Thursday, September 29, 2011

Saint Michael and All Angels


Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY
Br. Andrew Colquhoun, OHC,
Saint Michael and All Angels - Thursday, September 29, 2011

Genesis 28:10-17
Revelation 12:7-12
John 1:47-51

Next year will be my fiftieth anniversary of ordination – fifty years of pastoring, praying and preaching.  And this is the first time I remember preaching about the angels!!!

That feels odd because Scripture is full of angels… from the Garden of Eden to the garden in Revelation.  Angels with Abraham, angels with Lot, Gabriel, Michael, Raphael, Uriel.  Hosts of them at the Birth of Jesus.  They appear to kings, to the poor. They glorify God in heaven and tromp the earth.  They are fearful and beautiful.  Some are righteous and some are crooked. They bear good news and they mutiny and rebel.

How come I’ve never preached on them?  Well, we’ve become so rational and so intellectually elite that we scorn such quaint ideas.  Unless, of course, we’ve gone off the deep end and into that place where people see angels everywhere… guarding their cars, in the garden like gnomes and fairies, or hovering over babies.

We don’t become angels when we die; they don’t get their wings when a bell on a Christmas tree rings; Della Reese and John Travolta are not angels! Nor do we become angels when we die.  Cherubs were never babies.

We’ve given up the angels!  We have let them go to those we call superstitious or the naïve.  We have turned them into shadows of themselves and stolen their power.  The mystery and beauty have become suspect.

But Scripture shows us beings with power.  Maybe that’s why we don’t mention them. We don’t quite understand what they’re all about.  They’re messengers. They speak for God...and so we fear them.  Each instance of their appearing seems to be imbued with awe.  They don’t look different, but their power and presence means that they usually have to start their messages with “Do not be afraid.”  Fearful and wonderful!

I think most faiths have the equivalent of our angels – beings from the heart of the Divine power who testify and challenge and protect the created universe.

It’s sad that we ignore them and I miss them.  Especially now, I miss them.  Now when other powers are rampaging in rage and arrogance and blindness through the world. 

Michael, Archangel, we need you!  We need your righteous sword that will cast down injustice and war-mongering. Defy tyrants.  Stand in darkened rooms where children are raped and protect them. Raise your hand against wife beaters and bullies. Give power to the weak; strength to the afflicted.

Gabriel, Archangel, who stood before the Maiden and announced a Savior, speak again!  Speak of the One who comes to dark and empty places in the human soul. Call us back! Proclaim the freeing Word that gives hope to the hopeless and joy to the mourners. Announce the coming of the One who restores and makes new.

Raphael, Archangel, spread healing in famine ridden Africa and in Asia; and in our military hospitals, in half-way houses, and under the bridges where homeless people shelter. Fight for an end to endemic illnesses; bring nourishment to the people starving needlessly. Teach us to spend our resources on life not on death.

Uriel, Archangel, you stand in God’s Presence where there is only Light.  Shine Light in our darkness.  This world is subsumed by the darkness of greed in business, in government.  Light must shine on the needs of the poor; on prisoners and addicts.

Angels in all your hosts, strengthen our voices to glorify the Redeemer, to speak to and for the lonely and voiceless.  Guard our children, cradle the sorrowful.  Shine, for God’s sake shine!

Now maybe that’s too outlandish for belief.  Maybe I’m verging too far on superstition.

But I don’t care. If you don’t believe in the angels, then for Christ’s sake become one.  Become a healer, and a proclaimer; become a warrior against hunger and hopelessness and evil.  Be a Light Bearer in the darkness around us.

Do that for Love’s sake and, believe me, you will find yourself on the side of the Angels…you will be Messengers of God, bearers of good tidings, protectors and lovers of God and God’s people. And the angels will rejoice!

That’s probably good enough!
Saint Michael Archangel

Sunday, September 18, 2011

Proper 20 A - Sep 18, 2011

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY
Br. James Dowd, OHC
Proper 20 A - Sunday, September 18, 2011

Jonah 3:10 – 4:11
Philippians 1:21-30
Matthew 20:1-16

Picture credit: Watton On The Web

The Dove of Truth

In the Name of Mercy, Love, and Truth. Amen.

Over the years of my professional life I had the good fortune of developing friendships with three different different people who worked in human resources and two other people who worked on negotiating teams for unions. And in all five cases, I think I know exactly how each would have responded to Jesus if he told them the parable we just heard. Unfair! They would have cried. The HR types would have thought that story was terribly unfair to management, while the union types would have felt that it was unfair to labor.

And by human standards they would be right.  Management should not be expected to pay people for work that was not done, and Labor would agree that it was unfair to the person who worked a full day to get paid the same as one who worked for one hour. But Jesus, as the culmination of all the prophets, was not your ordinary man. He was, in fact, here to teach us once and for all about God's infinite mercy.

This is a lesson we seem to need to learn over and over again and Scripture is filled with the stories of God's mercy. One of my favorite stories in the Hebrew Scriptures is that of Jonah because I can so relate to him. This is not the perfect prophet who hears God's call, responds brilliantly, and is remembered for his holiness. No, this is a prophet that certainly does hear God's call, then argues with God, flees from God, ignores God, gets himself thrown overboard by a bunch of pagan sailors who are actually more faithful to God than he is, ends up in the belly of a very large fish, makes a little retreat in that belly, prays quite fervently, gets spit up on land, argues some more with God, finally agrees to do what God was asking him to do all along, calls the people of Nineveh to repentance, ends up sitting outside of town sulking – and all this in just three chapters where our story this morning picks up. Now that is a prophet I can relate to. In fact, it is a prophet I have been wrestling with for a while now.

Jonah is perhaps the most problematic of all the prophets from a historical perspective. Time, place, setting all seem somewhat confused, to say nothing of the fish. Jewish legend teaches that Jonah was the little boy of the widow of Zarephath, raised from the dead by the Prophet Elijah. His name, Jonah, means “Dove” and the first verse of the book tells us that his father's name is Amittai (Amatay)which means The Truth. So Yonah ben Amatay is “Dove, son of The Truth.” Now to a Christian that sounds especially holy. But to ancient Jews that name might have evoked laughter or perhaps an ironic smile, for a dove in this context was one that flitted about from “truth” to “truth” with small “t's”, and occasionally landed on the Truth, with a capital “t”. I would argue that Jonah's message for God's people is so important, so profound, that a Christian interpretation of his name has ultimately prevailed, as a kind of prefiguring of the Son of Truth who was still to come.

The reason I feel so connected to Jonah has to do with his constant wrestling with God. He is a character that Sholem Aleichem could have written and was perhaps inspired by. This ancient Tevye was forever bargaining, arguing and running from God – only to return, in order to obey God's call, and then to ask one more question, to pose one more challenge.

Our story this morning picks up with the fact that Jonah, having been spit up on land has finally gone to Nineveh and walked across that great city announcing God's judgment that will be reigned down on all living creatures within its confines.

And here it is important to know something about Nineveh. The ruins of Nineveh lie directly across the Tigris River from Mosul in present day Iraq. In fact, Mosul' suburbs still cover much of those ruins. Now during Jonah's life, Nineveh was a major Assyrian city, though not its capital. By the time the Book of Jonah was written, however, Nineveh was the capital of Assyria. This was no ordinary capital of an alien state or even an enemy state. This was the capital of an Empire which was the dire enemy of the Jewish people and one so evil that is has been compared to the Berlin of the Nazis. Genocide, mass enslavement, torture, desecration of religious sites and the most vicious ways of killing people in an agonizing and grotesque way are some of the highlights of this Empire.

So Jonah and the Chosen People had good reason to fear the Assyrians, and even understandable reasons for hating them. God tells Jonah to proclaim to the people of Nineveh that “Forty days more and Nineveh shall be overthrown.” Jonah's resistance to proclaiming that message was not out of a lack of faith or even fear. His resistance,  having been steeped in the faith of his forebears, was due to the fact that, at least in this case, God's word was probably not going to be any good. Jonah rebelled against the fact that God, being who he is, would not guarantee the destruction of Nineveh. He knew God to well. To be sure, if the people of Nineveh did not repent, then God could be counted on to destroy that wicked city. But if the people chose to repent, then God would most likely show mercy to even these most evil Assyrians.

In our time the Hebrew Scriptures often get a bad wrap. People like to write off this beautiful collection of inspired texts as “God's way to smite everyone down.” But in fact, for those steeped in the faith, they hear the Hebrew Scriptures as filled with God's attempt to inspire repentance on the part of the people so that he can share his mercy. This would of course culminate with the Incarnation, Passion and Death of Christ as God's penultimate attempt to call to us, plead with us, beg us to repent of our own evil ways.

Well, even before that, the people of Nineveh not only heard God's call as proclaimed by Jonah, but heeded it as well. For forty days they repented, wore sack-cloth, sat in ashes, and even had their animals do the same. God was so pleased with his Assyrian children that he forgave them and showered abundant mercy upon them. And this really ticked off Jonah.

So he marched himself out of town, sat down to sulk, then told God off. Jonah rails at God for being too merciful, slow to anger, overflowing with love and totally forgetting that he had said anything about punishing the Ninevehites. And it is God's response to the crabby Jonah that is so moving to me: “Should I not” God says “be concerned about Nineveh, that great city, in which there are more than a hundred and twenty thousand persons who do not know their right hand from the their left?”

And there it is: God knows we are ignorant of his ways. We do not know our right from our left. We know justice, He knows mercy. We want revenge, He wants mercy. We have sin, He has mercy. Mercy. Mercy. Mercy. The entire Judea-Christian tradition might well be summed up with that word: Mercy. God is desperate to share his mercy, so desperate that he would send his own Son to make mercy Incarnate. To live mercy among us, to die in mercy for us, to rise with mercy so each of his brothers and sisters might do the same, those 120,000 Ninevites being just the tip of the iceberg.

But to live into God's mercy requires repentance, be that on an individual basis or a communal basis. Repentance is defined by New Testament scholars with  the Greek word  metnoia, which translates as “understanding  something differently after thinking  something over.”  It implies a turning around or  heading  in a different direction. Thomas Keating, the Trappist monk, says that Jesus’ call to “repent  is an invitation to grow up and become a fully mature human being.”   The word repentance has a negative connotation for many people. In an earlier time in our lives it may have been used as a club to beat us over the head.   But repentance, if we take Father Keating’s definition, calls us to be adults. To turn around and face the reality of our situation, the reality of our sin.

And what is the definition of sin? Plainly put, sin is the willful separation of humanity from God, ignoring God, behaving in ways that are not God-like. Biblical sin is very often much more communal, rather than personal. Certainly personal sin does occur, but so much of the focus in the Ancient mindset was communal. So, for example, Jonah wasn't concerned with the king's sin, he was concerned with how the entire city of Nineveh had separated themselves from God? By committing intense and outrageous violence against people all over the the present day Middle East and Central Asia, was how those Ninevehites had separated themselves from God. But eventually, these people heard Jonah's message from God and turned themselves around.

And with all this wrestling with Jonah and with God that I have been doing of late, I cannot help but wonder what Jonah would say to us, to the community of Americans, if he were sent to us to speak God's word right here, right now in September of 2011. From the time of the earliest European settlers in Jamestown, Santa Fe, or Plymouth, we Americans have fancied ourselves a Christian nation, one that has been set apart – the city on the hill. And yet, if we were to spend some time looking at our history, and certainly to these last ten years, I wonder if we could really claim that our right hand knows what our left is doing.

It seems to me that Jonah might know that we are in great need of God's mercy.  While not the Assyrian Empire, in September 2011, the Unites States is currently this world's Empire. In these last ten years, we have reigned down violence on nations throughout the Middle East and Central Asia, on the innocent and guilty alike, resulting in the deaths of hundreds of thousands of children, women, and men, in a quest to protect ourselves from a handful of terrorists. We continue to be willing to look away as some of God's children are tortured in the name of our security. The American Empire is fueled by oil which enslaves our own people to its use and to supporting on-going war in the oil producing regions of the world.

I think Yonah ben Attay, Dove, son of the Truth, would point us to Jesus, the Son of God and would call us to turn away from our idols of oil, weapons, and Empire. Yonah ben Attay would, I think, turn us to repentance, to  worship the one true God who is so filled with life and mercy.  And I think he would turn us away from those lifeless and merciless idols which can only lead to enslavement, torture, and a merciless death.

In all my wrestling with this I hear a very faint echo that seems to be getting stronger: “Should I not” God seems to be asking “be concerned about America, that great country, in which there are more than  300 million persons who do not know their right hand from their left?” Mercy, Mercy, Mercy, God calls to us. Mercy is God's invitation to us – right here, right now, today. Thank God, his mercy endures forever. AMEN.

Thursday, September 15, 2011

Holy Cross Day - Sep 14, 2011

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY
Br. Scott Borden, OHC, Prior of Holy Cross Monastery
Holy Cross Day - Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Isaiah 45:21-25
Galatians 6:14-18
John 12:31-36a


Some days in our Church calendar leave me a conflicted... I suppose as a member of the Order of the Holy Cross, this day, the Exaltation of the Holy Cross, perhaps should not be one of them... but it is.

There is much that is wonderful and glorious in the history of Christianity, but nobody will be shocked if I also say that there is also much that is vile and wicked. Some of the very best in human nature has been drawn out, encouraged, and nurtured by the Church. And some of the very worst in human nature has, sadly, found encouragement in the Church as well. Our history is surely mixed.

So days like today, that lend themselves to a triumphant celebration make me nervous. Yes we have much to celebrate, but we also have much for which we can only hang our heads in shame.

The Gospel reading for today sounds a note of caution: “Now is the judgment of this world... the rulers of this world will be driven out...”

The discomfort that I feel hangs right on that bit of Gospel. For when we sing triumphant hymns and celebrate, too often, for me, it has the flavor of this world – triumph defined in human terms.

Yet at the same time, Jesus was very clear. We must celebrate as those at a wedding banquet must celebrate – a miserable, dour Christianity is just as dominated by this world as a Christianity that lacks retrospection and remorse.

This is the conflict I carry into my thinking about today – the exaltation of the cross must be a wedding banquet and a time for reflection and remorse.

It gives me great comfort that, as a member of the Order of the Holy Cross I have another vast tradition to strengthen me – the Benedictine tradition. That tradition calls me to stability and to balance. Stability requires me, as uncomfortable as I may be, to stay and wrestle with my discomfort. And balance assures me that the tension between celebration and remorse is healthy and appropriate – to leave out either end of the spectrum would be to loose balance.

Early Christians didn't have the symbol of the cross in such a prominent place as we do. In their day we would have seen more fish than crosses. Seeing crosses as often and is as many places as we do anesthetizes us to the horror in front of us. The plain meaning of the cross is brutal and horrific.

We no longer use crucifixion as a means of killing those we wish, in the name of justice, to kill. Were Jesus executed by the state of Texas, we might have a syringe, the tool of lethal injection, as the symbol of our faith... Or New York of the 1960s would have given us the electric chair... If Jesus had been executed a hundred years ago we might be looking at the hangman's noose or the rifles of a firing squad... Churches in France might be littered with representations of guillotines. In England there might be stakes with kindling piled around.

If we try to imagine any of those symbols above and behind this altar, perhaps we get a glimpse of how the cross might have spoken to those early Christians. It is traumatic and discomforting.

In exalting the cross, we are taking something that is brutal, painful, deadly... and resurrecting it in a most hopeful and life giving way... Of course, we don't do that... God does that.

Part of my discomfort with today has to do with looking back. We don't see the true horror of the cross as a cruel human tool. The cross in human hands, our hands, is an abomination. Only through God's redeeming love can it show love. We need to look back in honesty. The story of the cross is the story of redemption being possible for the most evil of things. We loose a great deal if we let the true depth of that evil slide out of the picture. For we are no different than the crowds who called for Jesus to be nailed to the cross... no different than the public servants who dutifully executed the task.

The other part of my discomfort has to do with looking forward. Jesus calls us to take up our cross and follow. But I have the sense that, starting perhaps with Emperor Constantine and continuing to my own life, too often we take up the cross and lead rather than following. Hymns like “Lift High the Cross”, which I happen to love, enhance this danger. They make us feel very good about raising up the cross, and along with that comfortable, good feeling, comes the temptation to carry the cross in directions that feel good and comfortable... But Jesus does not lead us in feel-good, comfortable ways.

It is very easy, as humans, to beguile ourselves into thinking the cross is leading us exactly where we wanted to go in the first place... It is quite convenient. It is quite sinful.

When members of the Ku Klux Klan, in our fairly recent history, burned crosses as a weapon of racial hatred and terror, they were following their own desires. They were not following the Cross of Jesus. Anders Breivic, the mass killer in Norway, who claims to be some sort of Christian, was surely following his own heart, not the Cross. From this point in history we can look at the Crusades and say that, how ever well intentioned, however faithful those who who went, they were not following the Cross of Jesus. In our Anglican tradition, the reformers who brutally killed their opponents (and that includes all sides) were not following the Cross.

We could develop a never ending list of times when we, human beings, Christians, have taken up our cross and gone exactly where we wanted to go, not following Jesus, but following our own hearts. But the only list that is important for me is the list of when I have forced the cross to take me where I want to go rather than where Jesus leads.

That is half the story. It must be faced. We dishonor this day if we do not bring to mind our failures and our frailty, if we do not confess and humbly repent.

The other half of the story is the endless list of times when people did take up their cross and follow... often at great personal cost... even to the point of death. Martin Luther King springs to mind. And Dietrich Bonhȍffer. Oskar Schindler and Oscar Romero. Constance and her companions. Hundreds of rescue workers on September 11th. Various Holy Cross brothers and countless Franciscans and Benedictines. Some acts were heroic. Others were tiny, hardly-noticed, faithful acts.

We could develop a list that never ends when we, human beings, Christians, have taken up our cross and faithfully followed without regard to cost or comfort. And in honest humility I have to be prepared to make my own list of when I have been a faithful follower. Not to do so dishonors the day.

The power of the cross is this: that something so loathsome and so detestable can be transformed by God into something so wonderful. It is death and resurrection.

That is the transformation that we need, that I need in my heart – that I can die to this world and be resurrected to God's Kingdom – not as some far off, fantastic, future thing, but here and now. Through God it is possible.

Let us walk in the light of Jesus, taking up our crosses and having the humility to follow.