Month: November 2012

A Sermon for Christ the King Sunday

Year B – November 25, 2012

 David H. Knight, Priest Associate

In the Name of God who is Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

“ ‘I am the Alpha and the Omega,’ says the Lord God, who is and who was and who is to come, the Almighty.” Revelation 1:8

On this Sunday which is now called Christ the King Sunday, these words from the Book of Revelation place God’s sovereignty and the reign of Christ at the very center of our attention; “Alpha and Omega,”  the beginning and the end, “who is and who was and who is to come, the Almighty.”  There are for most of us those biblical passages that somehow, and for some reason, bring back memories and associations. Whenever I hear, for example, this passage referring to the Alpha and the Omega, I think of Jeannie’s grandmother, Jean Newbourg Littleton, a magnificent Philadelphia lady, a lady with incredible grace and dignity, a lady who was also known for speaking her mind directly and to the point.  It was in the early spring of 1977.  Jeannie and I had been married for six and a half years and at that point had a young family of three active little boys ages 5 and a half, 4 and a half, and one and a half.  It was March or so as I recall, and the occasion had now presented itself for us to announce to our families that yet another little Knight was on the way and would be arriving in early October.  It was reported through the family grapevine that Jeannie’s grandmother, upon hearing the announcement, gave her response to the happy news. It was swift and direct:  “Well, I certainly hope they name it Omega!,”  she opined.  If the truth be known, however, it is that Grandma was herself a great one to talk.  She and Pop had raised four fine children who also happened to be only six years apart.  In a manner of speaking, we did name our fourth son “Omega” as he would complete our family, yet never do I encounter the passage in scripture about Alpha and Omega that I don’t think of Grandma, bless her heart.

 The message of this Sunday is about the courage to be faithful.  Years ago, back when I was alive, I remember—and you may remember as well—this Sunday was called the Sunday next before Advent as next Sunday will begin a new Church year.  For us on these shores, the concept of kingship is one with which it is hard to identify.  I suspect that the image of Christ as King may seem for us to be somewhat remote.  The word “sovereignty” normally refers to the political authority over subjects as in kings and queens over their subjects, yet in a broader sense it can also describe the fact that there are those things that have sovereignty over our lives.  There are those influences that have power over us.  They become the guiding forces in the way we live. They can either empower us or can hold us captive. In today’s Gospel, Pilate asks Jesus, “Are you the King of the Jews?”  But is that really his question?  You see, Pilate is in a bind.  Does he himself actually think that Jesus is an insurrectionist, or is he trying to find a way to placate the political leaders by finding a way to condemn Jesus because that’s what they wanted?  Is Pilate free to act on what he knows to be the truth about Jesus regardless of the cost to him, or is he trapped? Is he forced to hide his own convictions in order to keep his job? Trapped, it appears that Pilate decided to hide his true convictions.  He chose not to raise honest questions. He kept his fears and his thoughts to himself so as not to confront the matter.

 This Sunday’s message is about the courage to be faithful to the sovereignty of Jesus Christ in our lives and in the life of the church.  On this Sunday of Christ the King, the Church is faced once again with two questions in particular; “Who is Jesus Christ, and what does his sovereignty over the church that bears his name mean to us?” and,  “What does the Church look like when it is faithful to what Christ is calling it to be?”   The spirit of today’s readings speaks to how fearful; even trapped we might be if we are to take this question seriously to heart. Dr. Pete Peery, Pastor of First Presbyterian Church in Asheville, North Carolina, has this to say about this Christ the King Sunday.  He writes, “…evidence of this captivity is present in the pews of many congregations.  In mainline churches, most members have every creature comfort imaginable, including houses, cars, and freedom to travel on expensive vacations. Yet dare these members be real at work or in public life? Dare they reveal who they are, what they truly believe, how they actually perceive things? Or, are they trapped by their fear of losing their position and with it the continuing path of upward mobility on which they bank to pay the mortgage, the car payments, and the credit card debt? Must they hide themselves, doing and saying things they do not want to do or say in order to ‘stay in control?”

 Dr. Peery goes on. He speaks about the captivity experienced by the church as he writes, “On this Sunday the Church proclaims Christ the King. The Church announces that it bows only to Jesus the Christ.  The church declares that it does not give allegiance to any other person, principality, or power claiming to be sovereign. Yet will the church live out its profession? Forever fearful in this increasingly post-Christian era of losing members and thus losing influence in the community, does the church temper its message and its mission in a desperate effort to maintain its position?” Profound questions these are as we contemplate not only today’s readings, but as we contemplate who Jesus Christ is—in our own lives, and in the church of which you and I are a part that bears his name.

 How often are there matters of justice that confront each of us and we are hesitant to say what we really think in fear of the consequences. How often is the church confronted by matters of justice as was Jesus himself, yet at times throughout history it has remained silent for fear of rocking the boat?  We discover that any family system or any institution, including the church, can find itself stepping oh so carefully around the elephant in its midst. We find that any gathering of people can ignore the conventional wisdom that tells us of a very simple truth.  It is that if something becomes unmentionable in our lives or in the life of the church, it simply becomes unmanageable.  The blessing of it all is, however, that you and I live in the lap of God’s love. It is that love that empowers us to be courageous even when it is risky to be courageous.  Jesus offered us nothing less even as it led him to the cross.

 This Sunday’s message builds upon last Sunday’s readings and what Eleanor said in her sermon bears underlining and repeating.  She spoke of how for the Israelites the temple was an outward and visible symbol of the desire of the leaders and people to put God first.  It became the center of devotion and worship for the Jewish people for the next 500 years.  Jesus then, however, saw the temple as having become like a fig tree that gives every appearance of health yet bears no fruit.  He no longer saw the temple as the house of prayer that it was intended to be. He predicted its demise but that it would be rebuilt.  But what kind of temple would it be?  Her message of last Sunday leads us into today’s message. Jesus’ vision was that it would be a temple that once again would put God first and that its people would display the courage to follow God’s commandments to seek justice and to spread God’s love to a broken world, that it would seek the truth, come whence it may, cost what it might.

 Like so many, I have long been an admirer of Winston Churchill, his courage and some of the brilliant things he said at crucial moments in time and on a wide range of matters. Some were witty and demonstrated his humor, some were wise.  All were profound. As you may recall, for example, and this has nothing to do with our subject this morning, Lady Astor once said to him, “Winston, if you were my husband, I would poison your tea.” Churchill replied, “Nancy, if you were my wife, I would drink it.” He once said, “A fanatic is one who can’t change his mind, and won’t change the subject.”  He also once said, “You have enemies? Good. That means you’ve stood for something, sometime in your life.” But then, about courage he said—and this one relates to what this Sunday is about—“Courage is what it takes to stand up and speak;” though he also added, “courage is also what it takes to sit down and listen.” When you and I listen to the words in scripture that speak the truth of who Jesus is and to what it is he is calling us to do, we come to realize that there will be those times that call for courage on our part, individual courage, and courage as the church, the community of the faithful, courage to speak out and to do the next right thing.  God, who is the Alpha and the Omega, who was and is and is to come, the Almighty, calls us to response.  The question remains and is with us daily, “What is my life like when I strive to be the person Jesus calls me to be?”  In like manner, “What does the church look like when it has the courage to stand up and follow in the path of what it means to be the Church that bears his name?  For everyone who belongs to the truth listens to his voice.   As you and I strive to be faithful to Christ who is Lord of the Church and Lord of our lives, there is that wonderful prayer in our Prayer Book that can serve as a guide, one in which we pray,

 O God, by whom the meek are guided in judgment, and light riseth up in darkness for the godly: Grant us, in all our doubts and uncertainties, the grace to ask what thou wouldest have us to do, that the Spirit of wisdom may save us from all false choices, and that in thy light we may see light, and in thy straight path may not stumble; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. BCP, p.832

A Sermon for the Twenty-fifth Sunday after Pentecost

Proper 28 – Year B – 18 November 2012

Eleanor Lee Wellford, Associate Rector

As Jesus came out of the temple, one of his disciples said to him, “Look, Teacher, what large stones and what large buildings!” Then Jesus asked him, “Do you see these great buildings? Not one stone will be left here upon another; all will be thrown down.”

When he was sitting on the Mount of Olives opposite the temple, Peter, James, John, and Andrew asked him privately, “Tell us, when will this be, and what will be the sign that all these things are about to be accomplished?” Then Jesus began to say to them, “Beware that no one leads you astray. Many will come in my name and say, `I am he!’ and they will lead many astray. When you hear of wars and rumors of wars, do not be alarmed; this must take place, but the end is still to come. For nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom; there will be earthquakes in various places; there will be famines. This is but the beginning of the birthpangs.”

                                                                                                                                    -Mark 13:1-8

For some reason, we are a culture that loves symbols – symbols of power and might, symbols of prestige and accomplishment, symbols of remembrance, religious symbols, even symbols of love.  But what happens when the symbol disappears?  Does the underlying reason for its existence disappear, too? 

About 15 years ago, my mother lost one of her rings.  It was her mother’s, or my grandmother’s wedding band and my mother loved it and wore it constantly.  It had apparently slipped off her finger while she was gardening.  She called the whole family together to help her look for that ring which finally did make a reappearance – but quite by accident several years later.  My mother grieved over the loss of that ring almost as much as she did when her mother died.  The ring itself was a simple gold band but it represented a strong connection that she felt to her mother that seemed to have become broken when the ring was lost. 

About 7 years ago I did an internship at a church here in town.  As you might imagine, I paid close attention to what the rector did there as I was forming my own sense of what it means to be a priest.  One thing that struck me as curious was that he would always kiss his stole before he put it over his vestments.  It seemed too personal a gesture for me to question him about what he was doing, but when I think back on it, I realize that the stole represented a strong connection to something deep and meaningful to him.  Without that symbol, would his idea of what it means to be a priest be different?

 On September 11, 2001, the twin towers of the World Trade Center collapsed as a result of a terrorist attack.  As we remember all too well, it was shocking and stunning to our entire country not only that we would be attacked so brutally, but that so many innocent lives were lost.  Whether we realized it then or not, those buildings were symbols – symbols of everything that terrorist organizations resented about America.  The terrorists must have thought that destroying those symbols would destroy our collective spirit – but how incredibly wrong they were.

 In this morning’s gospel reading, we heard Jesus warning his disciples about the awful things that might take place during their life time, one of which was the destruction of the Temple.  As the disciples heard this, they must have looked around in disbelief that such a magnificent structure and everything it symbolized to them could be destroyed.

  Why would Jesus have said such a thing?  Well, it was actually apocalyptic, a glimpse of the end times and similar to what is found in the entire book of Revelation.  It contains predictions of political unrest, natural disasters, and persecutions that Jews and early Christians believed would usher in the kingdom of God.  It describes the end of one age and the beginning of a new one.     Contained within all apocalyptic predictions, however, are seeds of hope – although they may be hard to find.  And these seeds are most often the only things left when the symbol itself is destroyed.  

It took 7 years to build the first temple in Jerusalem and it happened during the time that Solomon was king.  The temple was literally an attachment to Solomon’s palace and was understood to be a royal chapel with the king serving as high priest. In the minds of the Israelites it was a place where the traditions of God’s saving grace were remembered and celebrated.  It was also thought of as God’s dwelling place where God’s presence was mediated through priest and sacrifice. (A Theological Introduction to the Old Testament, Birch, Brueggemann, Fretheim and Peterson, Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1999, 248-249).

  That first temple survived for 500 years but then was destroyed when the Babylonians overran Jerusalem and sent the Israelites into exile.  Their overriding fear was that If God’s dwelling place was destroyed, where would God be, then?  They literally had to rethink what the Temple symbolized for them; and unfortunately, they had plenty of time to do that.  Once the Israelites returned to Jerusalem, the temple was rebuilt and a renaissance of worship took place in which the Temple was thought of more as a house a prayer, than a connection to the royal seat of power.  The rebuilding was an expression of those seeds of hope that the Israelites still felt, despite what they believed to be God’s judgment against them in letting Jerusalem fall and in the disruption and despair of their subsequent exile. 

The temple was an outward and visible symbol of the desire of the leaders and people to put God first.  It became the center of devotion and worship for the Jewish people for the next 500 years.  And that brings us to the time when Jesus lived.

In his day, Jesus saw the temple as having become corrupt and he compared it to a fig tree that gives every appearance of health but yet bears no fruit (Mark 11:12-14, 20-21).  He no longer saw the temple as the house of prayer that it was intended to be when it was rebuilt.  It had become a house of slaughtered animals and a mecca for merchants.  He predicted its demise which seemed unbelievable to all who heard him; but what was even more unbelievable was that he predicted it would be rebuilt without the use of human hands – without bricks and mortar.  What kind of temple would that be?  (Mark 14:58). 

My guess is that those who heard Jesus had no more understanding of what he meant than our own St. Mary’s children did when 6 or so years ago our then Suffragan Bishop, Bishop Jones spoke to them.  He very innocently asked the children gathered around him where St. Mary’s church was.       Thinking literally, as children do, they didn’t know how to answer him.  They saw him standing right in the middle of our beautiful worship space and couldn’t imagine that he didn’t know where he was – as if he was somehow lost and asking them, the children, for directions.  So, Bishop Jones raised his hands toward the ceiling and said:  “Is this building St. Mary’s church?”  And all the children immediately said “YES!”  And Bishop Jones shook his head and said “No, it’s not!”  The children were still confused by his answer.  Finally he opened his arms as if to embrace them and said “You are St. Mary’s church!”

  If  his message was lost on the children, it certainly wasn’t lost on me. These structures that make up the “campus” of St. Mary’s are beautiful.  In fact they are so beautiful that people who don’t even belong here yet who have spotted pictures of our buildings on the internet or passed them by on River Road want to be married and photographed here.     Without these buildings, though, would we still be St. Mary’s church?  Of course we would.  We don’t come here to worship these buildings or any symbol that is contained in them although that doesn’t mean we don’t enjoy being in this space or that the symbols that are in here don’t inspire worship.  We come together as a community to worship God together, to feel the presence of the Holy Spirit as we laugh together and cry together and to be the support that we need to be to each other in both Inreach and Outreach.

What Jesus was trying to teach his disciples about the temple and what Bishop Jones was trying to teach our children is that we are the church.  Our buildings may be graceful and elegant but more importantly, they are only a reflection of the spirit of this community.  Our churchyard symbolizes our past – the saints who have gone before us.  We are the present and our children are the future.  The bricks and mortar certainly provide space for worship and protect us from the outside but they could never contain the hopes and dreams we have for ourselves or for our children which make up the fabric of our community here.  No symbol, no matter how beautiful, could ever do that.  Nor would we want it to.