, I do believe, even some of our Christian sisters and brothers don’t get it. Those who speak of the gospel as a way to success in this world and the next don’t really embrace the Saviour who rides in on a donkey, who enters the depth of Good Friday, and who calls us all to a sacrificial life for the benefit of the world – and the benefit of our soul. “Those who will lose their lives will gain it,” we heard last week. This is not a popular message and will never fill our churches to the rim. It is far easier to eliminate the one preaching this radical message. Yes, we too, chant: Crucify him, crucify him, crucify him!
These are tough times for all of us as millions around the globe are losing their jobs and thousands here in the lower mainland are faced with eviction and homelessness. But for us Christians this is not a time to close the city gates and to slam the doors in the face of the Saviour, who is the Prince of Peace and the Herald of Justice. But these are days when we are called to sing and oppose the gloom and doom around us. These are the days we are called to shout: Hosanna in the highest. Blessed, indeed blessed is the One, who comes in the name of the Lord, and who calls us to self-sacrifice, to a faith that penetrates all of who and what we are, and who calls us into a life of service for others.
[The Reverend Markus Duenzkofer delivered this sermon on Palm Sunday, April 5, 2009.]
Posted by stpauls on under Webmaster Blog |
Come and join us… and experience life
4 April, Saturday, 9:00 a.m. to 4:00 p.m. ~ Quiet Day
5 April, Palm Sunday, 8:00 a.m. ~ Eucharist
photograph courtesy Richard McCarther
5 April, Palm Sunday, 10:00 a.m. ~ Eucharist ~ this service will start out at Nelson Park with the Liturgy of the Palms and we will then process to our beautiful church. The 10:00 a.m. service will also feature a dramatic performance of the passion of Christ according to the Gospel of Mark, directed by our rector’s warden, Richard Van Delft. “And He Walked,” music written by Nina Shoroplova, a church choir member, underscores the passion play. Women and men of St. Paul’s Anglican Church Choir will be singing this and other pieces, under the direction of choir director, Dianne Warren.
6 April, Monday in Holy Week, 7:00 p.m. Eucharist ~ preacher Leslie Buck
7 April, Tuesday in Holy Week, 7:00 p.m. Eucharist ~ preacher Jeff Hipson
8 April, Wednesday in Holy Week, 7:00 p.m. Eucharist ~ preacher Sharon Connaughty
9 April, Maundy Thursday, 7:00 p.m. ~ Foot Washing, Eucharist and Stripping of the Altar
10 April, Good Friday, 12:00 noon ~ Liturgy of the Cross
11 April, Holy Saturday, 9:00 a.m. ~ Prayer Service
11 April, Easter Eve, 9:00 p.m. ~ Great Vigil and 1st Eucharist of Easter
12 April, Easter Sunday, 8:00 a.m. ~ Eucharist
12 April, Easter Sunday, 9:15 a.m. ~ Eucharist
12 April, Easter Sunday, 11:00 a.m. ~ Eucharist
Whoever you are and wherever you find yourself on the journey, you are welcome here.
