Faith and Its Opposite

Fourth Sunday after Pentecost (June 24, 2012)

Job 38:1-11; Psalm 107:1-3, 23-32; 2 Corinthians 6:1-13; Mark 4:35-41

Many times in our lives we face the unknown, the uncertainty of the future or of an outcome we cannot see: a diagnosis of disease, perhaps, or an impending operation; the loss of a job or the tragic loss of a loved one. During moments like these we are told to hold onto our faith in God: that God is with us, and that God will be our solid rock to stand on. These are good sentiments, of course, and are usually said to us by friends and loved ones with the best of intentions. And yet it is during these times that we, like Job, have difficulty finding comfort in our faith. Instead what we experience is doubt and uncertainty. Perhaps we even become angry with God, questioning, “Why?”

It is times like these, when I find myself struggling with the human condition, particularly in a pastoral situation where I am expected to have just the right words to say at just the right moment, that I take great comfort in something that Richard Holloway, the former Bishop of Edinburgh (Episcopal Church of Scotland), once said: “The opposite of faith is not doubt, it is certainty.”

I realize that this might seem counterintuitive on first hearing. It’s not typically what one hears from a pulpit, especially here in prosperous America, where many evangelical peddlers of popular religion will tell you the very opposite, i.e., that faith is certainty, and that doubt is the enemy – the very antithesis of faith. There are many churches on the American landscape that would be happy to tell you exactly what you should believe about any point of Christian doctrine or on any pressing social issue. They might even tell you how to vote, and do so with the utmost certainty that God is on the side of a particular candidate for public office or on the side of a particular political party. As much as we might think that we don’t like it when someone else tells us what to believe or how to vote, the paradox is that these are the very churches in America that are experiencing booming success.

And still Bishop Holloway’s statement bears repeating: The opposite of faith is not doubt, it is certainty.

Isn’t this what we learn from today’s lessons from Scripture? That faith is not a system of ready-made answers or a list of comforting sentiments that we pull out when we need them? That faith, while not to be confused with doubt and uncertainty, nonetheless must still exist in tension with doubt and uncertainty else it would not be faith?

Consider our passage from Job. You remember Job. He served God his entire life. He was faithful, stalwart, never failing in any of his duties or obligations to God as a master, husband, or father. He was greatly blessed by God, with lands, flocks, herds and sons. His righteousness is so noteworthy that even the angels in heaven take notice, including the adversary, Satan. As the story unfolds in the Book of Job, God asks Satan his opinion on Job. Satan answers that Job is pious only because God has put a “wall around him” to protect his favorite servant. However, if God were to allow Job to be afflicted, then he would surely curse God. God then gives Satan permission to test Job’s righteousness by afflicting him with curses. The story of Job is especially intriguing in that, while the reader knows the reason for his afflictions, Job himself is never made privy to “what’s going on behind the scenes.”

Tragedy falls upon Job. All of Job’s possessions are taken away or destroyed: 500 yoke of oxen and 500 donkeys are carried off by Sabeans; 7,000 sheep are burned up by “the fire of God which fell from the sky”; 3,000 camels are stolen by the Chaldeans; his house is destroyed by a mighty wind, killing off Job’s offspring. At this point Job shaves his head, tears his clothes, and says, “Naked I came out of my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return: the Lord has given, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.” After all this, Job still does not curse God. Yet even then, his tribulations are not over. Job is then afflicted with dreadful boils. He is reduced to scraping his skin with broken pottery. His own wife prompts him to “curse God, and die.” But Job answers, “Shall we receive good from God and shall not receive evil?”

These are statements of a man of faith, and YET, if we had only the above statements to go on we might be tempted to equate faith with certainty. But as we see later on, Job was anything but certain. He struggled with his faith, he struggled through his faith. The messiness of doubt and uncertainty were very much a part of his faith.

Three of his friends come to console him. After seven days of sitting with him in silence, Job finally breaks his silence by cursing the day he was born. Each of his friends then take it in turns to convince Job that he must have sinned grievously before God, else he would not have been cursed. They exhort him to repent and be restored. But Job knows that he was blameless; he becomes angry with his friends, he becomes angry with God. He demands that God give him an answer.

When God finally does reveal himself to Job, he does not provide the answer that Job demands. Instead, God poses a series of rhetorical questions to Job, (questions that we all must face):

“Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth?

Tell me, if you have understanding.

Who determined its measurements-- surely you know!

Or who stretched the line upon it?

On what were its bases sunk,

or who laid its cornerstone

when the morning stars sang together

and all the heavenly beings shouted for joy?”

Essentially God asks, “Who do you think you are?” Even after God reveals his glory to him, Job is not given answers, but rather he is left with mystery. He is left to ponder the majesty of God. His questions remain unanswered and will remain unanswered. But in the “mystery” he discovers something about himself in relation to God, something that only faith can reveal: Job experiences his utter dependence upon his Creator.

Again, it bears repeating: The opposite of faith is not doubt, it is certainty.

Sometimes there are no answers, at least ones that we are privy to. And sometimes the questions, or our struggles with the questions, are more important than any answer that we can come up with, because, in the human realm, all answers are merely preliminary; all “truths” merely provisional. 

The story in our Gospel passage also confronts us with a question, one that the disciples are left with to ponder: Who is this Jesus?

The scene is a familiar one. Jesus is asleep in the stern of the boat while his disciples, fearing for their lives, struggle to maintain control of their tiny vessel during a ferocious storm. As the boat is being tossed by the waves and begins to take on water, they finally wake Jesus and say to him, “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?” Jesus then rebukes the winds and the waves: “Peace! Be still!” And a dead calm comes over the sea. “Why are you afraid? Have you still no faith?” It is at this point that we see the question of faith. The disciples are filled with awe – confronted with mystery – “Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?”

The Church answers this question quite eloquently in the Creeds. For example, the Nicene Creed confesses “God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God, begotten not made, of one Being with the Father.” But what does any of this really mean? These statements, as precise, as eloquent, as grounded as they are in the New Testament witness and in the faith experience of generations of generations Christians, are merely approximations of what we must ultimately assign to mystery. If the Christian faith could be reduced to the mere assent to a set of propositions, however eloquent, then what have we to do with faith? What happens when those eloquent propositions fail to answer the questions that often confront us? Why did my child die? Why do I have cancer? Why did I lose my job? What is the purpose of living?

Our “beliefs” (as opposed to our faith) are only propositions. They are not the objects of faith. We are not saved by doctrine or creeds or even the liturgy. Rather they are, at best, but witnesses to the object of our faith, pointing us to him – to Jesus Christ. “Who is this Jesus?” That is the ultimate question, which only faith can discover as it struggles to experience him, as the disciples did on that fateful day on the boat.

So we are left with these two questions: “Who am I? Who is Jesus?”  These are the questions of faith. They challenge us to think big, to think beyond ourselves. They also challenge us to examine our innermost selves, to involve God. “Who am I?” and “Who is Jesus?” Such questions are life- and faith-changing. Look at Job. Look at the disciples. They were each and all forever changed, forever clarified, by these questions.

Clarity, Full Disclosure, and A Way Forward: Standing In the Wake of General Convention & the Approval of Same-Sex Blessings

The following is a summary of an address given on Sunday, July 15, 2012, by the Rev. Daniel K. Dunlap, Rector of the Episcopal Church of the Good Shepherd in Tomball, TX. The intention of the address was to clarify the actions of General Convention and to pave a way forward in mission as a parish in the Diocese of Texas of The Episcopal Church. 

Last week the 77th General Convention of The Episcopal Church met in Indianapolis. General Convention is the legislative body that gathers every three years to consider the church’s common mission, to share its common concerns, and to order its common life. As you can imagine in a church as theologically and ideologically diverse as The Episcopal Church, it can sometimes be a contentious gathering, producing plenty of fodder for reporters, critics, and even casual observers to feast on. This year proved to be no exception with the approval of I Will Bless You and You Will Be A Blessing – a provisional rite for same-sex blessings. Many national news outlets reported that The Episcopal Church was the first major Christian body in the USA to adopt such a rite.

No doubt many of you are asking, why us? Why must we be the first? The answer may be as simple as the kind of church we are. We are church that invites a wide diversity of belief and practice; a church that does not have a litmus test for membership; a church that unites around the historic creeds, yet affords room for each member to form their own conscience. Perhaps more importantly, we are a church that has a reputation of being open to the disenfranchised of our society. It might also have something to do with our size. We may be oldest of our nation’s denominations, but we are also, paradoxically, one of the smallest. On a local level, it is easier to hear the voices of the disenfranchised in smaller, family-sized parishes than larger ones; and, like it or not, we are a denomination of small, family-sized parishes.

Yet despite being the “first” major church to approve such a rite, a good case could be made that the actions of General Convention did not really clarify or achieve the much sought after consensus on issues of sexuality that we have been seeking for decades. Moreover, it doesn’t help matters when the actions of General Convention have been intentionally misreported and misrepresented by those who should know better.

So in the interest of clarity and of full disclosure (i.e. what the reporters won't report), let me attempt to outline for you what hasn’t changed in The Episcopal Church, so that perhaps we can better understand and deal with those things that have.

1. General Convention did not change the theology of the Book of Common Prayer.

The same-sex blessing liturgy approved last week does not add to or amend the Book of Common Prayer, nor does it alter the theology contained therein. Holy matrimony remains a civil and sacramental union between one man and one woman. Rather, what General Convention approved was a provisional rite. As I understand things, a provisional rite is intended for a specific pastoral need or concern, in this case a pastoral provision for gay and lesbian couples living in committed life-long relationships. Because it is a provisional rite it needs only a simple majority vote from both houses of General Convention. (In contrast, a “trial liturgy” requires a super-majority since it represents a potential change to the doctrine and worship of the church).

2. General Convention did not approve or adopt a rite for same-sex marriage.

What was approved last week was a blessing rite, not a rite of matrimony. The name of the rite -- I Will Bless You and You Will Be A Blessing -- is intended to convey this intent. Granted, this distinction may be confusing, and the fact that it will be used in those states where same-sex marriage or civil unions are legally sanctioned does not help to clarify our church’s position. But let’s not forget that The Episcopal Church is a sacramental church. We bless many things, some of greater and some of lesser importance. Many gay and lesbian couples wish to have their life-long relationships blessed within the context of their local worshiping communities, and General Convention has responded to this desire.

3. General Convention did not change what has been the practice of The Episcopal Church for quite some time.

Back in 2003, the 74th General Convention declared that “local faith communities are operating within the bounds of our common life as they explore and experience liturgies celebrating and blessing same-sex unions.” So-called “local option,” whereby bishops grant special permission to perform same-sex blessings in their own dioceses, has been in force for years. The new rite serves only to bring accountability to this situation. Otherwise local option is still in effect as General Convention did not grant blanket permission. Bishops still govern their own dioceses, and explicit permission is still needed to perform same-sex blessings. The House of Bishops even added a conscience clause to ensure that no clergy would ever be compelled to participate in same-sex blessings. So, in reality, apart from the provision of a uniform rite, there has been no substantial change in practice from what has been going on for quite some time in The Episcopal Church. 

Where do we go from here?

It is natural at this point to ask how the actions of General Convention affect our parish. Where does our diocese stand? What about our bishops? Where do we stand as a parish? A look at our context and circumstances should help clarify where we are as a parish and how we will move forward from here.

OUR STATE (Texas): 

We live in a state that does not recognize either same-sex marriage or same-sex civil unions. It is not even possible for gay and lesbian couples married in other states to secure a divorce in Texas. Barring an amendment to the U.S. Constitution, I do not see this situation changing any time soon, either in Texas or most other states of the Union. Ironically, this means that the greatest obstacle facing those who support same-sex marriage in The Episcopal Church is not what remains of the stubborn traditionalist lobby in the church, but rather the distance left in the uphill, state-by-state, battle for civil sanction and recognition.

OUR DIOCESE: 

The Diocese of Texas is as diverse as the church at large, but in the balance it is generally more conservative with most of its parishes and clergy continuing to hold to a traditional view of marriage. However, a significant and probably growing number of clergy, laity, and parishes are in favor of some kind of pastoral provision for gay and lesbian members, be it a blessing ceremony for same-sex couples or civil and sacramental recognition of same-sex marriage. This means, of course, that we are compelled to find a way forward together as conservatives and liberals, traditionalists and progressives.

OUR BISHOPS:

Both Bishops Doyle and Harrison were among the 41 bishops who voted against the provisional rite when it came before the House of Bishops. Bishop Doyle has also gone on record as opposing any change to the Prayer Book’s theology and definition of marriage. However, he is committed to working both with traditionalists and progressives. Last May, in full expectation of General Convention’s approval of the new rite, Bishop Doyle unveiled a plan to work with those parishes who might wish to use it. Initially, only two churches (St. Stephen’s, Houston and St. David’s, Austin) will be given permission, followed by other parishes at a later date. In the meantime Bishop Doyle has assured the clergy that no one would ever be compelled to participate in same-sex ceremonies and indicated that rectors and parishes were free to establish their own local policies.

YOUR RECTOR (yours truly): 

Last week, in the wake of General Convention’s decision to approve the provisional rite, I outlined to the vestry the following position:

(1) In agreement with the Book of Common Prayer, I affirm holy matrimony as a union, both civil and sacramental, between one man and one woman.

To clarify, my position is not so much about what I am against as it is about what I am for. At this point in my life and ministry, I am not comfortable to go beyond the limits of what the church has taught for the last two thousand years. I believe that marriage between one man and one woman is unique. It is the very metaphor used in the New Testament to describe the relationship between Christ and the Church, and thus is sacramental. Unlike same-sex unions, it is also potentially generative, and thus the only possible context in which children can live together with both natural parents as a family.

(2) As things stand now, I cannot take part in any same-sex blessing ceremony nor will I seek permission for Good Shepherd to conduct same-sex blessings.

In the wider discussion within the church, there is simply not enough theological clarity or cogency in these matters to justify in my mind any attempt to navigate our parish in any new direction, particularly since the official doctrine of the church remains as it was before the approval of the new rite. Therefore, not wishing to bring any more confusion to our context, I simply cannot participate in any blessing ceremony that might affirm or imply in the minds of many that the union between two same-sex people is equivalent or analogous to holy matrimony.

(3) I will not turn anyone away from membership or deny pastoral care to any person who desires to worship/unite with our parish. We will continue to welcome all to Christ’s table.

For me this last statement is crucial. To understand this point is to understand the heart of your rector. It is not my practice to turn away from pastoral care any person who desires or needs it, be they straight, gay, or transgendered. We will continue to be a parish that practices radical hospitality. For me, this issue is not about sex or sexual identity. I have ministered to many homosexuals during the course of my ministry, and, accordingly, my views have evolved over the years. I gave up on the notion long ago that sexual orientation is something that a person necessarily “chooses” or that homosexuality is something that can be “cured.” In short, I do not believe that homosexual orientation is intrinsically evil. I even support the state recognition of civil unions for same-sex couples. So while there are many ministers out there who are willing to condemn a person for their sexual orientation, let me be crystal clear: I am not one of them.

That being said, I do believe that the traditional family is the ideal for a healthy society. However, please do not mistake this as a naïve suggestion that the natural family is immune to dysfunction and/or disintegration, or that non-traditional families (of whatever configuration) are not a blessing to our society. We are all keenly aware that traditional families often fail, and we have all experienced, to one degree or another, the deleterious effects of divorce and broken homes on society. We also know that where the traditional family might fail, the non-traditional family can be a place of redemption, grace and new beginnings, and thus, in these ways, are just as sacramental and worthy of celebration as the traditional family. Indeed, let us never forget that the New Testament employs “adoption” as one of its primary metaphors for salvation.

Finally, let me just say that, despite our controversies and the criticisms we receive from the rest of the Christian world, I am truly thankful to be a priest in The Episcopal Church. Granted, these issues are difficult to process, difficult to talk about, difficult to resolve. As a church we have been talking about matters of human sexuality for decades, and full consensus still seems beyond our reach. Yet I believe that God has uniquely called our church, both conservatives and liberals, to continue this conversation and to reach the very consensus that for the time being seems to elude us.

The "Parable of the Sower" (or "Parable of the Soils") -- Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23

I spent the summers of my late teens and early twenties working for a large farming operation. My particular division was crop production, where we produced wheat, barley, alfalfa, soybean, hay, and, of course, corn. There were times (like harvest) when it was really quite exciting; but in reality most of my summers were spent preparing soil for planting, which meant picking rocks; hours and hours of picking rocks, walking through acres and acres of freshly plowed fields. In an area famous for its limestone quarries, you can imagine just how many rocks a freshly plowed field can produce. With all the modern technology available today for field preparation (tractors, plows, discs), guess what? Rocks still have to be picked up by hand!

The parable before us today (Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23) is typically known as the “Parable of the Sower.” Yet perhaps it would be more appropriate to call it the “Parable of the Soils,” because what is really interesting about this story are the various conditions of each of the soils.

The first soil we encounter is the soil of a beaten-down path, the kind one can still imagine surrounding crop fields even today. The soil is hardened, not open to life. You can well imagine a sower casting seed into a field by hand (as was common in ancient times), and some happens to fall onto the pathway beside it. Obviously it does not provide a nurturing environment for seed. Yet even this kind of soil has its usefulness: it's good for walking on!

The second soil in our parable is the “rocky ground.” For obvious reasons, this is my favorite. Back in my rock-picking days, it was quite easy to see which parts of a field were picked properly. As soon as the seed-corn germinated, the seed in rocky ground sprang up quickly because rocks hold moisture, especially after a good rain. But over time the parts of a field that are rocky tend to be sparse, while the clean parts of a field flourish and produce more corn. This is because the moisture held by rocks quickly evaporates when the sun beats down on the soil causing the newly germinated plants to wither and die.

Our third soil reminds me of many an English countryside. Those who have ever traveled in England will surely remember the countless hedgerows that separate pastures and fields, marking off ancient boundary lines and providing barriers for pastoral animals like sheep and cattle. Obviously, any seed corn that would fall into a hedgerow, though protected from the sun’s menacing heat and provided with plenty of moisture, would be robbed of the nutrients that it needed to grow to maturity, having to compete with the thorns and thickets that make up hedgerows.

As Jesus explains to his disciples, each of these three soils represents a common response to the good news of the kingdom that the disciples would experience as they went out to sow the message of their Lord. We can readily see this truth for ourselves. Many are they who respond to the Gospel with the indifference of a well-trodden path that has just been seeded with corn. Even before the soil of their hearts has a chance to respond, "Satan" comes to snatch it away, never knowing the better. Then there are those who hear the Word, respond with the excitement of newfound discovery, only to have their faith wither and die because there is no depth in their experience. More frighteningly are those whose response is represented by the hedgerow. Their faith grows yet never comes to maturity as the strangling concerns of their lives rob them of essential nutrients.

But, my friends, there is a fourth soil – the good soil. And what is it that makes it good? Is it that the soil is any better than the other? Is there some special quality about it? Is it endowed with the principle of life while the other soils are not? Is there something supernatural in it, perhaps? No, any farmer (ancient or modern) can tell you that the difference between good soil and bad soil is not necessarily in what the soil is made of, but rather in how it is prepared. To produce a crop of a hundredfold, of sixty-fold or of thirty-fold takes much soil preparation. Back in my farming days, we had to fertilize, plow, pick rocks, disc, pick more rocks, rake, and pick even more rocks before we had a field of good soil.

It takes a lot of hard work to prepare a field for seed; it takes a lot of hard work to prepare a heart for the Gospel. Many of you know this from experience as no doubt you have friends and family members within whose hearts you have been picking rocks for years. And you know this corporately as parish as well. Good Shepherd has been working the ground of this community for many years, and has seen many fruitful harvests.

Yet even despite our best efforts, sometimes it seems that others come into the fields we've been working on for many years and proceed to tread them underfoot. Other times, it's as if the soil itself produces a fresh crop of rocks that need to be picked. And thorns and thistles are always looking for the right opportunity to invade a field to rob the rightful seed of its essential nutrients. But don't be disheartened. A farmer's work is never done. Each year we must continue to work the fields, pick the rocks, trim the hedgerows, and prepare the soil. Remember: the life is in the seed, not the soil. And every farmer knows that there really is no such thing as bad soil; just poor preparation.

The Most Inclusive of Exclusive Claims (John 14:6)

Perhaps it is because of the magnitude of the issue – the clash of competing systems of faith – that I find myself more aware, painfully aware, of the divisions that that persist in the Body of Christ. Our divisions are not simply a matter of competing doctrinal systems. Rather, they are more often than not caused by allowing systems, theology, doctrine, or whatever pet-viewpoint we espouse (political, social, or ideological) to define our loyalties and to shape our relationships in such a way as to exclude those with whom we may differ.

In a paradoxical way our Gospel this morning may bring clarity to this point (John 14:1-14). Here portrayed for us by the author are Jesus’s last words to his closest friends, his disciples, on the night of his betrayal and arrest. And herein is one of the most memorable sayings recorded in the New Testament: “I am the way, the truth, and the life” (14:6). Immediately we are struck by the weight of this claim. It matters little whether we take them as the actual words of Jesus or the interpretive gloss of a gospel writer. These words, and its exclusive claim that Jesus is the unique savior of the world, simply cannot be dismissed, set aside or explained away.

Jesus is not portrayed by our author as saying that he is “a way” (i.e. one of many possible ways), or “a truth” (i.e. one of many possible truths), or “a life” (i.e. one possible way of life); but rather, THE way, THE truth, and THE life. The language here is intentionally exclusive. To put it in the bluntest terms possible: according to our Gospel, all paths simply do not lead to Heaven.

If that were not enough, Jesus goes on to say in the very next statement, “No one comes to the Father, but by me.” Again, these words could not be more exclusive. The claim here is that Jesus is the unique revelation of God to the world. In our modern day, so pre-occupied we are with so-called tolerant speech, inclusive language, and political-correctness, these words could not be more alarming, more painful to our ears. They are downright scandalous, especially when invoked, as they are by many Christians, to rationalize an exclusive vision of the kingdom of God.

Yet I contend that this passage forces us to grapple with the paradox that is the Gospel. Indeed, if read on a superficial level it is impossible to make sense of the exclusive claim of Jesus – “I am the way, the truth, and the life” – and not come to the conclusion that very few people in this world today, or at any time in the past or in the future, will actually be saved. How then can we reconcile these words to the other majestic statement in the Gospel of John? –“For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son…” (John 3:16).

Indeed, herein lies the paradox. It is only when we read this claim in light of the all-encompassing, all-inclusive and universal work of Christ on the Cross and in the Resurrection (i.e. in light of verses like John 3:16) that we can begin to make sense of it. It is precisely because Jesus is THE way, THE truth and THE life that the Cross and the empty tomb of Easter are good news for all people, every person, and each race, gender and age.

Jesus did not die just for Christians. He died for all. Jesus is not the Savior of Roman Catholics only. He is not the savior of the Protestants only. And he certainly is not the savior of Episcopalians only. He is the savior of ALL.

Those of you who are familiar with C.S. Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia , no doubt recall the last book in the series, called The Last Battle – which portrays the final apostasy and the resulting apocalypse of Lewis’ fantasy world of Narnia. Those familiar the Narnian tales will recall that the Christ-figure in the story is a Lion named Aslan, the Son of the Great Emperor Beyond the Sea, who created Narnia. In the first of the series of seven books – The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe – Aslan goes to the extent of dying a humiliating death on behalf of one of the main characters, a child from our own world named Edmund, to save him from the captivity of the White Witch. Like Christ, he also overcomes death by being resurrected, and ushers in a new age for Narnia.

At the end of the series in the last book, Narnia is in conflict both internally and externally. Narnia’s hostile neighbor to the South, a mysterious foreign country called “Calormen,”attempts to conquer the entire world in the name of their god, Tash. Tash is a false god, who even makes an appearance in the final book in the form of a terrible winged Dinosaur-like demon. The Calormenes form an unholy alliance with a few treacherous and greedy subjects of Narnia, in particular an Ape named “Swift,” who fools the good inhabitants of Narnia into believing that Aslan has returned and that Aslan and Tash are really two names for the same God.

The final battle of Lewis’ fantasy world would take too long for me to tell. But the story ends with the de-creation and the dissolution of the Narnian world, and the dividing of all of the creatures and inhabitants, both past and present, into two groups – one which goes off to disappear into Aslan’s shadow (into outer darkness and separation) and the other which is invited into “Aslan’s country” (which of course is Lewis’ metaphor for heaven). The main characters of the story, all children from our world, are surprised to discover that a Calormene warrior – a worshipper of Tash -- is also among those who have entered into Aslan’s country. His name is Emeth, and they ask him to tell his story, of how he too had ended up in Aslan’s country. Emeth then proceedsto tell his story:

…I fell at Aslan’s feet and thought, "Surely this is the hour of death, for the Lion (who is worthy of all honour) will know that I have served Tash all my days and not him." Nevertheless, it is better to see the Lion and die than to be Tisroc of the world and live and not to have seen him.

But the Glorious One bent down his golden head and touched my forehead with his tongue and said, "Son, thou art welcome."

But I said, "Alas, Lord, I am no son of thine but the servant of Tash."
He answered, "Child, all the service thou hast done to Tash, I account as service done to me."

Then by reasons of my great desire for wisdom and understanding, I overcame my fear and questioned the Glorious One and said, "Lord, it is then true, as the Ape said, that thou and Tash are one?"

The Lion growled so that the earth shook (but his wrath was not against me) and said, "It is false. Not because he and I are one, but because we are opposites, I take to me the services which thou hast done to him. For I and he are of such different kinds that no service which is vile can be done to me, and none which is not vile can be done to him.

Therefore if any man swear by Tash and keep his oath for the oath's sake, it is by me that he has truly sworn, though he knew me not, and it is I who reward him. And if any man do a cruelty in my name, then, though he says the name Aslan, it is Tash whom he serves and by Tash his deed is accepted. Dost thou understand, Child?"

I said, "Lord, thou knowest how much I understand." But I said also (for the truth constrained me), "Yet I have been seeking Tash all my days."

"Beloved," said the Glorious One, "unless thy desire had been for me thou wouldst not have sought so long and so truly. For all find what they truly seek."

Then he breathed upon me and took away the trembling from my limbs and caused me to stand upon my feet. And after that, he said not much, but that we should meet again, and I must go further up and further in.

In the final analysis, Jesus’ exclusive role as Savior of the world – the way, the truth, and the life – turns out to be the most inclusive and most unifying principle there is! Systems of theology and doctrine cannot unite; denominations cannot unite; bishops cannot unite; ideology cannot unite; force-of-arms or military threats cannot unite; politics certainly cannot unite. Indeed, the only thing that can unite the human race is the God who became human in the Person of his Son – the One who assumed our nature, experienced our trials and temptations, shared our sufferings and afflictions, bore our sins and transgressions, died our death, and raised us up again with him.

Sermon Outline (Pentecost 20)

Old Testament: 2 Kings 5.1-3, 7-15c (Story of Naaman the Leper)
Psalm: 111
Epistle: 2 Timothy 2.8-15
Gospel: Luke 17.11-19 (Story of the Ten Lepers)


1. From the realization of need comes the recognition of grace.

2. From the recognition of grace comes the opportunity for thanksgiving.

3. From thanksgiving comes service.

St. Francis' Sermon to the Birds: Read at Good Shepherd's Animal Blessing Service (October 9, 2010)

My little sisters, the birds, much bounden are ye unto God, your Creator, and always in every place ought ye to praise Him, for that He hath given you liberty to fly about everywhere, and hath also given you double and triple rainment; moreover He preserved your seed in the ark of Noah, that your race might not perish out of the world; still more are ye beholden to Him for the element of the air which He hath appointed for you; beyond all this, ye sow not, neither do you reap; and God feedeth you, and giveth you the streams and fountains for your drink; the mountains and valleys for your refuge and the high trees whereon to make your nests; and because ye know not how to spin or sow, God clotheth you, you and your children; wherefore your Creator loveth you much, seeing that He hath bestowed on you so many benefits; and therefore, my little sisters, beware of the sin of ingratitude, and study always to give praises unto God.

Saint Francis of Assisi - 1220

A Lack of Faith or Faithfulness? -- Pentecost 19 (October 3, 2010)

OT: Habakkuk 1:1-4, 2:1-4
PSALM: Psalm 37:1-10
EPISTLE:2 Timothy 1:1-14
GOSPEL: Luke 17:5-10

Imagine one of your children using their “lack of faith” as an excuse for not performing a task or doing a chore. For instance a parent might ask: “Did you do your homework?” “I didn’t have enough faith to do it,” says the child. “Did you take out the trash?” “I didn’t have enough faith.” “Did you feed the dog?” “I didn’t have enough faith.” Sounds absurd, doesn’t it? What does FAITH have to do with taking out the trash? Or doing homework?

And yet what is our favorite excuse for not doing the things that we are called to do as disciples of Christ? – Our lack of faith! Amazing, isn’t it? This is precisely what Jesus rebukes his disciples for in our Gospel (Luke 17:5-10):

“The apostles said to the Lord, ‘Increase our faith!’ The Lord replied, "If you had faith the size of a mustard seed, you could say to this mulberry tree, `Be uprooted and planted in the sea,' and it would obey you.” (vv. 5-6)

The meaning of this passage is often misunderstood. Jesus was NOT criticizing his disciples for their lack of faith; i.e. he was not saying that their faith was less than a mustard seed’s worth. The amount of their FAITH was not the issue. Rather, FAITHFULNESS was the issue.

To help us understand this better, it would do well to consider this request in context. In the passage immediately preceding the apostles’ request, Jesus had instructed them about the extent of forgiveness:

“So watch yourselves. If your brother sins, rebuke him, and if he repents, forgive him. If he sins against you seven times in a day, and seven times comes back to you and says, 'I repent,' forgive him." (vv. 3-4)

We all know how difficult it is to forgive someone who has sinned against us. But seven times a day? Is it any wonder the apostles exclaim, “Increase our faith!”?

“No,” says Jesus. “Faith is not the issue.” They had enough faith. Even with faith as small as a mustard seed they could say to a mulberry tree, “Be uprooted and planted in the sea,” and it would be so (cf. v. 4). Rather, what they lacked was faithfulness – i.e. acting in obedience to what Christ was calling them to do; surrendering their will to Christ’s. This point is brought home further in what Jesus says next:

"Who among you would say to your slave who has just come in from plowing or tending sheep in the field, `Come here at once and take your place at the table'? Would you not rather say to him, `Prepare supper for me, put on your apron and serve me while I eat and drink; later you may eat and drink'? Do you thank the slave for doing what was commanded? So you also, when you have done all that you were ordered to do, say, `We are worthless slaves; we have done only what we ought to have done!'" (vv. 7-10)

One of the things I find intriguing about this passage is that it is one of the very few places in the Gospel accounts where the immediate followers of Christ are called “apostles.” (The term “apostle” is used many times elsewhere in the NT, but not normally in the Gospels.) Why might this be? Perhaps it has something to do with meaning of the word. The usual term “disciple” means “one who is taught,” whereas the term apostle means “one who is sent” – that is to say, “sent on assignment.” Perhaps Luke, our evangelist, is reminding us that Jesus’ followers are not merely students; rather, they are entrusted with a task, an assignment. Jesus’ followers are “sent-ones” – entrusted and commissioned with the task of advancing the Kingdom of God. This includes us! We would do well to remember that, like Jesus’ immediate followers, we too are “disciples” in the fullest sense of the word – perhaps not “Apostles” with a capital “A,” but certainly “little apostles” within our own spheres of influence, entrusted and commissioned with the task of proclaiming the good news of Christ, not only with our lips and in our lives.

I highly doubt that any of us are called to the task of uprooting mulberry trees. So don’t go home and try it. Faith is not a magic act. Yet if God ever did call us to uproot mulberry trees, we certainly have the faith to do it. That’s Jesus’ point! It doesn’t take a great deal of faith to accomplish great things. It only takes faithfulness -- stepping out in obedience with the faith we already have!

So why do we scoff at doing the things that we are called to do? Why do we continue to use our favorite excuse? (I hear this excuse all the time...I use this excuse myself!) Why do we find faithfulness so difficult?

“Oh, I tried loving my neighbor, but I don’t think I have enough faith.”

“I can’t share my faith with others or invite them to church, I don’t have enough faith!”

“I don’t have enough faith to stand up for what is right and just.”

“I just don’t have enough faith to make a pledge to the church.”

(Ah, yes, the pledging thing again…you perhaps were wondering when I was going to bring this up!)

Yes, we’ve been talking a lot about stewardship these past weeks. But if what I have said about pledging hasn’t quite resonated with you, then I implore you to reflect on what you heard from those of your fellow parishioners who gave their stewardship testimonies in the last three weeks. The stories differed in the details, but there was a common thread that ran through them all. Their stories can be summarized as follows:

• Each story told of economic struggles and hard times. (We all struggle from time to time to make ends meet.)

• Nevertheless, each one told of how they were challenged in the midst of struggle to respond in faith to Christ’s call to begin a discipline of giving. Each stepped out in the faith that they had, perhaps only a baby-step at first, but a step nonetheless.

• Each person found along the way that God continued to meet all of their needs with each step in faith – i.e. they proved faithful to the call and God rewarded their faithfulness.

• Finally, each told of how their faith actually increased along the way.

The irony is that what the apostles asked for – MORE FAITH – is the very thing that each faithful disciple (or "little apostle") receives along the way when they step out in faith and obedience, and submit their wills to the will of Christ.

Thoughts on Haiti -- A Sermon (January 17, 2010)

NY Times Op-Ed Columnist, David Brooks, begins last Thursday’s opinion column with these words: “On Oct. 17, 1989, a major earthquake with a magnitude of 7.0 struck the Bay Area in Northern California. Sixty-three people were killed. This week, a major earthquake, also measuring a magnitude of 7.0, struck near Port-au-Prince, Haiti. The Red Cross estimates that between 45,000 and 50,000 people have died.” (Red Cross figures now go as high as 150,000 people.) Brooks rightly opines, “This is not a natural disaster story. This is a poverty story.”

Also featured in the news this past week was the well-known televangelist, Pat Robertson, whose comments ignited a firestorm of media attention in their implication that the cause of this natural disaster lies in a pact that the people of Haiti had made with Satan in an obscure Voodoo ritual that allegedly took place in the late 18th century in order to overthrow French rule.

My first reaction to Robertson’s remarks were anger and the desire to publicly dissociate myself from his remarks and from everything he stands for, including his version of the Christian faith. On more sober reflection (though I am no more in agreement with him now than I was at first), I can well understand his need to find some kind of theological explanation or moral rationale for this tragic disaster, for it is conundrum that all people of faith share.

Disasters of such magnitude inevitably cause crises of faith. Yet we all know it doesn't take a natural disaster to cause a crisis of faith. Any spouse who has lost a lifelong mate, any parent who has lost a child, or any child who has lost a parent -- perhaps in a car accident or to an incurable disease -- has faced the question, “Why did God allow this to happen?” If God is both ALL-POWERFUL and ALL-LOVING, then how could he allow his people to suffer so?

This dilemma has led some to suggest that our assumptions of God are simply mistaken. Perhaps God is not both all-powerful and all-loving. Perhaps he is just one or the other, but not both. Take, for instance, Harold Kushner, the popular rabbi and author of the book When Bad Things Happen to Good People. Kushner certainly errs on the side of God’s all-loving nature when he suggests that God cannot prevent bad things from happening, though God’s love is nonetheless always present to give us strength when they do. On the other side of the spectrum, some extreme forms of Calvinism would hold that God is not all-loving, i.e., that God loves only the Elect. This is a rather tidy explanation until disaster suddenly falls upon the Elect (like Job in the OT) with no apparent reason.

For many people of faith the fallback explanation is to find a moral or ethical root cause, because someone or something simply has to be at fault in order to vindicate the justice of God. So if we cannot point to personal sin, we must invoke the doctrine of original sin, or (according to Robertson) see as the cause an ill-advised pact with Satan. Priests, ministers and pastoral caregivers face this dilemma all the time. Crises of faith within the flock become crises of faith for the shepherds of the flock. Multiply that by the number of people under one’s care, and it is easy to understand why some prominent religious leaders like Pat Robertson resort to ready-made ethical cause-and-effect explanations.

But there are no ready-made answers. If you came to church today seeking such an answer then you will no doubt leave disappointed. I can only hope to put some things into perspective for you. So I leave you with two observations.

First, natural disasters happen. There is no ethical cause-and-effect mechanism for natural disasters. Earthquakes occur where they do, not because the people who live in those locations sin or because those nations are more evil than other nations; but rather because the tectonic plates that make up the earth’s crust shift from time to time.

We would do well to recall the perspective of Jesus. His remarks in Luke 13:1-5 come readily to mind: “Do you think that these Galileans were worse sinners than all the other Galileans because they suffered this way? I tell you, no! But unless you repent, you too will all perish. Or those eighteen who died when the tower in Siloam fell on them do you think they were more guilty than ...all the others living in Jerusalem? I tell you, no! But unless you repent, you too will all perish.”

It does not take a rocket scientist to realize that if one builds a house or a city on a fault line there will likely be consequences. This is the nature of the world that God created. How quick we are to rejoice in the splendor and beauty of God's creation when it cooperates with our plans and movements! But when we happen to be in the way of the physical realm acting according to its nature, how quick we are to blame God! We simply can't have it both ways.

Second, all human tragedies have a moral or ethical component, even those which involve natural disasters. (No, I’m not contradicting what I said earlier.) That’s why Brooks’ Op-Ed piece comes closest, in my opinion, to giving us a theological rationale for the disaster in Haiti, and he was writing from a political perspective! What makes this disaster the epic human tragedy that it is are the poverty and human exploitation, and the systemic evil that existed in Haiti before the disaster ever occurred, and will certainly exist, if not increase, in its aftermath. But these evils are pervasive. They are not limited to Haiti, though certainly they have taken root in a most pernicious and highly successful manner on this tiny island nation. That's why this disaster is truly global in both its scope and effects.

Indeed, Pat Robertson is correct about one thing: Satan and his minions (if we are prone to personify evil in this manner) are very active in this world. But neither Satan nor his demons can move tectonic plates. As the primordial story of the Fall tells us, the main weapon in the Serpent’s arsenal is deception. And Haiti is filled with generation upon generation of deception -- cultural, political, and spiritual. The spiritual darkness that shrouds that tiny island nation is but a microcosm of the darkness that affects the whole world, though perhaps in varying degrees; and the Gospel of Light is the only hope of dispelling the darkness.

The question is, what can we do as the Body of Christ to stem the tide of deception, to dispel the darkness, and to preach the gospel of liberation to a world that desperately needs the light of Christ?

"Wearing Our Dirt" - A sermon preached on the Sunday of the Baptism of Our Lord (January 10, 2010)

OT: Isaiah 43:1-7
PSALM: Psalm 29
NT: Acts 8:14-17
GOSPEL: Luke 3:15-17, 21-22

The baptism of Jesus by John is the subject of some of the earliest Christian art. It is found in early third century fresco paintings in the Roman catacombs as well as being the subject of great mosaics found in the baptisteries of the imperial age church. All of the elements of the story of Jesus’ baptism from the Gospels are portrayed in these works of art, including Jesus standing in the Jordan River, John the Baptist (dressed in camel hair) pouring water upon his head, and the Holy Spirit descending upon Jesus as a Dove. Assumed, if not somewhere written, are the words from heaven: “You are my Son…with whom I am well pleased.”

The reason for these works of art is obvious: the early Christian saw Jesus’ baptism as a picture of their own. Jesus’ baptism gives meaning to the baptism that Christians receive. What happened to Jesus at his baptism happens to us in our baptism. Like Jesus, we too receive the Holy Spirit in baptism; and as Jesus was proclaimed the “Son of God” at his baptism, we receive our adoption as children of God. There’s a beautiful symmetry here. But there’s also a theological conundrum, because Jesus received John’s baptism, not “Christian baptism” per se (in the sacramental sense).

John himself testified that he merely “baptized with water.” His baptism was a ritual washing of repentance, signifying the washing away of sins and a return of the people to their covenant relationship with God. Luke’s account portrays those who came to John as a people “filled with expectation” and “questioning in their hearts concerning John, whether he might be the Messiah” (Luke 3:15). But John could only give them water and the promise of forgiveness and a restoration still to come. He could not give them what he too sought: “I baptize you with water; but one who is more powerful than I is coming…He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire” (v. 16).

And yet, no sooner does Luke record these words than we see Jesus, the One who baptizes with the Holy Spirit, rather nonchalantly submitting to John’s baptism (cf. v. 21). Absent from Luke’s account is any protest and questioning from John. But nonetheless the question is implicit: why would Jesus submit to John’s baptism? Is this not the Son of God who “lived as one of us, yet without sin,” (as our Eucharistic Prayer D expresses it)? This is the Savior, Christ the Lord, who takes the burden of our sins into his own sinless life, and puts them to death when he himself dies on the Cross. Surely Jesus did not need a baptism of repentance to mark the beginning of his adult public life and ministry. He did not need to be reconciled or brought back into a covenant relationship with God. So what is going on here? Of course, theologians down through the ages have pondered this question and offered up complex theological rationales. But there is perhaps no better explanation (that I have found) than a story once told to me by my Great-Aunt Helen.

Aunt Helen was the sister of my paternal grandmother, the oldest of six children. She had more impact on my faith as a child than anyone else in my life, and could she tell a story! Her father (my great-grandfather) was a chicken farmer in Delaware. Life was hard at the turn of the century. As Aunt Helen would say, “In those days, the only thing there was ‘plenty of’ was dirt.” And since her family did not have indoor plumbing (let alone a hot water heater) you can imagine that bathing – something we take for granted – was quite a chore. Once a week, each Saturday night, the family would fill a large washtub in the kitchen with hot water from kettles, and each person in the family (a family of eight mind you) would in turn take a bath in that tub. My great-grandmother would be the first to bathe, since “going first” was one of the only luxuries she had in life. Then each child would have his or her turn, the oldest children first washing the babies, and then going in the order of “cleanest to dirtiest” (the rule in the family being that the dirtiest child went last). Aunt Helen would laugh as she described how often she fought with my grandmother over which of them was dirtier. By the time the children were finished, the water was usually the color of coffee.

Yet there was still another person that needed a bath: my great-grandfather, who would come in from the fields after everyone else had bathed. Except for an additional kettle of hot water used to replenish the tub, he stepped into that same coffee-colored water, the water that everyone else had bathed in. Then, after his bath, he would put on his only white shirt, the shirt he wore to church. As Aunt Helen described it, “Over time that shirt looked more gray than white.” Since she was responsible to wash that shirt each week, she was embarrassed by its appearance, especially when her father sat next to the other deacons in their Baptist Church. She began to resent that shirt, and to resent her father for being so poor. She was angry at her circumstances. But then, one Sunday, while sitting behind her father in church, she suddenly realized to her own shame the reason that shirt had become so dingy gray over time: “He was wearing OUR DIRT.”

Is this not what we see in Jesus? What is the significance of his submitting to the baptism of John if not a willingness to stand in complete solidarity with us? – A willingness to put on and to wear OUR DIRT?

In everything that Jesus does, we see God at work, showing us how intimately God relates to human beings, yet without sin. Jesus did not need baptism because he was not a sinner. However, we do. We need to be cleansed by God, refined by the Holy Spirit. And because we need that cleansing, Jesus stands in solidarity with us – enters our condition, puts on our dirt, in order that the mere sign of outward cleansing (water) can become the instrument and means by which we receive the true spiritual cleansing (by the Holy Spirit).

In his baptism we see Jesus entering our condition, just as he was born into this world, and just as he would hang on the Cross of his death. In this way God in Christ identifies himself with us in every aspect of our existence – birth, life and death – in complete solidarity with us. This is why Jesus is called “Emmanuel” (“God-with-us”). God is with us, and God is for us, even in the depths of our sin as he meets us where we are in our deepest need for reconciliation.

Reflections on the Star of Bethlehem - A sermon preached on the Feast of the Epiphany (January 6, 2010)

OT Lesson: Isaiah 60:1-6
Psalm: 72:1-7, 10-14
Epistle: Ephesians 3:1-12
Gospel: Matthew 2:1-12

One of my favorite Television sit-coms of late is The Big Bang Theory, which airs on CBS. The show is about two male Caltech prodigies in their 20s, Leonard and Sheldon. Leonard is an experimental physicist with an IQ of 173, and Sheldon is a theoretical physicist with an IQ of 187. They live across the hall from an attractive blond waitress, named Penny, who predictably enough happens to have show-biz aspirations. Leonard and Sheldon’s ‘geekiness’ and sheer intellect are contrasted with Penny's social skills and common sense. In the very first episode, after they’ve made their introductions, Penny tells Leonard and Sheldon: “I'm a Sagittarius, which probably tells you way more than you need to know.” To which Sheldon responds: “Yes, it tells us that you participate in the mass cultural delusion that the sun's apparent position relative to arbitrarily defined constellations at the time of your birth somehow affects your personality.”

The Star of Bethlehem, about which we read in our Gospel lesson this evening, continues to baffle both believer and skeptic alike, particularly those who search the ancient records for some indication of an astronomical phenomenon that may have occurred at or around the time of Christ’s birth. Part of the problem is that we don’t really know the year of Christ’s birth, let alone the month or the day. So when the records tell of a supernova or a comet, rather than solving the issue, these records tend to cause more controversy than not. The fact of the matter is that we simply cannot identify what the Star of Bethlehem was to be able to pinpoint the time of Christ’s birth, nor do we know the time of Christ’s birth with enough precision to be able to identify an event or astronomical phenomenon as "the Star of Bethlehem."

That being said, the story of the Star of Bethlehem continues to inspire research down to our very day. In recent times researchers have employed computer models to track down this star based on what we know about Near Eastern astrology (particularly Persian or Zoroastrian understandings). Now, mind you, we don’t really know all that much about ancient astrology, but what we do know is enlightening. The result of this kind of research is that more recent theories tend to be much less extraordinary and luminary than the traditional bright star that we often see perched above the little town of Bethlehem on Christmas cards. The recent trends suggest that the Star of Bethlehem was a quite natural event – e.g. the conjunction of planets with other planets or with important stars, and/or the alignment of planets within certain constellations. These are the kind of “natural” or “ordinary” events that ancient astrologers understood as telling stories of real events here on earth or perceived as omens or as foreshadowing certain events that would take place (much like pop-astrology does today, though today’s astrologers do so with more personal pretense and individual application and much less political pretense and national application).

As such, the planet Jupiter is often a prime suspect for the “Star of David,” particularly as it is the fourth brightest object in the sky (after the sun, moon, and planet Venus). One theory I recently read about, based on computer models, speculates that the conjunction of Jupiter with the star Regulus around the year 3 BC, along with its traverse through the constellation Leo “the Lion” (which often represented the tribe of Judah in ancient times), may have been read by our watchful Magi (a term synonymous with “astrologers”) as indicating an important event – the birth of the “King of the Jews.”

As most people know, the night sky’s constellations are fixed and predictable, as is the sun’s course in the seasons and the phases of the moon. But planets are another matter altogether. Planets tend to “wander,” which is precisely why they are called “planets” (planetes in Greek means “wanderer”). Given that all planets, including the earth, revolve around the sun at different speeds and in different orbits, and given the slant of the earth’s own axis, predicting where any given planet is going to be in the sky at any given time is a tad trickier than predicting the apparent position of the constellations, and sometimes full of surprises as planets tend to wobble on their own axes as well. But the most intriguing thing about planets is that, relative to the earth’s own revolution around the sun, sometimes planets appear to stop in the sky and then to reverse their course – an optical illusion on an astronomical level (but one that was sure to get the attention of ancient astrologers when it happened). And “where” such an event happened, relative to other heavenly bodies (not to mention relative to places on the earth), was seen in the ancient world as significant.

Now certainly educated people of our day will tend to share the views of Sheldon, the Caltech physicist that I told you about earlier. The movement of planets and constellations relative to other planets and stars still is of interest to many an amateur astronomer, but we don’t take such things seriously anymore. The apparent position of plants and the identification of constellations are arbitrary things.

OR ARE THEY? With all of our advances in modern science and technology, could we perhaps have “outsmarted” ourselves?

If there is a lesson here in this Gospel for educated moderns it is that ultimately NOTHING is arbitrary in the will and providence of God. St. Paul tells us in Galatians 4 that “in the fullness of time God brought forth his Son, born of a woman.” The story of our Gospel tells us that every last detail in all of God’s creation was prepared for this precise moment, for this very time and event: the moment that God’s Son entered into this world. Even those objects which we now know to be hundreds, perhaps thousands of light years away from our own small planet, were carefully choreographed by God to perform an elegant cosmic dance in the sky to proclaim the birth of the King of kings and Lord of lords. Our Gospel also tells us that God prepares people, nations and even kings to receive him. These ancient astrologers may seem backward or even naïve to us moderns. But were they really? The fact that they invested their time and money, at great personal sacrifice no doubt, to go on this “fool’s errand” into another country to search for this particular child at this particular time, tells us that they had some distinct advantages over the typical modern person: they were attuned to God’s created order, knowledgeable of its patterns, sensitized to its cosmic resonance, and perfectly comfortable with the notion that the Almighty Creator of the world is intimately involved in all aspects of nature.

I often wonder as our knowledge has increased whether our sense of the divine in the universe has diminished; whether our view of God has become too small. Perhaps people have a hard time believing in God because the God that is presented to them is no better than a magician doing the occasional hat trick. But the God of our Gospel is not the “Great magician” in the sky. He controls all things, even the stars in their courses relative to events here on earth. That is a much grander view of God; and a much more terrifying one. But this view of God must be balanced by the deeds of this God, and his love shown forth to us and to all humankind, in the birth of his Son, Jesus Christ. Once seen in this light, we can see that true greatness – the greatness of God – is not to sought after in marvelous signs or flashy events, but rather in the subtle, gentle, unassuming witness of his constant care for creation, his call of people from every tribe and nation, and his sacrificial love for all of us in the person of his Son.

A Hitchhiker's Guide to the Body of Christ

The following is the address given by the Rev. Daniel K. Dunlap on the occasion of his installation as Rector of The Episcopal Church of the Good Shepherd, Tomball, Texas on November 12, 2009.
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Auspicious occasions, such as this, often begin with a quote gleaned from a great spiritual classic. With the big announcement this week from Rome that the Vatican was joining together with scientists to explore the implications to the Christian faith of the possibility of life on other planets, I couldn’t think of a more appropriate classic to quote from than that great 20th century spiritual classic – Douglas Adam’s A Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. In the last chapter of Adam’s book comes this final entry from the Hitchhiker’s Guide:

“It said: The History of every major Galactic Civilization tends to pass through three distinct and recognizable phases, those of Survival, Inquiry and Sophistication, otherwise known as the How, Why and Where phases. For instance, the first phase is characterized by the question How can we eat? the second by the question Why do we eat? and the third by the question Where shall we have lunch?’’’

We laugh because we know that there is a great deal of truth in this statement, perhaps not on the Galactic level (that we yet know of at least), but certainly in the human sphere: Survival, Inquiry, and Sophistication – the “how,” “why” and “where” phases of our human experience. Such applies not only to great civilizations, and our own empty stomachs from time to time, but also to communities (dare I say to parishes as well).

In April 2008, our parish, The Episcopal Church of the Good Shepherd, Tomball, TX, suffered what many simply refer to as “the split.” (I like to call it “the departure.”) We went from being a parish that had arguably been in the “sophisticated” phase to one that was forced back into the phase of “survival.” Those of you who were here during that time (and I’m happy to say that we have active members who were not with us yet) will remember that first parish meeting with Bishop Wimberly, then-Canon Doyle, and Bob Biehl after “the split.” I was at the meeting, more out of curiosity and moral support than any sense of commitment or responsibility at that point. But the foremost question on people’s minds was “how?” How can we continue? How can we survive as a parish? How can we go on? How do we do church?

By the grace and mercy of God, through the support of the diocese, and through the commitment of those who remained, and the leadership of a great vestry and a great team of ministry leaders (there are, of course, many names we can mention here…), Good Shepherd as a parish did survive. Our prayers did not go unanswered. In the subtle ways that the Spirit moves among the people of God, we found answers to the question “how,” though, admittedly, we still have quite a way to go before we can completely live into those answers. However, what we have learned so far is what we read about this evening in the book of Numbers, Chapter 11; namely that the Spirit of God does not reside solely on the designated leader of the people, Moses (or in our case the rector of a parish), but rather comes upon others who share the burden of ministry. God says to Moses of the seventy elders, “I will take some of the spirit that is on you and put it on them; and they shall bear the burden of the people along with you so that you will not bear it all by yourself” (cf. Numbers 11:17).

We have a long way to go, but certainly in the past year we have re-learned the “how” of being a parish again, and I believe the lessons we have learned make us a much healthier parish at that, where the people of God share in the burden of ministry, and where hospitality means all are invited and included at the Table again. I think a moment like is a reason to celebrate, not my new ministry, but our new ministry.

A great part of the answer to “how phase” took place in the discernment process that led to the adoption of our new Core Values and Mission Statement. I want you to look at the cover of your bulletin tonight. It’s a different cover than what we’ve been using on Sunday mornings. It includes a logo (see above), a Celtic cross design on which our five Core Values are emblazoned: (1) WORSHIP, the very center of our common life together; and radiating out from the cross, on the outside circle or nimbus, are (2) FAMILY, (3) CHRISTIAN FORMATION, (4) OUTREACH, and (5) HOSPITALITY. Each of the Core Values on the nimbus is in a dynamic, overlapping, and fluid relation to the others, and all flow from the center—from WORSHIP, our Eucharistic celebration at the Altar of Christ. I want you to get accustomed to this logo. Memorize these Core Values; internalize them. These are what the “new” Good Shepherd is about. In large part, these Core Values answer the “how” questions for us. Yet I would be remiss if I did not also point out the glaring omissions on the last page of your bulletin, in the Ministry Leaders section where the word “OPEN” marks the place where a name should go under two categories: Fellowship and Outreach. This does not mean where not doing these things. But how much more effective would we be if we had people to take on these tasks? Core Values are not static statements. Merely saying so does not make it so. Rather they are living statements, ideals that should continually challenge us; values that we need to live into.

Suddenly, our parish finds itself in the “why” phase – Inquiry. Now, perhaps it’s because I’m a history and philosophy type, but I really like this phase. I glory in it! Asking ourselves questions like “why” do we do the things we do? “Why” is the world the way it is? “Why” does God allow this to happen in our lives and not that? “Why” does God loves us? “Why” does God love me? “Why” can’t I always feel the love of God in my life? “Why” do we exist at all? This is the bulk of what we do in church. It is the reason we gather together, we read the Scriptures, we confess the Creeds, we baptize our children, and partake of the bread and wine in the Eucharist. (There is a reason why our Anglican tradition refers to the sacraments as “holy mysteries.”) The why-phase is the most dynamic and exciting of all the phases. It shares in the vulnerability of the “how” (the survival phase) because those in the why-phase realize how precariously close they are to falling back into the how-phase. However, those in the why-phase are also able to look beyond it into the next phase: the where-phase – the phase of “sophistication” (in Adams’ terminology), but what I think for our purposes may be better called phase of “fulfillment.”

But here’s the secret of living successfully in the why-phase: the why-phase reaches no conclusion before its time. It is content to live in the tension of the preliminary. A parish or a church in this phase must live in the humility that some “why” questions are not easily answered and that we as the People of God are called to explore such questions side-by-side with people with whom we may not always see eye-to-eye. (This of course is the unique calling of The Episcopal Church and those of us who have made the decision to stay in it. It is the unique calling of our parish.) Those in the why-phase are content merely to fulfill Christ’s commandment to “love one another as Christ has loved us” (cf. John 15:12). Such people exemplify a love that, in the words of St. Paul, is sincere, hating the evil, while clinging to what is good; a devotion to one another in brotherly love, honoring others about themselves. Such a people never lack zeal, but are full of spiritual fervor in serving the Lord. They are joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer. They share with those in need and practice hospitality. They bless those who persecute them, when cursing would be so much easier to do. They rejoice with those who rejoice, and mourn with those who mourn. They live in harmony with each other, and are willing to associate with the downcast and the outcast; never repaying evil with evil, but seeking to live at peace with all people. (See Romans 12:9-17.)

May we never ever leave the why-phase, at least on this side of the Resurrection. That is my prayer for Good Shepherd. Why? Because the next phase is fraught with presumption, danger and strife. Those in the why-phase are always conscious of how close they are to falling back into the “how-phase,” the phase of survival. Those who presume to have moved on to certainty – into a supposed sophistication phase – have coddled and soothed themselves into thinking that they are safe. They have forgotten how close they are to the how-phase. As Douglas Adams informs us in his sequel to The Hitchhiker’s Guide (appropriately entitled The Restaurant at the End of the Universe): “There is a theory which states that if ever anyone discovers exactly what the Universe is for and why it is here, it will instantly disappear and be replaced by something even more bizarre and inexplicable. There is another theory which states that this has already happened.”

My friends, it has happened. We’ve experienced it right here. One fateful day in April 2008, the universe as we knew it, the universe that so many of us thought we had finally figured out, instantly disappeared, only to be replaced by something even more bizarre and inexplicable! …And more wonderful, mysterious, and beautiful, I might add. The sophisticated phase is not a phase that we can presume to enter, nor can we afford as a parish ever to be tempted into believing that it is attainable in this life. Those churches or parishes who do actually end up killing the spirituality of their fellowship ironically by making it too spiritual! According to author and theologian, Simon Chan (Spiritual Theology), such churches, in believing they have all the answers (or at least the answers to all the really, really important issues in life), seek to impose these “answers” on others. They begin to exist purely for their own spiritual ends; ironically opening themselves up to an even greater danger, since any minor infraction becomes an infringement that demands radical action. Simon Chan writes, “Fellowships that seek to preserve the purity of the ‘New Testament church’ are more likely to experience ugly schisms than are churches that have no such pretensions.”

Douglas Adams quips, “When all questions of space, time, matter and the nature of being have been resolved, only one question remains – Where shall we have dinner?” (The Restaurant at the End of the Universe). Well, some have chosen to have their “dinner” at another table, around another altar. Whatever else we may be tempted to think of those folks who left us, we need to remember that their universe disappeared on that fateful day in April 2008 as surely as did ours. They too had to re-enter the how-phase. Let us pray remember to pray for them, that they too will be content to remain in the why-phase and not be in such a hurry to answer the “whys,” lest they rush headlong back into the “where.”

My friends, I cannot begin to tell you how thankful I am to be part of this wonderful adventure into the unknown of this enormous universe that God has created for us to explore. I thank our God for his grace and I thank his people for their support. For some mysterious reason he chose me to be your guide as we “hitchhike” our way through parish life in the Body of Christ. I would never presume to tell you that I will always know where we are going. I can only commit to you tonight that on this leg of the journey we will get wherever we are going together.

Veterans Day Commemoration (read by Joe Sturdevant)

The story goes that a soldier was watching a military parade with his grandson. The boy looked up at his grandfather and asked, "Grandpa, was you a hero??" The old Vet thought a while and then answered quietly: "No I don't think I was a hero...but I served with a lot of them."

The holiday we commemorate today used to be called Armistice Day, after the document signed on a small train car in a French forest on the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month in the year 1918, which brought to an end the First World War. Well over 4 million Americans served in that conflict, and all of them are now gone, except for one. He's Frank Buckles, of Charles Town, West Virginia, who 92 years ago today was on active duty in the United States Army. Corporal Buckles is a living connection to a war fought many years ago. But today there are more than 23 million veterans.

You might ask who they are, and what, if anything, makes them different from other Americans. (Statistics as of 2008)

The number of military veterans in the United States was 23.2 million.

There were 1.8 million female veterans.

The number of black veterans was 2.3 million. Additionally, 1.1 million veterans were Hispanic; 276,000 were Asian; 160,000 were American Indian or Alaska Native; 27,000 were Native Hawaiian or Other Pacific Islander; and 18.3 million were non-Hispanic white.

There were 9.2 million veterans 65 and older. At the other end of the age spectrum, 1.9 million were younger than 35.

There are five states with 1 million or more veterans. These states are California (2.1 million), Florida (1.7 million), Texas (1.7 million), New York (1 million) and Pennsylvania (1 million).

26 percent of veterans 25 and older have at least a bachelor's degree. 91 percent of veterans 25 and older have a high school diploma or higher. There are 10.4 million veterans ages 18 to 64 in the labor force.

As these numbers demonstrate, our veterans represent the entire spectrum of our American culture.

Vice President Cheney’s address last year at the Tomb of the Unknown: “Military service demands a special kind of sacrifice. The places where you live and serve, the risk you face, the people you deal with every day -- all of these are usually decided by someone else. For the time you spend in uniform, the interests of the nation must always come first. And those duties are shared by family members who make many sacrifices of their own, face separation during deployments and sometimes bear extreme and permanent loss.

Military service brings rewards as well. There is the pride of developing one's character and becoming a leader, serving a cause far greater than any self interest and knowing that our nation's cause is the hope of the world. Every man and woman who wears America's uniform is part of a long, unbroken line of achievement and honor. No single military power in history has done greater good, shown greater courage, liberated more people, or upheld higher standards of decency and valor than the Armed Forces of the United States of America.”

G. K. Chesterton said: “The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him.” American soldiers take some of America with them wherever they go.

General Colin Powell tells this story: He’d had a wealthy Japanese businessman come into his office and describe what it was like for him as a child in 1945 to await the arrival of the dreaded American beasts, and instead meet a smiling G.I. who gave him a Hershey bar.

In thanks, the businessman was donating a large sum of money to the USO. After thanking him, General Powell gave him as a souvenir a Hershey bar he had autographed. The businessman took it and began to cry.

Vice President Cheney concluded his comments last year with this tribute:

There is no mystery behind the endurance and the success of American liberty. It is because in every generation, from the Revolutionary period to this very hour, brave Americans have stepped forward and served honorably in the Armed Forces of the United States.

The following story was told at the White House. It happened in Italy, in a time not too long after the end of the Second World War. A father wanted to encourage his young son to do well in school. After the boy got good grades, his dad took him on a journey to Rome. Near the end of their vacation the father said, "Now we'll have the most important day. I'm going to take you to a sacred place." He brought the boy to the military cemetery at Anzio, the final resting place of nearly 8,000 American servicemen.

As they stood there among the rows of crosses, the father turned to his son and said, "Read those names and read those birth and death dates. These are young people, young soldiers who crossed the ocean and came here, and made the extreme last sacrifice to give you freedom and dignity. You owe them everything that is good in your life today. You have to swear here today that you will never, ever forget that you owe them everything you have, and you will always be grateful to their country and to them for what they gave you."

That little boy became the Prime Minister of Italy. All his life he kept his promise to his father, and when he visited the White House, he expressed his nation's continuing gratitude to the people of United States.

The America that liberated Europe six decades ago is still an active, hopeful presence in the affairs of mankind. In a world of so many perils, from hunger and disease to political oppression to the spread of deadly technology, America remains the best hope of those who suffer and live in fear. Our cause is liberty, justice, and peace, and millions breathe free today because of American soldiers who fought and sacrificed for that cause.

Many of those heroes rest in places like Anzio and Arlington and along Veterans Memorial in Northwest Houston. Yet many of them are still with us as friends, as neighbors and colleagues. They are America's veterans, and they are still the pride of our nation. They have fought our wars, defended our shores and kept us free. May God keep us ever grateful for their service.