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.

The Measure of Our Reliance on God - Pentecost 23 (November 8, 2009)

1 Kings 17:8-16
Psalm 146
Hebrews 9:24-28
Mark 12:38-44

They were both widows and they were both poor. They were also down to their last resources. These are the circumstances in the two stories we read from today’s lessons: the Widow of Zeraphath (1 Kings 17), who gave her last bit of meal to the prophet Elijah during a drought in the land; and the Widow in the Temple (today’s Gospel from Mark 12), who placed her two last copper coins in the Temple treasury while Jesus was teaching in the Temple.

No, this is not a sermon on stewardship, and certainly it is not a sermon on tithing, if only for the fact that tithing involves giving ten percent and these women gave everything they had left. It is however a sermon on sacrifice and reliance, more particularly, about how we measure our reliance on God. Let me tell you my thesis from the outset: the measure for reliance is sacrifice. That is to say, how much we rely on God is directly proportional to how much we are willing to sacrifice.

In both of these stories, the widows are literally down to their last earthly resources. The Widow of Zeraphath tells Elijah, when he tells her to bring him a morsel of bread, “As the LORD your God lives, I have nothing baked, only a handful of meal in a jar, and a little oil in a jug; I am now gathering a couple of sticks, so that I may go home and prepare it for myself and my son, that we may eat it, and die.” Similarly, when Jesus notices the widow in the temple: “Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the treasury. For all of them have contributed out of their abundance; but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on.” The Greek text is a little stronger here than we see in our translations. Literally, she put in her “bios” – i.e. her life.

Now it is instructive to consider the context of Jesus’ statement here. Giving money to the Temple treasury was not the anonymous act of placing one’s tithe or pledge envelope into the offering plate each week as we have become accustomed to in church. In the section of the Temple called the “Court of Women” were thirteen large receptacles. (Notice that these receptacles were specifically placed in the “Court of Women” rather than the “Court of Men” so that all could contribute to the upkeep of the Temple; and then notice Jesus’ remarks about “devouring widow’s houses” – but I digress.) As people came forward to toss in their gifts they were expected to announce the amount and the purpose for which the gift was given in order to be heard by the priest overseeing the collections.

Of course, there was a practical purpose for this: as any church treasurer can tell you, it’s good to keep track of the amount of receipts coming in (and expenses going out). But over time these public announcements, naturally enough, became occasions for pride; a demonstration of one’s wealth and generosity; an occasion to assert one’s status. How impressive it is to give a great gift and to have it announced for all to hear! The greater the amount given, the greater one’s status becomes. Things are not too different today. Who isn’t impressed when someone with great wealth (like “Bill Gates”) gives an enormous amount of money to a worthy cause. It’s worth celebrating, especially if one’s organization or charity happens to be the beneficiary!

But the mistake we often make is to assume that the amount of a gift is an accurate indicator or measure of the amount of one’s piety. This is certainly the assumption of those in the Temple on this particular occasion. Pretty soon we come to regard those with wealth, status and resources as the ones truly in God’s favor. But it’s just this idea of piety that Jesus warns against: “Beware of the scribes, who like to walk around in long robes, and to be greeted with respect in the marketplaces, and to have the best seats in the synagogues and places of honor at banquets! They devour widows' houses and for the sake of appearance say long prayers. They will receive the greater condemnation.” “Don’t be like them!” Jesus says. The scribes were the lawyers of the day, experts in the Torah, especially the oral tradition. But they were also every bit as proficient in finding ways around the law and applying the law to enrich themselves – hence, Jesus’ comment about “devouring widows’ houses.”

How impressive it would have been to watch such people, with their long robes and great status, tossing large sums of money into the temple coffers, calling out the amount for all to hear, announcing their piety to the world! In such a crowd, who would notice a lone widow tossing in the two lowest coins in the realm? – Jesus noticed. And it was not the sum of her gift that Jesus declared was measure of her piety and faith, but rather the amount of her sacrifice – she had given all that had; she had thrown in her whole life. But, mind you, this was not a gamble. She was not laying all her money down on God in one last desperate bet on life. Rather she was trusting her life to God.

As I said at the beginning of this sermon – the measure of our reliance on God is not the amount that we give, but what we willing to offer to God in sacrifice.

A Sermon for All Saints Day (November 1, 2009)

It is the conversation that every parent dreads, and yet no parent is able indefinitely to avoid: “Where’s grandma?” If the parent is a Christian, the answer typically is “She’s in heaven,” or perhaps “She’s with Jesus.” “When is she coming home?” “She’s not coming home.” “Why not?” “She’s with God now. It was her time.” “Will we see her again?” “Yes, dear, someday.” “When?” “When we go to heaven to be with Jesus.”

These questions are uncomfortable, even for people of faith, for death is still an insurmountable mystery – the great divide, the journey from which no one (at least in our limited experience) has ever returned. How can we attempt to explain to children not only that which we know so little about ourselves, but that which we tenaciously devote a lifetime of resources, money and efforts of self-preservation to avoid?

But the search to find an explanation of or to make sense of death is as old as human self-awareness itself. Each culture, every society, every human community that ever existed has attempted to provide answers. The funerary rites of many civilizations, both past and present, often provided for the comfort of the dead through gifts of worldly goods, and even caches of food and drink, to make the journey into the afterlife less arduous or perhaps more enjoyable once the dearly departed arrived at their final destination. Many ancient monuments, many of the great ancient wonders of the world (e.g. the Pyramids of Giza, or the Necropolis of China’s First Emperor), were built in the attempt to make sense of the mystery death.

Christians are not immune from devising our own images of death to cope with mortality. We imagine St. Peter standing at the pearly gates admitting the worthy into heaven (or else sending the unworthy to that “other place”); each disembodied soul occupying his/her own cloud; earning our angel wings, and receiving halos. In the West, especially since the time of Augustine, speculation on what happens to the soul after death led to the development of the doctrine of purgatory, and eventually to the abuse of that doctrine in the sale of indulgences, which was one of the presenting causes of the Protestant Reformation in the 16th century.

Many of these images seem so natural, so much a part of our popular belief, that we automatically assume that the Bible’s pages are filled with descriptions of disembodied, winged and haloed saints; of the pearly gates of heaven and streets of gold. But, in fact, the Bible has very little to say about the immediate experience of death or what theologians like to call the “intermediate state” between the death and the resurrection. Do not misunderstand me, the Bible has plenty to say about death. One of the most important biblical stories (Adam and Eve) tells us how death entered the human condition, revealing death as a curse. But the Bible says surprisingly little about what it is like to experience death, or of what happens to the soul immediately after death.

However, this does not mean that the Christian faith is devoid of any satisfying answers. For this is where biblical faith – the faith of the Church – stands apart from all other kinds of faith. While most religions prepare their adherents for death, the Bible’s testimony and focus is on LIFE. Jesus did not say, “He who hears my word and believes the one who sent me will have a pleasant afterlife; or will reach Nirvana,” but rather, “He who hears my word and believes in the one who sent me will have eternal life.” The whole focus of the Bible is on LIFE not death.

This is precisely why the doctrine of the resurrection, and consequently the Church’s belief that Christ was raised from the dead, is a non-negotiable of the Christian faith, even if there is much about the resurrection that is still a mystery to us. This morning’s Gospel, the account of the raising of Lazarus, affirms both the tragedy of death and the hope of the resurrection. Jesus weeps; he is greatly distressed – not merely because his friends, Mary and Martha, have lost their brother; but because death is a tragedy. Death is not intended to be our destiny. But then Jesus commands that the stone that closed off Lazarus’ tomb be rolled away, even though he had been in the tomb for four days: “Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?” he says to Martha. He then calls forth Lazarus from the grave; because Lazarus, the friend of Jesus, is called to life, not to death.

St. John’s vision in the Book of Revelation expresses the same truth in this way: I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. A new heaven and a new earth, just as there is a “new Jerusalem” – the Church of God.

LIFE, full-bodied LIFE, not some kind of ethereal, disembodied “after-life” is the description that the Bible provides us, and what we as Christians believe is the destiny of every child of God. And with this knowledge, and the power that lies behind the knowledge of our appointed destiny of life, the Christian cannot help but be transformed even in this present life. As St. Paul says: “Just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, so we too might walk in newness of life.”

It turns out then that we as Christians have much to hope in; for we have the ultimate answer to our great adversary, death – the victory over death that we have in the One who died for us, and was raised again on the third day – not only for ourselves, but for those who have gone on before us (our loved ones, our friends, our parents, grandparents, etc.) – ALL THE SAINTS. When we remember them, when we pray for them, when we recall their godly examples and influence on our lives – we are not invoking mere memories; nor are we simply calling up spirits from the dead. Rather we are celebrating with them – in a real way – the life that both we and they NOW HAVE in Christ. For the promise of Christ is as true for those who precede us in physical death as it is for those who tarry still on earth – for what we do here at the altar of our church, and what each community of Christians throughout the world does each time they gather for worship, is joined together with the worship all who have died in the knowledge of God and of the Lamb, who stand before his throne night and day; where we are numbered with them as a multitude that no one can count, from every nation, every tribe, every people and every language; where we join with ALL the SAINTS in the cry: “Salvation belongs to our God who is seated on the throne, and to the Lamb!”