Fr. Troy Beecham
Sermon on Proper 11
20 July 2014
The heart of the parable of the Wheat and the Weeds would seem to be that we multiply evil when we try to identify evil and weed it out. This is the central point, but the explanation for how we arrive at that conclusion will require that we are willing to look with new eyes at this challenging, and I think commonly misunderstood, parable.
Typically, we read this gospel text as a verification of the ages-old perspective that bad people will get punished in the end. Is that what Jesus is teaching us, though? Does the death dealing god that is so common in our judgment narratives faithfully agree with the God that Jesus reveals to us, the God who is Love? I think not, and I will endeavor to explain why God’s judgment is different from what we normally understand it to be.
How does Matthew present judgment language and imagery? What insights can we gain from considering how he presents the teachings of Jesus regarding judgment?
The dramatic judgment scene in today’s gospel is not easily read with the God who is Love in view if we stick to the conventional interpretation. In our standard reading, the death dealing god of our darkest fears looms large, and we inevitably experience a frisson of excitement because that god is going to consume all the “bad” people of the world, especially all the people who have wounded us or those whom we love. The problem with that image of God is that you and I are inevitably the “bad people” of someone else’s narrative, and they are feeling that same excitement at the prospect that we are going to be consumed by flames. You see, our language and imagery of judgment recasts God as the monsters out of our deepest, darkest selves, calling to mind the “monsters of the id” of ‘Fantastic Voyage’ fame. If you recall that iconic film, those monsters destroyed their world, leaving it a desert.
One verse for understanding judgment in Matthew's Gospel is found at 11:12: "From the days of John the Baptist until now the kingdom of heaven has suffered violence, and the violent take it by force." Jesus uses the conventional language of judgment, but turns it upside down through metaphor and points out that the kingdom of heaven is represented most clearly through those who are suffering violence and yet refuse to reciprocate. Another example for understanding Matthew’s use of judgment language can be found in the parable of the Wedding Banquet for the king’s son, in which the man without the proper wedding gown is thrown out in the darkness where there is "weeping and gnashing of teeth". We can easily see that Christ uses this parable to foreshadow his own crucifixion, identifying himself with the man who was thrown out in judgment. The most important use of judgment language and imagery is to be found, of course, in the crucifixion itself. We may interpret today’s gospel in the larger context of Matthew's use of judgment imagery, in the light of the
crucifixion and of the other parables, wherein Jesus becomes the one whom we declare to be the judged 'of God', and who himself suffers the fires of judgment.
Let’s look more closely, then, at the parable of the Wheat and Weeds. In the narrative, the crucial verse is 13:42: "and they will throw them into the furnace of fire, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth." Who does "them" refer to in context? In a more conventional interpretation, we typically assume that the "doers of lawlessness" are the ones who are thrown into the fire by the angels after having their scandals exposed. Look, however, at 13:41-42 again: "The Son of Man will send his angels, and they will collect out of his kingdom all causes of sin and all evildoers, and they will throw them into the furnace of fire, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth." The text allows, and I would say points out, that we may read this parable rather as identifying the angels of the Son of Man as being the ones who are thrown into the fire where there is a weeping and gnashing of teeth in penalty for having exposed the scandals of the evildoers. In verse 42, “they” are the evildoers, and “they” throw “them”, the angels, into the fire because their lawlessness has been revealed.
The self-righteous violence that we visit upon each other is the very evil that is judged by the Son of Man, suffering on the cross in order to expose our lawlessness. With the cross in view, how then do the angels gather the weeds? Do they do it through walking amongst the wheat with scythes and use violence? No, judgment is rendered by refusing to return the violence that is the inevitable result of exposing lawlessness. The angels are judged to be weeds, but their trust in the God who is love highlights what the life of the kingdom is actually all about, and clearly shows what does not belong to the life of the kingdom. By allowing themselves to be judged by evildoers, and to be thrown into the fire as the Son of Man first was himself on the cross, the angels offer their witness (martyrdom) of the judgment that the evildoers pass upon themselves, whose violence shows that they are in fact the weeds.
Remember the story of the three Hebrew men thrown into the fire in the book of Daniel? It was only after they had been thrown into the fire that the glory of the Lord was revealed, a glory which also revealed the bankrupt and corrupt judgment of our human kingdoms. It is often only in the fire that the righteous will shine. If we do read the "angels of the Son of Man" as those martyred in human fires of judgment, then they are also the resurrected righteous who shall someday shine like the sun.
This is admittedly not a conventional way to read this parable. I think, though, that it is faithful to the story of salvation in that we see Christ as suffering the judgment first for us; not God's judgment, but, in the terms of the parable itself, our human forms of judgment that multiply evil and end up identifying ourselves as the doers of evil, who have murdered the Son of God.
We rush headlong to bloody judgment and execution. God rushes headlong to give us mercy and grace. Matthew's Jesus tells us how God works, quoting Hosea 6:6 "For I desire steadfast love and not sacrifice, the knowledge of God rather than burnt offerings". Jesus repeats this teaching regularly: "Go and learn what this means, 'I desire mercy, not sacrifice.' For I have come to call not the
righteous but sinners" (Matthew 9:13); and, "But if you had known what this means, 'I desire mercy and not sacrifice,' you would not have condemned the guiltless. (Matthew 12:7)
In the parable of the Wheat and Weeds, and throughout the gospel of Matthew, Jesus is teaching us that our habit of condemning the guiltless and using any form of violence to pass judgment on others must be unlearned and ultimately overthrown by learning God's mercy, grace, and love. We only perpetuate the very evil that we seek to destroy when we become judges. The Son of Man and his angels sift out the kingdom precisely by suffering the fires of human judgment willingly and without returning violence. This parable shows God's judgment on our human judgment. It also shows that we are given the blessed assurance that we will know mercy and grace through suffering violence if we will not return that violence. We are given the blessed hope of the resurrection, if we are willing, with Jesus, to allow God to use us as witnesses to the life of the kingdom.
Amen.
Monday, August 18, 2014
Fr. Troy Beecham
Sermon delivered at
the SSJE
Cambridge, MA.
10 February 2014
We
often struggle to fully live in the power and reality of God’s love. No
one is really surprised by such an assertion. We know ourselves well enough to know just how
much we struggle to love each other the way that God loves us. We do feel surprised, though, when we seem to
see Jesus stuck in a similar condition. In
this startling, even offensive, exchange between Jesus and this nameless woman,
we witness this struggle in action.
Jesus’
initial refusal to include this pagan woman in the scope of his care and
concern gives stark testimony that, even in the presence of the incarnate Lord,
we in our creaturely confusion can fail to live into the fullness of God’s life
giving Spirit. It is surprising to us to see Jesus behave in this way because
he included women in the company of his disciples and in table fellowship, even
though his culture made such inclusion difficult at best, and forbidden more
often than not. The harsh rebuke given
to the plea for help by this very Jewish messiah to a heathen, Gentile woman
bears witness to our often impoverished understanding of God’s bounteous
provision, in which we imagine a world where there is only just enough to feed
ourselves, those whom we love, and those whom we will claim as belonging within our tribal or national
identities.
What
causes me to catch my breath in this gospel account, though, even more than the
rebuke, is the luminous faith of this woman. In the face of stormy and
turbulent words, her gracious reply reflected God’s marvelous light as in a
clear mirror, a light that shone upon unseen vistas, revealing just how
beautiful, spacious, and undiscovered is God’s kingdom. In the light of her
faith we see a vision of God’s paradise garden, where all are invited to find
their healing and rest. In this light, like the dawn of a new day, Jesus and
his disciples appeared to see with new eyes a feast so superabundant that even the
largest banquet tables of our imagination simply cannot contain all that God
desires to give, a banquet where even the crumbs that fall from the overflow
can feed the whole world.
Her
persistent and reverent confrontation of the certainties that kept Jesus and
his party separated from her opened the door for them to hear the invitation
from God, which opened their ears to the deeper harmony of grace that underlies
all of creation and opened their hearts in love for this foreigner. Because of her courageous faithfulness and
love for her child, and the willingness of Jesus to open his heart to her,
healing was released into the world, and the fellowship of disciples was never
the same again. What might have remained only a small, exclusive community was
opened wide to receive all of God’s children. Because of her, the Church is
made up of peoples from all over the world, from every nation and people.
We
still need the Syrophoenician woman today in the living presence of those whose
claims on the love of God challenge us, to call us to lay out more tables and
to expand our definition of family. When we are found to be walking in
the shadows of our own brokenness, will we allow God to crack open the door so
that the light of God’s love may shine and lead us into the glory of his
kingdom? When we are found to be stuck in the echo chambers of our insider
mentalities, will we allow ourselves to be caught up in the undying, insistent
symphony of God’s love and grace, and exult with all of creation in the song of
love that simply will be heard?
Following our savior
Jesus Christ, let us pray that we might be set free to love as God loves us so
that healing might be released into the world in ever increasing abundance and
joy. Amen.
Saturday, August 2, 2014
http://sedangli.wordpress.com/2014/06/24/decently-writ-xvii-a-sermon-by-the-rt-rev-eugene-taylor-sutton/
A Sermon Preached by the Rt. Rev. Eugene Taylor Sutton,Bishop of Maryland,
Upon the Opening Mass of the 2014 National Conference of the Association of Anglican Musicians,
Held at St. Paul’s Parish, K Street, Washington, DC
Monday, June 16, 2014 – 10:00 am
“THE TWO CALLS”
Matthew 28:16-20
16 Now the eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain to which Jesus had directed them.
17 When they saw him, they worshiped him; but some doubted.
18 And Jesus came and said to them, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me.
19 Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit,
20 and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you. And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”
Core membership loss of over 8%. Uncertain leadership, with no strategic plan for growth. Loss of energy, lack of vision, with little basis for optimism in the face of a culture that appears to be increasingly hostile to the faith.
The Episcopal Church in the 21st century? No, I’m talking about the world of Jesus’ disciples at the end of the Gospel according to Matthew. In those days immediately following Jesus’ resurrection, the Christian movement was at a very precarious stage, and it was not at all clear it was going to survive. How could it? Many of its followers and adherents had fallen away due to disillusionment, and religious and social pressures. The Twelve were now The Eleven due to the betrayal and suicide of Judas – representing the loss of 8.3% of its core members. The organization, such as it was, had no undisputed leader, no secure funding scheme, no sound administrative or board structure, and no strategic plan for the future – surely giving rise, I’m sure, to calls for “restructuring.” Sound familiar?
It’s in that context of spiritual and emotional malaise that Jesus gives his most famous farewell “charge” to his successors. The gospel lesson assigned for today is one of the best known scriptural mandates for the mission of the church. It’s called “The Great Commission,” so named because it is when our Lord calls, or “commissions,” his followers to go into all the world to make disciples, baptize them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teach them to cling to everything that Jesus commanded them. The Church has heard that call to mission very clearly, and while it has been sometimes misunderstood and abused as a basis for cultural, racial and religious imperialism, it has also given rise to the spread of the good news of Jesus everywhere – as well as the establishment of schools, hospitals, and institutions promoting justice, reconciliation and peace. Whenever the Church forgets the Great Commission it does so at its peril, and it has served as a warning to the Church to not succumb to those inevitable self-serving tendencies to become nothing more than a religious social club for insiders.
But the call of the “Great Commission” contained in verses 18 through 20 – the ones assigned for this day after the Feast of the Trinity – tell only part of the story. There were actually two calls given by Jesus on those final days to his disciples, and both calls are absolutely necessary for the health and growth of the Christian movement. Do you want to know what that other call is? You would have to go back a few verses to read the entire account of what our Lord directed his disciples at the close of Matthew’s gospel, beginning at verse 16, which reads: “Now the eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain to which Jesus had directed them. When they saw him, they worshiped him; but some doubted.”
The first call, then, of the resurrected Jesus was to go to Galilee, to go to the mountain. This call was first made to the women at the empty tomb; in verse 10 Jesus tells them to “go tell my brothers to go to Galilee; there they will see me.” In other words, the first obligation of the disciples of Christ was to go home, and look for Jesus there. There, on the mountaintop – as has been true throughout the Scriptures – is where God is always revealed in a significant way. It was true for Moses on Mt. Sinai where he spent 40 days and nights communing with The Lord before he was ready to receive the Law to give to the Israelites. It was true for Elijah who on the mountain had to listen to the “still small voice” of God to strengthen him for the hard journey below. It was true for Peter, James and John who could only see the full glory of the Lord on the face of Jesus on the Mount of Transfiguration before they could begin their mission of going into the towns and villages teaching, healing, driving out evil and proclaiming the advent of the reign of God on earth.
And it was true for the disciples in today’s lesson as well, serving as the prerequisite for hearing the Great Commission. In other words, before they could hear that Second Call to go and make disciples everywhere, they first had to hear his First Call to go to the mountain and worship.
Is not this a crucial reminder for The Episcopal Church at this present time? Are we all that dissimilar to our spiritual ancestors in their moments of personal and/or communal weakness?
You’re familiar with the figures, the numbers that seemingly tell a depressing story of a steady, deep and continuing decline of the Church. But that story can and should be challenged at every opportunity. In April of last year, Dean Ian Markham, president of Virginia Theological Seminary, gave a much noted address at the annual convention of the Diocese of Delaware in which he countered the “conventional wisdom” that the Episcopal Church has been in unbroken decline for the last fifty years, and that its future promises more of the same. He correctly points out that in the decade before 2002, the Episcopal Church actually grew in average Sunday attendance by 18,000 worshipers. I remember well those days at the dawn of the 21st century when religious social scientists and church sociologists were openly talking about why was it that The Episcopal Church and the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America (ELCA) alone among the Mainline Protestant denominations was experiencing numerical growth – however slight – at least, not declining in worship attendance. The Diocese of Maryland was growing then, as well as the Dioceses of Washington, Virginia, Delaware and several others.
The indications, of course, are that we grew then because we were known as the Church that worshiped well….emphasizing ancient prayers and rites, beautiful liturgies and music that lifts the soul out of the everyday into the glorified presence of a resurrected Lord. If the Episcopal Church was known for anything in those years, it was that.
But then something happened around 2002 and 2003 that changed the public’s perception of the Episcopal Church. Do you remember? That was the period when the conflicts flared up in full force around the full inclusion in the church of all God’s people, and in particular celebrating the gifts that gay and lesbian Christians bring to our common life. In 2003, my friend Gene Robinson was elected bishop of New Hampshire, which caused a firestorm in the church here and in the Anglican Communion. We began fighting, and many members – including substantial parts of four dioceses – left the Episcopal Church. Of course, we continued to gain new members, but that did not make up for the loss of those who left.
The point I’m making is that the Episcopal Church in the public’s mind became more identified with conflicts, property disputes, fighting, and sex than it became know for its distinctive embodiment of worship. In short, in an era of sound bites, quick opinions, and superficial allegiances, the Episcopal Church lost its brand.
But there is good news here. Unlike many of our brothers and sisters in other Christian denominations, we Episcopalians are coming to the end of those troubles. Those members who are still unhappy with our churchwide stances on inclusion have already made the calculation that this is not the issue that is going to drive them away, and more importantly, their children are not at all likely to leave the Episcopal Church because of our openness to the presence and gifts of all people.
My brothers and sisters, I submit to you that repeated calls to “just focus on mission” is seriously missing the boat on what has been behind our institutional losses of membership and attendance. The “Go, therefore…” of the Great Commission is a very important call to the whole church – but it is the second call. The first call at the end of Matthew’s Gospel is to go to the mountain, meet Jesus there, and worship Him. Sadly, in the Episcopal Church at this present time, we hear very little about that first call. This issue of the “first call” is very personal for me…it goes to the heart of the matter as to why I am an Episcopalian. I was born in this city of Washington, and my faith was nurtured at a large, black and vibrant congregation in the center of the black community. What this means is that I sang, clapped, swayed, stomped and shouted my way into the Christian faith – for which, of course, I am eternally grateful!
By my high school years, however, this way of worshiping no longer worked for me. Already by then, I was wary and weary of the constant demands for a highly charged emotional response on my part as the evidence that the Holy Spirit was present. I was tired of the anti-intellectualism, the easy answers to complex issues, the focus on individual gifts of performance rather than on the majesty of God, and the lack of a worshipful connection with the ancient past and the lives of our spiritual forbears in faith.
After a brief period of “atheism” – to the extent that a 17 year old struggling with his faith could be an atheist – I came back to the faith. But where to worship? I literally went to dozens of churches, from storefronts to large sanctuaries, Protestant and Catholic Churches, black and white, rich and poor. It wasn’t, however, until I stepped into the Church of the Ascension & St. Agnes – that venerable downtown Anglo-catholic parish – that I found my “home.” I didn’t understand much about what was going on liturgically at that morning’s mass; it was a whole new world for me. But I did know that what was happening there helped me to connect with the Holy in a way that I had never experienced before – without having to check my mind at the door! Who said that an African American urban kid of 17 years old couldn’t be attracted to the tradition of liturgy that has stood the test of time for 2000 years?
My brothers and sisters, this bishop believes that our parishes need to focus more on their community’s worship as the vehicle for the kind of evangelism that works for us. The problem for the Episcopal Church is not that we are neurotically and unhelpfully fixated on music and liturgy. Rather, the problem for us from an evangelical and church growth stance is that we are not focussed enough on our worship.
Good worship consists of its own “three legged stool”: music, liturgy and preaching. Each leg of that stool is important, and if one of them is weak than the other two will not be able to stand for long. The truth is no matter how earnestly a church may pour itself into serving its community (which, as I said earlier, is a good thing), if the preaching is uninspiring, the liturgy is sloppy, or the music is barely listenable, then that church will shrink and eventually may have to close its doors as a worshiping community.
This means that growing churches are going to have to spend more of their time, money and other resources on having a good music program – not less. They are going to have to spend more time developing good liturgical practices for their services, not less. And they are going to have to insist that their clergy spend more time, effort and training on becoming good preachers, not settling for mediocre preaching. Ultimately, the reason for this turn, or “return,” to worship isn’t to maintain market share. It’s not to make us “feel” good, or to achieve some vague spiritual high. The reason the Episcopal Church must focus on worship is to prepare itself to make disciples of all nations. It is to take seriously the first call of Jesus before the great commission to “go to the mountain, see Jesus there, and worship him.”
To God be all honor, glory and praise forever. Amen.
A Sermon Preached by the Rt. Rev. Eugene Taylor Sutton,Bishop of Maryland,
Upon the Opening Mass of the 2014 National Conference of the Association of Anglican Musicians,
Held at St. Paul’s Parish, K Street, Washington, DC
Monday, June 16, 2014 – 10:00 am
“THE TWO CALLS”
Matthew 28:16-20
16 Now the eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain to which Jesus had directed them.
17 When they saw him, they worshiped him; but some doubted.
18 And Jesus came and said to them, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me.
19 Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit,
20 and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you. And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”
Core membership loss of over 8%. Uncertain leadership, with no strategic plan for growth. Loss of energy, lack of vision, with little basis for optimism in the face of a culture that appears to be increasingly hostile to the faith.
The Episcopal Church in the 21st century? No, I’m talking about the world of Jesus’ disciples at the end of the Gospel according to Matthew. In those days immediately following Jesus’ resurrection, the Christian movement was at a very precarious stage, and it was not at all clear it was going to survive. How could it? Many of its followers and adherents had fallen away due to disillusionment, and religious and social pressures. The Twelve were now The Eleven due to the betrayal and suicide of Judas – representing the loss of 8.3% of its core members. The organization, such as it was, had no undisputed leader, no secure funding scheme, no sound administrative or board structure, and no strategic plan for the future – surely giving rise, I’m sure, to calls for “restructuring.” Sound familiar?
It’s in that context of spiritual and emotional malaise that Jesus gives his most famous farewell “charge” to his successors. The gospel lesson assigned for today is one of the best known scriptural mandates for the mission of the church. It’s called “The Great Commission,” so named because it is when our Lord calls, or “commissions,” his followers to go into all the world to make disciples, baptize them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teach them to cling to everything that Jesus commanded them. The Church has heard that call to mission very clearly, and while it has been sometimes misunderstood and abused as a basis for cultural, racial and religious imperialism, it has also given rise to the spread of the good news of Jesus everywhere – as well as the establishment of schools, hospitals, and institutions promoting justice, reconciliation and peace. Whenever the Church forgets the Great Commission it does so at its peril, and it has served as a warning to the Church to not succumb to those inevitable self-serving tendencies to become nothing more than a religious social club for insiders.
But the call of the “Great Commission” contained in verses 18 through 20 – the ones assigned for this day after the Feast of the Trinity – tell only part of the story. There were actually two calls given by Jesus on those final days to his disciples, and both calls are absolutely necessary for the health and growth of the Christian movement. Do you want to know what that other call is? You would have to go back a few verses to read the entire account of what our Lord directed his disciples at the close of Matthew’s gospel, beginning at verse 16, which reads: “Now the eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain to which Jesus had directed them. When they saw him, they worshiped him; but some doubted.”
The first call, then, of the resurrected Jesus was to go to Galilee, to go to the mountain. This call was first made to the women at the empty tomb; in verse 10 Jesus tells them to “go tell my brothers to go to Galilee; there they will see me.” In other words, the first obligation of the disciples of Christ was to go home, and look for Jesus there. There, on the mountaintop – as has been true throughout the Scriptures – is where God is always revealed in a significant way. It was true for Moses on Mt. Sinai where he spent 40 days and nights communing with The Lord before he was ready to receive the Law to give to the Israelites. It was true for Elijah who on the mountain had to listen to the “still small voice” of God to strengthen him for the hard journey below. It was true for Peter, James and John who could only see the full glory of the Lord on the face of Jesus on the Mount of Transfiguration before they could begin their mission of going into the towns and villages teaching, healing, driving out evil and proclaiming the advent of the reign of God on earth.
And it was true for the disciples in today’s lesson as well, serving as the prerequisite for hearing the Great Commission. In other words, before they could hear that Second Call to go and make disciples everywhere, they first had to hear his First Call to go to the mountain and worship.
Is not this a crucial reminder for The Episcopal Church at this present time? Are we all that dissimilar to our spiritual ancestors in their moments of personal and/or communal weakness?
You’re familiar with the figures, the numbers that seemingly tell a depressing story of a steady, deep and continuing decline of the Church. But that story can and should be challenged at every opportunity. In April of last year, Dean Ian Markham, president of Virginia Theological Seminary, gave a much noted address at the annual convention of the Diocese of Delaware in which he countered the “conventional wisdom” that the Episcopal Church has been in unbroken decline for the last fifty years, and that its future promises more of the same. He correctly points out that in the decade before 2002, the Episcopal Church actually grew in average Sunday attendance by 18,000 worshipers. I remember well those days at the dawn of the 21st century when religious social scientists and church sociologists were openly talking about why was it that The Episcopal Church and the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America (ELCA) alone among the Mainline Protestant denominations was experiencing numerical growth – however slight – at least, not declining in worship attendance. The Diocese of Maryland was growing then, as well as the Dioceses of Washington, Virginia, Delaware and several others.
The indications, of course, are that we grew then because we were known as the Church that worshiped well….emphasizing ancient prayers and rites, beautiful liturgies and music that lifts the soul out of the everyday into the glorified presence of a resurrected Lord. If the Episcopal Church was known for anything in those years, it was that.
But then something happened around 2002 and 2003 that changed the public’s perception of the Episcopal Church. Do you remember? That was the period when the conflicts flared up in full force around the full inclusion in the church of all God’s people, and in particular celebrating the gifts that gay and lesbian Christians bring to our common life. In 2003, my friend Gene Robinson was elected bishop of New Hampshire, which caused a firestorm in the church here and in the Anglican Communion. We began fighting, and many members – including substantial parts of four dioceses – left the Episcopal Church. Of course, we continued to gain new members, but that did not make up for the loss of those who left.
The point I’m making is that the Episcopal Church in the public’s mind became more identified with conflicts, property disputes, fighting, and sex than it became know for its distinctive embodiment of worship. In short, in an era of sound bites, quick opinions, and superficial allegiances, the Episcopal Church lost its brand.
But there is good news here. Unlike many of our brothers and sisters in other Christian denominations, we Episcopalians are coming to the end of those troubles. Those members who are still unhappy with our churchwide stances on inclusion have already made the calculation that this is not the issue that is going to drive them away, and more importantly, their children are not at all likely to leave the Episcopal Church because of our openness to the presence and gifts of all people.
My brothers and sisters, I submit to you that repeated calls to “just focus on mission” is seriously missing the boat on what has been behind our institutional losses of membership and attendance. The “Go, therefore…” of the Great Commission is a very important call to the whole church – but it is the second call. The first call at the end of Matthew’s Gospel is to go to the mountain, meet Jesus there, and worship Him. Sadly, in the Episcopal Church at this present time, we hear very little about that first call. This issue of the “first call” is very personal for me…it goes to the heart of the matter as to why I am an Episcopalian. I was born in this city of Washington, and my faith was nurtured at a large, black and vibrant congregation in the center of the black community. What this means is that I sang, clapped, swayed, stomped and shouted my way into the Christian faith – for which, of course, I am eternally grateful!
By my high school years, however, this way of worshiping no longer worked for me. Already by then, I was wary and weary of the constant demands for a highly charged emotional response on my part as the evidence that the Holy Spirit was present. I was tired of the anti-intellectualism, the easy answers to complex issues, the focus on individual gifts of performance rather than on the majesty of God, and the lack of a worshipful connection with the ancient past and the lives of our spiritual forbears in faith.
After a brief period of “atheism” – to the extent that a 17 year old struggling with his faith could be an atheist – I came back to the faith. But where to worship? I literally went to dozens of churches, from storefronts to large sanctuaries, Protestant and Catholic Churches, black and white, rich and poor. It wasn’t, however, until I stepped into the Church of the Ascension & St. Agnes – that venerable downtown Anglo-catholic parish – that I found my “home.” I didn’t understand much about what was going on liturgically at that morning’s mass; it was a whole new world for me. But I did know that what was happening there helped me to connect with the Holy in a way that I had never experienced before – without having to check my mind at the door! Who said that an African American urban kid of 17 years old couldn’t be attracted to the tradition of liturgy that has stood the test of time for 2000 years?
My brothers and sisters, this bishop believes that our parishes need to focus more on their community’s worship as the vehicle for the kind of evangelism that works for us. The problem for the Episcopal Church is not that we are neurotically and unhelpfully fixated on music and liturgy. Rather, the problem for us from an evangelical and church growth stance is that we are not focussed enough on our worship.
Good worship consists of its own “three legged stool”: music, liturgy and preaching. Each leg of that stool is important, and if one of them is weak than the other two will not be able to stand for long. The truth is no matter how earnestly a church may pour itself into serving its community (which, as I said earlier, is a good thing), if the preaching is uninspiring, the liturgy is sloppy, or the music is barely listenable, then that church will shrink and eventually may have to close its doors as a worshiping community.
This means that growing churches are going to have to spend more of their time, money and other resources on having a good music program – not less. They are going to have to spend more time developing good liturgical practices for their services, not less. And they are going to have to insist that their clergy spend more time, effort and training on becoming good preachers, not settling for mediocre preaching. Ultimately, the reason for this turn, or “return,” to worship isn’t to maintain market share. It’s not to make us “feel” good, or to achieve some vague spiritual high. The reason the Episcopal Church must focus on worship is to prepare itself to make disciples of all nations. It is to take seriously the first call of Jesus before the great commission to “go to the mountain, see Jesus there, and worship him.”
To God be all honor, glory and praise forever. Amen.
Another thoughtful post from my friend, Fr. Kevin Morris:
http://inwardlydigest.org/2014/06/11/do-we-really-believe-in-the-real-presence/
"The greatest love story of all time is contained in a tiny white host” -Archbishop Fulton Sheen
“You take communion to become holy, not because you already are” -St. Peter Julian Eymard
Episcopalians believe in the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist. That is to say that Jesus Christ is truly and objectively present on the altar under the form of bread and wine, which are consecrated as His Body and His Blood. It is an idea that goes back to the very earliest time in the church and it is one of the greatest mysteries of the Catholic faith. Medieval theologians went to great lengths to explain exactly how this happens, but nowadays I think the average worshiper is content to accept the elements as being what Christ says they are (i.e., His Body and His Blood) without much exploration into the intricate philosophical arguments as to how they got that way. The idea of the Real Presence seems pretty uncontroversial these days, but I do question sometimes what we actually believe.
Do we actually believe in the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist? If so, do our actions, both in the mass and outside of the mass, bear witness to that belief? Sometimes I wonder…
I once visited a church where the custom was to take the unconsumed bread outside after the service (they used leavened bread) and to scatter it upon the sidewalk in a misguided attempt to feed the birds. Although this was an extreme example of sacrilege, it was certainly not the only such experience I have had in my ministry, and I am aware of many more examples of similar desecration from stories I have heard from my colleagues. It is a trite saying, but it is true: actions speak louder than words. If we expect people to take our beliefs seriously, then those beliefs need to be reflected in our lives; if we are going to claim in word that the Holy Eucharist is the supreme act of Christian worship and that Christ is truly present in the sacrament on the altar, then our actions need to claim it in deed.
I so often hear priests discussing liturgy as if it is merely concerned with style and not substance. This is a fallacy. The liturgical actions we employ in the worship of God teach as much, if not more, than the words we use. Our style of worship conveys the substance of our faith; in and of itself it is not the substance, but it is an important tool that we use to point people to deeper realities. G.D. Carleton, in his classic guide to the Anglo-Catholic faith The King’s Highway writes:
If true worship in the spirit were lacking, all grandeur of material worship would indeed be a dead and meaningless form: but true spiritual worship, from beings such as we are, would not be complete and perfected if it were divorced from as perfect an outward expression as we are able to give. This is the principle which underlies all the ceremonial of the church.
The ceremonial is an outward expression of our inner faith and worship, and although I would argue that it does not need to be (nor should it be) universally the same, I do think that it should be an experience of dignity and reverence that is a fitting expression of the spiritual reality that we are proclaiming. We claim that our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ is actually present in the bread and wine offered on the altar; do our actions proclaim the same thing? Can people tell from our posture and actions a sense of respect for the God in our midst? Would a stranger walking into our churches see in our expressions any awe and wonder at the great mystery of the incarnation held before us? If we really believe that Christ is present in the sacrament of the altar and if we believe that part of our calling as Christians is going out into the world and making people disciples of that very same Christ, then what we do, both inside the mass and outside the mass, matters.
Next week is the Feast of Corpus Christi and my church will be observing it with a service of Choral Evensong and Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament. Although Benediction, for most Anglicans, may seem a strange or foreign service, best left to the spikiest of Anglo-Catholics, there is much to be commended about it, and I am happy to say that it seems to be gaining in popularity of late. Benediction and Eucharistic Adoration draw our attention to the mystery of the incarnation in a way that makes us stop what we are doing and take notice that there is something very profound happening here. It is a wonderful compliment to, but not replacement of, the mass itself. Here we must reflect on the reality to which the Eucharistic prayer speaks: the great love story of God that is contained in this bread. Our actions speak to this reality too: we bow, we kneel, we burn candles and incense all to show the great love and respect for the God who chooses to be among us.
But of course, our love for God should not stop there. The great paradox of sanctity, is that when you learn to recognize the holiness of one thing, you can then see that same holiness reflected in other things. It is only by recognizing the holiness of God that we are able to eventually lay claim to our own holiness, as well as the holiness of others. First we recognize the sacredness of the bread, then we recognize the sacredness of all that the bread feeds. Saint Peter Julian Eymard, the French priest and founder of the Congregation of the Blessed Sacrament, once remarked: “Happy is the soul that knows how to find Jesus in the Eucharist, and the Eucharist in all things.”
Are we helping people to find Jesus in the Eucharist? Do our actions, whether they be liturgical or in the secular world, point to the great truth which we claim in the Holy Eucharist? Would a stranger observing what we do, but ignoring what we say, still understand our worship as something profound and mysterious, our would they see it simply as another gathering of like-minded individuals? If we truly believe in the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist, then our worship and our lives need to reflect that. We don’t all need to celebrate in exactly the same way and our liturgies needn’t always be complicated, but what we do should always help people to find Jesus in the Eucharist and the Eucharist in all things. It is here where style really matters to the substance of our faith."
http://inwardlydigest.org/2014/06/11/do-we-really-believe-in-the-real-presence/
"The greatest love story of all time is contained in a tiny white host” -Archbishop Fulton Sheen
“You take communion to become holy, not because you already are” -St. Peter Julian Eymard
Episcopalians believe in the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist. That is to say that Jesus Christ is truly and objectively present on the altar under the form of bread and wine, which are consecrated as His Body and His Blood. It is an idea that goes back to the very earliest time in the church and it is one of the greatest mysteries of the Catholic faith. Medieval theologians went to great lengths to explain exactly how this happens, but nowadays I think the average worshiper is content to accept the elements as being what Christ says they are (i.e., His Body and His Blood) without much exploration into the intricate philosophical arguments as to how they got that way. The idea of the Real Presence seems pretty uncontroversial these days, but I do question sometimes what we actually believe.
Do we actually believe in the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist? If so, do our actions, both in the mass and outside of the mass, bear witness to that belief? Sometimes I wonder…
I once visited a church where the custom was to take the unconsumed bread outside after the service (they used leavened bread) and to scatter it upon the sidewalk in a misguided attempt to feed the birds. Although this was an extreme example of sacrilege, it was certainly not the only such experience I have had in my ministry, and I am aware of many more examples of similar desecration from stories I have heard from my colleagues. It is a trite saying, but it is true: actions speak louder than words. If we expect people to take our beliefs seriously, then those beliefs need to be reflected in our lives; if we are going to claim in word that the Holy Eucharist is the supreme act of Christian worship and that Christ is truly present in the sacrament on the altar, then our actions need to claim it in deed.
I so often hear priests discussing liturgy as if it is merely concerned with style and not substance. This is a fallacy. The liturgical actions we employ in the worship of God teach as much, if not more, than the words we use. Our style of worship conveys the substance of our faith; in and of itself it is not the substance, but it is an important tool that we use to point people to deeper realities. G.D. Carleton, in his classic guide to the Anglo-Catholic faith The King’s Highway writes:
If true worship in the spirit were lacking, all grandeur of material worship would indeed be a dead and meaningless form: but true spiritual worship, from beings such as we are, would not be complete and perfected if it were divorced from as perfect an outward expression as we are able to give. This is the principle which underlies all the ceremonial of the church.
The ceremonial is an outward expression of our inner faith and worship, and although I would argue that it does not need to be (nor should it be) universally the same, I do think that it should be an experience of dignity and reverence that is a fitting expression of the spiritual reality that we are proclaiming. We claim that our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ is actually present in the bread and wine offered on the altar; do our actions proclaim the same thing? Can people tell from our posture and actions a sense of respect for the God in our midst? Would a stranger walking into our churches see in our expressions any awe and wonder at the great mystery of the incarnation held before us? If we really believe that Christ is present in the sacrament of the altar and if we believe that part of our calling as Christians is going out into the world and making people disciples of that very same Christ, then what we do, both inside the mass and outside the mass, matters.
Next week is the Feast of Corpus Christi and my church will be observing it with a service of Choral Evensong and Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament. Although Benediction, for most Anglicans, may seem a strange or foreign service, best left to the spikiest of Anglo-Catholics, there is much to be commended about it, and I am happy to say that it seems to be gaining in popularity of late. Benediction and Eucharistic Adoration draw our attention to the mystery of the incarnation in a way that makes us stop what we are doing and take notice that there is something very profound happening here. It is a wonderful compliment to, but not replacement of, the mass itself. Here we must reflect on the reality to which the Eucharistic prayer speaks: the great love story of God that is contained in this bread. Our actions speak to this reality too: we bow, we kneel, we burn candles and incense all to show the great love and respect for the God who chooses to be among us.
But of course, our love for God should not stop there. The great paradox of sanctity, is that when you learn to recognize the holiness of one thing, you can then see that same holiness reflected in other things. It is only by recognizing the holiness of God that we are able to eventually lay claim to our own holiness, as well as the holiness of others. First we recognize the sacredness of the bread, then we recognize the sacredness of all that the bread feeds. Saint Peter Julian Eymard, the French priest and founder of the Congregation of the Blessed Sacrament, once remarked: “Happy is the soul that knows how to find Jesus in the Eucharist, and the Eucharist in all things.”
Are we helping people to find Jesus in the Eucharist? Do our actions, whether they be liturgical or in the secular world, point to the great truth which we claim in the Holy Eucharist? Would a stranger observing what we do, but ignoring what we say, still understand our worship as something profound and mysterious, our would they see it simply as another gathering of like-minded individuals? If we truly believe in the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist, then our worship and our lives need to reflect that. We don’t all need to celebrate in exactly the same way and our liturgies needn’t always be complicated, but what we do should always help people to find Jesus in the Eucharist and the Eucharist in all things. It is here where style really matters to the substance of our faith."
Thoughtful post from my friend, Fr. Kevin Morris:
http://inwardlydigest.org/2014/08/01/this-our-sacrifice-of-praise-and-thanksgiving-getting-less-out-of-worship/
"In 1920, the Rev. C. J. Smith, then Dean of Pembroke College, Cambridge addressed the First Anglo-Catholic Congress of The Church of England on the history and theology of the sacrifice of the altar. He concluded his presentation with the following prescient observation:
So long as the central act of Christian devotion is thought of only or principally as a means of receiving, so long will religion be centered upon self. But let that central act be recognized as an act of worship and offering and sacrifice, and Christian life, which draws its inspiration and its power from the altar, will more and more become a life which is offered, a life which is made a living sacrifice, a life whose object is not self but God.
Now, more than 90 years later, Holy Eucharist is the principle act of worship among most Anglican churches, which would not have been the case at the time that Dean Smith was making his presentation, but the renewed emphasis on the Eucharist has happened in precisely the one-sided manner which the good dean feared: we think of our worship as a place where we go to get something, not where we go to give something.
Time and again I hear people make comments about “not getting anything” out of church. While I am very sympathetic to people wanting to avoid bad preaching or bad liturgy, having a spiritually edifying experience on Sunday morning might be more dependent on what we are prepared to give than what we are expecting to get. If we aren’t getting anything out of our worship of God, the real problem might be that we aren’t putting anything into it. Maybe it is time for us to start getting less out of our worship.
From the beginning of the book of Genesis to the end of the book of Revelation, the central theme in the human worship of God has been sacrifice. The ritual of sacrifice has taken different forms and the object being sacrificed has varied, but our worship of God has been nonetheless, sacrificial. The supreme sacrifice was that of our Lord Jesus Christ on the cross, which the church has traditionally believed, is made present to us, or re-presented in the sacrifice of the altar or the Mass. Christ does not re-suffer or die anew each time we say Mass, but his “one oblation of himself once offered” is made present to us through his very real presence in the bread and wine on the altar. His sacrifice becomes our sacrifice as he is laid upon our altars.
The sacrifice of Christ is the supreme offering to God, but that does not mean that we are thereby exempted from offering anything ourselves. We offer God our money, we offer God our service, and, most importantly, we offer God our praise. Routinely taking the time to stop and pay attention to God is a sacrifice that we are called to make, not because we expect to receive something in return as payment, but in recognition and thanks for the life that the author of life has already given us.
Our sacrifices can never attain the glory of the sacrifice of Christ, but that does not, I think, make them any less precious in God’s sight. Have you ever received a handmade gift or drawing from your child? They aren’t always the most beautiful things in the world, but to a loving parent they are priceless. So it is with our sacrifices: God’s doesn’t really need them, and they can never be perfect, but they are dear to him nonetheless.
Our modern culture has become far more consumerist than Dean Smith would probably even have imagined and predictably that consumerist culture has bled into our church culture as well. People come to church with the expectation of getting something, not doing something. The idea of sacrifice is becoming more and more foreign to people and the result is a faith that is increasingly centered on self and far less centered on God.
Christ’s sacrifice was an act of giving. It is a truly wonderful and great thing that Christ offers himself to us through the sacrament, and it is a good and devout practice to receive him regularly; but if we are to be Christ-like as Christians then our supreme act of worship should be a reflection of his: it should be an act of giving.
Let us not shy away from speaking of sacrifice in our worship of God; let us emphasize it. Let us remember that we are called to make offerings to God as acts of praise and thanksgiving for the life that we have been given. Let us worry less about what we are getting from our worship and think more about what we are putting into it. In so doing we just may discover that the true power and grace of the Christian life comes more from what we put on the altar, than from what we take off of it.
It’s time we got less out of our worship, and allowed our worship to give God more."
http://inwardlydigest.org/2014/08/01/this-our-sacrifice-of-praise-and-thanksgiving-getting-less-out-of-worship/
"In 1920, the Rev. C. J. Smith, then Dean of Pembroke College, Cambridge addressed the First Anglo-Catholic Congress of The Church of England on the history and theology of the sacrifice of the altar. He concluded his presentation with the following prescient observation:
So long as the central act of Christian devotion is thought of only or principally as a means of receiving, so long will religion be centered upon self. But let that central act be recognized as an act of worship and offering and sacrifice, and Christian life, which draws its inspiration and its power from the altar, will more and more become a life which is offered, a life which is made a living sacrifice, a life whose object is not self but God.
Now, more than 90 years later, Holy Eucharist is the principle act of worship among most Anglican churches, which would not have been the case at the time that Dean Smith was making his presentation, but the renewed emphasis on the Eucharist has happened in precisely the one-sided manner which the good dean feared: we think of our worship as a place where we go to get something, not where we go to give something.
Time and again I hear people make comments about “not getting anything” out of church. While I am very sympathetic to people wanting to avoid bad preaching or bad liturgy, having a spiritually edifying experience on Sunday morning might be more dependent on what we are prepared to give than what we are expecting to get. If we aren’t getting anything out of our worship of God, the real problem might be that we aren’t putting anything into it. Maybe it is time for us to start getting less out of our worship.
From the beginning of the book of Genesis to the end of the book of Revelation, the central theme in the human worship of God has been sacrifice. The ritual of sacrifice has taken different forms and the object being sacrificed has varied, but our worship of God has been nonetheless, sacrificial. The supreme sacrifice was that of our Lord Jesus Christ on the cross, which the church has traditionally believed, is made present to us, or re-presented in the sacrifice of the altar or the Mass. Christ does not re-suffer or die anew each time we say Mass, but his “one oblation of himself once offered” is made present to us through his very real presence in the bread and wine on the altar. His sacrifice becomes our sacrifice as he is laid upon our altars.
The sacrifice of Christ is the supreme offering to God, but that does not mean that we are thereby exempted from offering anything ourselves. We offer God our money, we offer God our service, and, most importantly, we offer God our praise. Routinely taking the time to stop and pay attention to God is a sacrifice that we are called to make, not because we expect to receive something in return as payment, but in recognition and thanks for the life that the author of life has already given us.
Our sacrifices can never attain the glory of the sacrifice of Christ, but that does not, I think, make them any less precious in God’s sight. Have you ever received a handmade gift or drawing from your child? They aren’t always the most beautiful things in the world, but to a loving parent they are priceless. So it is with our sacrifices: God’s doesn’t really need them, and they can never be perfect, but they are dear to him nonetheless.
Our modern culture has become far more consumerist than Dean Smith would probably even have imagined and predictably that consumerist culture has bled into our church culture as well. People come to church with the expectation of getting something, not doing something. The idea of sacrifice is becoming more and more foreign to people and the result is a faith that is increasingly centered on self and far less centered on God.
Christ’s sacrifice was an act of giving. It is a truly wonderful and great thing that Christ offers himself to us through the sacrament, and it is a good and devout practice to receive him regularly; but if we are to be Christ-like as Christians then our supreme act of worship should be a reflection of his: it should be an act of giving.
Let us not shy away from speaking of sacrifice in our worship of God; let us emphasize it. Let us remember that we are called to make offerings to God as acts of praise and thanksgiving for the life that we have been given. Let us worry less about what we are getting from our worship and think more about what we are putting into it. In so doing we just may discover that the true power and grace of the Christian life comes more from what we put on the altar, than from what we take off of it.
It’s time we got less out of our worship, and allowed our worship to give God more."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)