Month: March 2013

A Sermon for the Fifth Sunday in Lent

Year C – March 17, 2013

David H. Knight, Priest Associate

Were the whole realm of nature mine
that were an offering far too small;
love so amazing, so divine,
demands my soul, my life, my all.

 Isaac Watts, Hymn 474, 4^th stanza

“Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead.  There they gave a dinner for him.  Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at the table with him.  Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus feet, and wiped them with her hair.  The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume.” John 12:1-3

That night, Mary, so full of gratitude and devotion, not counting the cost, anointed Jesus’ feet with costly perfume. The house was filled with the fragrance.  There are few passages so filled with beauty as this scene at the home of Lazarus. It was a few days before the Passover and just days before Jesus’ crucifixion.  It was in a place with a family where Jesus experienced as much home as he had experienced anywhere in his ministry.  On this night they gave a dinner for Jesus.  Present among them was Martha, who had only recently made her supreme confession of faith. There was Lazarus, over whom Jesus had wept and whom he had raised from the dead and who was trying as best he could to live the rest of his life now that he had been raised from the dead.  There was Mary who had sat at Jesus feet and learned from him.  And there was Judas.  The meal given on this night is reminiscent of earlier such meals at this house yet it also peered into the imminent future looking toward that night of the Last Supper Jesus would ever have with his disciples.

 It was on this night Mary took a very costly perfume and anointed Jesus’ feet and wiped them with her hair.  What she did was nothing less than an extravagant act of devotion.  Evelyn Underhill, a prolific writer, novelist, and mystic in the last century, wrote in her book, Worship, published in 1937, that “worship is summed up in sacrifice.” It is the movement of generosity as our response to God’s sacrificial act of redemption in Christ and our participation in it, or to put it another way, the expression of our generosity in response to what Christ’s ministry, death, and resurrection as God’s gift to us has meant in our own lives.  So Mary, so full of gratitude and devotion not counting the cost, anointed Jesus.  There was a sumptuousness about her sacrifice that evening in the home of Lazarus that has been, and continues to be true when people throughout the ages have been motivated and inspired by gratitude.

 As I was thinking of Mary’s extravagant act of gratitude and devotion, I recalled what Bishop John Baden, one of the great voices of the Church, a former bishop suffragan in this diocese, and my predecessor as Rector of Christ Church in Winchesteronce said.  What he said remains etched in my brain forever. He said that the two most important words in the English language are the words “Thank you.” It is gratitude that affects everything we do.  It is gratitude that lifts our spirits even in the midst of life’s trials.  Bishop Baden lived those words.  In the days following his retirement he had so much looked forward to raising his sheep on a farm he bought in Bunker Hill,West Virginia. His years of retirement, however, would be cut short. It would come to pass that he was diagnosed with cancer, though he cared for those sheep as long as he possibly could.  It was my privilege to visit him fairly regularly early in my years as rector of Christ Church.  I remember one day in particular.   His treatments were taking their toll, he looked frail, yet his spirit remained resilient.  By anyone’s standards, he had every reason to complain, even to feel sorry for himself.  But that’s not I found him that day.  With a sparkle in his eye he simply said, “I’m grateful for another day the Lord has given me and I give thanks for folks like you who come to see me.”  As I drove home after our visit I was thinking that here is someone who truly understands the meaning of gratitude and he was living it.  His gratitude in the midst of adversity became a powerful inspiration to those whose lives he continued to touch to his very last breath.  The two most important words, he said, are the words, “Thank you.”

 Mary, so full of gratitude and devotion, not counting the cost, anointed Jesus with costly perfume. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume.

 Then at the home of Lazarus that evening for supper we have Judas, bless his heart.  He too was a disciple. He looked over at what Mary was doing with that costly perfume and protested, “Why was this perfume not sold and the money given to the poor?”  Now of course he cared little for the poor because he was a thief; he kept the common purse and used to steal what was put into it. His objection, however, would echo the sentiments of many who sometimes ask why a church, for example, will spend money on beautiful edifices and vestments for worship when there are always the needs of those who are poor.

 As I was thinking of Mary’s extravagant act of sacrifice and devotion that came from her gratitude, I was trying to think of a modern day example of such extravagance.  Two, in fact, came to mind. Neither are about costly perfume with a resulting fragrance, yet both are examples of what might be viewed as extravagant gratitude. In April of 2005, Jeannie and I flew to Dallas to consider the rector’s invitation to join the staff of what would be eight priests at Saint Michael and All Angels, and to see the parish.  Upon our arrival it was at first sight sensory overload, a beautiful campus that sprawled over a city block.  A major recent renovation of the campus revealed that much thought and much financial resources were poured into the beautiful results.  One of the things that caught my eye was a set of eight glass panel doors that connected the rebuilding of the original Saint Michael and All Angels church with a lanai that led to the main church built in the ‘60’s when the parish had grown to nearly 7,000 members. These eight glass panels were no ordinary etched glass! These were thick sculptured glass panels depicting angels. They were absolutely gorgeous.  I remarked to Toni Briggle who was giving us the tour that those panels must have been quite costly.  He said without fanfare, “Well, indeed, they cost $250,000.”  My simple mind went to work. I thought to myself, “Self, this is Texas and that’s a quarter of a million bucks, right much coinage for eight glass panels.”  Toni noted that I was picking up my jaw from the marble floor trying not to look too stunned, but he knew what I was thinking.  He went on to explain.  You see, the folks that gave the money for those eight glass panels also were some of the same generous contributors to the Jubilee project.  The Jubilee project was a vision of the parish to rejuvenate a neighborhood inDallaswhere there is much poverty. We would soon be taken to see the Jubilee Project in downtownDallas. What has resulted is an incredible transformation of a part of Dallas where the needs were great and still are.  What started from a gift from a family in the parish in memory of their beloved son came to be embraced by the parish and other gifts followed.   Today there is a beautiful community center with vibrant activity and all of the apartments in the neighborhood have been refurbished. Resources each year continue to be poured into the mission and ministry of the parish that reaches out in incredible ways to meet the needs of the poor locally and throughout the world.  Those glass windows, Toni said, were gifts of devotion given by parishioners, gifts that came from gratitude for what Saint Michael and its mission meant to them.  What testimony that is that gifts of extravagance, given in gratitude need not preclude other gifts that attend to the needs of the poor who Jesus said are always with us. Certainly, over the years we have seen this to be true here at St. Mary’s as well.

 Another example came to my mind. On a Friday afternoon October of 2010, a tragic fire destroyed the beautiful chapel at the Virginia Theological Seminary.  Immanuel Chapel, built in 1881 was for so many a place full of memories.  Generations of seminarians have had their ministries shaped and formed at worship in that sacred space.  Many preached their first sermons in that chapel.  The highlight of my three years there at VTS came during my senior year when Jeannie and I were married and we would go each Thursday night to the seminary community Eucharist.  Then, on that fateful Friday afternoon in October of 2010, it was all reduced to rubble and ashes.  In my office now, I have a brick from Immanuel Chapel given to me by a member of the seminary community whose husband is on the current faculty.  I treasure that brick as it is a symbol for me of memories for which I have been very grateful over the years.  In due time after the fire, the seminary revealed plans for a new Chapel for the Ages.  There was, of course, insurance that would offer partial coverage, but an additional 13 million dollars would be needed to build the new chapel. My jaw, like many dropped.  But as the plans were revealed, excitement among so many who have been connected to that seminary began to rise.  Early this January, the seminary announced that the gifts and pledges received had met the goal and work was soon to begin.  Gratitude for what that seminary has meant to so many over the years is what has made this all possible.  That new seminary chapel will provide a sacred place once again from which people will be sent to serve the world in the name of Christ. Evelyn Underhill’s words, “Worship is summed up in sacrifice” give meaning to the costly gifts given in gratitude for lives touched by worship at Virginia Seminary.

 And these are only two examples. You can, no doubt, think of your own examples of extravagant and joyful giving that emanate from gratitude and devotion.

Mary, so full of gratitude and devotion, not counting the cost, anointed Jesus with costly perfume. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume.

It is Mary’s gratitude that serves as a model for our gratitude.  It is her extravagant gift that inspires our giving out of gratitude, not counting the cost, for the love of Christ, a love so amazing, so divine, that it demands our soul, our life, our all in response.

Holy Week will soon be upon us.  We now know what Mary knew, something that the others could not yet comprehend.  It is that Jesus will walk the way of the cross and be crucified. Next Sunday we will pray that collect, “Almighty God, whose most dear Son went not up to joy but first he suffered pain, and entered not into glory before he was crucified: Mercifully grant that we, walking in the way of the cross, may find it none other than the way of life and peace….”  As you and I walk the way of the cross with Jesus, let us also be mindful that Jesus walks the way with you and me in our trials, whether these difficulties are with us for a few days to come, or whether they extend over, what might be a long year to come. It is Jesus who has made us his own and who abides with us on our journeys and who provides the way for us. This time of year in particular summons us to contemplate the sacred mystery, that sacred and precious gift of Christ’s love and his ultimate sacrifice for us.  How can we possibly grasp the meaning of Easter without traveling with Jesus on the way of the cross?  Then will come Good Friday and his crucifixion.  Following Good Friday comes an important day that, alas, is one of the best kept secrets in the Church, Holy Saturday.  In places where that service is observed, usually before noon, it is brief.  It simply recalls the fact that Jesus is dead. He is gone. Those who loved him are bereft and saddened beyond description, just as any of us are when a loved one dies.  All hope has gone.  It’s is important that we reflect on these realities of Holy Week so that we might be able to comprehend what is to follow on Easter.

 I want to close with the words of H. Stephen Shoemaker who has put it this way: He says, “We live our lives in the shadow of he cross, but we also live in the presence of the risen Christ.  So here is an invitation to daily companionship with Jesus, at the Table, in extravagant acts of compassion and generosity, in moments of worship.  All this in a world which lives by a mind-set of scarcity, rather than a mind-set of abundance, and so tempts us to close in and give little. All this in a world whose violence and cruelty crucify people every day.

But Mary, so full of gratitude and devotion, not counting the cost, anointed Jesus with costly perfume.

Were the whole realm of nature mine
that were an offering far too small;
love so amazing, so divine,
demands my soul, my life, my all.

A Sermon for the 4th Sunday in Lent

by Eleanor Lee Wellford, Associate Rector 

All the tax collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to Jesus. And the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and saying, “This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.”

So Jesus told them this parable:

“There was a man who had two sons. The younger of them said to his father, ‘Father, give me the share of the property that will belong to me.’ So he divided his property between them. A few days later the younger son gathered all he had and traveled to a distant country, and there he squandered his property in dissolute living. When he had spent everything, a severe famine took place throughout that country, and he began to be in need. So he went and hired himself out to one of the citizens of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed the pigs. He would gladly have filled himself with the pods that the pigs were eating; and no one gave him anything. But when he came to himself he said, ‘How many of my father’s hired hands have bread enough and to spare, but here I am dying of hunger! I will get up and go to my father, and I will say to him, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me like one of your hired hands.”‘ So he set off and went to his father. But while he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him. Then the son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’ But the father said to his slaves, ‘Quickly, bring out a robe–the best one–and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. And get the fatted calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate; for this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found!’ And they began to celebrate.

“Now his elder son was in the field; and when he came and approached the house, he heard music and dancing. He called one of the slaves and asked what was going on. He replied, ‘Your brother has come, and your father has killed the fatted calf, because he has got him back safe and sound.’ Then he became angry and refused to go in. His father came out and began to plead with him. But he answered his father, ‘Listen! For all these years I have been working like a slave for you, and I have never disobeyed your command; yet you have never given me even a young goat so that I might celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours came back, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fatted calf for him!’ Then the father said to him, ‘Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found.'”

 -Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32

The story we just heard from Luke is well-loved and well-known as the “Parable of the Prodigal Son”.  That title is a little misleading, though, because the story is not just about that one particular son.  It’s about the dysfunctional behavior of an entire family. 

 Because I’m fascinated by family dynamics, this story is one of my all-time favorites.  We know these characters; we run into them in our own families or hear about them in other people’s families.  It doesn’t matter that the story was told over 2000 years ago.  The personalities and the attitudes and the issues are timeless. 

As we heard this morning, the story involved a wealthy Jewish family and began when the younger son asked his father for his share of his inheritance.  Even by today’s standards, this would be a rude and disrespectful request; but in the Jewish world of Jesus’ day, this request would be the same as the son saying to his father: “I wish you were dead!”

 The father, however, didn’t hesitate to give his son what he wanted and divided up his property between the two brothers.  The older son stayed on the estate and looked after his share while the younger son sold his share and used the proceeds to travel and engage in every form of self indulgence.  

 It wasn’t long before the younger son had spent his fortune and found himself “in need” as the story tells us.  He was so much in need that he hired himself out to feed the pigs of a Gentile man.  That was about as low as any Jew could go.  And maybe it took reaching that low before he was able to consider an idea that came to him- an absurd idea, really. He considered returning home – returning to the place he had been so eager to leave.

 He knew it would be difficult because he had burned so many bridges.  But if he had to, he would grovel.  Even then he knew that his father would never take him back as his son.  But perhaps he would take him back as a hired hand.  Surely that would be a better way to live than tending pigs.   

Now the older son was back on the estate, working hard to please his father as any responsible first-born child would do.  There wasn’t a day that went by, though, that he didn’t think about how foolish and hurtful his younger brother had been. His resentment fueled everything he did. 

 He was actually out working in the field on the day that the younger brother showed up.  He didn’t actually see his father run to embrace and kiss his younger brother nor did he hear the excitement in his father’s voice as he asked the servants to dress him in the best clothes. He didn’t hear the joy as his father planned how to celebrate his wayward son’s return. 

What he did hear when he was coming back from a back-breaking day in the fields was the music and the dancing.  And it sounded so foreign to him.  He couldn’t even remember the last time he had heard or seen such festivities on the estate.  Why hadn’t he been consulted about it? There was no money in the budget for such foolishness.  Someone would have to answer to him about this.  And then he saw the cause of all the excitement and he could not believe his eyes! 

 In his mind, his younger brother was dead to him and certainly he should have been dead to his father.  Yet there was that brother of his- looking and acting like royalty while his father stood proudly by with tears of joy in his eyes.  “This isn’t fair!” he thought.  After all he had done to look after the estate and his father, he was the one who deserved the big party.  He was the one who deserved to be dressed like a prince.  He was the one who deserved to be feasting on that fatted calf – not his brother who was an embarrassment to the family name. 

 And there it was -exposed for everyone to see: the older brother’s ego in all of its resentful, judgmental splendor.

 An ego is something we all have and whether we like to admit it or not.  It controls how we present ourselves to the outside world.  It shapes our image.  What it also does really well is mask our fears, which, in turn, affects our behavior. 

 If we look at the behavior of the younger brother, we might see that it was based on a fear of responsibility, or maybe a fear of seeing his father age and a fear of having to care for him.  So, instead of facing his fears, he let his ego talk him into taking his share of his inheritance and running as far away as he could.  If we look at the behavior of the older brother we might see that it, too, was based on fear – perhaps fear of losing control of what was his or fear of being adventurous.  Or maybe it was based on a fear of losing his father’s respect and love.  So he wouldn’t have to face his fears, he let his ego talk him into working hard as he could as a way to control himself and as a way to earn that love.  The sad part is that neither son’s behavior made their fears go away.  It only made them worse. 

 And I think that’s what Jesus wanted his audience of Pharisees and tax collectors to recognize in his story.  He had observed their foolish behavior and wanted them to see how it had only reinforced their fears and suspicions of each other. 

 The Pharisees feared losing their status and authority in the Temple and they let their egos shape their image of holiness, which, in turn, prevented them from associating with the likes of such sinners as tax collectors.  They and the older brother in the story shared a sense of self-righteousness.  The tax collectors feared being social outcasts and let their egos rationalize their engaging in unfair business practices. They and the younger brother shared a sense of entitlement. 

 Jesus wanted to expose their foolish behavior by using the two brothers in the story as mirrors by which his audience could see themselves.  Their fears, however, kept them in a safe state of denial.     

 But what about the father?  How could he have been so forgiving of a son who wanted him dead?  Where was his self respect?  Didn’t he have a reputation to protect as a wealthy land owner?  What would the neighbors think of the way he acted? 

Of course these are all questions the ego thrives on asking.  But the irony of it all is that the father didn’t seem to have an ego.  His behavior wasn’t constrained in any way.  Yet some could argue that he was acting like the biggest fool of all.  (pause) Some could argue that he was acting like Jesus. 

 Jesus didn’t care about what other people thought of him.  He wasn’t running for public office nor did he have shareholders to please.  What he did care about was how people treated each other.  And to that end, he modeled forgiveness in a world that valued judgment.   He modeled grace in a world that valued resentment.  He modeled love in a world that valued barriers.   It wasn’t easy living in such a world – the same world we live in.  He became fearful and angry at times and would often have to go away by himself and pray in order to regain his balance.  He knew that in the stillness and silence of his heart he could reconnect with his Father’s will.

And so can we.  As hard as it is to do, our fears are meant to be faced.  Otherwise they affect our behavior in such a way as to alienate each other and to cause us to become less than the joyous community of creatures God intended us to be.  In the stillness of our hearts at least during the remainder of Lent, maybe the best thing we can do is ask for the courage to face our fears and in that holy space of prayer, listen for God’s answer.  How foolish could that be?

A Sermon for the Third Sunday in Lent

Year C – 3 March 2013

John Edward Miller, Rector

There were some present who told Jesus about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices. He asked them, “Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were worse sinners than all other Galileans? No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish as they did. Or those eighteen who were killed when the tower of Siloam fell on them – do you think that they were worse offenders than all the others living in Jerusalem? No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did.”

Then he told this parable: “A man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard; and he came looking for fruit on it and found none. So he said to the gardener, ‘See here! For three years I have come looking for fruit on this fig tree, and still I find none. Cut it down! Why should it be wasting the soil?’ He replied, ‘Sir, let it alone for one more year, until I dig around it and put manure on it. If it bears fruit next year, well and good; but if not, you can cut it down.’”– Luke 13:1-9

___________________

  The Collect

Almighty God, you know that we have no power in ourselves to help ourselves: Keep us both outwardly in our bodies and inwardly in our souls, that we may be defended from all adversities which may happen to the body, and from all evil thoughts which may assault and hurt the soul; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

The subject of sin (and its consequences) is prominent during Lent. This is a penitential season – a time of reckoning with our limitations, our temptations, our misguided choices, and (sometimes) our miserable mistakes. Lent is like an extended Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, except that Christ is one who does the atoning work, not us. His is the sufficient sacrifice that heals the rifts that we create and the wounds that we inflict.  So, in Lent, it is meet and right that we spend forty days and forty nights contemplating the frailty of our mortal nature. But it is even more important that we ponder our Lord’s willingness to suffer sin for our sake.

To think on these things is not to dwell in defeatism and negativity. It is to take the blinders off and to focus on grace – the magnanimous measure of God’s love, which can pull us out of the pits that we dig for ourselves. Without it we cannot escape; sin excavates bunkers too deep for us to crawl out of. And God knows, “we have no power in ourselves to help ourselves.” It is by grace that we are saved through faith.

It’s the “through faith” part that we always need to hear. It means that God’s extended hand must be grasped. Even divine help is not self-fulfilling; it takes trust to see it, and courage to collaborate with it. Grace does its work when we accept it.

And what does that look like? It looks like stopping in our tracks, wheeling around, and going toward God rather than away from him. Acceptance of that sort is called “repentance.” Our gospel text today speaks of the necessity of repenting, even as Jesus is suffering sin.

Have you ever asked, “What did I do to deserve this?” or have you ever heard someone say, “You get what you deserve in this life”? Most of us have because the theology supporting such statements is more than two and a half millennia old. And that’s just in its Hebrew context; many cultures and religions have viewed reality through a lens of cause and effect. Call it karma or fatalism, this perspective is worldwide. But it takes on a biblical life of its own in the book of Deuteronmony.

For the Deuteronomist, the status of a human life is determined by one’s choices. The standard against which a choice is measured is the Law of God, the “thou shalts” and “thou shalt nots” that govern righteous behavior. Deuteronomy assumes free will, the ability to make one’s own choice among competing options. Ignorance of the Law is no excuse; the person of faith is charged with knowing and keeping the commandments of the Law. Deuteronomy makes it clear that our choices have consequences – outcomes that are directly correlated with the quality of our choices. Specifically, it says that obeying the Law is a good choice, while disobeying it is a bad choice – an evidence of sin. Good choices bring blessing, and bad choices cause a curse to cripple a life.

According to Deuteronomy, it’s that simple. Or should I say, simplistic? Deuteronomic thinking is either-or thinking. It’s neat and clear. People who live by it are certain that they know the score. They think that minding their p’s and q’s is the key to success and happiness; they work hard to keep their record clean because they fear that a black mark will bring reversal of fortune, or even disaster. That’s why, when unpleasant things happen, they wonder whether they have done something wrong enough to bring on bad times. Further, as a corollary to this black and white view, they regard people who are diseased, broken, or bereft, as people under a curse. Many onlookers suspect that the unfortunate have tempted fate, and deserve the punishment they have gotten. They search for a logical reason to explain why people suffer. Otherwise, it appears that the universe is random, pure chance. And that is a frightening prospect – one that unacceptable to an open-and-shut point of view.

The question is, Does reality proceed according to this paradigm? Does the evidence support the Deuteronomic theory? Are there no accidents – things that just “happen”? Or does everything have a cause that we can discern, and then avoid like the plague?

The Book of Job went toe-to-toe with the Deuteronomist, insisting that there are no easy answers to the question of human suffering. And so did Ecclesiastes, with his existentialist interpretation of life’s ambiguities. Jesus, too, joined issue in the ongoing debate. In John’s gospel account, when his disciples encountered the man born blind, they asked him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?”[1] They thought that the afflicted fellow was living proof of God’s judgment, and were looking for confirmation of their belief. Jesus’ response came as a surprise. It was a direct challenge to Deuteronomic thinking. He said, “It was not this man who sinned, or his parents, but that the works of God might be made manifest in him.” His bold rebuttal supported the dignity and integrity of all who suffer, but are subtly blamed for being victims of conditions beyond their control.

In today’s text from Luke, we hear him attack the inadequacy of legalism once again. This time, Jesus is speaking to the people about the need for repentance when he gets word about an atrocity that has occurred in Galilee. Someone tells him about the murder of worshippers by the soldiers of Pontius Pilate, the Roman procurator of Judea. Apparently, Pilate (who was no stranger to brutality, and who would later preside over the crucifixion of Jesus) had ordered the slaying of Galileans making their ritual sacrifices. Again, the popular assumption was that they brought this tragedy on themselves. The report stirred Jesus to protest. He said, “Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were worse sinners than all other Galileans? No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish as they did.” Then he punctuated his point by citing another disaster that was being muttered about in Jerusalem. Jesus asked, “Or those eighteen who were killed when the tower of Siloam fell on them – do you think that they were worse offenders than all the others living in Jerusalem? No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did.”   

In other words, there is no simple correlation between suffering and sin. Everyone is in the same boat; we all sin and fall short of God’s glory. We all need to repent, not just the ones who suffer.

Deuteronomy has been challenged by the best; however, its hold on our mentality persists. It hasn’t gone away, because life is difficult, and hard to understand. As Rabbi Kushner has famously said, “People like to think that there’s someone driving the bus.” When we consider the complexity of existence, we wince. For many it is far easier to trade one’s integrity for a modicum of certainty than to stare doubt in the face.

On November 1, 1755 – All Saints’ Day – a massive earthquake struck Lisbon, Portugal, causing over 60,000 deaths. Because it was a major feast day of the Church calendar, most of the citizens of Lisbon were dutifully attending mass when the quake hit the city. Thousands of the deaths occurred when the church structures collapsed, crushing the faithful as they prayed.

This awful incident became an infamous theological test case for the suitability of Deuteronomic thinking. Were Lisbon’s victims annihilated for their corporate sins? Was the Church guilty of some great transgression, causing God to shatter the institution as a warning to all who would dare to flaunt the Law? Despite what you might reply to those questions, we can be assured that there were, and still are, people who blamed the victims, saying that the punishment of God was just. This, they said, was not a geological accident; it happened for a reason – namely, it was a planned execution, a holocaust for the sake of divine justice.

That may strike us as unscientific, unenlightened thinking, if not pure nonsense. However, it is not without parallel in today’s world.  Forty-eight hours after the 9/11 terrorist attacks, a pair of famous televangelists felt the need for crystal clarity, even as the dust and smoke from the World Trade Center, the Pentagon, and the field in Pennsylvania were still aloft. A pastor of a mega church in Piedmont Virginia was being interviewed by the founder of a Tidewater-based Christian cable channel. Transcripts and tapes record the remarks of the two men, verifying a blog summary of the interview, which said:  

 Both men spoke harshly of the terrorists and clearly blamed them for the attacks.  

 During a discussion about whether this crisis might bring revival to America, [the pastor] said God may have allowed what the nation deserved because of moral decay and said Americans should have an attitude of repentance before God and asking for God’s protection.  He specifically listed the ACLU, abortionists, feminists, gays, and the People for the American way as sharing in the blame.  [The interviewer] responded with agreement.[2]

 Reaction to this post-9/11 interview was strong and swift. The cable channel founder issued a statement on his website repudiating the position that the pastor had taken against particular groups. Meanwhile the pastor released an apology for his observations, indicating that after further consideration, he believed that the terrorists alone were responsible for the tragedy.

However, despite the attempts to disarm these explosive comments, their content went viral on the Internet. Malicious rumors abounded, and frightened people searched for scapegoats to explain the crisis and the reason why thousands of innocent victims died. In the interview, the pastor had said that, “what we saw on Tuesday, as terrible as it is, could be miniscule if, in fact, if in fact God continues to lift the curtain and allow the enemies of America to give us probably what we deserve.”[3] His presumption is that “the curtain” of God’s protection of this nation is a conditional defense, based on obedience to biblical Law as the evangelist saw it. And because certain groups seemed to him to fly in the face of the Law, the innocent were permitted to suffer for the sin of the nation – the ‘sin’ of allowing such groups to exist.

That’s stuff that witch-hunts are made of, and ethnic cleansings, and purges, and pogroms, and holocausts. At the very least, it is what prompted the Puritans to their fastidious disassociation with identifiable sinners of their day, and the so-called good people to segregate and discriminate to keep those deemed undesirable out of schools, away from public lunch counters, and outside the clubs and the neighborhoods of the few in our time.

The attempt to possess certainty, and to maintain control, comes at a very high price. Its start-up cost is self-deception and denial of what one is doing, and the long-run cost is the partitioning of society, the loss of civility, and the betrayal of our Lord’s command to love one another as he has loved us. And sad to say, all of this pretentious effort amounts to nothing. In the last analysis, the best we can say is that each one of us is “a sheep of thine own fold, a lamb of  thine own flock, a sinner of thine own redeeming.”[4]

Those words, said to commend a Christian at his burial, are spare but comforting. Whether a life has been lived by keeping or breaking the rules, and whether it has gone smoothly or tragically, the final word is redemption – redemption of all that has transpired, and made our life what it is in the sight of God. In God’s eyes we are beloved, forever. The good news is that grace – the undeserved mercy of God, paid for us by the life, death and resurrection of Jesus – is our hope and strength, a very present help in times of trouble and utter delight.

Like the fig tree in Jesus’ parable, we produce fruit not on our own, but by the gifts of nurture that enable us to be productive. Even though it is true that finally “there is no health in us,”[5] God’s judges us with love, rather than with Law. Trusting this truth, we are bold to pray,

 But thou, O Lord, have mercy upon us, spare thou those who confess their faults, restore thou those who are penitent, according to thy promises declared unto mankind in Christ Jesus our Lord; and grant, O most merciful Father, for his sake, that we may hereafter live a godly, righteous, and sober life, to the glory of thy holy Name. Amen.[6]

 As we approach Holy Week and Easter, let us stop what we’re doing, pause in the midst of all our busy-ness, and remember the one who offered himself as our atonement. Then let us turn around and run toward the outstretched arms of the loving Father who accepts us, his prodigal children, in spite of ourselves.  His embrace is what makes us whole. Amen.