One of the reasons I went to General Seminary some years ago was to study with Dr. Elizabeth Koenig. Not only was she a great teacher, one of the nicest people you’ll ever meet, but she had a great title. She was Professor of Ascetical Theology. In retirement, the title is slightly fancier: Professor Ascetical Theology Emerita. This was before Harry Potter days, but doesn’t ascetical theology” sound like something out of the Hogwarts School? I’ll admit that the idea of studying “ascetical theology” sounded romantic to me. I mean, how cool, to be in some Chelsea establishment and casually say, “O yes, I’m studying ascetical theology.” And yet, to take it seriously, one can’t coast or pretend. One has to dive in and pray.
The word, “ascetical” comes from askesis, a Greek word meaning exercise, discipline, or training. In the spiritual life, ascetical practices are those things that help a person grow in discipline, the sorts of practices we talk about in the Season of Lent: prayer, fasting, almsgiving.
In both the physical and the spiritual life, askesis, or training, can be done for reasons of vanity, to look better to other people. But training and discipline are even more effective when they’re undertaken to strengthen one for the long run—whether that’s literal or refers to a life itself.
People take on spiritual disciplines in the season of lent for all kinds of reasons. Some still carry a twisted theological belief that God likes it when we suffer, and so somehow to get God’s attention, or to make God love us more, we need to rough it, or more, we need to suffer. But the saints who went without food and ended up dying of poor health because of their severe self-discipline did not please God, and only shortened the life they could have lived to glorify God and to God’s work on earth.
God wants us strong and centered. Humility means being right-sized—neither thinking too highly of oneself, but also not thinking too lowly of oneself.
When we give up something for Lent, that is a type of fast. The point is not to win a game, achieve a prize, and gain more love from God. Instead, the goal of giving up something is to purify, and strengthen, to focus, and renew, to be more in tune with the will of God, so that we can more fully help God’s kingdom come.
When something is given up for Lent, it is what scripture calls a “fragrant offering” to God, when it allows us to take up something, as well. Maybe you’re fasting from social media. If so, that will give you time and energy to explore issues for yourself, to seek truth, and to act on the truth you find.
If you fast from too much news, it will be a sad affair if you only do it hide from the world. But if you fast from the news, and in its place enter into conversations and issues for yourself, then you’re living out your faith.
If you give up certain food, drinks, or snacks, take the money you save and give it to someone in need or to a cause that needs support.
In today’s Gospel, Jesus is criticizing those who make a public show of their faith but do nothing to be of any use in the world to go along with that faith. Jesus explains how NOT to fast and pray and train spiritually. But in his life, Jesus shows us how to train for the kingdom, to grow spiritually and at the same time grow in love and service to others.
A part of my Lenten discipline this year is reading from a book of sermons by Archbishop Oscar Romero. The archbishop was an outspoken advocate of the poor in El Salvador, and vocal critic of the governmental and societal injustices. A death squad associated with the government (a government support by the United States) killed Romero on March assassinated while celebrating Mass in his cathedral on March 24, 1980. In one place, Archbishop Romero speaks powerfully about the way in which Lent is about more than just an individual spirituality. He says
The church invites us to a modern form of penance, of fasting and prayer – perennial Christian practices, but adapted to the circumstances of each people. Lenten fasting is not the same thing in those lands where people eat well as is a Lent among our third-world peoples, undernourished as they are, living in a perpetual Lent, always fasting. For those who eat well, Lent is a call to austerity, a call to give away in order to share with those in need. But in poor lands, in homes where there is hunger, Lent should be observed in order to give to the sacrifice that is everyday life the meaning of the cross. But it should not be out of a mistaken sense of resignation. God does not want that. Rather, feeling in one’s flesh the consequences of sin and injustice, one is stimulated to work for social justice and a genuine love for the poor. Our Lent should awaken a sense of social justice. [Oscar Arnulfo Romero, from The Violence of Love: The Pastoral Wisdom of Archbishop Oscar Romero (1988).]
Whether we call it “askesis,” discipline, training for the resistance, or just simply walking in the way of Jesus, let us fast for a purpose this season the Holy Spirit leads us in to loving action. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
The Priest Aaron, c.1170, The Metropolitan Museum of Art
Not too long ago, a young woman whose wedding I’ll be officiating called. She said that she had a question that she hoped wouldn’t sound stupid. And so, I got ready.
“Should I wear a veil?” she asked.
Well, I didn’t really have an opinion, I told her. Why was it so important?
“Why? Well, because of what it means,” she said. “I mean, does it symbolize that I’m some modest, shy girl, wrapped up like a Christmas present, to be given from one man to another? Or does it represent some kind of big change that’s about to occur? It is more traditional for me to wear a veil. Or is it so old-fashioned that it’s avant garde? What do you think?” I told her that I really thought it was up to her, but I assured her I would think more about it and let her know if I had other thoughts. And I’ll probably send her this sermon.
One thing I do know is that veils can be complicated and carry various meanings.
In some cultures, veils make people feel comfortable. Women find unusual freedom behind a veil. Men don’t feel threatened when women wear veils. Some veils can bring anxiety down.
But in other cultures, in our day (and often in our airports) veils can cause discomfort. They invite us to wonder, “What is being hidden? Why the veil? Why not come clean, and be honest, and show the face?”
Veils are sometimes worn at funerals by those who grieve. They hide the tears and allow for privacy. Veils are used to cover a great work of art, or a plan, or a model, so that when it is first shown, it is dramatically unveiled. Genies and belly-dancers use veils.
Veils find their way into church, also—and not only with brides.
The veil in religious use is sometimes used for handling holy things and sometimes used for what the monastics call the “fasting of the eyes.” As one artist has put it, “Through a fasting of the eyes, sight becomes vision.” (Elaine Lasky)
In churches like this one, we use a veil to go over the communion chalice and other items used in communion. Later, approaching Holy Week, we’ll veil crosses and other sacred objects. In some churches, on Maundy Thursday (as well as in the Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament), a priest uses a special veil, called a humeral veil, to move the Blessed Sacrament from a main altar to a smaller “altar of repose” (or to place a Eucharistic Host in a monstrance to bless the people during Benediction.) On Maundy Thursday, the Holy Sacrament is sometimes reposed in a side chapel, in part, to symbolize how Jesus went to the Garden of Gethsemane and prayed.
Special things get veiled. Holy things get veiled.
It’s for this reason that Moses needed a veil when he talked with God. Whenever he went up Mount Sinai and spoke with God, his face would become bright. This scared the people so badly that he began to wear a veil whenever he spoke with them. They could still catch a glimpse of the brightness, but then he would quickly put on the veil so that they wouldn’t be afraid.
In our second reading, Saint Paul uses this story about a veil to talk about what is old and what is new, what is hidden and what has been revealed. Moses received the law from God on Mount Sinai, but Paul is trying to help people understand the new freedom and movement in the life of Christ that completed and transcends the law. For those who have faith in him, the life and love and spirit of Christ becomes so bright that there’s no denying it. The promise of life, the promise of life eternal in Jesus Christ is such a splendor, such a brightness, such a hope, that the old law is a dull blur in comparison.
That’s a part of what is happening at the Transfiguration of Jesus on the mountain. Whatever veil might have existed between God and God’s beloved is lifted—the Law (represented by Moses) had a part in lifting the veil. The Prophets (represented by Elijah) had a part in lifting the veil. So that Paul can talk about this new freedom we have in God, a freedom to see God face to face. “Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. And we all, with unveiled face, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being changed into his likeness from one degree of glory to another; for this comes from the Lord who is the Spirit.”
We are changed into his likeness, from one degree of glory to another. Veils are lifted and parted as we move closer to God. In some ways these veils culminate in the great temple veil, the veil that hung in front of the holy of holies in the Jerusalem Temple.
On Good Friday, Saint Luke reminds us that “there was darkness over the whole land until the ninth hour, while the sun’s light faded, and just before Jesus gave up his spirit to the father, the curtain of the temple was torn in two.”The veil of the temple, a curtain of a veil meant to demarcate the great gulf between sinful humanity and holy God—that veil was torn in two. Rowan Williams writes about this in his little book, Ponder These Things. He writes,
Because Christ has torn the veil, we can enter with him; we live in the heavenly sanctuary, offering prayer with him. That is what is happening in every eucharist. The whole history of the world is interrupted by the cry of Jesus from the Cross; and all that we try to put between ourselves and God is torn down by God’s own utterance.
God has torn down the curtain of separation, and God tries to tear down whatever veil might separate us from his love. But what sort of veil might we continue to put up? Is it shame or a sense of false modesty that keeps us from moving closer into God’s presence? Do we give custom and convention too great a place, somehow convincing ourselves that they’re not just veils, but walls? Sometimes the veils we make are shiny and they reflect our own glory, rather than allow us to perceive God’s glory.
As Archbishop Williams puts it, it is for us to “stop and sit still; let the living Word of God tear the fabric of our expectations and our anxieties alike, tear through the embroidered pictures on the curtain.” The weaving of religious veils keeps us not only from God, but also obstructs our view of the world. And so we don’t see one another clearly and we miss the part of God that is all around us.
God is always and everywhere inviting us to come closer. To let down our guard. To relax. To breathe. To allow for the holy. Allow for the mystery. Allow for the silence. Not so he can burn us with judgment, but so that he can enfold us in love. In some ways, this is what the whole Season of Lent is about. God invites us closer, cleaner, holier.
The veil comes down in prayer, in worship, and in the Sacrament of Holy Communion.
In just a few moments, the veil is lifted. We are invited to drink and eat in the presence of God, to be with God as God is present with us. As we receive the food and drink that God offers us, let us be reminded that God has already opened the veil of separation. God has opened to veil of death and let life flow in. God has opened the veil of humanity and allowed it to perceive divinity.
Though it can be tempting to want to cover ourselves, to hide from God, and to hide from all that is Holy, may we have the courage to remove our veils, that we might allow God to change us, to remake us, to transfigure us. And may we also see God face to face.
In the name of the Father and of the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.
At Morning Prayer last Wednesday, we read Psalm 109. That psalm begins simply enough, but it very quickly gets into some harsh language. It’s aimed at an enemy, the kind of person who speaks with a “lying tongue,” who accuses falsely, and who is ‘wicked.”
The Psalm rails at God,
Because he did not remember to show mercy, * but persecuted the poor and needy and sought to kill the brokenhearted. Let his children be waifs and beggars; * let them be driven from the ruins of their homes. Let the creditor seize everything he has; * let strangers plunder his gains.
I have to admit that some of that angry language felt really good to say. Like believers for thousands of years, the psalm helped me to name and vent some feelings and frustrations—with people (who seem to get away with doing bad things), and a little bit of my frustration with God, for not dealing with some people the way I think they deserve.
The scriptures today can seem challenging but are timely, I think. We see a situation that might have called for one of those angry psalms in the very first reading from Genesis.
If anyone was ever justified in using an angry psalm to hurl abuse down on his enemies, it might have been Joseph.
To understand what’s going on in today’s reading, we need to recall a little of the story of Joseph. He was the favorite son of his father Jacob, and Joseph had a gift of dreams and visions. His father loved him so much that he gave him a special coat, one the King James Bible describes as a “coat of many colors,” thus the Broadway show, “Joseph and the Technicolor Dreamcoat.” But Joseph’s brothers were jealous of him. They hated hearing about his dreams (which usually privileged him over them), and they resented their father’s love for young Joseph. Finally, the rage and resentment of the brothers grew to the point that they threw Joseph into a pit and sold him into slavery. They told their father that Joseph had been killed by a wild animal.
But Joseph eventually ends up in the house of an Egyptian official and has all kinds of adventures you can read about in Genesis 37-50. Because Joseph receives dreams and can predict the future, he is able to see that a famine is coming, so he helps Egypt prepare. At the height of the famine, Joseph’s brothers (still living back in Canaan) begin to search for grain and end up begging for food in Egypt. They come to Joseph, but don’t recognize him as their brother. And even though Joseph tests them a little, (and I like to think Joseph is really trying to decide whether he can forgive them or not), Joseph eventually decides to forgive, and we have the highpoint of the story—a story of forgiveness—that we heard in today’s scripture reading.
Joseph hasn’t reached this position easily. At some point, he must have used angry psalm-like words against his brothers. And yet, God’s grace overtakes Joseph and helps him to see that if he matches anger with anger, resentment with resentment, nothing is accomplished. Having reached this point of choosing how to respond to his brothers, he explains, “Even though you intended to do harm to me, God intended it for good” (Gn. 50:20).
If we were in the position of Joseph, of somehow having power over someone who had tried to do us wrong—how would we act? Would we go for the jugular and really make it hurt, seeking vengeance, wanting to feel like a wrong is being righted, somehow trying to balance scales of an eye for an eye? Or do would we remember the sometimes-challenging way Jesus?
Jesus says,
Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you. If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also; and from anyone who takes away your coat do not withhold even your shirt. Give to everyone who begs from you; and if anyone takes away your goods, do not ask for them again. Do to others as you would have them do to you.
Jesus is not saying, “embrace being the victim.” Instead, he’s suggesting that even when we’re victimized, we still have agency. We can choose what to do next. If we choose NOT to remain the victim, we can “turn the other cheek,” or “give shirt and pants as well as a coat,” and in so doing, we take control of the situation for good and for God’s good. We turn the energy and the power of the equation and offer blessing, forgiveness, and a way forward. We can say with Joseph, ““Even though you intended to do harm to me, God intended it for good.”
The Franciscan Richard Rohr suggests that sometimes loving our enemies involves what he calls “integrating the negative.” Rohr points out that often the very thing we hate about others, the things that really get us going, are perhaps aspects or parts of ourselves that we hide, or suppress, or pretend don’t exist. He writes
“Our enemies always carry our own shadow side, the things we don’t like about ourselves. We will never face our own shadow until we embrace those who threaten us (as Francis of Assisi embraced the leper in his conversion experience). The people who turn us off usually do so because they carry our own faults in some form.” [See Richard Rohr’s post for Martin Luther King, Jr. Day 2025 on his blog with the Center for Action and Contemplation.]
I’m not sure Rohr is right about that in every situation. But his advice that we look within is good advice to slow us down, to put a pause on whatever it is we’re about to do or say, and to think and pray carefully, if there is also some aspect of ourselves, we need to look at, before hurling abuse at the one we perceive as an enemy.
Rohr suggests that “loving the enemy” includes two things:
“First, we must develop and maintain the capacity to forgive…. Forgiveness does not mean ignoring what has been done or putting a false label on an evil act. It means, rather, that the evil act no longer remains as a barrier to the relationship….
“Second, we must recognize that the evil deed of the enemy-neighbor, the thing that hurts, never quite expresses all that they are. An element of goodness may be found even in our worst enemy…. There is some good in the worst of us and some evil in the best of us. When we discover this, we are less prone to hate our enemies. When we look beneath the surface, beneath the impulsive evil deed, we see within our enemy-neighbor a measure of goodness and know that the viciousness and evilness of their acts are not quite representative of all that they are. We see them in a new light. We recognize that their hate grows out of fear, pride, ignorance, prejudice, and misunderstanding, but in spite of this, we know God’s image is ineffably etched in their being. Then we love our enemies by realizing that they are not totally bad and that they are not beyond the reach of God’s redemptive love.”
Jesus calls us from a purely reactionary way of living. Without thinking or reflecting, we can return hate for hate. In the same way, it’s sometimes easy to love those who love us, regardless of whether that affection is helpful or warranted. Jesus calls us to a Christ-centered way, in which we pause, reflect, pray, and ask for his direction. That direction then gives us what we need to ACT with intention and with love.
There will probably always be those times for me, when the angry words of Psalm 109 seem like the only kind of prayer I can muster for certain people. But those words and sentiments are burned away in the light of Christ’s love, a love that move toward, not away. It’s a love that transforms me and the other. And it’s a way of mercy—for myself and for others.
In just a few weeks, we begin the Season of Lent. You’ll notice that at the very beginning of our worship services, instead of saying or singing “Glory to God in the highest,” we’ll instead say or sing, “Lord have mercy upon us.” Lent is a season for asking God’s mercy—but may the Spirit enable us not only to ask for God’s mercy to be shown to you and me, but also that God would enable us show mercy to ourselves, to one another, and to the world.
Jesus says in today’s Gospel, “Be merciful, just as God is merciful.”
May God have mercy on us, and let us in the ways of mercy and love. Amen.
There is a very nice lady who comes to Holy Trinity a few times a year. When she was here over Christmas, I greeted her, and she asked me, “Are things going better?” I was a little surprised at her question, so I asked her, “what do you mean? (wondering if she was referring to the pandemic, or whether she had last attended right when a beloved parishioner had died, or what, exactly.) She answered, “Oh, well, the last time I asked you how you and the parish were doing, you said you were “counting your blessings.” She understood that phrase as negative, while I’ve only understood it as positive. When I say I’m counting my blessings, I’m doing just that—taking stock, being grateful, noticing God’s grace all around. But her question and the way in which we could both think of blessing in such different ways, points to some of the contrast and complexity in today’s Gospel.
Today, we have heard good news and bad news. The blessings are clear, and there are those things that, if not “curses,” our NRSV translation refers to as “woes.”
Our scripture contains what sounds like the well-known Beatitudes. The Beatitudes are those sayings offered by Jesus in the Sermon on the Mount—at least, that’s what it’s called in Matthew’s Gospel. We typically read them on All Saints’ Sunday and they are generally offered as comfort, encouragement, and reminders that God intends good for us, no matter how hard life might be in the moment. But in Luke’s version, the one we just heard, the Blessings are fewer. Matthew gives eight, but Luke only gives four. And then Luke’s version adds the four “woes:”
…Woe to you who are rich,… Woe to you who are full now,… Woe to you who are laughing now,… Woe to you when all speak well of you….
In today’s Gospel, Jesus is not on a mountain, but has come down on level ground with people. Here, Jesus isn’t preaching from on high, but right alongside — with his followers and with us. In standing with us, he’s giving us those promises of God’s blessing, protection, and presence, but Jesus is also being honest about the pains that are sometimes all wrapped up before, during, or after the promises come true.
Our other readings also point to the two extremes of life—when things are very good, and when things are bad. Sometimes our choices contribute to that direction, and all the readings suggest that sticking close to God, keeps one on the right course, no matter what comes along.
The first reading this morning from Jeremiah also contains this language of blessing and curse. And yet, notice the real-world aspect of the sayings: “cursed are those who trust in mere mortals …,” but “blessed are those who trust in the Lord…” Jeremiah is not giving advice for a rainy day, or for life in some distant future, and certainly not promising that things will be better in the life after this earthly life. Instead, Jeremiah is saying NOW, cursed are those who trust in mere mortals… RIGHT NOW, HERE AND NOW, blessed are those who trust in the Lord.
Psalm 1 also supports this way of approaching life—the blessings come as we walk in the way of the Lord… wickedness happens when we choose some other way, or become self-consumed and forget God. Paul’s Letter to the Corinthians puts a cross-shaped exclamation point on the necessity to choose Christ here and now, in this life. The cross is either a made-up notion that gives some a little comfort as they imagine what comes after life and death… OR, as Paul puts it, Christ has been raised for us—and the benefits, the power, the blessings of that Resurrection began for us in this life and into the next.
Because of the Resurrection, we are empowered to face down fear. We can put increasing trust in God. Because of the Resurrection, we take the long view and know that sin and death have been defeated, once for all… and so, when we stumble here and there, we say we’re sorry, we allow the Holy Spirit to dust us off and pick us up, and we keep on going.
Because of the Resurrection, St. Paul underwent a deep conversion from having persecuted Christ to following Christ and being willing to die for him. Paul faced immediate rejection by the other followers of Jesus, but the power of the resurrection got him through. That power of Christ’s life and energy in Paul’s own very body enabled him to keep his faith through all kinds of calamites, through imprisonment, an earthquake, a shipwreck, chronic physical pain, mental second-guessing… everything. Tradition says that Paul was martyred under the Emperor Nero, but like Martin Luther King, Jr., Paul was writing letters of faith, conviction, and hope even from his jail.
I think again about the lady who understood “counting my blessings” so differently than I do. For me, counting my blessings has to do with giving thanks for each blessing I experience, but also not holding on too tight. As good as one day may be, the next might bring challenges. The “woes” come in this life (and surely in the next) when we live only for self and ignore the pain of the world. But the blessings are overflowing. They are ours to enjoy and share when we live with humility, vulnerability, and openness to God.
May the resurrection power of Christ keep us strong and faithful, today and always. Amen.
The Gospel today brings us a story that may sound familiar. Versions of it appear in each of the Gospels. But there are slight differences.
In Matthew, Jesus is baptized, he is tempted by the devil in the wilderness, and then he goes into Galilee. He sees Simon Peter and his brother Andrew fishing and Jesus interrupts their work. “Follow me,” he says, “and I will make you fish for people.” (Matthew 4:18-22).
Mark’s version is similar. the fishing story is placed within the larger context of Jesus calling his disciples, assembling his team, choosing his friends and followers. Follow me, he says. And they follow.
The Gospel of John adds characteristic drama as it’s not only Jesus, but after the Resurrection, the Resurrected Jesus, the Christ who urges the disciples, the fishermen, to keep on fishing. Don’t give up.
But in Luke’s version of the story, Jesus and Simon Peter already know each other. Simon has already been “called,” and he has said “yes” to following Jesus. And people all around have been experiencing the power of Jesus, by the time this fishing expedition happens. Jesus has just healed Simon’s mother-in-law. Word has spread about Jesus through the towns and the synagogues and so there is none of that initial, startling surprise at the recognition that Jesus is someone special. Instead, there’s a kind of second recognition. In today’s Gospel, Jesus is saying to Simon Peter not so much “follow me,” but more, “keep following me,” “follow me even further,” “follow me in yet a different way.”
We’re told that Simon is a fisherman, so it seems to reason that he knows what he’s doing. He knows the water. He known the currents. He probably is attuned to when schools of fish might be in the areas. He knows the waters of Galilee as well as anyone. And so, we can understand why when Jesus suggests they drop fishing nets in a specific place, Simon probably rolls his eyes a little and reminds Jesus that they’ve already been fishing all night. Nothing is biting.
This is the Simon Peter we know from other places in the Gospels: quick to speak his mind, fast to question Jesus, so bold even to talk back to Jesus. If you think about all the ways Simon Peter shows up in the biblical stories, it’s Simon Peter who names Jesus as the Christ. He’s with Jesus at the transfiguration, and is the one who wants to get busy and build shelters for the visiting Elijah and Moses. When there is talk of Jesus’ dying, Simon speaks out against it. After the crucifixion, it is Peter who speaks too quickly even then, denying Jesus three times.
Simon has a strong personality. I would imagine Simon was as sure of his fishing as he was of anything else. But by this point he knows Jesus and he trusts Jesus. So when Jesus says, “Go deeper,” Simon eventually tries it.
All of a sudden, there are fish everywhere. There’s a whole school or run. There are so many fish that the nets are breaking and they need extra help. Water is splashing, fish are flying, and the boat is sinking, but in the midst of all this craziness, Simon Peter suddenly “gets it” and he falls to his knees. He sees something new in Jesus; he sees something new in himself. “Get away from me, Lord” he says, “I’m a sinful man.” In that moment, Simon Peter recognizes his own willfulness, perhaps his pigheadedness, his need to get his own way, his need to understand everything, his lack of trust, and finally he confesses his need for someone stronger and wiser and more godly.
Notice what Jesus says. “Don’t be afraid,” Simon. “Don’t be afraid; from now on you will be catching people.”
This word that Jesus uses meaning “to catch” people, is a strange word. It includes in it the prefix we know from Greek that means life, “zoe”—as in zoo and zoology and protozoa, with animals and living things. And so the word Jesus uses, (zogron) means not that you’re going to be catching people and that’s that. But you’re going to be catching people for life, you’re going to be catching people and adding to their life, making their life more, helping them move into the fullness of life.
It’s a word that is used to describe the process by which a teacher might “catch” a student, “catch him or her up” into a new way of thinking and living and being; a new and better way.
This calling to depth, to go deeper is an old one in the story of our faith. In our first reading, we hear how Isaiah gets a vision, in which he’s called to go and prophecy to the people of Israel. Isaiah is called to go deep and preach a dangerous message. He’s called to name the blindness, the self-centeredness, and the stupidity of the people. When Isaiah wonders if he’s heard this right, and asks God, “How long?” God makes it clear that God is fed up, “Until cities lie waste without inhabitants and houses without people, and the land is utterly desolate…”. It’s a devasting image that comes to Isaiah in that dream, and throughout his long ministry, he is called to preach words that convict and works that comfort, but through it all, he’s called to go deep. Keep his faith, and have no fear.
We’re called to go deep as a church and as individuals. If we have spent much time in church at all, we have probably heard of the “great commission,” those words in which Jesus charges his followers to go and make disciples of all the nations. Though we may interpret their urgency differently, though we may pursue different methods, most Christians agree that we are called to share our faith, to catch others up into the life of Christ, to offer baptism, to share Eucharist. In our day, the calling is even more complicated since I think we’re also called to fish among people who already think of themselves as Christians but seem not to know anything about the way Jesus actually lived and tells us to live. Remember that Jesus hung out with the outsiders and outcasts, the misfits, and the foreigners. He LOVED everyone, but his love of some offended others.
We might wonder what use is our word against so much, against the powerful and the rich? We might be tired and feel like we’ve done what we can.
But perhaps it is at just this point that we are called to stop and listen like Simon Peter. Jesus might be pointing to the deep and saying something like, “but have you tried over there?” “Go deeper and you’ll be blessed. Go deeper and the fear will vanish. Go deeper and you’ll be more caught up in the life of God and you’ll catch others up in this radical, unusual way of love. “Do not be afraid,” Jesus says. “Do not be afraid.”
At yesterday’s Absalom Jones celebration, The Rev. Mark Bozzuti-Jones preached a great sermon that encouraged us all to go deeper in our love for Jesus and through Christ, in our love for other people. He told an old preacher’s story about a man who noticed his little girl carrying a bucket of water from a lake back and forth, from the lake, to a cluster of small plants, where she poured the water. When the father asked his little girls what she was doing, she explained she was emptying the lake. The father laughed and said, “Don’t know you’ll never empty the lack by hauling single buckets of water?” But the little girl, undeterred, smiled at her father’s silliness, and said, “But I’m doing something. And there are a lot of plants that need water.”
I know we’ve mixed a lot of metaphors to go from catching fish, to emptying a lack, from catching people to watering plants, but I pray that, with the Holy Spirit’s, help, you get the message.
We’re called to go deeper into the love of Christ and not give up. We’re called to offer the life of Christ to all people—whether they are like us, or as unlike us as we can possibly imagine; whether they see things our way, or are actively working to silence us or put us out of the way. We have our calling. Like Isaiah, we can speak the truth and name what we see, even when it’s not popular. And like Simon, we can renew our love and trust of Christ to keep on being faithful, to keep on fishing and spreading the Good News, and live into those strong, promising words of Jesus, “Do not fear.”
In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Yesterday, our vestry, the elected board of the church, met for a planning retreat. We began our day with Holy Communion and heard the Gospel in which Jesus tells the parable of the sower who sows seed. Jesus goes on to talk about the various conditions that either allow for the seed to take root or inhibit growth. Later, reflecting on the Gospel, I asked each member of vestry to talk about what, at Holy Trinity has taken root in them? What has caused them to remain here, growing in faith?
It was moving to hear each person talk about very different conditions, experiences, and people who had contributed to their feeling of rootedness. Yesterday’s conversations, my own prayers about the role of the Church in these complicated days, and the readings for today have me thinking about the question: What helps us stay at church? All kinds of things might lead us to walk into a church, but what causes us to return? And even more, what moves us to return again and again, over time?
In seminary and beyond, I enjoyed reading the work Huston Smith, a scholar of world religions. Smith had spent much of his life travelling the world, learning other languages, studying with gurus and spiritual teachers, and praying in just about every way imaginable. In an interview with Bill Moyers, Smith was asked about his own religious practice. Moyers was surprised (as was I, and probably most people who watched the interview) to learn that Huston Smith, the world-renowned scholar, attended attends his local United Methodist church when he was at home. Moyers asked how this could possibly be the case. Smith quoted an Indian teacher who said simply, “If one wants to find water, one does better to dig one very deep hole than to dig many shallow ones.”
In other words, it’s good to be rooted. At some point, in some place, perhaps after a long search, perhaps after fits and starts, but eventually to choose to stay somewhere.
Please don’t misunderstand me: I’m not suggested that you should never visit other churches or other religious traditions, or that sometimes the Holy Spirit leads you to move somewhere else. Far from it. Visit them and learn from them, and then bring back things we can learn from, things we can do better. But also, come back and give thanks the many ways in which we experience God right here.
In today’s Gospel, Anna and Simeon recognize Jesus as the Messiah, God’s unique expression in our world, partly because they are THERE. They are present. They have chosen one place to return to again, and again. And so, through habits of showing up, of being open to God’s changing and saving grace, and being open for the ongoing revelation of God, they saw the new light in Jesus.
On this Feast of the Presentation of Our Lord Jesus Christ in the Temple, the Gospel doesn’t pay so much attention to the building. It focuses on the people. Jesus, the flesh and blood baby, now forty days old, is brought to the temple for a blessing. His mother Mary comes also for her traditional blessing. And then, the bulk of the Gospel involves the reaction and response of Holy Simeon and the Prophetess Anna.
Simeon has waited at the temple. He has received a vision that he will see the Messiah before he dies, and so he waits. He sees Jesus, he holds him, and then Simeon gives thanks to God for bringing such life and light into the world. Because of this little baby, because of the coming of the Messiah, there will be peace and glory and salvation, salvation for all.
Anna, too, is in the temple, night and day, fasting and praying. With her trained spiritual eye she too sees Jesus and recognizes him. She too gives thanks to God and tells others that Jesus is the way to salvation.
Simeon and Anna are people whose faith outshines the temple itself. They know to look for God in the flesh, and because of this, they recognize Christ when he comes among them.
By showing up, by being open to God’s changing and saving grace, and by being open for the ongoing revelation of God.
They show up. In what way might God be asking you to commit more deeply to the place that nurtures you spiritually? What might that look like?
Anna and Simeon fast and repent, which is to say, they admit they don’t have all the answers and that, left on their own, they will only fall into increasing despair at the condition of the world around them. But by fasting and penitence, by being open to God’s changing grace, they age but grow younger. They become wise, but more open to new thoughts. They slowly move beyond annoying sins and habits that threaten to do them in. What is God calling you to turn over or let go of?
And finally, Anna and Simeon know what to look for in God’s ongoing revelation. Do you need to sharpen your spiritual vision in some way? By reading, by studying, by developing new habits of prayer? How might God be calling you to see more clearly so that you’ll notice God’s presence, when he’s in front of you?
The epistle reading today, from the Letter to the Hebrews, reminds us “[Christ] did not come to help angels, but the descendants of Abraham.” Jesus was made human in every respect, so that he might offer all of his humanity to the service of God, clearing the way for us to reach God. The lesson concludes with those beautiful words of hope, “Because he himself was tested by what he suffered, he is able to help those who are being tested.”
Without faith in the light, we’re doomed to live in darkness, to be overwhelmed by the political currents of our country and many countries, to be confounded by changes in climate and natural disasters, and to be terrified of every new, strange threat to our health. Faith in Jesus Christ offers us a way into the light.
In presenting his own body in the temple, Jesus leads us to present our bodies as well. We present all that we are to God, that he might consecrate us and purify us and help us to live more faithfully. In the Presentation, we are also reminded of that choice that comes for us every time we enter the temple: do we look for God with the angels, or do we look for God in the broken-but-healing lives all around us? And finally, the candles we see on this day and every day remind us that here is the source of our light, that even on the darkest of days, God comes to us in this place, in sacrament, in prayer and in the outstretched hand of Christian community.
On this Candlemas, may the light of Christ be rekindled in our hearts that we may shine forth with his love in the world. In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
The Annual Meeting of the parish was on January 26, 2025. As is custom, the Rector framed his annual report around the Gospel and gave a spoken version of the report as the sermon. What follows is the full, written report.
The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.” Luke 4:18-19
The people who hear Jesus are rattled by his words. They assume he’s referring to himself and they see him as arrogant, presumptuous, and even blasphemous. They get so angry that they drive him out of the temple and even try to throw him off a cliff.
And yet, those who get so angry at Jesus are missing the point of what he’s saying. When he says, “Today, this scripture has been fulfilled,” Jesus is including himself as a PART of that fulfillment, but he’s also including all the other people in the synagogue, and beyond. The Spirit wants to move through everyone, to animate every part of the Body, as our reading from Corinthians says.
As I meditate on this Gospel and our year together in 2024, I can think of many ways in which the Spirit of the Lord has been upon us, and this scripture has been, and is being fulfilled.
A major way in which we perceive the Spirit of the Lord is through our worship. Thanks to Adam Koch and our choir, we’ve had amazing music on Sunday mornings, and thanks to Calvyn du Toit and Joe Aylett-Bullock, we’ve had fantastic music on Sunday nights.
The Choir sings on Christmas Eve.
Volunteers help us maintain all the things we use in worship—the altar linens, the candles, the Communion vessels, and wafers. For some time, Alden Prouty has been the head of our Altar Guild but has decided to step down with the close of 2024. Thank you, Alden, for all you have done, and thank you, Susan Valdes-Dapena, for taking up the responsibility.
I think we also share something of the Spirit of the Lord by opening our garden to the community. Thanks to Franny Eberhart and Nancy Ploeger for their work in the garden, and an enormous thanks to Helen Palmer, who for decades gave love and beauty to our garden, before moving to be close to family in September. Look for volunteer days in the garden in future, as we seek additional help.
Jesus says that we are all called to bring good news to the poor and release to the captives. This refers both to the materially poor and spiritually poor. In the material category, Holy Trinity Neighborhood Center continues to be our more direct way of helping the poor and the hungry. But it also has become one of our leading ways of inviting new people into the Holy Trinity community. Some of them become church members and others remain good friends of the parish. One volunteer, Tess Guérin, is a student from the Lycée Français (the French School of NY) was inspired by her volunteer experiences with HTNC to a cookbook for her senior project. The book, Lycée’s Foodies Cookbook: Or How Food Brings People Together includes an introduction and a recipe by Joe Lipuma. The proceeds from the sale of the book will be donated to HTNC. Continued thanks to our President David Liston, Joe Lipuma, who coordinates the Saturday Supper, and Erlinda Brent, who helps Joe order and inventory supplies. As always, our Thanksgiving Dinner program was a success due to the efforts of Joe, Lydia Colón, Suzanne Julig, and many others. A special thanks goes to Christine de Toit, who won another grant for HTNC from the World Gold Council. With that money, we’ll begin basement kitchen renovations next month.
The HTNC Saturday Supper
Work to proclaim release of the captive has continued by several members of Holy Trinity, especially with efforts by Yvonne O’Neal, Christina Dhanuja, and Victoria Rollins to raise awareness and put an end to human trafficking and violence against women.
Bringing good news to the poor also has to do with our own stewardship and witness, as we try to live within our means, while helping others. We continue to host programs of Health Advocates for Older People without charge, and with the eight 12-step recovery meetings we host each week, we only ask for a donation, never setting an expected rent for these groups.
We’ve tried to boost the spiritually poor through book studies and classes, meditation and pilgrimage. Good news is shared through the many in our parish who are involved in Cursillo Renewal Weekends and ongoing spiritual fellowship. And I’m especially grateful to Simone Crockett for her leadership in Sunday morning meditation, and to all who have helped lead education for adults or for children. We continue to be challenged with ministry with families and children, but we’ll keep praying about it and keep being open to ideas and new energy.
An Adult Education Program
Jesus says that we’re called to help bring recovery of sight to the blind. We’ve experienced this through ministries of healing and support, as well as through the kind of vision shown through leadership.
Rev. Margie Tuttle began meeting and praying with a small group of people about restoring Prayers for Healing as a regular part of our Sunday worship. Prayers began in October and have continued to be offered on the Second Sunday of each month.
Trinity Cares is another way in which healing happens in our community. Trinity Cares relies on volunteers to help with things like providing an escort after a doctor’s test or procedure, light grocery shopping, checking on a pet, or help connecting with other resources. Patsy Weille has faithfully served as our coordinator, but this year, has asked Mary Jane Gocher to take over as coordinator. Patsy, we are grateful to you and thank you. Mary Jane, we thank you and are eager to help you in any way.
Restoring sight and helping with vision is something our parish leaders have done in the past year. Our Vestry is filled with good people who participate at every level and in every ministry of the parish. Hal Barth, Joe Lipuma and Steve Knight completed their current terms on Vestry. Thanks to each of you for all you have contributed. Thanks to Jeanne Blazina, and Liz Poole who are running for a second term, and to Christopher Abelt, Joe Aylett-Bullock, Paul Chernick, Lydia Colon, Amy Cover, Christina Dhanuja, Jean Geater, Marlin Mattson, and Fabio Mejia who continue on Vestry.
Vestry Members Planning
Also helping to keep our vision in focus is the Budget & Finance Committee, with members Christine du Toit, Chris Abelt, Jeanne Blazina, Jean Geater, Carol Haley, and Kate Hornstein. Our investment committee also keeps careful watch, and is made up of Christine du Toit, Jean Geater, Franny Eberhart, Joe Lipuma, and Tony Milbank.
Helping me keep my spiritual vision sharp and focused are the colleagues I’m privileged to work with: assisting priests Margie Tuttle and Doug Ousley both volunteer their time, as well as our Deacon Pam Tang, who is not paid. I’m grateful for their faithfulness and their friendship. The Episcopal Church celebrated the 50th Anniversary of the Ordination of Women in 2024, and Holy Trinity gave thanks for gifts ordained women have shared and continue to share with us.
Copper Cross from Roof
Holy Trinity is able to provide ministry because of the small but mighty staff we have: Erlinda Brent, our parish secretary, and Jose Cornier and Ozell Ryant, our sextons. With the massive contribution of our volunteer treasurer Christine du Toit, we employ a one-day-a-week bookkeeper, Mike Doherty, who helps us keep things in order. Lu Paone, who works as a building consultant, continues to help us with problems in the building, with emergencies, and with finding good, reliable people for repair.
In 2024, we had new challenges with our building. On February 6, a 4’ tall copper cross with a cement base fell from the top of the western roof into the playground. We immediately arranged for a thorough inspection and for whatever remedial and repair work could be done on the spot. We have also installed a protective sidewalk cover while we get help from an architect to map out a specific plan of action. As we were making progress with that, several slate roof tiles fell from the Mission House roof, adjusting our priorities, yet again. We have installed another sidewalk shed and continue to get help from engineers and architects. The challenging aspects of all of this are obvious—we will need to do careful, expensive repairs. The good news is that we have some funds in a reserved roof fund, we have good leads on architects who can help us, and we have good support in the new Diocesan Director of Property Services and the Bishop of New York.
John with brides Michelle and Ally
Jesus used Isaiah’s words to say that he had come to proclaim freedom and the Lord’s favor to those who were oppressed, or kept down. But again, Jesus is talking to all of us, extending that gift and charge to us, as well. Certainly, around the last weekend in June, we do our best to proclaim God’s freeing love to all people—especially LGBTQ+ people. I continued to give thanks that, not just in June, but throughout the year, people of all kinds, all traditions, experiences and backgrounds find welcome among us. Especially in the days ahead, with new governmental efforts to restrict and discriminate, our work in proclaiming freedom and welcome will continue.
In 2024, we celebrated not only a sense of “the Lord’s favor” currently, but we gave thanks for that favor for last 125 years. Enormous thanks to Alden Prouty for chairing our anniversary activities. We tried to keep things reasonable and modest, but also fun and inclusive. Barbara Whitney and Monica Foote have been tireless in their promotion of the Anniversary stained-glass window ornament, and already have recovered our expense. A Choral Evensong, a day of service, a cabaret and silent auction, and a big worship service in May with the Bishop of New York helped us give thanks for 125 years and enter our 126th with faith and hope.
The Altar party for our Anniversary Sunday with Bishop Heyd & Bishop St. John
As with any anniversary or celebration, even as we celebrated our 125th, we were mindful of those who have died, but celebrate with us in the Communion of Saints. In 2024, we mourned the loss of members Kit Bradshaw, Susan Doesschate, Jane Fulton, Sylvia Griffiths, Addie Pirinea, and Nancy Schacht. We also mourned with friends of our parish who died, Gilles Guillon, John Henihan, and James Meade.
Over the past few months, many of you have shared with me your fears, worries, and anxieties about the future of our nation and our world. Disappointment in institutions, dismay at leaders, and unsettling weather and climate cycles can take their toll. But we are rooted in our faith. We have a story to tell. We have experience to draw upon. And we have each other to lean on when we feel weak or uncertain.
With one another, with those the Spirit sends to join us, and with the Risen Christ among us, may we continue to feel the Spirit moving, and know the scriptures to be continually fulfilled in our world.
There’s a wonderful exhibition at the Metropolitan Museum that lasts for one more week. It’s called Siena: The Rise of Painting, 1300–1350, and it looks at various ways in which four artists changed the path of painting. Moving from a kind of icon-inspired, set pattern of portraying Biblical scenes, these artists began to experiment, express themselves, and suggest psychological and emotional interaction between characters. Even though the paintings are 700 years old, some of the figures seem alive.
My favorite of the paintings is at the very end of the exhibition. It serves as a kind of exclamation point on the ways in which these painters moved out of static, almost iconographic representation, to something much more active. Painted by Simone Martini in 1342, Martini refers to the story in Luke 2:41-51, “The Finding of Jesus in the Temple.” Luke tells us that every year, Jesus and his parents would visit the temple in Jerusalem. But when Jesus was 12 years old, they visited the temple with a crowd of other pilgrims, but after a day or so of assuming Jesus was with some other relatives, Mary and Joseph had to go back to Jerusalem to find that Jesus had stayed behind and was talking with the temple teachers.
The Simone Martini painting shows no real background—no the temple, teachers, or crowd, but just the three main characters. We see Mary, looking worried and perturbed. Joseph appears to have just pointed out how worried Jesus has made his mother, and Joseph seems to be asking for an explanation. And then at the far right, we see the adolescent Jesus. He stands there with arms crossed, holding a holy book, but with a pout or smirk on his face, looking completely human, just like an ornery teenager who thinks his parents are totally overreacting.
I love this image showing the human side of Jesus, the side that, at 12 years old, can feel like his parents completely misunderstand him. It’s the same very human Jesus who, as a young adult in today’s Gospel, can seem to get frustrated with his mother. At the wedding at Cana, Mary sees a problem. She points it out to Jesus, to do something. “They have no wine.” But Jesus seems to snap at, “Woman, what concern is that to you and to me? My hour has not yet come.” Its as though Jesus is saying, “Mother,” not now.
Mary asks. And then she waits, but I think she waits with expectation, with hope. Jesus eventually responds. Jesus acts, and there’s abundance—answered prayer, Jesus’s first sign or miracle.
The whole purpose of the Incarnation, God’s coming into the world in human form, what we celebrate at Christmas, reminds us of this dual nature of Christ—that Jesus is fully human AND divine. The human qualities remind us that Jesus is like us in some ways. He feels pain. He gets annoyed. He doesn’t always say exactly the right thing. He is approachable. We can have a relationship with him. We can talk to him and listen to him, which is to say, we can pray.
The Gospel of John stands out as a reminder of God’s nearness and willingness to act in our world, but all of the scriptures today show us how the life of faith gives us plenty to do. In the face of natural disasters, in the face of cultural and societal shifts, when we’re worried, or afraid, or not sure what to do, we are encouraged to pray, to wait wit expectation, and expect abundance from God.
In our first reading, the prophet Isaiah promises to restore and vindicate God’s people. Just as Isaiah sought God’s intervention on behalf of Jerusalem, we are called to fervently pray and seek the Lord’s help in all circumstances.
In our second reading, Paul speaks of spiritual gifts and the diversity within the body of Christ in his Letter to the Corinthians. He emphasizes that the same Spirit gives different gifts to believers for the common good. This passage reminds us of the importance of waiting on the Lord. Paul writes, “There are different kinds of gifts, but the same Spirit distributes them” (1 Corinthians 12:4). We are reminded that each of us has been uniquely gifted by God, and the task is for us to wait on God’s timing in using those gifts for God’s glory.
Looking again at the Gospel of John, we’re brought to the wedding in Cana where Jesus performs his first public miracle by turning water into wine. This passage is full of Jesus’ abundance and provision. The host of the banquet marvels at the quality of the wine, recognizing the abundance and excellence provided by Jesus. This miracle teaches us to expect abundance from the Lord. Just as Jesus provided lavishly at the wedding feast, he is able to abundantly provide for our needs and desires.
And so, we have these three key points that emerge from the Scriptures:
First, we’re invited to pray. Not just sit in a problem. Not just assume we have to fix it ourselves and have no one to turn to. We are called to emulate Isaiah’s persistence in prayer, lifting our concerns and desires to the Lord with faith and trust. Just as Isaiah did not remain silent in seeking God’s intervention, we too should come before the Lord in prayer, knowing that God hears and answers our cries.
Second, we have to wait but wait with expectation and with hope. Like the Corinthians, we are reminded to wait on God’s timing. God has given each of us unique gifts and purposes, and we must trust in His perfect timing for their fulfillment.
Tomorrow, there is, of course the inauguration, and there’s whatever drama unfolds around the TikTok application. But it’s also the day for remembering Martin Luther King, Jr. and for allowing his life to inspire and challenge us, maybe to wake us up, and get us going.
Among the many writings and recordings of King, I’ve been drawn to a draft of a work he wrote n 1962 or 1963. He preached sermons from it and probably meant to compile a book. But in this sermon, Martin Luther King, Jr. talks about when dreams are shattered. He outlines the various responses we tend to have when we’re disappointed, when things don’t work out, or when we feel like a dream has been shattered. King notices that some people simply turn to bitterness and resentment, which doesn’t get them very far. Others withdraw. Some resort to fatalism, as if everything is foreordained and inescapable.
King then, asks,
“What, then, is the answer? We must accept our unwanted and unfortunate circumstances and yet cling to a radiant hope. The answer lies in developing the capacity to accept the finite disappointment and yet cling to the infinite hope.” (Draft of Chapter X, “Shattered Dreams”, 1962-1963, King Institute, Stanford U.)
Acceptance with hope. Acceptance with faith. Acceptance with expectation.
And that leads us to the third point, to expect, to get ready, to prepare and stay awake. The miracle at the wedding in Cana teaches us to expect abundance from our Lord. Jesus’ provision is rich and plentiful, surpassing our expectations. We are encouraged to trust in his abundance and to believe that God will always take care of us, and always work for good in the long run.
We can continue to learn from Martin Luther King Jr., who rooted his life of social and political action with an ongoing relationship with Jesus—a Jesus who is fully human and fully divine. As we seek faith, strength, and direction for the coming days, may we draw closer to Jesus Christ through prayer, waiting with hope, and expecting abundance.
In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Christians have a complicated relationship with water. At the beginning of the creation story in Genesis, the watery void is darkness and chaos, but God’s Word brings light and life. In our day, the precariousness of water is hard to deny. We pray for more water in California. Our hearts break for those affected by the fires in Los Angeles. We pray for those who have lost their lives, their loved ones, their homes and possessions, their businesses, and their life as they knew it. Would that God rain down a steady, calm, beautiful rain to put out all the fires, to begin to bring healing, and to restore a balance in creation.
But at the same time, just days ago, too much water caused havoc and disaster in North Carolina Tennessee, and Georgia; and caused huge calamity in Valencia, Spain. There, the waters came too fast and too strong, overpowering everything in their path.
In our first reading, Isaiah hears God tell the people Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you.
But how are the people of St. Mark’s Church, Altadena, where the church burned to the ground, hearing these words today? How are the people of All Souls, Asheville, who are worshipping in another church because theirs is ruined by water, hearing these scriptures?
Well, we can pray that they would especially hear the first part of God’s promise, that no matter what, God is with them, and we can pray that those in need would also feel the strength of our prayers and support.
Water plays an equally precarious role in our spiritual lives. On one hand, it challenges. Saint Paul understands baptism as dying and rising again. He says, “We were buried therefore with him by baptism into death, so that as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might walk in newness of life. For if we have been united with him in a death like his, we shall certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his.” (Romans 6). This means that a life of faith will not always be easy. We don’t go from life to death and to new life without some effect, and at the very least, we will be getting wet. The challenges will come to us—whether they come through relationships, political changes, health crises, or disasters of nature, but the water of baptism strengthens us.
The water of baptism, once we receive it, replenishes itself within us, so that we can offer spiritual water, living water, to others. our baptism carries with it the command as well as the courtesy of offering water to others. At Holy Trinity we literally offer water at Saturday dinners. We offer water at receptions and coffee hours and whenever we welcome people. Especially in partnership with the wider Church, we offer water ever people thirst, in hospitals and soup kitchens; in prisons and parks; and in streets and schools.
But we also offer water spiritually, whenever and wherever we introduce others to Christ. We offer water when we simply help people learn that there IS a source of water, that there is a God of love, and that there is a God of forgiveness and compassion.
Jesus received water from John the Baptist. Jesus received water from the Samaritan woman. And he makes it clear that when we offer water to others in his name; it is as good as offering it to the Lord himself. As the heavens open in Luke’s Gospel, the Holy Spirit descends and the voice of God is heard, it must have seemed at first like a storm, like a great thunderstorm threatening rain and water. The heavens opened and water was given, but it came with a blessings.
Just as Jesus was baptized, we are baptized and we are sent into the world baptizing in the name of the Holy Trinity. Our baptism is where we are initially commissioned, and we live into that baptism, we live out that commission for the rest of our lives.
Yesterday, in Los Angeles, at St. John’s Cathedral, four people were ordained to the priesthood. A little like the ordinations in our diocese soon after 9/11, this service was a powerful gathering of God’s people—wounded and wondering, beaten down but unbroken—and it gave witness to the power of our faith. Michael Mischler was one of those ordained, and he works at St. Mark’s Church, Altadena, which was completed burned by the fires last week. Some 40 parishioners from St. Marks attended the service to support Mark. Since the congregation’s processional banner perished in the fire, those processing to represent the church had nothing to carry. And so, the children of the church made a colorful poster that they mounted to a processional pole. It said simply St. Mark’s Altadena, and included the symbol of St. Mark—the lion—strong, resourceful, and valiant.
This is the power of baptismal water—it renews. It enlivens. Even in the midst of death, it raises up. Even when they feel like they have no living water to offer, the Holy Spirit provides, and there’s water to share.
“Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine.” “You are my Child, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”
The Prayer Book reminds us that “Holy Baptism is the sacrament by which God adopts us as his children and makes us members of Christ’s Body, the Church, and inheritors of the kingdom of God.” (The Catechism, BCP page 858).
On this feast we give thank for the baptism of Our Lord Jesus Christ, for his becoming like us that we might become more like him. And we give thanks for our own baptism, even as we look for more opportunities to live out our baptism and share the living water with others.
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
John of the Cross has poem in which he mediates on the Gospel we just heard. The poem is really an extended meditation on the Incarnation—what it means that God has come among us and God continues to move within us and around us as God-in-relationship, or as we say in shorthand, God as Holy Trinity.
John wrote in 17th century Spanish and the Bible he knew best was in Latin, so there is a lot of room for translation of his words.
The Latin phrase for the beginning of today’s Gospel is straightforward,
In principio erat Verbum, et Verbum erat apud Deum, et Deus erat Verbum.
Typically this translates to what we heard this morning, “In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God and the Word was God.
But instead of translating the Latin Verbum as palabra, Spanish for “word,” John includes some wiggle room, he writes, En el principio moraba el Verbo, y en Dios vivía …
My favorite English translation of John’s poem keeps this nuance and puts John’s poem like this:
In the beginning resided the Verb, and it lived in God, in whom it possessed its infinite happiness.
God was the Verb itself, the beginning was spoken. It lived in the beginning and it had no beginning.
It was the beginning itself; That is why it lacked it; The Verb is called Son, born from the beginning.
In the beginning resided the Verb, and it lived in God, in whom it possessed its infinite happiness.
I love John’s poem version of the Gospel of John because of its movement, its energy, and its life.
The Gospel is beautiful and central to the hearing of the Christmas message. But it’s easy to hear it passively. The Word WAS, Was, Is, …. My role is to receive.
And yet, we know from the live of Jesus that to receive without responding is to live without faith. The Letter to the Hebrews reminds us that faith is “the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things unseen.” But faith is what moves us, it’s what animates us. Faith is what builds bridges and makes peace. Faith feeds and clothes and comforts.
The Word is a verb, and that Verb lives in us and moves us out of ourselves and into the world.
We see the activity of God’s Word at the beginning of time. Our Biblical account of creation happens by a word. In Genesis we read, “The earth was without form and void, and darkness was upon the face of the deep; and the Spirit of God was moving over the face of the waters. And God said, God said, “Let there be light.” And there was light. God said, Let there be this, and let there be that, and after each thing was created, God spoke a single word again: “Good,” God said, “It’s all very, very good.” The Word was busy, shaping and making and proclaiming and blessing.
When John speaks of the “Word,” the Greek term he uses is Logos, and Logos meant more than just a word, more even than all words put together. Way back in Greek philosophy, in the 3rd century BC, Heraclitus said that the Logos “governs all things.” And yet, the Logos is also present in the everyday. Later, the Stoics took up the idea of the Logos and used it to mean “the principle that orders the universe.” So when John uses Logos, or Word, he’s using a term that would have worked as a kind of hyperlink, culturally. To say that the Word was with God and the Word was God, and then to say that this Word, this ordering principle of the universe is completely summed up in Jesus of Nazareth, John is pulling together a lot of different ways of understanding the world.
The Word is a Verb when we allow Christ to be born in our lives. And that frees our bodies and loosens our tongues to be faithful. So often our politicians and religious leaders offer words, but no actions. As we end one year and begin another, it might be helpful for us to pray about the ways in which we do the same thing.
Are there ways in which we have offered words, but not acted in any way to follow up, or make the words come alive? Are there words we’ve used, or thought, or prayed, or framed our lives with that have been mostly nouns, but could accomplish so much more if they were verbs?
The old prayers used in Salisbury, England give shape to words we might use, and so we can pray
God be in our hearts, and in our reaching; God be in our hands and in our building, God be in our feet and in our moving, God be in our heads, and in our understanding; God be our my eyes, and in our looking; God be in our mouths and in our speaking and in our acting. Amen.
