December 13, 2009
The Rev. Natasha Garrison Brubaker
Zephaniah 3:14-20, Canticle 9, Philippians 4:4-7, Luke 3:7-18
Third Sunday of Advent, Year B
One of the strongest temptations for those of us who have identified ourselves as Christians for a while or come from a culture or family that considers itself Christian is to believe that we have it mostly together. The temptation is to hear a hard and provocative voice like John’s and think deep down, he’s talking to somebody else. We would already be one of his disciples, not part of that crowd that seems to be gathering around him now that he is becoming popular, that seems to be jumping on the bandwagon of what was at first dismissed. It’s almost as if John had become trendy!
To be honest, John intimidates me. I’m not sure how I would have reacted to him. I know that the Johnes I meet in my life today unnerve me and my first reaction is often to defend myself. I can slip into that false sense of security or self-righteousness that says, but I’m a Christian, I’m a decent person, or as we hear in the story, I’m a child of Abraham. John is hard; he is asking a lot. He is asking us to do soul-searching about what we really are living for. It can feel very negative, this passage. But I think actually it is quite hope-filled. And here is why: I think it and the passage from Zephaniah are about homecoming and coming home.
The word repent comes from a root that means turn around, come back to where you are supposed to be and to whom you are meant to be. It means to tell us that we’ve gotten off track somehow. We’ve gone off on our own way, often dragging our God-talk with us, and have gotten in a mess. The Bible, as it usually is, is speaking in both communal and personal terms. What we do as persons shapes our society and the society we have shapes the persons that are raised within it.
John points out the communal by responding to three groups of people who are power-brokers within the society: the crowd that tends to follow what is the norm of the powers that be, tax collectors and soldiers. Without digressing into a detailed discussion, suffice it to say that these last two in particular were in positions to abuse their power and they did. This is what John is countering. It’s not hard to find contemporary corollaries: the abuse of markets and financial power by firms on Wall Street, banks and others in pursuit of that highly-valued dream of wealth; paramilitaries or occupying soldiers who intimidate populations and who all too often kill or abuse the innocent. John points out the collective problem that needs to be turned away from, but he really gets to the heart of the matter by saying that it is the work of each person. Without our individual change of heart, society will not be able to take another course. It is always about both our selves and our participation in the larger community. And this change of heart is about coming home to God.
Coming home to God is the hope. It is where we can come with all our mistakes and scars and selfishness and hurts and say here it is God; I know it isn’t pretty, but you love me anyway and can use me for your will and to be a bearer of good fruit, your fruit, in this world. God promises in Zephaniah that he will bring us home, that he will gather us together. We will be restored to wholeness. But we must turn towards it or we will continue to miss it. How we respond, for instance, at Copenhagen or not is a very vivid example among many of this call to turn…and our ability to miss it. The turning makes possible the fruit; it isn’t having so many bushels of apples to give to God or so many flats of blueberries that gives us the seal of repentance. Repentance, which is the turning and that coming home to God, happens when we open ourselves to God and the fruits are the next manifestation. It’s not about earning, it’s about turning and trusting the fruits will be there in our hearts and lives. Often that’s the hardest part—trusting, trusting that if we turn or do the hard inner work we will indeed come home to God, to a place of wholeness.
When I was in Seattle I found myself in a dead-end job at a non-profit. I was frustrated because I wanted and could do more, but also was scared to leave since the job had benefits and I’d only been there for about a year. I didn’t want another employer to think I was flaky. Out of the blue I got a call from a company I had come into contact with before in a previous position. While working at a fishing company I had worked with them to arrange bunkering of our vessels while out at sea with fuel. They had an opening, remembered me and my Russian language skills, and offered me a job. At first it seemed like a godsend. The pay was much better and the work was much more challenging. The downside was it was more of a sales position, which didn’t thrill me. But I talked myself into it for ego reasons, for the lure of more financial security (including the most pious rationale of saving money for seminary!), for experience that would make me more marketable, etc.
I started work, and it just felt wrong. I found myself for all the “right” reasons working in a situation that was drawing me away from myself and from what I hoped for the world. I knew how fishing was done in the Russian Far East. I knew that quotas were being ignored, that overfishing was happening at an alarming rate, that the desire for as much profit as possible by large companies, the habit we have of expecting things such as cod to be available all the time and for an affordable price, and desperation for income by fisherman on the edge were all contributing to it. I saw a future that would mean no fish within a few years and all the despair that would come along, but a system that couldn’t adjust. I saw co-workers who were so lured by the idea of bonuses that they never saw their families. All that mattered was the money. I literally started to feel like I was losing my mind. It got so bad that I couldn’t even speak Russian, a language I was quite proficient in at the time. I was getting lost. No one would question my decision to stay for it was a good job, with very good people, at heart providing a necessary service, but something was just off kilter. I realized that I could not stay there and stay sane, stay true to who I was and the hope I had for a world where we could fish and at the same time sustain the seas for the future.
Terrified, I left the job with $3,000 to my name and no employment lined up. Yet as scary as that new situation was, it was different. I had come home to myself. I had listened and trusted that God was inviting me to something else that I wouldn’t find there. I had to make the turn not knowing the future, but believing that it would bring light to my soul and drive out that darkness that was crowding in. John came to me as a voice of breaking apart in the night. John came as nightmares. It was like being in the firestorm though whether of the Holy Spirit or burning chaff I couldn't tell. And John finally came as the courage through the encouragement of a friend to say I will not stay and it will be okay.
This is one story in my life of repenting and being brought home. It deepened my trust in God and in Jesus. It confirmed some of the core ideas of Christianity for me and how I believe we are to live with each other, even if at times following that is costly or out of step with the rhythm of the world around us. I touched again that light of Christ within that could give me a deep peace and sense of God’s presence even in the midst of all the struggle and anxiety. I came home to God that was residing within me, inviting me to a new place of peace and hope and possibility to bear fruits of compassion and justice and service.
For us, the ultimate gathering is being gathered into the Body of Christ. We await his coming again into the world so that we can renew our experience of that coming home, of us coming home to God and God coming home to us. This two-step dance is the pulse of the universe and of the divine. It is there, beckoning us, if we stop and turn and say yes. It is the dance of a lifetime. We always have further to dance, more steps to learn, more joy and light to discover. We are promised that our trust is exactly what opens the door for God to come in. We are asked to trust so that we can be prepared for God to come home and find a welcome, a ripe field full of wheat ready to be shared.
We don’t have to have it all figured out, (who among us does?), or be perfect. We come and turn where we are so that we can begin to go towards where we want to be: ever more true imitators of Jesus in this world as a community, this part of the Church universal, and as persons. God will come; God is coming. Jesus is waiting once again to break into the world with the Good News of the Gospel. It is a never-ending story of hope and love and turning, and we are wanted for this dance. The light that enlightens all people is coming into the world; that is the promise of Advent, the turn God in Jesus is making towards us.
In this season of preparation and turning I think of a priest I knew in New York City. Every Sunday before celebrating communion he would pray that when we received Christ that day he would find our hearts to be a dwelling place prepared for him. I can think of no better prayer and no better hope for us this Advent season. Amen.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Monday, November 30, 2009
November 29, 2009, 1st Sunday in Advent
November 29, 2009
The Rev. Natasha Brubaker Garrison
Jeremiah 33:14-16, Ps. 25:1-9, 1 Thessalonians 3:9-13, Luke 21:25-36
Advent 1, Year C
Blessed Advent, everyone. Today we enter into this time of waiting, of expectation, and of patience. We live in an impatient world; we live in a world that is always hurrying up the process and rushing ahead to the next thing. Life is a linear reality that has a relentless forward-driving energy. Even at Christmas time. Only 14 shopping days left! You need this to make that goal you set or to make your kids happy! Get to the next holiday party; who knows who you might meet! Even the traditions we have of making certain foods or making decorations fall victim to it. But the coming of God, the awakening of our souls to the deep truth of the unifying mystery of the divine, doesn’t follow this pattern. God isn’t worried about beating the buzzer or final sales or getting to the top of the list. Paradoxically, the coming of God is meant to give us freedom from this ceaseless striving and also give us the very best gift there is: the living God, the living Christ, alive in our hearts.
It’s not obvious though how we arrive at this exhortation to patience from today’s readings. The portion we read of Paul’s first letter to the Thessalonians is a lovely reminder of our need for each other in this Christian walk and our need for God to increase love and strength in our hearts. We never cease to need God working in us not matter how long we’ve been at this Christian thing. Where Advent fits in is not so clear.
The Gospel is even harder to make sense of. It is speaking of the coming crucifixion of Jesus, which happens at the end of the story. It’s a provocative reading. I always imagine that all Jesus is talking about does indeed take place in his death and resurrection. That idea, probably heretical to many, gives a whole new shape to what we mean about the second coming. Is it not the second coming of the Risen Lord on Easter? An intriguing thought, but one that doesn’t get us much closer to the question why now? Why do we hear this to begin Advent? A clue is in the line to be alert. For while this text is speaking towards a particular event it is also speaking in the sense of the continual coming of the Risen One that shakes things up and turns things on their heads. God's promise can and will be fulfilled in times that look so unlike what we imagine God's reign or action to be.
When things are getting turned upside down and things are changing or maybe even falling apart, patience is hard to come by. It is even harder to stand up and raise our heads. We want to hide, to look away. We are often frightened and afraid in the middle of such uncertainty and often turmoil. We are tempted with resignation to a dismal reality or to simply give up. It’s so hard and it’s taking so long. Yet we are to be aware enough that we can see Jesus when he is coming into the world or into even something so small as an individual heart. We are to be patient that he will come when the time is ripe. The question for us is will we be ready for it, aware of it, or not?
Which brings us to the reading from Jeremiah. We hear words of great comfort. The promises will be fulfilled. After exile and occupation, Israel will be its own people in its own land with its own ruler—a branch from the house of David. After hundreds of years the people are to hold up their heads and see their redemption coming to them. They are to be led by someone who will bring righteousness and justice to the land and to the people. Note well it is not military power or wealth or expansion, but living rightly with each other and with God. This is truly what keeps us safe with God and aware, sensitized to, the ongoing work of God with us and for us and within us. After years of waiting, after a patient, and at times very impatient, trust in God, the people will know salvation.
Branches grow slowly into trees. God does not show up on demand or on our haughty command. Even that handful of people, Mary and Joseph and a few foreign wise men, who understood that with Jesus’ birth something new was breaking forth into the world, had to wait 30 years for God’s purpose to be revealed. Patience and trust and a willingness to wait with and for God. Even more so, to wait with and for God and continue to live into the way God calls us to be even when it seems to have no immediate effect or when doubt, darkness and pain loom large. It may not be efficient. At times we may feel absolutely alone in our faith in this even as we affirm that God is with us. It will invite us to live in what some would see as irrational time and in cyclical rhythm, but such too are the motions of God. God will come in the unexpected at yet also at the time we need. This is the deep promise of the coming Christ.
We cannot be alert to or aware of the birthing of Christ in our hearts if we are impatient, always focused on what comes next, on result and getting the next thing done. We cannot be alert if our worries and fears overwhelm us. We must be ripe in our hearts. We must have enough space, enough calm, enough quiet within to be able to feel the faintest of movements of God. We must be able to wait for the next movement that will come in its own time. We must cultivate a soil of soul that can let God grow within. We must be attentive to the weeds that need to be plucked or the fertilizer we need to add (perhaps prayer or worship or stopping and doing nothing from time to time) so that the Word Incarnate has fertile ground to grow from. We must hold fast to a trust in a God that will come for us through thick and through thin. We must be willing to come back to the same place time and again and find it familiar yet also new. We must be able to live in the holy pause, in holy expectancy, in holy patience.
Thomas Merton in his book “Zen and the Birds of Appetite” writes this: “Many of the Zen stories which are almost always incomprehensible in rational terms are simply the ringing of an alarm clock, and the reaction of the sleeper. Usually, the misguided sleeper makes a response which in effect turns off the alarm so that he can go back to sleep. Sometimes he jumps out of bed with a shout of astonishment that it is so late. Sometimes he just sleeps and does not hear the alarm at all…
“But we in the West, living in a tradition of stubborn ego-centered practicality and geared entirely for the use and manipulation of everything, always pass from one thing to another, from cause to effect, from the first to the next and to the last and then back to the first. Everything always point to something else, and hence we never stop anywhere because we cannot: as soon as we pause, the escalator reaches the end of the ride and we have to get off and find another.”
Advent allows us to learn how to come back to the Center, to the unmoveable reality of God, to the presence of God coming alive within us. Rather than going anywhere we come back to what has always been waiting. We discover patience and expectation again both as a personal virtue and a way of living a life of sustained witness to Christ in the world. Christ is coming into the world. God's promise will come to pass. We can’t rush it, control it or make it work for our ends. We can patiently prepare for it and be able to receive it when it comes whether it looks like what we expect or not. Advent is that gift of time to learn to be awake, to learn how to listen for the alarm clocks.
Perhaps the holy task before each of us this week is to discover what it is that muffles the alarm clocks. Perhaps the holy task is to find our impatience and ask that it be turned into patience. Perhaps our task is to trust in the emptiness or darkness that a holy light will shine within in time. Perhaps the holy task is to learn the discipline of holy pause so that Christ has the place and the space to be born yet again within our hearts. Amen.
The Rev. Natasha Brubaker Garrison
Jeremiah 33:14-16, Ps. 25:1-9, 1 Thessalonians 3:9-13, Luke 21:25-36
Advent 1, Year C
Blessed Advent, everyone. Today we enter into this time of waiting, of expectation, and of patience. We live in an impatient world; we live in a world that is always hurrying up the process and rushing ahead to the next thing. Life is a linear reality that has a relentless forward-driving energy. Even at Christmas time. Only 14 shopping days left! You need this to make that goal you set or to make your kids happy! Get to the next holiday party; who knows who you might meet! Even the traditions we have of making certain foods or making decorations fall victim to it. But the coming of God, the awakening of our souls to the deep truth of the unifying mystery of the divine, doesn’t follow this pattern. God isn’t worried about beating the buzzer or final sales or getting to the top of the list. Paradoxically, the coming of God is meant to give us freedom from this ceaseless striving and also give us the very best gift there is: the living God, the living Christ, alive in our hearts.
It’s not obvious though how we arrive at this exhortation to patience from today’s readings. The portion we read of Paul’s first letter to the Thessalonians is a lovely reminder of our need for each other in this Christian walk and our need for God to increase love and strength in our hearts. We never cease to need God working in us not matter how long we’ve been at this Christian thing. Where Advent fits in is not so clear.
The Gospel is even harder to make sense of. It is speaking of the coming crucifixion of Jesus, which happens at the end of the story. It’s a provocative reading. I always imagine that all Jesus is talking about does indeed take place in his death and resurrection. That idea, probably heretical to many, gives a whole new shape to what we mean about the second coming. Is it not the second coming of the Risen Lord on Easter? An intriguing thought, but one that doesn’t get us much closer to the question why now? Why do we hear this to begin Advent? A clue is in the line to be alert. For while this text is speaking towards a particular event it is also speaking in the sense of the continual coming of the Risen One that shakes things up and turns things on their heads. God's promise can and will be fulfilled in times that look so unlike what we imagine God's reign or action to be.
When things are getting turned upside down and things are changing or maybe even falling apart, patience is hard to come by. It is even harder to stand up and raise our heads. We want to hide, to look away. We are often frightened and afraid in the middle of such uncertainty and often turmoil. We are tempted with resignation to a dismal reality or to simply give up. It’s so hard and it’s taking so long. Yet we are to be aware enough that we can see Jesus when he is coming into the world or into even something so small as an individual heart. We are to be patient that he will come when the time is ripe. The question for us is will we be ready for it, aware of it, or not?
Which brings us to the reading from Jeremiah. We hear words of great comfort. The promises will be fulfilled. After exile and occupation, Israel will be its own people in its own land with its own ruler—a branch from the house of David. After hundreds of years the people are to hold up their heads and see their redemption coming to them. They are to be led by someone who will bring righteousness and justice to the land and to the people. Note well it is not military power or wealth or expansion, but living rightly with each other and with God. This is truly what keeps us safe with God and aware, sensitized to, the ongoing work of God with us and for us and within us. After years of waiting, after a patient, and at times very impatient, trust in God, the people will know salvation.
Branches grow slowly into trees. God does not show up on demand or on our haughty command. Even that handful of people, Mary and Joseph and a few foreign wise men, who understood that with Jesus’ birth something new was breaking forth into the world, had to wait 30 years for God’s purpose to be revealed. Patience and trust and a willingness to wait with and for God. Even more so, to wait with and for God and continue to live into the way God calls us to be even when it seems to have no immediate effect or when doubt, darkness and pain loom large. It may not be efficient. At times we may feel absolutely alone in our faith in this even as we affirm that God is with us. It will invite us to live in what some would see as irrational time and in cyclical rhythm, but such too are the motions of God. God will come in the unexpected at yet also at the time we need. This is the deep promise of the coming Christ.
We cannot be alert to or aware of the birthing of Christ in our hearts if we are impatient, always focused on what comes next, on result and getting the next thing done. We cannot be alert if our worries and fears overwhelm us. We must be ripe in our hearts. We must have enough space, enough calm, enough quiet within to be able to feel the faintest of movements of God. We must be able to wait for the next movement that will come in its own time. We must cultivate a soil of soul that can let God grow within. We must be attentive to the weeds that need to be plucked or the fertilizer we need to add (perhaps prayer or worship or stopping and doing nothing from time to time) so that the Word Incarnate has fertile ground to grow from. We must hold fast to a trust in a God that will come for us through thick and through thin. We must be willing to come back to the same place time and again and find it familiar yet also new. We must be able to live in the holy pause, in holy expectancy, in holy patience.
Thomas Merton in his book “Zen and the Birds of Appetite” writes this: “Many of the Zen stories which are almost always incomprehensible in rational terms are simply the ringing of an alarm clock, and the reaction of the sleeper. Usually, the misguided sleeper makes a response which in effect turns off the alarm so that he can go back to sleep. Sometimes he jumps out of bed with a shout of astonishment that it is so late. Sometimes he just sleeps and does not hear the alarm at all…
“But we in the West, living in a tradition of stubborn ego-centered practicality and geared entirely for the use and manipulation of everything, always pass from one thing to another, from cause to effect, from the first to the next and to the last and then back to the first. Everything always point to something else, and hence we never stop anywhere because we cannot: as soon as we pause, the escalator reaches the end of the ride and we have to get off and find another.”
Advent allows us to learn how to come back to the Center, to the unmoveable reality of God, to the presence of God coming alive within us. Rather than going anywhere we come back to what has always been waiting. We discover patience and expectation again both as a personal virtue and a way of living a life of sustained witness to Christ in the world. Christ is coming into the world. God's promise will come to pass. We can’t rush it, control it or make it work for our ends. We can patiently prepare for it and be able to receive it when it comes whether it looks like what we expect or not. Advent is that gift of time to learn to be awake, to learn how to listen for the alarm clocks.
Perhaps the holy task before each of us this week is to discover what it is that muffles the alarm clocks. Perhaps the holy task is to find our impatience and ask that it be turned into patience. Perhaps our task is to trust in the emptiness or darkness that a holy light will shine within in time. Perhaps the holy task is to learn the discipline of holy pause so that Christ has the place and the space to be born yet again within our hearts. Amen.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
November 22, 2009, Christ the King, Last Sunday after Pentecost
November 22, 2009
The Rev. Natasha Brubaker Garrison
Last Sunday of Pentecost, Year B
Even though today is Christ the King Sunday, the last Sunday before Advent, I suspect that what we really want to hear about is Diocesan Convention. Christ the King Sunday is placed where it is in the liturgical year to remind us of exactly what type of “king” it is that we are awaiting. It is not a powerful king armed with weapons of death and coercion, not a king that is ready to ready to dominate and bend all to his will and desire, not a king that seeks worldly power and control, not a king that will lock us up in a cell. We remember that this is a king that embodies and through whom makes possible that deeper yearning we have for calling forth our very best by nurturing our capacity to be generous, to give dignified life to all, to live in accountability and responsibility with mercy, love and an awareness that we are all subject to the same shortcomings and mistakes. It is that of the self as part of a Body, not a self over and against the rest. This is a deep hope and expectation that we live into only in part. But it to this hope and expectation that Christ is loyal and to which he gives his allegiance. That is also our hope. It is the threshold moment when we step into Advent: that wonderful season of quiet and contemplation about the deepest hope that resides within for what we can be with God’s grace and presence and of preparation of our hearts for the arrival of the one that lived it fully.
There was a wonderful synergy in having our Diocesan Convention on the eve of Christ the King. After many months of hard work and healing, we are on the threshold of expectation and hope for the new, for the arrival of our next Bishop. We are now preparing our hearts for this new arrival and all the promise that it bears. We have lived through a difficult and painful recent past and have emerged stronger, wiser, and more able to be gracious with each other. We, like Mary, have been able to say yes to the unknown with trust and a deep faith that it will be for good.
So, what exactly did we say yes to these past two days for our Diocese? Quite a lot. Much was done in a short time and I have to say I think we established a Diocesan Convention business land speed record in doing our work. I’ve been to a good number of conventions by now and I must say, we were moving. If one checked out for too long or took too lengthy of a break one came back to find the train had moved on by about 5 stations. This, I believe, is a sign that we had done our work well and were ready.
The Rev. Michael Hanley was elected as our new Diocesan Bishop. I hope that most of you have read about him and the other candidates in the diocesan newspaper or on the diocesan website. He was elected on the 2nd vote. This is truly a rare thing. I doubt any of us expected it to go quite that quickly. When the first vote results came in we were one vote shy of electing him on right then. One ballot later and he was overwhelming voted in as bishop by both lay and clergy alike. To say we were excited and joyous was an understatement. We were all just smiling with happiness, even those of us who had voted for someone else. And here is why: all three candidates were so superb that we knew we were going to be in good hands no matter how it turned out. But to see such a clear sense coming from lay and clergy from the start indicates a deep common discernment and movement of the Holy Spirit. I admit that I waffled a lot between Andy and Michael. It was always a dance of 49% to 51%. So when I voted the first round for Andy and saw the results, I was able with a glad heart to give my second vote to Michael. Michael is grounded, experienced, possessed of a good sense of humor (a most necessary trait for a Bishop), and ready to listen, learn and encourage. I truly believe we are going to be in very good, very compassionate, very able hands.
On Saturday we skyped with Michael to say congratulations in person and to also sing him Happy Birthday. He is eager to join us and humbled at our confidence in and call of him. I look forward to his first visitation with us and for the future mission and ministry he will support us in and challenge us to do.
All this electing was done by about 11 a.m. Friday morning. In short order we got through several reports and lunch. After lunch we looked at and voted on all our resolutions except the two related to changes to our canons and constitution, in other words, the DPA. On three ballots we elected all people to various diocesan posts. The first resolution we passed was on a statement of support for health care coverage for all. It passed with no discussion.
Moving on, we arrived at the second resolution for consideration, that policy on Same-Gender Blessings to affirm what was passed at General Convention earlier this year. This resolution states that “the Bishop of Oregon provide generous pastoral response to meet the needs of this Church by authorizing the blessing of such partnership by the clergy of this diocese who may choose to do so.” Those clergy who in good conscience cannot do so are likewise supported by the Bishop. This passed after no discussion by an overwhelming majority and with only about a dozen dissenting voices. We continue to move forward in this difficult, yet important work, of full acceptance of all God’s children in the Church.
We next passed a resolution to endorse the Charter for Lifelong Christian Formation as voted on by General Convention. This too passed by an overwhelming majority after a few comments from the floor. Lastly, in similar fashion we voted to establish the first Sunday of Lent as Episcopal Relief and Development Sunday. And then, it was 3: 30, we were an hour and half ahead of schedule for the day and also almost done with all the work set aside for Saturday. Naptime and break were obviously in order. We returned later that evening for a sit-down dinner and a chance to honor and thank various people in the Diocese and most especially Bishop Sandy and Mary.
On Saturday we gathered for the discussion on changing our DPA structure. While new enough to this Diocese to not know all the background, I do know that there has long been a need to restructure this process and mechanism and that it has been under discussion for a long time. I also know that a rather significant number of parishes do not pay their DPA because the current structure is obsolete and creates an undue burden on small parishes. Last year, a change was voted on that passed by a simple majority that would have substantially reduces the DPAs assessed. Such canonical changes require a 2/3 majority (which was not achieved last year), so another vote on it was required this year. Many felt the reduction was too drastic and that many other issues were not addressed. Many voted for it out of frustration and to galvanize some action.
During the past year a small group of very knowledgeable and capable people worked on an alternative version. This version allows for a reduction for most parishes along with mechanisms for parishes that are in financial hardship to work with the diocese and negotiate a payment that is truly equitable and responsive to their particular situation. The hope is that given this new collaborative approach most parishes not paying their DPA will now be able to do so in a way that benefits them, benefits the larger work of the Diocese, and affirms our participation in the Church in Western Oregon. It is about mission and ministry, commitment and accountability.
The vote to replace lasts year’s version with the substitute passed by a large majority. There was then some lengthy discussion about whether we should vote on this new version with various amendments or vote to refer it to a committee appointed by the new Bishop. The idea behind the referral was both that there is still some work to be done on the new version—after all this is a complex and multi-faceted issue and there is indeed room for further clarification—and also to give our new Bishop who is very skilled in this type of work the chance to come in and help refine it rather than receiving a substantial change that has already been approved. In the end, we voted by a large margin not to refer to committee and to approve the new version. Indeed, the new version was passed by a 2/3 majority by both lay and clergy and thus is now an official change to our canons.
The Resurrection delegates came in of a common mind to support the new version, but to vote to refer it to committee for the reasons given above. When the vote came, all voted for referral except me. I changed my mind. And here is why. One, the new version is not perfect, but we are still able to revise and revisit it. Those who worked on it are highly talented in this area and have done tremendous work. It is a vast improvement on what was and lives into the spirit of who we are becoming as a diocese as far as governance style and approach. The new bishop and those who worked on it so far will be able to flesh it out further and refine it, bringing to our next convention amendments for improving and clarifying it so that it works well.
Two, it seemed to me that after so many years of talking we needed to do something, to get off the fence, to actually take the plunge and try something. What we had to vote on this year, unlike last year’s proposal that I did not support, is very, very good. If we wait until something is perfect we will never do anything. It was time to give it a go.
And three, I realized that we needed to move forward and own this lingering business of ours that predates the new bishop. To put it on hold once more for further discussion once the new bishop is here is also a way to shift responsibility. If we did it now, it was ours and ours alone. To wait for approval until the new bishop was here created to my mind the opportunity to then make it the Bishop’s new DPA policy. For those who were then not pleased with it, it could become something the bishop did that they didn’t like and thus his fault, problem, etc. I wanted to avoid this possibility and encourage us to begin this collaboratively and honestly.
All in all, we did good work and it was truly a celebration. We have a wonderful new phase of life before us and we continue to grow into the full stature and maturity of Christ here in this Diocese. We are ready to move forward, to live creatively, to continue to become more and more the disciples Christ invites us to be. We are strong; we are committed to this Church; we are safe. And we have a lot of difficult, wonderful and amazing work to do. And do it we shall with God’s help. Amen.
The Rev. Natasha Brubaker Garrison
Last Sunday of Pentecost, Year B
Even though today is Christ the King Sunday, the last Sunday before Advent, I suspect that what we really want to hear about is Diocesan Convention. Christ the King Sunday is placed where it is in the liturgical year to remind us of exactly what type of “king” it is that we are awaiting. It is not a powerful king armed with weapons of death and coercion, not a king that is ready to ready to dominate and bend all to his will and desire, not a king that seeks worldly power and control, not a king that will lock us up in a cell. We remember that this is a king that embodies and through whom makes possible that deeper yearning we have for calling forth our very best by nurturing our capacity to be generous, to give dignified life to all, to live in accountability and responsibility with mercy, love and an awareness that we are all subject to the same shortcomings and mistakes. It is that of the self as part of a Body, not a self over and against the rest. This is a deep hope and expectation that we live into only in part. But it to this hope and expectation that Christ is loyal and to which he gives his allegiance. That is also our hope. It is the threshold moment when we step into Advent: that wonderful season of quiet and contemplation about the deepest hope that resides within for what we can be with God’s grace and presence and of preparation of our hearts for the arrival of the one that lived it fully.
There was a wonderful synergy in having our Diocesan Convention on the eve of Christ the King. After many months of hard work and healing, we are on the threshold of expectation and hope for the new, for the arrival of our next Bishop. We are now preparing our hearts for this new arrival and all the promise that it bears. We have lived through a difficult and painful recent past and have emerged stronger, wiser, and more able to be gracious with each other. We, like Mary, have been able to say yes to the unknown with trust and a deep faith that it will be for good.
So, what exactly did we say yes to these past two days for our Diocese? Quite a lot. Much was done in a short time and I have to say I think we established a Diocesan Convention business land speed record in doing our work. I’ve been to a good number of conventions by now and I must say, we were moving. If one checked out for too long or took too lengthy of a break one came back to find the train had moved on by about 5 stations. This, I believe, is a sign that we had done our work well and were ready.
The Rev. Michael Hanley was elected as our new Diocesan Bishop. I hope that most of you have read about him and the other candidates in the diocesan newspaper or on the diocesan website. He was elected on the 2nd vote. This is truly a rare thing. I doubt any of us expected it to go quite that quickly. When the first vote results came in we were one vote shy of electing him on right then. One ballot later and he was overwhelming voted in as bishop by both lay and clergy alike. To say we were excited and joyous was an understatement. We were all just smiling with happiness, even those of us who had voted for someone else. And here is why: all three candidates were so superb that we knew we were going to be in good hands no matter how it turned out. But to see such a clear sense coming from lay and clergy from the start indicates a deep common discernment and movement of the Holy Spirit. I admit that I waffled a lot between Andy and Michael. It was always a dance of 49% to 51%. So when I voted the first round for Andy and saw the results, I was able with a glad heart to give my second vote to Michael. Michael is grounded, experienced, possessed of a good sense of humor (a most necessary trait for a Bishop), and ready to listen, learn and encourage. I truly believe we are going to be in very good, very compassionate, very able hands.
On Saturday we skyped with Michael to say congratulations in person and to also sing him Happy Birthday. He is eager to join us and humbled at our confidence in and call of him. I look forward to his first visitation with us and for the future mission and ministry he will support us in and challenge us to do.
All this electing was done by about 11 a.m. Friday morning. In short order we got through several reports and lunch. After lunch we looked at and voted on all our resolutions except the two related to changes to our canons and constitution, in other words, the DPA. On three ballots we elected all people to various diocesan posts. The first resolution we passed was on a statement of support for health care coverage for all. It passed with no discussion.
Moving on, we arrived at the second resolution for consideration, that policy on Same-Gender Blessings to affirm what was passed at General Convention earlier this year. This resolution states that “the Bishop of Oregon provide generous pastoral response to meet the needs of this Church by authorizing the blessing of such partnership by the clergy of this diocese who may choose to do so.” Those clergy who in good conscience cannot do so are likewise supported by the Bishop. This passed after no discussion by an overwhelming majority and with only about a dozen dissenting voices. We continue to move forward in this difficult, yet important work, of full acceptance of all God’s children in the Church.
We next passed a resolution to endorse the Charter for Lifelong Christian Formation as voted on by General Convention. This too passed by an overwhelming majority after a few comments from the floor. Lastly, in similar fashion we voted to establish the first Sunday of Lent as Episcopal Relief and Development Sunday. And then, it was 3: 30, we were an hour and half ahead of schedule for the day and also almost done with all the work set aside for Saturday. Naptime and break were obviously in order. We returned later that evening for a sit-down dinner and a chance to honor and thank various people in the Diocese and most especially Bishop Sandy and Mary.
On Saturday we gathered for the discussion on changing our DPA structure. While new enough to this Diocese to not know all the background, I do know that there has long been a need to restructure this process and mechanism and that it has been under discussion for a long time. I also know that a rather significant number of parishes do not pay their DPA because the current structure is obsolete and creates an undue burden on small parishes. Last year, a change was voted on that passed by a simple majority that would have substantially reduces the DPAs assessed. Such canonical changes require a 2/3 majority (which was not achieved last year), so another vote on it was required this year. Many felt the reduction was too drastic and that many other issues were not addressed. Many voted for it out of frustration and to galvanize some action.
During the past year a small group of very knowledgeable and capable people worked on an alternative version. This version allows for a reduction for most parishes along with mechanisms for parishes that are in financial hardship to work with the diocese and negotiate a payment that is truly equitable and responsive to their particular situation. The hope is that given this new collaborative approach most parishes not paying their DPA will now be able to do so in a way that benefits them, benefits the larger work of the Diocese, and affirms our participation in the Church in Western Oregon. It is about mission and ministry, commitment and accountability.
The vote to replace lasts year’s version with the substitute passed by a large majority. There was then some lengthy discussion about whether we should vote on this new version with various amendments or vote to refer it to a committee appointed by the new Bishop. The idea behind the referral was both that there is still some work to be done on the new version—after all this is a complex and multi-faceted issue and there is indeed room for further clarification—and also to give our new Bishop who is very skilled in this type of work the chance to come in and help refine it rather than receiving a substantial change that has already been approved. In the end, we voted by a large margin not to refer to committee and to approve the new version. Indeed, the new version was passed by a 2/3 majority by both lay and clergy and thus is now an official change to our canons.
The Resurrection delegates came in of a common mind to support the new version, but to vote to refer it to committee for the reasons given above. When the vote came, all voted for referral except me. I changed my mind. And here is why. One, the new version is not perfect, but we are still able to revise and revisit it. Those who worked on it are highly talented in this area and have done tremendous work. It is a vast improvement on what was and lives into the spirit of who we are becoming as a diocese as far as governance style and approach. The new bishop and those who worked on it so far will be able to flesh it out further and refine it, bringing to our next convention amendments for improving and clarifying it so that it works well.
Two, it seemed to me that after so many years of talking we needed to do something, to get off the fence, to actually take the plunge and try something. What we had to vote on this year, unlike last year’s proposal that I did not support, is very, very good. If we wait until something is perfect we will never do anything. It was time to give it a go.
And three, I realized that we needed to move forward and own this lingering business of ours that predates the new bishop. To put it on hold once more for further discussion once the new bishop is here is also a way to shift responsibility. If we did it now, it was ours and ours alone. To wait for approval until the new bishop was here created to my mind the opportunity to then make it the Bishop’s new DPA policy. For those who were then not pleased with it, it could become something the bishop did that they didn’t like and thus his fault, problem, etc. I wanted to avoid this possibility and encourage us to begin this collaboratively and honestly.
All in all, we did good work and it was truly a celebration. We have a wonderful new phase of life before us and we continue to grow into the full stature and maturity of Christ here in this Diocese. We are ready to move forward, to live creatively, to continue to become more and more the disciples Christ invites us to be. We are strong; we are committed to this Church; we are safe. And we have a lot of difficult, wonderful and amazing work to do. And do it we shall with God’s help. Amen.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
November 15, 2009, 24th Sunday after Pentecost
November 15, 2009
The Rev. Natasha Brubaker Garrison
24 Pentecost, Year B
Daniel 12:1-3, Ps 16, Hebrews 10:11-25, Mark 13:1-8
In the name of God, who abides over and around us, the living Word, Christ, who abides among us, and the Spirit that abides within us. Amen.
When you hear the words from Mark, what images, ideas or emotions come to mind? (ask for people to offer a word or description) Would you believe me if I said that today’s readings, particularly the reading from Daniel and the Gospel, are meant to inspire hope? Not just any hope, but a particular expression of it we as the Church call Christian hope? I understand if you are a bit skeptical. These stories are not easy at first reading or perhaps even the 29th to see as hopeful.
There are lots of variations of hope out there. There is hope for what we think will pass with enough effort and determination. For instance, if we do our homework and study with reasonably consistent effort we will move into the next grade. There is apocalyptic-style hope—often met in conversations about passages such as these—that at the end we know we are marked off as God’s special property and the rest of you sorry lot go to the other place. A vindictive kind of hope meant to give security about Mysteries that our not fully ours to know.
There is the hope of emotional longing such as hoping to get the attention of the person with whom we are infatuated or for a long-held dream or goal to come true. Then there is the overly optimistic hope that is determined to find a positive outlook no matter what. I found a quote that captures this rather well: “Erv had a gift for optimism. He believed what he wanted to. Ruth said that if Erv tossed a ball in the air three times, tried to hit it three times with a bat, and three times missed, he would, undisturbed, conclude: Wow. What a pitcher.” On occasion this type of hope helps us find humor and balance. However, if this is the operational understanding on a regular basis, this variety of hope makes it easy to avoid the painful and difficult truth and only seeing what it is that we want to see, no matter how out of touch it may be. This type of hope is present quite often, I think, in political discourse.
Authentic Christian hope, I believe, is none of these. It is something much more demanding and much more realistic. It is rooted in steadfastness to a belief in a loving God that ultimately will redeem this creation for the kingdom no matter how messed up we humans get. And will redeem it not by the means we so often use in our attempts to get the world the way we want it, but by the means we see used by Christ. It is rooted in a deep trust in the importance and life-giving spirit of the Good News. It is a conviction we believe must be held close to our hearts and lived no matter what else is going on around us and no matter how futile it all seems. That’s a big challenge. But it is the challenge of prophetic and end-time imagery.
First of all, we need to get underneath our limited, literal, modern way of reading these texts, and most of us take these literally. In the time, place and culture in which they were written they were not viewed as a form of fortune telling, accurate predictions about specific details of coming events. Daniel was not an ancient Jewish Nostrodamus. Neither was Jesus. These prophetic images were a form of instruction, of teaching. We are given a blunt hint of this in the story itself: When he, Jesus, was sitting on the Mount of Olives… This is the stance of a teacher and Jesus is indeed instructing his disciples.
Such prophecies, such teachings, were a diagnosis of the moral and spiritual health of the people. They were meant to teach, that is to show people how to look at the world around them, in a way that led to understanding. Such prophecies were meant to show that all was not well in the life of the people. It was both a personal and a communal diagnosis for faithfulness to God as given in the Torah was shown very clearly in the common life of the people: caring for the vulnerable, not exploiting workers and slaves, not hording so that others were hungry or homeless, sharing wealth through the practice of tithe, etc. It was also personal for if selfishness, greed, rivalry and lack of concern, etc. for others is strong in our hearts it is shown in the institutions we build.
Jesus reminds his disciples, and by extension us, of this by his image of the great buildings, the magnificent Temple built to worship God in awe and splendour, being razed. Do not place your deepest hope and commitment into these things, he is saying. All human institutions fall short of God’s vision. They are vulnerable to losing their way, and almost always do in time. None of them is or can bring about the kingdom of God. All of them, even the biggest of buildings and the most powerful of institutions or nations, can be overthrown and brought to the ground. It happens all the time and we see it in the wars and famines and chaos that plague our world. All these other things are simultaneously the death throes and the birth pangs, for it is a moment for something new to emerge. But we are called to remain steadfast in our trust in, sharing of, and living out the Gospel. We are asked to be strong in our hope and trust in the Gospel, to bear witness in the midst of the darkest times and to bear witness at all times, even when it seems our witness is insignificantly small and ineffectual.
This is the Christian hope that we are called to hold fast. It is not a guarantee that because we trust in Jesus our life will be smooth sailing or that the world is as it should be. It is rather, that in the midst of the darkest of hours and we are tempted to say why, why continue to struggle for what is good or just or decent when the forces against it seem so overwhelmingly powerful, we keep a steady light shining on the Gospel. We do not abandon it or try to make it support the current status quo, but rather continue to witness to it no matter how few we are or powerless it seems in making a difference. Our horizon is not God’s, but our witness and commitment is essential to keep that horizon and hope alive in the world and to keep true hope alive in us.
I admit that this was a hard and necessary challenge that I needed to hear. It is very hard for me more often than I would like to admit, to keep believing the effort of trying to live out the Gospel is worth it. Perhaps this is something some of you struggle with as well. I struggle with a sense of futility and while I can’t abandon it I find it hard to hope, to give energy to it, to trust that it is worth dedicating my life to. Being the action-oriented and idealistic person that I am, I want to see it making a difference in measurable and profound ways and so often I see nothing of the sort. But that is where Jesus gives me a kick in the pants and says, you follow because it is true and meaningful in and of itself and for the little bit of the world you occupy. Get over yourself and your grandiose ideas of effectiveness. You don’t trust this because of the results given as proof in the life around you beforehand, you trust so you can be a part in ways you can’t even imagine of the future and the presence of the kingdom.
Or as Samwise Gamgee in Lord of the Rings at one of the bleakest, most empty moments when it seems that evil and destruction will win no matter what tells Frodo that they must keep on, they must hope, because they believe there is something good in this world and that it is worth fighting for. For us, that is the Gospel. To live for it and into it against the greatest odds, against all the reasonable arguments why it won’t really work, against all the force and power that can crush our imitation of Christ’s way of being, is the hope and the steadfastness Jesus calls us to. With God there is always a new beginning, a new dawn, a resurrection after the worst of calamity. We can’t avoid the pain and suffering that are part of life, but we can hope in and live for a particular type of birth out of that death—a resurrection and a possibility given to us again.
The Rev. Natasha Brubaker Garrison
24 Pentecost, Year B
Daniel 12:1-3, Ps 16, Hebrews 10:11-25, Mark 13:1-8
In the name of God, who abides over and around us, the living Word, Christ, who abides among us, and the Spirit that abides within us. Amen.
When you hear the words from Mark, what images, ideas or emotions come to mind? (ask for people to offer a word or description) Would you believe me if I said that today’s readings, particularly the reading from Daniel and the Gospel, are meant to inspire hope? Not just any hope, but a particular expression of it we as the Church call Christian hope? I understand if you are a bit skeptical. These stories are not easy at first reading or perhaps even the 29th to see as hopeful.
There are lots of variations of hope out there. There is hope for what we think will pass with enough effort and determination. For instance, if we do our homework and study with reasonably consistent effort we will move into the next grade. There is apocalyptic-style hope—often met in conversations about passages such as these—that at the end we know we are marked off as God’s special property and the rest of you sorry lot go to the other place. A vindictive kind of hope meant to give security about Mysteries that our not fully ours to know.
There is the hope of emotional longing such as hoping to get the attention of the person with whom we are infatuated or for a long-held dream or goal to come true. Then there is the overly optimistic hope that is determined to find a positive outlook no matter what. I found a quote that captures this rather well: “Erv had a gift for optimism. He believed what he wanted to. Ruth said that if Erv tossed a ball in the air three times, tried to hit it three times with a bat, and three times missed, he would, undisturbed, conclude: Wow. What a pitcher.” On occasion this type of hope helps us find humor and balance. However, if this is the operational understanding on a regular basis, this variety of hope makes it easy to avoid the painful and difficult truth and only seeing what it is that we want to see, no matter how out of touch it may be. This type of hope is present quite often, I think, in political discourse.
Authentic Christian hope, I believe, is none of these. It is something much more demanding and much more realistic. It is rooted in steadfastness to a belief in a loving God that ultimately will redeem this creation for the kingdom no matter how messed up we humans get. And will redeem it not by the means we so often use in our attempts to get the world the way we want it, but by the means we see used by Christ. It is rooted in a deep trust in the importance and life-giving spirit of the Good News. It is a conviction we believe must be held close to our hearts and lived no matter what else is going on around us and no matter how futile it all seems. That’s a big challenge. But it is the challenge of prophetic and end-time imagery.
First of all, we need to get underneath our limited, literal, modern way of reading these texts, and most of us take these literally. In the time, place and culture in which they were written they were not viewed as a form of fortune telling, accurate predictions about specific details of coming events. Daniel was not an ancient Jewish Nostrodamus. Neither was Jesus. These prophetic images were a form of instruction, of teaching. We are given a blunt hint of this in the story itself: When he, Jesus, was sitting on the Mount of Olives… This is the stance of a teacher and Jesus is indeed instructing his disciples.
Such prophecies, such teachings, were a diagnosis of the moral and spiritual health of the people. They were meant to teach, that is to show people how to look at the world around them, in a way that led to understanding. Such prophecies were meant to show that all was not well in the life of the people. It was both a personal and a communal diagnosis for faithfulness to God as given in the Torah was shown very clearly in the common life of the people: caring for the vulnerable, not exploiting workers and slaves, not hording so that others were hungry or homeless, sharing wealth through the practice of tithe, etc. It was also personal for if selfishness, greed, rivalry and lack of concern, etc. for others is strong in our hearts it is shown in the institutions we build.
Jesus reminds his disciples, and by extension us, of this by his image of the great buildings, the magnificent Temple built to worship God in awe and splendour, being razed. Do not place your deepest hope and commitment into these things, he is saying. All human institutions fall short of God’s vision. They are vulnerable to losing their way, and almost always do in time. None of them is or can bring about the kingdom of God. All of them, even the biggest of buildings and the most powerful of institutions or nations, can be overthrown and brought to the ground. It happens all the time and we see it in the wars and famines and chaos that plague our world. All these other things are simultaneously the death throes and the birth pangs, for it is a moment for something new to emerge. But we are called to remain steadfast in our trust in, sharing of, and living out the Gospel. We are asked to be strong in our hope and trust in the Gospel, to bear witness in the midst of the darkest times and to bear witness at all times, even when it seems our witness is insignificantly small and ineffectual.
This is the Christian hope that we are called to hold fast. It is not a guarantee that because we trust in Jesus our life will be smooth sailing or that the world is as it should be. It is rather, that in the midst of the darkest of hours and we are tempted to say why, why continue to struggle for what is good or just or decent when the forces against it seem so overwhelmingly powerful, we keep a steady light shining on the Gospel. We do not abandon it or try to make it support the current status quo, but rather continue to witness to it no matter how few we are or powerless it seems in making a difference. Our horizon is not God’s, but our witness and commitment is essential to keep that horizon and hope alive in the world and to keep true hope alive in us.
I admit that this was a hard and necessary challenge that I needed to hear. It is very hard for me more often than I would like to admit, to keep believing the effort of trying to live out the Gospel is worth it. Perhaps this is something some of you struggle with as well. I struggle with a sense of futility and while I can’t abandon it I find it hard to hope, to give energy to it, to trust that it is worth dedicating my life to. Being the action-oriented and idealistic person that I am, I want to see it making a difference in measurable and profound ways and so often I see nothing of the sort. But that is where Jesus gives me a kick in the pants and says, you follow because it is true and meaningful in and of itself and for the little bit of the world you occupy. Get over yourself and your grandiose ideas of effectiveness. You don’t trust this because of the results given as proof in the life around you beforehand, you trust so you can be a part in ways you can’t even imagine of the future and the presence of the kingdom.
Or as Samwise Gamgee in Lord of the Rings at one of the bleakest, most empty moments when it seems that evil and destruction will win no matter what tells Frodo that they must keep on, they must hope, because they believe there is something good in this world and that it is worth fighting for. For us, that is the Gospel. To live for it and into it against the greatest odds, against all the reasonable arguments why it won’t really work, against all the force and power that can crush our imitation of Christ’s way of being, is the hope and the steadfastness Jesus calls us to. With God there is always a new beginning, a new dawn, a resurrection after the worst of calamity. We can’t avoid the pain and suffering that are part of life, but we can hope in and live for a particular type of birth out of that death—a resurrection and a possibility given to us again.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Monday, November 2, 2009
All Saints Day, November 1, 2009
November 1, 2009
The Rev. Natasha Brubaker Garrison
All Saints, Year B
Isaiah 25:6-9, Psalm 24, Revelation 21:1-6a, Johjn 11:32-44
For many of us today’s Gospel is a surprise. On All Saints’ we are accustomed to hearing the words of the Beatitudes, those beautiful and challenging teachings of Jesus that invite us into blessedness. But the Revised Common Lectionary has not chosen that section of Matthew. Instead, we hear the story of Lazarus being raised from the dead. We are left to puzzle out why this passage is chosen to illuminate the idea of the saints.
There is an immediate wisdom in this story being read today. Most if not all of us have known the grief of Martha and Mary. We have known the pain of losing someone dear to us, someone without whom we aren’t sure life can go on. Many of those were named today as we remembered our dead, our dear ones who are now at peace with God. In the midst of our immediate grief we feel at sea and lost. We want a different answer from life, from God even as much as we know death is part of biological life and always has been. We can echo those who said surely someone who can give sight back to the blind could have prevented Lazarus’ dying. Surely our medicine, with so much new knowledge, should have been able to stop the disease. Or, surely an all-powerful God could have stopped that accident from happening. Natural questions that are part of our grief.
We also see Jesus who is moved by our grief, indeed, grieves himself for his friend. If we truly believe in Jesus’ full humanity as well as his full divinity then we have an amazing assurance here that God experiences our pain and hurt. Even more profoundly, in Jesus, God knows it as we know it—a union of experience and reality between creator and created.
The story moves on as Jesus does his greatest sign yet. He raises Lazarus from the dead to show God’s glory and to demonstrate that he is the resurrection and the life. Just before we join this story, Mary confronts Jesus about her brother’s death and Jesus replies that he is resurrection and he is life, to which Mary answers that she believes. Note the present tense of those words. It is important. More importantly, he shows that Lazarus in his deepest reality is now partaking in eternal life in God, is now alive in way we can not fully imagine for it is not the same as the life we know before death. Lazarus is part of that communion of saints that exists beyond time and space and that can at times be so intimately present to us. Fully alive in God, fully dead in the material sense of the world we inhabit. Yet again a paradox in our faith that invites in hope and reminds of us the deep Mystery at the heart of it all.
There are some disturbing parts to the story. In fact, if we are honest it is a bit gruesome. We have no idea what Lazarus looks like. Is he called forth as a resuscitated corpse? He does not speak a word. He does nothing else but come forth from the tomb. He is unbound and let go. But to where? It is not a happy ending where he goes home with his sisters, sits down to dinner and they pick up as before. Lazarus does not reintegrate with his former life. What he is exactly and what happens to him is never fully answered.
Which brings us to the perhaps the metaphor and the allegory that his rising and unbinding are meant to invite us to consider. Perhaps we are meant to see an allegory for our life as Christians, our life as an active, living part of the Body of Christ. When we become baptized as Christians we symbolically die and we are symbolically raised to new life, to everlasting life. This idea is part of the Thanksgiving over the Water that we will hear in just a few moments as we prepare to baptize a new member into this communion of saints. “We thank you Father, for the water of Baptism. In it we are buried with Christ in his death. By it we share in his resurrection. Through it we are reborn by the Holy Spirit.” The raising of Lazarus can be seen to my mind as a graphic depiction of the symbol of baptism, our rebirth into the present great mystery of life as part of the resurrected One. What a joyful and hopeful story we are joining.
It is also an allegory for the freedom that we are meant to encounter and destined for once we are reborn into this new journey, a new way of being in the world. Freedom is one of the persistent themes throughout Scripture. It is one of God’s deep hopes for us. Lazarus is bound in death and was also bound in life. We all are. It is a way we image the sin and death that ensnare and infect us. But life in God and for God is a release from that bondage. We hear this too in the words prayed over the water of the font: “Through it you led the children of Israel out of their bondage in Egypt into the land of promise. In it your Son Jesus received the baptism of John and was anointed by the Holy Spirit as the Messiah, the Christ, to lead us, through his death and resurrection, from the bondage of sin into everlasting life.” Baptism is the action for us that is a reflection of Jesus’ command to the crowd to unbind Lazarus and let him go. Baptism unbinds us from sin and the power and fear of death so that we can be those people whose lives reflect the Beatitudes, whose lives are witness to life, resurrected life, over death, of love over fear and hostility. We are offered a joyful freedom to celebrate, live, love and give—all through the life and death and resurrection of Jesus. Baptism is the claiming of a radical freedom that we learn about through participation in community, through the sacraments, and through hearing, hearing and hearing again the Gospel of the Christ.
Today we are witnesses to the birth of a new saint, a new blessed one of Jesus. We are present at the gift of radical freedom offered and received. We who are already baptized are reminded of the tremendous response we have made and the sometimes difficult, yet life-giving hope it holds forth for us. So in communion with all the saints past, present and yet to come, we once again remember the mystery, join in the mystery, and become part of reality of an ever-present, ever-loving God who makes his home among us. We celebrate with joy that before all else we are followers of Christ and that as we grow in his stature more and more of life—all that it is and has—becomes consecrated and given to him and the work of his church in the world—a foretaste of the kingdom of heaven, a feast, a place of grace and belonging.
The Rev. Natasha Brubaker Garrison
All Saints, Year B
Isaiah 25:6-9, Psalm 24, Revelation 21:1-6a, Johjn 11:32-44
For many of us today’s Gospel is a surprise. On All Saints’ we are accustomed to hearing the words of the Beatitudes, those beautiful and challenging teachings of Jesus that invite us into blessedness. But the Revised Common Lectionary has not chosen that section of Matthew. Instead, we hear the story of Lazarus being raised from the dead. We are left to puzzle out why this passage is chosen to illuminate the idea of the saints.
There is an immediate wisdom in this story being read today. Most if not all of us have known the grief of Martha and Mary. We have known the pain of losing someone dear to us, someone without whom we aren’t sure life can go on. Many of those were named today as we remembered our dead, our dear ones who are now at peace with God. In the midst of our immediate grief we feel at sea and lost. We want a different answer from life, from God even as much as we know death is part of biological life and always has been. We can echo those who said surely someone who can give sight back to the blind could have prevented Lazarus’ dying. Surely our medicine, with so much new knowledge, should have been able to stop the disease. Or, surely an all-powerful God could have stopped that accident from happening. Natural questions that are part of our grief.
We also see Jesus who is moved by our grief, indeed, grieves himself for his friend. If we truly believe in Jesus’ full humanity as well as his full divinity then we have an amazing assurance here that God experiences our pain and hurt. Even more profoundly, in Jesus, God knows it as we know it—a union of experience and reality between creator and created.
The story moves on as Jesus does his greatest sign yet. He raises Lazarus from the dead to show God’s glory and to demonstrate that he is the resurrection and the life. Just before we join this story, Mary confronts Jesus about her brother’s death and Jesus replies that he is resurrection and he is life, to which Mary answers that she believes. Note the present tense of those words. It is important. More importantly, he shows that Lazarus in his deepest reality is now partaking in eternal life in God, is now alive in way we can not fully imagine for it is not the same as the life we know before death. Lazarus is part of that communion of saints that exists beyond time and space and that can at times be so intimately present to us. Fully alive in God, fully dead in the material sense of the world we inhabit. Yet again a paradox in our faith that invites in hope and reminds of us the deep Mystery at the heart of it all.
There are some disturbing parts to the story. In fact, if we are honest it is a bit gruesome. We have no idea what Lazarus looks like. Is he called forth as a resuscitated corpse? He does not speak a word. He does nothing else but come forth from the tomb. He is unbound and let go. But to where? It is not a happy ending where he goes home with his sisters, sits down to dinner and they pick up as before. Lazarus does not reintegrate with his former life. What he is exactly and what happens to him is never fully answered.
Which brings us to the perhaps the metaphor and the allegory that his rising and unbinding are meant to invite us to consider. Perhaps we are meant to see an allegory for our life as Christians, our life as an active, living part of the Body of Christ. When we become baptized as Christians we symbolically die and we are symbolically raised to new life, to everlasting life. This idea is part of the Thanksgiving over the Water that we will hear in just a few moments as we prepare to baptize a new member into this communion of saints. “We thank you Father, for the water of Baptism. In it we are buried with Christ in his death. By it we share in his resurrection. Through it we are reborn by the Holy Spirit.” The raising of Lazarus can be seen to my mind as a graphic depiction of the symbol of baptism, our rebirth into the present great mystery of life as part of the resurrected One. What a joyful and hopeful story we are joining.
It is also an allegory for the freedom that we are meant to encounter and destined for once we are reborn into this new journey, a new way of being in the world. Freedom is one of the persistent themes throughout Scripture. It is one of God’s deep hopes for us. Lazarus is bound in death and was also bound in life. We all are. It is a way we image the sin and death that ensnare and infect us. But life in God and for God is a release from that bondage. We hear this too in the words prayed over the water of the font: “Through it you led the children of Israel out of their bondage in Egypt into the land of promise. In it your Son Jesus received the baptism of John and was anointed by the Holy Spirit as the Messiah, the Christ, to lead us, through his death and resurrection, from the bondage of sin into everlasting life.” Baptism is the action for us that is a reflection of Jesus’ command to the crowd to unbind Lazarus and let him go. Baptism unbinds us from sin and the power and fear of death so that we can be those people whose lives reflect the Beatitudes, whose lives are witness to life, resurrected life, over death, of love over fear and hostility. We are offered a joyful freedom to celebrate, live, love and give—all through the life and death and resurrection of Jesus. Baptism is the claiming of a radical freedom that we learn about through participation in community, through the sacraments, and through hearing, hearing and hearing again the Gospel of the Christ.
Today we are witnesses to the birth of a new saint, a new blessed one of Jesus. We are present at the gift of radical freedom offered and received. We who are already baptized are reminded of the tremendous response we have made and the sometimes difficult, yet life-giving hope it holds forth for us. So in communion with all the saints past, present and yet to come, we once again remember the mystery, join in the mystery, and become part of reality of an ever-present, ever-loving God who makes his home among us. We celebrate with joy that before all else we are followers of Christ and that as we grow in his stature more and more of life—all that it is and has—becomes consecrated and given to him and the work of his church in the world—a foretaste of the kingdom of heaven, a feast, a place of grace and belonging.
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