Posted by stpauls on August 28, 2011 under Sermons | 
“Torch Song Trilogy” is a wonderfully disrespectful, hilarious, yet honest and genuine portrayal of gay life in North America in the 1980s. Starring Harvey Fierstein as Arnold, the 1988 movie makes you cry and laugh and cry again and laugh again. In one of the more heart-breaking exchanges towards the end of the movie, Arnold and his mother get into a serious fight. It is the clash of titans with no prisoners taken and deeply hurtful things being said. In the middle of this blood-boiling conflict, Arnold’s partner Ed enters the scene. Startled by the situation, Ed utters a single: “Whoops!” And because it is a classic, I want to quote Arnold’s reaction to Ed’s monosyllabic surprise:
“Ed, did you say ‘WHOOPS?’ No, Ed. ‘WHOOPS’ is when you fall down an elevator. ‘Whoops’ is when you skinny dip in a school of piranhas. ‘Whoops’ is when you accidentally douche with Drano. No, Ed. This was no ‘Whoops.’ This was an ‘Aaaaargh!’”
I was reminded of this, when reading the exchange between Jesus and Peter in today’s text from the Gospel according to Matthew. I am sure, Peter might have thought “Whoops!” after Jesus had cried out: “Get behind me, Satan!” But Jesus probably had more of a reaction akin to Arnold’s when Peter “took him aside and rebuked him.” For Jesus, this probably was an “Aaaaaargh!”
Just think about it: Peter and Jesus had travelled together for years. Jesus had shared his life and his teachings openly and the disciples had witnessed the depth and breadth of Jesus’ ministry in the world. And still: Peter didn’t get it. Peter didn’t understand that what and who Jesus was upset the political, economic, and religious elites as much as the spiritual powers in charge of this world. And together these dominions had already started to plot how to get rid of this itinerant preacher from the edges of society: Jesus was just too much as he threatened to overthrow the oppressive social and spiritual status quo and as he proclaimed God’s reign not in exclusive ways, but in ways that offered reconciliation for all. Class, status, ethnicity, gender, identity, and background matters no more: In Jesus, God’s saving embrace is accessible for all alike. In Jesus, the abundant compassion of the Creator is offered to each and every one of us, no exception. In Jesus, sins are forgiven and we can all be restored to the awesome beauty intended by God, regardless of what might have distorted this beauty and regardless of the voices that whisper despair, shame, fear, and condemnation.
Furthermore, in Jesus God’s justice and peace are proclaimed. These are not just secondary issues, but justice and peace are central to God’s self-revelation. A few chapters later, for example, Jesus judges rather harshly all those, who do not give food, do not give to drink, do not welcome, do not clothe, do not visit the most vulnerable.[1] And this very Gospel also proclaims that “peacemakers” are blessed, for they will be “called children of God.”[2] Yes, the reign of God is indeed a reign where all share around the table, where all have equal access, where all are sisters and brothers, and where spears are turned into ploughshares.[3]
Yep, in Jesus, God rocks the boat. Actually, in Jesus, God is doing something much more radical than this.
And Peter didn’t get it. He didn’t understand. And yes, a “Whoops!” just didn’t suffice in this situation. This whole affair is even more upsetting as it comes right after Peter had professed Jesus to be the “Messiah, the Son of the living God.”[4] Remember? This is what we heard just last week. And within a few verses Peter fails to live up to his own proclamation. No wonder, Jesus reacted the way he did. This was no “Whoops!” This was an “Aaaaargh!”
At this point, in today’s sermon, I have to make a cut. I have to stop this train of thought, because most of us know all this, right? I mean I have been preaching my heart out from this pulpit for the last seven years, joined by lay and ordained preachers alike, and before me Neil Grey, David Crawley, and many others. All of us together have delivered and listened to hundreds, if not thousands of sermons talking exactly about this. Week after week, we hear about how we should love God and love our neighbours. This is not news. And I fear I might have lost some of you already as you gently dozed off, thinking: Here we travel again into familiar territory. And maybe it is true that preachers only have one sermon, which they re-write and recycle every week…
But, despite hearing this over and over again, do we get it? Do we understand the radical message proclaimed on the pages of our sacred texts? Do we grasp the radical claim of the Gospel that goes way beyond a few well formulated teachings of a rabbi from Nazareth, but has to do with the life, the identity, the ontological self of the One born of our sister Mary? Do we dare to be embraced by the radical love of God, which seeks to engulf every fibre of our being?
For me, today’s text isn’t intriguing and challenging, because Peter still didn’t get it, which ultimately is true until the resurrection of Jesus fully opened his eyes, his other senses, and his heart and mind and soul. But my fascination lies in the fact that after a moment of prophetic recognition of Jesus’ identity it is as if Peter quickly ran away, because he couldn’t or didn’t want to deal with the implications. Rather than letting God’s radical message take a hold of him fully, Peter tried to control and manipulate it for his own agenda. Was it all just too embarrassing, too radical, and too much? Is that why today he shut down his own prophetic profession from last week?
I believe we have a tendency to do the same. Like Peter, when faced with the cross, that ultimate centre of the story of Jesus, we run the other way or soften its radicalism. This might be because we don’t want to upset, put off, or frighten others: Jesus’ teachings might be great, but the crucifixion is too much to stomach. Or we might think of spirituality as a private thing, which addresses our relationship with the divine, but has nothing to do with our way of life and how it impacts our interactions with others. Or we might just have heard the story too often and it has lost its challenging and upsetting radicalism. So we indeed tune off, like some of you might have about two minutes into this sermon.
Whatever the reason we run away, though, if what we do here on Sundays has no impact on what we do during the week; if our faith does not upset what is considered the norm, does not disturb the power-balances around us; if we try to take Jesus aside and rebuke him for his untidy, messy, disruptive, ugly, and horrific radicalism; if we do not want to deal with Jesus who seeks to take a hold of every fibre of our being and who tries to penetrate our every way of interacting with the world, than this is not just a “Whoops!” – this is a major “Aaaaargh!”
Or to put it in more eloquently in the words of Dorothy L. Slayers, daughter of a Church of England priest, who lived from 1893 to 1957: “Not Herod, not Caiaphas, not Pilate, not Judas ever contrived to fasten upon Jesus Christ the reproach of insipidity; that final indignation was left for pious hands to inflict. To make of [Jesus’] story something that could neither startle, nor shock, nor terrify, nor excite, nor inspire a living soul is to crucify the Son of God afresh and put him to an open shame. ”[5] End of quote. What we witness in today’s Gospel text is Peter driving a nail into the hand of Jesus.
So what to do?
Well, thank God, God has not left us orphaned. We are not alone. God has sent us the Holy Spirit as a companion on the way to shake us up, to raise us from our nap, and to discern with us a way forward. And this is true both for us individually, as it is for us a community of faith.
And God has furthermore sent us human signposts to rock our boat and keep us moving. These include obvious candidates such as Catherine of Siena, Evelyn Underhill, Dorothy Day, or Florence Li Tim Oi. All these and so many more are voices from within our tradition that remind us that there is no such thing as cheap grace, but that we must stand with Jesus at the cross, stand with God in God’s suffering, in order to be taken into his resurrection.
But God has gifted us also with prophetic voices from outside our tradition: Mahatma Ghandi, Anne Frank, Harvey Milk, David Suzuki, Pitikwahanapiwiyin, and of course, Jack Layton. Yes, Jack’s political conviction did not meet with universal approval. But his prophetic voice and his passion for the plight of those overlooked by society, all so wonderfully expressed in his final letter to Canadians, remain a challenge for us –and they remain a reflection of the messy, disruptive, ugly, and horrific radicalism of the Gospel.
Yes, the Gospel is messy, disruptive, ugly, and horrific. Yes, the Gospel claims us whole and all. And, yes, the Gospel compels us to rock the boat and rock it mightily. But this is how we will find life. Or to put it in the words of Jesus the Christ: “For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it. For what will it profit them if they gain the whole world but forfeit their life?”[6]
[5] Sayers, Dorothy L., The Man Bon to Be King, Intorduction (1943)
Posted by stpauls on under Bible Readings, Webmaster Blog |
Matthew 16:21-28 ~ Gospel Reading for August 28, 2011
Jesus began to show his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and undergo great suffering at the hands of the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised.
And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him, saying, “God forbid it, Lord! This must never happen to you.”
But he turned and said to Peter, “Get behind me, Satan! You are a stumbling block to me; for you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.”
Then Jesus told his disciples, “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 will find it. For what will it profit them if they gain the whole world but forfeit their life? Or what will they give in return for their life?
“For the Son of Man is to come with his angels in the glory of his Father, and then he will repay everyone for what has been done. Truly I tell you, there are some standing here who will not taste death before they see the Son of Man coming in his kingdom.”
Posted by stpauls on August 24, 2011 under Labyrinth, Webmaster Blog |
Saturday, October 1, 12:00 to 2:00
Have you ever wondered about the quilts that hang in the Labyrinth or the home-made “stained glass” in the windows? Did you know that the angel on the east wall has a name, or the story behind the icons and photographs of trees on the other walls? And what about those two big stones at either end of the room?
Join members of the Labyrinth Guild to hear some of the hidden histories of the Labyrinth, and to share your own. We’ll also be including a short tour of St. Paul’s beyond the Labyrinth, including the heritage Church and the Advocacy Office that provides support to the wider community.
Beginning with light refreshments, this gathering is geared toward everyone from longtime volunteers to brand new walkers – and hopefully, might encourage you to become a volunteer yourself if you aren’t already!
Please RSVP by September 24 to labyrinth[at]stpaulsanglican.bc.ca.
St. Paul’s Labyrinth Guild
Posted by stpauls on August 23, 2011 under Contributors, Webmaster Blog |
DIOCESAN SCREENING PROCESS FOR MINISTRIES: In order to safeguard our ministries and those for whom we care, parishes of the Diocese need to offer themselves as open and transparent. The Diocese of New Westminster has initiated a Screening Process to be carried out by each parish to ensure that the Diocese’s general and specific liability insurance coverage remains in force. This process must be completed and the policy in operation by the beginning of December of this year. For further information about the screening that will be undertaken for ministries at St. Paul’s, please contact Sharon Connaughty, Warden.
LOAN TO “OUR HOUSE” APPROVED BY CHURCH COMMITTEE: At its August 23 meeting, the Church Committee unanimously approved a motion to provide a short-term, interest-free loan of $20,000 to the Our House West Coast Society. For further information, please contact either Warden Rose Desrochers or Paul Weir, Our House Society Board Member.
THOUGHTS ON STEWARDSHIP: “What do I want to share with God in gratitude for the fullness of what I have been given?” Over the next two weeks, the Stewardship Task Force (Markus Dünzkofer, Ross Bliss, Dorothy Barnes, Marjorie Taylor, and Kaye Kerlande) will be putting together the basic structure for a year of thinking about and working with our expression of gratitude through giving of time, skills, and money. If you have ideas you would like to contribute or explore, please contact a member of the group.
Posted by stpauls on August 21, 2011 under Sermons |
Just before coming back home from my vacation this year, the seeming summer-peace was horrifically blown apart, when Anders Behring Breivik detonated a bomb in downtown Oslo and then went on a shooting spree on the remote Norwegian island of Utøya. Reportedly, eight people were killed in Oslo. On Utøya, 69 youth, all affiliated with the youth wing of the Social Democratic Norwegian Workers’ Party, were shot dead at close range: 69 young, beautiful, promising human beings slaughtered without remorse, massacred without consideration, murdered without thinking twice.
Over the past few weeks, I have been deeply touched by how the Norwegian people have reacted to this terror. Rather than call for tougher laws, rather than point fingers and search for scapegoats, rather than get into a hysteric frenzy, Norwegians have acknowledged the grief, the sadness, and the deep wounds the horror has inflicted on those directly affected and on the whole of Norwegian society. At a service in Oslo’s Lutheran cathedral, King Harald V wept openly and Prime Minister Jens Stoltenberg was visibly shaken – his voice trembling – as he addressed the nation. Furthermore, Norwegians have come together in support of each other and they have pledged in large numbers to get involved politically to affirm and celebrate their open and democratic society.
This is all quite different from what I heard German politicians demand after these attacks, quite different also from what I witnessed in the U.S. post 9/11, and quite different from what I hear uttered by the British government in the wake of the London riots.
Yes, Norway is a small, interconnected nation; people know each other and it is easier to care for one another. But still, the Norwegian reaction is a testimony to a society that has not quite forgotten that as human beings we are all members one of another with responsibility for each other, regardless of ethnicity, gender, creed, origin, socio-economic background, sexual orientation, physical or mental ability, or age.
However, these signs of hope have recently been pushed aside: After a brief period of silence, right-wing websites, which also have connections to Norwegian right-wing populists, have buzzed once again with hateful chatter. Some are saying things like “Norway had it coming” while others turn Breivik into a hero.
Two themes seem to recur over and over again on these websites: On the one hand there is talk of an Islamic conspiracy to take over the Western world. On the other hand, those championing our common humanity and celebrating diversity are labelled “traitors.” In true xenophobic style, members of both these groups are demonized, dehumanised, and degraded from their status as a human being.
Anders Behring Breivik did likewise. In his manifesto, which contains over 720,000 words, he outlines his extreme beliefs. Central to his thinking is a world-view that denies humanity to Muslims and those supporting a multicultural society. They are no longer sisters and brothers of the human family, but they are much less. And of course, that’s exactly why he wouldn’t show any remorse or regret. After all, in his sick understanding of the world, he did not murder humans, he did not slaughter people. But, for him, this was all akin to the killing of animals.
This is disgusting!
But it would be too easy to just push this to the edge of the human experience. Declaring Breveik insane might be a medically correct analysis, but it bears the danger that we won’t acknowledge that the dehumanisation of others even happens in civilized societies, and might even happen in our own hearts and minds. As a German, for example, I still struggle with trying to understand how my grandparents’ generation could so easily and so thoughtlessly turn Jews, Sinti, Roma, gays, Communists and others into subspecies. And while the Shoah, the Holocaust, remains an evil unparalleled by any other horror in human history, a darkness not experienced elsewhere, we also have to ask: When European newcomers sent disease-infested blankets to our First Nations’ sisters and brothers and when Canadians of Japanese descent during World War II were detained and stripped of their homes, businesses, and churches, did we still see them as equals, as fellow human beings? And what about our own attitudes towards those who are different, who are alien, who don’t fit what we perceive to be the norm?
And this is not a new phenomenon either. It seems to be something occurring and recurring throughout human history; even the Bible reports about it.
In today’s story from the Book of Exodus, all is not well in Egypt. The Hebrews have grown in ways that frighten the power-elites and ordinary Egyptians alike. The old residents of the land around the Nile fear an alien take-over by an immigrant people. And rather than face the fear, rather than remember how these newcomers have become an asset to Egypt, and rather than lead the way to counteract xenophobia, Pharaoh does what humans continue to do even today: The ethnic minority is identified as a threat. The Hebrews are no longer seen as neighbours, as sisters and brothers, but as something far less. In the eyes of Pharaoh, the Hebrews have become vermin that needs to be eradicated, terminated, and destroyed.
Just take a closer look at the text: Threatened by Pharaoh’s wrath, the God-fearing midwives appeal to Pharaoh’s anxieties and prejudices to devise a ruse. They say that Hebrew women are not like Egyptian women. The Hebrew women give birth too quickly. In the original text, the denigration of the Hebrew women is much more obvious. It is almost as if they are compared to animals. And the midwives get away with this, because Pharaoh has already crossed the threshold. He has already demonized, dehumanised, and degraded the Hebrews from their status as human beings. This indeed is a story of exclusion, of xenophobia, of hate, and of oppression.
At this point we might have to ask, where is God in all this mess? It is a justifiable question. Looking at the text, God does not seems to be very present. God is revealed only in subtle and indirect ways and isn’t even mentioned as a subject of the sentence until the eighteenth verse of the first chapter of Exodus, where we read: “God dealt well with the midwives.”
In a way this is rather shocking. We might expect God to interact more forcefully, more directly, we might even hope for God to smite the oppressor. And in progressive chapters of the book of Exodus, God does indeed take more direct action.
But in today’s text, God is revealed through the lives and actions of those on the margins. In today’s text, God breaks into the human story from outside, through surprising avenues, by means of those who are demonized, dehumanised, and degraded from their status as human beings. God comes to us in the actions of two midwives, in the hope of a desperate mother, in the courage of a little girl, and in the innocent smile of a baby-boy.
And I believe this reflects much more the character of God than any act of smiting might ever do.
Today’s story affirms that rather than building a kingdom founded on human might, prosperity , and success, God links himself intrinsically with the plight of his people, particularly the oppressed and the marginalised. On the margins, God awaits for us to be discovered. God’s face is revealed among those who have no rights, who are vermin in the eyes of seemingly insane murderers, and who do not fit into what we perceive to be the norm. God even chooses to call a wee boy as his prophet, a wee boy, who will grow up in the halls of power only to become a murderer before eventually falling into the loving embrace of the God of mercy. Only as an outcast did Moses fully discover the greatness and goodness of God. And only by embracing those on the outside can we fully discover the greatness and goodness of God.
And this, too, is the underlying theme for Jesus’ question about his identity in today’s text from Matthew. Yes, Jesus is “the Messiah, the Son of the living God” – just like Peter proclaims. But we might have to rework our ideas about who or what the Messiah is all about. Unlike so many human hopes and expectations, the Messiah does not send fire and brimstone from above. No, the Messiah comes our way and ends up on the hard wood of the cross between two criminals. This unusual, unexpected, and even shocking self-revelation of God affirms that there is no human life that is outside the loving, compassionate, and merciful reach of God.
And it is into this loving, compassionate, and merciful reach of God that we will baptise Lazlo today. From today on, God will hold Lazlo in a lasting, life-giving, and indissoluble embrace. Furthermore, when we draw Lazlo out of the water, not unlike Pharaoh’s daughter drew Moses out of the water, he will become our Moses, he will become our “son” too – for this is what Moses means: Son. Lazlo will become our son, our sign of hope, because in Lazlo, God’s love is revealed to this community in a new, unusual, and maybe even shocking way. But equally, this community of Christ’s followers in all its wonder, in all its beauty, in all its awe, as much as in all its unusual and maybe even shocking messiness will be a sign of hope, a revelation of God’s love for Lazlo. And together, we will build God’s house where all are welcome, whoever they are and wherever they find themselves on the journey.
[The Reverend Markus Dünzkofer delivered this sermon on August 21, 2011.]
Posted by stpauls on under Bible Readings, Webmaster Blog |
Matthew 16:13-20 – Gospel Reading for August 21, 2011
When Jesus came into the district of Caesarea Philippi, he asked his disciples, “Who do people say that the Son of Man is?”
And they said, “Some say John the Baptist, but others Elijah, and still others Jeremiah or one of the prophets.”
He said to them, “But who do you say that I am?” Simon Peter answered, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.”
And Jesus answered him, “Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah! For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father in heaven. And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not prevail against it. I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven, and whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven.” Then he sternly ordered the disciples not to tell anyone that he was the Messiah.
Posted by stpauls on under Bible Readings, Webmaster Blog |
Exodus 1:8-2:10 ~ Bible Reading for 10th Sunday after Pentecost, August 21, 2011
Now a new king arose over Egypt, who did not know Joseph. He said to his people, “Look, the Israelite people are more numerous and more powerful than we. Come, let us deal shrewdly with them, or they will increase and, in the event of war, join our enemies and fight against us and escape from the land.”
Therefore they set taskmasters over them to oppress them with forced labour. They built supply cities, Pithom and Rameses, for Pharaoh. But the more they were oppressed, the more they multiplied and spread, so that the Egyptians came to dread the Israelites.
The Egyptians became ruthless in imposing tasks on the Israelites, and made their lives bitter with hard service in mortar and brick and in every kind of field labour. They were ruthless in all the tasks that they imposed on them.
The king of Egypt said to the Hebrew midwives, one of whom was named Shiphrah and the other Puah, “When you act as midwives to the Hebrew women, and see them on the birthstool, if it is a boy, kill him; but if it is a girl, she shall live.” But the midwives feared God; they did not do as the king of Egypt commanded them, but they let the boys live.
So the king of Egypt summoned the midwives and said to them, “Why have you done this, and allowed the boys to live?” The midwives said to Pharaoh, “Because the Hebrew women are not like the Egyptian women; for they are vigorous and give birth before the midwife comes to them.” So God dealt well with the midwives; and the people multiplied and became very strong. And because the midwives feared God, he gave them families.
Then Pharaoh commanded all his people, “Every boy that is born to the Hebrews you shall throw into the Nile, but you shall let every girl live.”
Now a man from the house of Levi went and married a Levite woman. The woman conceived and bore a son; and when she saw that he was a fine baby, she hid him three months. When she could hide him no longer she got a papyrus basket for him, and plastered it with bitumen and pitch; she put the child in it and placed it among the reeds on the bank of the river. His sister stood at a distance, to see what would happen to him.
The daughter of Pharaoh came down to bathe at the river, while her attendants walked beside the river. She saw the basket among the reeds and sent her maid to bring it. When she opened it, she saw the child. He was crying, and she took pity on him, “This must be one of the Hebrews’ children,” she said.
Then his sister said to Pharaoh’s daughter, “Shall I go and get you a nurse from the Hebrew women to nurse the child for you?” Pharaoh’s daughter said to her, “Yes.” So the girl went and called the child’s mother. Pharaoh’s daughter said to her, “Take this child and nurse it for me, and I will give you your wages.” So the woman took the child and nursed it.
Posted by stpauls on August 14, 2011 under Sermons |
Last Tuesday, my niece and nephew celebrated their 18th birthdays … and they were little bairns just a wee while ago! Sigh!
As they enter adulthood, I have been thinking about their future. But this week I have been concerned, even fearful. What kind of future can they expect?
We are in the midst of one of the greatest economic crises the world has had to face. Stock markets are volatile eradicating the nest eggs of ordinary citizens at rates previously unimagined. Ever-increasing food prices around the globe cause famines not just on the Horn of Africa, and lead to bloody uprising, which destabilise the Near and Middle East. All around the world, the poor are on the move, knocking loudly on the doors of those whose prosperity has to some extent been built on their shoulders. Our inner cities, largely ignored by the powerful, have become tinderboxes waiting to explode. And it doesn’t take much, as witnessed in Philadelphia and London recently.
Our environmental situation is not improving either. Fukushima once again proved that the atom cannot be tamed. The changing climate is adding to the food shortage in the developing world and is eradicating the habitat of many a species. In our ever-growing need for resources, we pay lip-service to preserving creation, but our actions remind me rather of a prophecy uttered by members of the Cree nation:
“Only after the last tree has been cut down, only after the last river has been poisoned, only after the last fish has been caught, only then will you find money cannot be eaten.”
And then there is the horror inflicted by seemingly mad people in places like Oslo and Utøya, who were thought of as peaceful havens.
It is all rather dismal. It is all rather frightening. These are realities I do not wish for my niece and nephew, who have their whole lives in front of them.
And I keep wonder, is there something else I can offer them?
Now, at this point, I have to assert, that in spite of what I just shared, I do not consider myself a pessimist. Yes, I do not believe in eternal progression, I do not think life is getting better and better. But equally, I do not believe that our world is going to hell in a hand-basket. Things do change. Yes! It’s the way of life. But things don’t get worse and worse – as much as things don’t get better and better. We have always faced opportunities. But we have always faced challenges too.
And this was true for the reality facing a young Jewish woman, more a girl than a woman, some 2000 years ago too.
Mary was raised in a world that did not offer her much: The possibilities for women were abysmal, to put it diplomatically. And as a member of a nation occupied by alien forces, life was harsh. Any moment, one was at the mercy of the oppressors. Arrests, enslavement, torture, and random executions were part of reality. Furthermore, life could throw a deadly curveball any moment through sickness, disability, and economic hardship.
Yet, in the midst of this chaos, Mary heard God’s radical call. And Mary responded, responded not by running away or dismissing it. But Mary responded in a way that pierces the darkness: Mary became God’s collaborator in establishing God’s hope among us. God took habitation in Mary’s womb and Mary became the theotokos, the God-bearer. Mary, a woman, gave birth to God – and creation has never been the same!
This was however, not an act of willing submission by a woman to a male deity. Far from it!
Yet, history all too quickly placed Mary on the wrong pedestal. When the angel Gabriel announced unto Mary that she would conceive a child, she responded “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” And these words recorded in verses preceding today’s reading from Luke, have far often been used to paint Mary as this quaint, pious, innocent virgin, who was overshadowed by the Holy Spirit, not because she was like you and I, but because she was different, because she was holier than any other woman. However, relegating Mary to this hyper-holy realm has had two rather disastrous results:
On the one hand, Mary lost her female identity. The minds of the patriarchal power-brokers in the church (who unfortunately were often closeted gay men struggling with their own sexuality and never developing healthy relationships with women) over the past two millennia just couldn’t deal with women and sexuality in general and with women’s sexuality in particular. And so Mary needed to be de-sexed and de-womanised: She might have been a woman, but let’s make her as little a woman a possible. Let’s take away Mary’s womanhood and let’s eradicate her sexuality. This has led to such silliness as the Roman Catholic dogma of the Immaculate Conception, which even removes Mary’s birth from the human experience.
However, this theological hysterectomy is contrary to what is at the heart of the Good News of God in Jesus Christ. At the centre of God’s self-revelation is the Incarnation, is God’s coming into the flesh, God being born a human being. And God did not choose to thus be revealed, despite us and despite Mary, but God chose to be revealed in the Incarnation because of us and because of Mary – and because Mary was a woman with breasts, genitalia, and all. In the Incarnation, God embraces and affirms humanity and God embraces and affirms Mary in all that she was. Mary’s femininity is an asset, not a problem that cannot be circumvented. God does not despise a woman’s womb, as some try to make us believe. But women and men alike are part of the divine plan. And sexuality is not intrinsically evil, but is a wonderful and wondrous aspect of creation.
Mary’s “Here I am” really therefore was not a submission by the “lesser” gender, but it is a way of asserting who God made her and called her to be. Mary claims her true identity and celebrates that she, like every other woman or man, was created in the image of God.
This might be the first gift to offer my niece and nephew: Be who God calls you to be, claim the identity God has gifted you, and then God will take habitation under your heart, too. God will then dwell in you to forge a relationship that is death-defying, darkness-piercing, and life-giving.
And there is more: Placing Mary on an all-too holy pedestal not only dismissed her gender and sexual identity, but also over-spiritualises Mary’s relationship with God. And those in power upheld this as a model for our relationship with the divine. If Mary is a pious, a faithful, and particularly an obedient young girl, than we too have to be pious, faithful, and obedient – to the exclusion of political liberation in the name of God. This, of course, helped to preserve exploitative elites, be they political, economic, or religious.
However, today’s Gospel speaks another language. Yes, Christianity does address spiritual matters: We run from the will and from the love of God and are in need of God’s forgiveness, God’s healing, and God’s restoration. But God’s forgiveness, God’s healing, and God’s restoration are holistic and affect spiritual as much as material matters. Mary’s song in today’s reading from Luke therefore must also be used to empower us in our current crisis to become agents of change, agents of forgiveness, healing, and restoration. And this might be the second gift Mary can give.
I believe, what we are experiencing right now around the world is this: The mindless capitalism pushed by such educational institutions as the London School of Economics or the University of Chicago Business School and established in Western democracies over the last few decades can no longer be sustained. For far too long, social responsibility and a sense of communal duty for the welfare of all have given way to greed and entitlement. Rampant individualism has replaced a sense of becoming a responsible member of society. Margaret Thatcher famously proclaimed there is no such thing as society. Yet this attitude and the economic developments have had a catastrophic impact not just in the UK. It’s what I call “soulless secularism,” which has bred an ethics void of any interconnectedness, void of any interdependency, void of any overarching values, and void of any sense of a metaphysical reality. It is an ethics not too far off from nihilism, which upholds nothing as sacred and is, I believe, an enemy not just of the Divine, but also of humanity.
I do not condone the riots in London and elsewhere. These were horrendous, senseless acts of violence, which cannot be justified. But we cannot ignore the reality of our inner cities either. And we cannot and must not ignore the people who live there. Calling for tougher laws and more focus on discipline in our education might seem like good steps to take, but these can only address the symptoms without going to the roots – and often these steps are used to dehumanise fellow members of the human race.
Yet, Mary’s song in Luke compels us to go deeper and to not be afraid to do something different, something much more profound, and something much more extreme. This does not mean that the Gospel calls for a violent overthrow of the status quo or allows for perpetrators to get off the hook. But the disarming radicalism of the Gospel calls for a radical different approach, as radical as the Incarnation was a radically different approach by God to interact with humanity.
How this will all pan out can only be discovered in collaboration. But this is no time to give up, because God has not given up on us either.
Mary was only able to sing her song in today’s Gospel, because she heard God’s voice, which over and over proclaims: “Do not be afraid! I am with you. I have not left you orphaned. But I will do a new thing.”
“Do not be afraid!”
These are among the angel Gabriel’s first words to Mary just a few verses before today’s text. “Do not be afraid!” And it is what God whispers into our hearts, too. Mary responded to these words by asserting, who God called her to be, by saying “yes!” to God’s will, and by reclaiming justice as a central part of God’s self-revelation. And it is thus that her “soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord!”
[The Reverend Markus Dünzkofer delivered this sermon on the Feast of St. Mary The Virgin on August 14, 2011.]
Posted by stpauls on under Bible Readings, Webmaster Blog |
Luke 1: 46-55 ~ Gospel reading for August 14, 2011
Mary said: “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant. Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed; for the Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is his name. His mercy is for those who fear him from generation to generation. He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty. He has helped his servant Israel, in remembrance of his mercy, according to the promise he made to our ancestors, to Abraham and to his descendants forever.”
Posted by stpauls on August 7, 2011 under Sermons |
Do you remember the play “The Five Sides of the Circle” that we presented here at St. Paul’s a few years ago? Written by the Reverend Canon Neville Boundy, the play was produced and directed by former parishioner Michael Elliot. It deals with the differences among the various accounts of the story of Jesus. In the play – at a fictional gathering – the four Evangelists (Mark, Matthew, Luke, and John) argue with each other about which Gospel account is normative and should be included in the Bible. And the discussion – in good church fashion – is rather tense and confrontational!
In the end, as incongruent and as conflicting with each other as the Gospels are, all four accounts are included. And, yes, there were more Gospel-like texts than those four. And one day, we should discuss why the others didn’t make the cut (and no, it was not because of an early church conspiracy!). But not today. Otherwise, my sermon will turn from 135 to 235 minutes…
So, back to “The Five Sides of the Circle.”
The play has been on my mind, not just because I met Michael Elliot during my recent visit to London, England. But the play has been on my mind, because it unfolds rather well the theological and at times chronological differences among the four Gospels.
And these differences are no accident.
Each Gospel comes from a unique background with a unique audience in mind. Therefore, each Gospel presents a unique way to reveal God’s purpose, which in turn allows us in our diversity to access the Good News. After all, we are not all the same, either; we have quite different histories, attitudes, and backgrounds.
What unites the Gospel-accounts is this: Jesus is revealed as the unique focus and the unique means by which God is made manifest in creation. But the story of Jesus is told in diverse and colourful ways. Each Gospel is a beautiful flower in a beautiful bouquet. Each is sufficient in itself, but the fullness of the beauty of the Good News is made manifest in the sum of the Gospel accounts – as long as their unique approaches are upheld.
Diversity is therefore not a bad thing, but it is part of God’s created order and it is part of God’s self-revelation on the pages of our sacred text. Any attempt at making everything the same, any effort to phase different expressions of the faith into one, is hence contrary to the witness of Scripture. Or as our very own David Ryniker would say: Homodoxy is a heresy. And he is right!
This, however, does not mean we can just pick and choose.
At times, those parts of the divine revelation which seem to annoy, disturb, and worry us might have something to say to us after all. In fact, every part of Scripture is part of God’s self-revelation. In wrestling with those texts that I dislike, I might gain new insights into the deep mystery that is beyond our understanding and that we call “God.”
Furthermore, passages that somehow do not seem to fit our understanding, our interpretation, or our theological discourse can serve as correctives to potential misunderstandings or misinterpretations. Yes, at times we learn and progress through uncomfortable voices.
Which brings me to today’s reading from Luke.
It is arduous to speculate if the text we have before us is the result of a real metaphysical experience, or a later post-Easter interpretation of an earlier event, or if the early church “created” this story to witness to Jesus as One in whom the biblical prophecies are fulfilled. The fact remains: However the story came about, it does not really chill with a modern view of the world and makes many of us shake our heads in disbelief.
Furthermore, the story really does not seem to fit into the theological pattern of the Gospel according to Luke. Remember, each Gospel has its own way of witnessing to the Incarnation, to God’s coming into human flesh in Jesus Christ. And in Luke the implications of the Incarnation are brought to their most radical conclusions: Jesus is no semi-deity, floating 10 cm above ground, like in the Gospel according to John. No, in the Gospel according to Luke, God commits to the human experience fully and becomes one of us absolutely. Which also means that things are turned around and put on their head: This is the Gospel in which the almighty and omniscient God is born as a helpless, fragile child among ox and ass in a stable. This is the Gospel that first shares the Good News of the Messiah’s birth not with the high and mighty, but with shepherds on fields in a forgotten corner of the Roman Empire. This is the Gospel that tells the story of the Good Samaritan, which not only commits us to care for our neighbours, but which also overthrows any perceived notions of religious elites. This is the Gospel that speaks of justice and that lets Jesus’ mother Mary sing: “God has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. God has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; God has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty. “ (Luke 1) In Luke, God is revealed as the One, who comes our way and meets us where we are to restore us to the beauty that God intends for all of us.
Yet, in today’s text, God doesn’t seem to come our way. Rather, Jesus and the disciple climb high up the mountain to reach the zenith of spiritual experience. God doesn’t find Peter, John, and James where they are, but they have to leave behind what they know to encounter the uncreated light shining forth from Jesus.
And somehow this doesn’t fit. Somehow, this is uncomfortable, annoying, and displeasing – at least within the context of the Gospel according to Luke.
But I wonder if this exactly the point. I wonder if today’s text from Luke should serve as a corrective to our understandings and interpretations, as a corrective to the tiredness of Jesus’ disciples, who are overpowered by the sleep of spiritual ignorance – even today.
There are two correctives that I see.
First of all, we must remember the context of the story. The Transfiguration isn’t some tale disconnected from the rest of the Gospel-text. Rather it is embedded into a chronology of events that is not random, but shares a truth all in itself.
In Luke, the Transfiguration is preceded by Jesus’ first prediction about his death. And the Transfiguration is followed by a healing story and Jesus’ second prediction about his death. Spiritual experiences as death-defying, as life-giving, as amazing, and as profound as they may be, cannot be divorced from the reality of life and death – and from the needs of the community all around as. Encounters with God are not all about feeling good and praising the Lord. But the truth is only discovered if we are willing to be confronted with the dark side of God.
True religion does not rescue us from the valley of tears. But true disciples remain at the foot of the cross. True disciples join God in God’s suffering. And true disciples are willing to seek out the bruised and blood-stained face of Christ in the face of their neighbours. It is not good enough to build dwelling places on the mountains to look down on the world and disconnect from Christ’s suffering on the cross. But we must come down the mountain and become agents of God’s healing in the world. Praying for the victims of famines and exploding food-prices in Africa can only be a beginning. Living fully into the promises of Christ, however, requires actions: It requires actions that allows for immediate relief through such organizations as the Primate’s World Relief and Development Fund. And it requires actions that bring about a just and sustainable global economy for us here in the West End as much as for all of God’s children on the Horn of Africa.
On the other hand, however, we cannot divorce our actions from the spiritual aspect of who God calls us to be. And this is the second corrective of the story.
Luke’s particular twist in the story is this: He sets this experience within the context of prayer. Jesus prayed on the mountaintop and through prayer he connected to the promises of old, to the revelation of Moses and Elijah, to the truth revealed in the Law and the Prophets. Without prayer the ensuing healing would not have been possible. Without linking it all back to God’s self-revelation in the Law and the Prophets, the cross would have been a senseless, horrific, abysmal act of violence. We lose our identity and cannot claim the wholesome beauty that God wills if we neglect to enter into the heart of God through prayer and through the spiritual truth revealed on the pages of our sacred text.
This means that the global debt crisis is not just overcome through radical acts of justice, which are very much in line with the Gospel. But the economic elites and those buying into the vulgar individualism of our economic and secular realities must also be confronted with the truth of who they really are – and, more importantly, whose they really are.
In the end, the Christian faith is not a one-issue religion. But the Good News of God in Jesus Christ addresses both our bodily needs and it address also our spiritual needs. Jesus confronts us with the radical challenge of divine love that seeks to penetrate every fibre of our being and every aspect of our lives. Therein lies the challenge of the Transfiguration – and therein lies the challenge of the Gospel as a whole: for us and for the ministry of the church.
[The Reverend Markus Dünzkofer delivered this sermon at the Feast of the Transfiguration on August 7, 2011.]
