Epiphany 3 C - Jan 27, 2013

HolyCross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Roy Parker, OHC

Epiphany 3 C – Sunday, January 27, 2013

Nehemiah 8:1-3, 5-6, 8-10
1 Corinthians 12:12-31a
Luke 4:14-21

This homily is about two kinds of response to Jesus’ appearance in the synagogue at Nazareth. The first I call High-Voltage Dedication, the second Expedient Dedication. I believe we’re actually hard-wired for the high-voltage version, but when the circuitry includes resisters we end up with something less.

The appointed Gospel passage stops short of the complete congregational response to Jesus’ proclamation of the Isaiah passage which I’m taking a bit further to make the point.

The readings depict two basic responses to the proclamation of the Word of God. The returned exiles in Nehemiah weep when they hear the scripture; when the congregants of the Nazareth synagogue hear the scripture embodied in Jesus they do not weep. Luke’s story occurs in a section with the telltale title ‘The Rejection of Jesus at Nazareth,’ and you’ll remember the rest: How, after his admirable reading of the Isaiah passage, Jesus’ challenge to his listeners’ cynicism turns everything ugly. It’s intended as an epiphany gospel, but we’ve come a long way from the gold and frankincense and myrrh to the edge of the cliff where they’d like to fling him over, though he slips from their grasp, passing through the crowd in a wondrous kind of way.

For the returned exiles, who for years had been living a life out of suitcases and developing a high-voltage Judaism, it’s as if they were hearing the Word of God for the first time; and so they weep. Their tears express love’s conviction that they had strayed far from that Word and they needed assurance that God’s love for them encompassed and accommodated their failures. They had returned from exile to the territory of Judea, but had not encountered an unambiguous welcome - portrayed as follows: In a town meeting there rose a disagreement between an exilic prophet and the town council concerning the accommodation of Judaism to the governing imperial policy. As they argued the prophet finally proposed: “If I’m right, let that stove in the corner collapse.” The stove collapsed and as the prophet looked meaningfully at the council they replied, “Yes, but that doesn’t matter anymore.” High-voltage Judaism encounters Expedient Judaism.

The congregants of the Nazareth synagogue, another kind of town council, despite their initial admiration of Jesus, could not conceal their disdain for the usurping hometown boy with whom they’d grown up, with whose warts they were all too familiar. This might verge on a sin against the Holy Spirit because the point of Luke’s narrative as an epiphany of the Christ is that Jesus is fresh and brimming from two major encounters with that Spirit - his baptism by John in the Jordan at which the Spirit descended upon him in bodily form like a dove and his period of the testing of that Spirit in the wilderness - a kind of shakedown cruise after its gift in the Jordan to perfect and confirm his possession by the Spirit. In conjunction with this, Luke says three times that the descent of the Spirit is God’s way of telling us that Jesus is God’s son. Initially at the baptism, then in the genealogy, and repeatedly during the wilderness testing. Can’t we just hear the synagogue congregants saying, “Yes, but that doesn’t matter anymore.” Expedient Judaism.

For a high-voltage response to the showing forth, or epiphany, of Jesus on this occasion the tears of the returned exiles symbolize what I see played out by the first disciples when they’re called by Jesus, described by Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s in his book The Cost of Discipleship: “The call of Jesus goes forth, and is at once followed by the response of obedience. The response of the disciples is an act of obedience, not a confession of faith. But how could the call immediately evoke obedience?

The story of the call of the first disciples is a stumbling-block, and it is no wonder that attempts have been made to separate the call and its obedience. Somehow a bridge must be found between them. Something must have happened in between, some psychological or historical event. Thus we get the assertion: Surely they must have known Jesus before, and that previous acquaintance explains their readiness to hear the Master’s call. Scripture is silent on this point, and in fact it regards the immediate sequence of call and response as a matter of crucial importance. It displays not the slightest interest in the psychological reasons for a person’s religious decisions. And why? For the simple reason that the cause behind the immediate following of call by response is Jesus Christ himself. It is Jesus who calls, and because it is Jesus, they follow at once.

This encounter is a testimony to the absolute, direct, and unaccountable authority of Jesus. There is no need of any preliminaries, and no other consequence but obedience to the call. Because Jesus is the Christ, he has the authority to call and to require obedience to his word. Jesus summons us to follow him not as a teacher or a pattern of the good life, but as the Christ, the Son of God. (In the call of the disciples) Jesus Christ and his claim are proclaimed to the world. Not a word of praise is given to the disciple for the decision for Christ. We are not expected to contemplate the disciple, but only him who calls, and his absolute authority. There is no road to faith or discipleship, no other road -- only obedience to the call of Jesus.

And what does Scripture inform us about the content of discipleship? Follow me, run along behind me. That is all. To follow in his steps is something which is void of all content. It gives us no intelligible program for a way of life, no goal or ideal to strive after. It is not a cause which human calculation might deem worthy of devotion, even the devotion of ourselves. At the call the disciples leave everything that they have -- but not because they think they might be doing something worthwhile, but simply for the sake of the call. Otherwise they cannot follow in the steps of Jesus. The disciples burn their boats and go ahead. They are dragged out of their relative security into a life of absolute insecurity.

When we are called to follow Christ, we are summoned to an exclusive attachment to his person. The grace of his call bursts all the bonds of legalism. It is a gracious call, a gracious commandment. Christ calls, we are to follow.”

On this score I relate a little tale of encouragement with which Alan Whittemore used to hearten postulants to the Order, a tale which some of you have heard before, and it goes something like this: Imagine our Lord standing before you, holding out his hand and inviting you to follow him. Will you follow him? He wants you to. Will you take his hand and follow him? He’s inviting you to do so . . . but be careful! There’s a wound in it.

Epiphany 2 C - Jan 20, 2013

HolyCross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. James Michael Dowd, OHC

Epiphany 2 C – Sunday, January 20, 2013

Isaiah 62:1-5 
1 Corinthians 12:1-11 
John 2:1-11

The wedding at Cana

Do Whatever He Tells You To Do

Having been raised in the Roman Catholic tradition, it would be fair to say that I have a devotion to the Blessed Virgin Mary, the Mother of God. At least in my public persona, that would be true. But deep down, in the privacy and reality of my own spiritual life, I don't think of this so much as devotion to the Mother of God, but more like a relationship with Mary, the Mother of Jesus. This relationship was certainly fostered by my Catholicism, but perhaps even more importantly by the relationship that my mother and her mother, my grandmother, had with Mary, the Mother of Jesus.

Both Mom and Grandma have a great relationship with Mary, the Mother of Jesus. Their approach to the faith is, or was in my grandmother's case, a practical one. For sake of ease here, I will just speak in the present tense, though Grandma went to meet Mary and Jesus many years ago. The more contemplative or ethereal aspects of our faith are not for them, but what they understand to their core is the Christian faith as an act of love. In their cases, as an act of love of a mother for her children or grandchildren. And the fact that love is mostly about action – about what you are going to do to serve God, and serve each other. Love is a hot and delicious meal on the table, night after night after night. Love is staying up all night when one kid after another comes down with chicken pox. Love is teaching your kids to love other people, to be honest, and live in peace with one another.

And I cannot help but to think of Mom and Grandma when I read this Gospel passage from John. In this reading, we find ourselves at a wedding in Cana with Mary, Jesus, and some of his newly gathered disciples. The party is going on, everyone seems to be having a great time, perhaps getting a little sloshed, and we're probably at the point in which the wedding reception has degenerated into everyone doing the Chicken Dance, when Mary notices and alerts Jesus, that the bridegroom has run out of wine.

With Jesus' response of “what concern is that to you and me?” I can't help but wonder if Mary didn't just lose it with her son. I can just imagine her thinking to herself “you've been hanging around the house for thirty years now, always with the praying, the going off to secluded places. When are you going to do something!” And I wonder if she wasn't thinking to herself about the first verse from the reading from Isaiah we just heard: “For Zion's sake I will not keep silent, and for Jerusalem's sake I will not rest...” It was time to help get these folks out of an embarrassing situation, and, more importantly, time for her son to step forward and shine forth God's glory. And so she moves on to the servants and quietly, but very firmly says, “do whatever he tells you to do.” Done.

And that seems like good advice for us, today's servants of God, to just do “whatever he tells you to do.” I know that sounds dimplier said than done, but sometimes today we make having a faith life seem so complicated, with all kinds of caveats and relativity, that we often forget the simplicity of so much of what our faith is about: love, peace, caring for each other. Do whatever he tells you to do. Go love somebody. Go make peace with somebody. Go take care of somebody who needs help.


There are moments in a lifetime of faith when I think we, as individuals, or we, as the Body of Christ, are faced with the stark reality of one of these simple choices. Moments when we must choose for love and for peace and when, in fact, it is quite simple, though not necessarily easy, to know what it is to “do whatever he tells you to do.” I believe that the Christian community in this country has arrived at one of those moments – a kind of crossroads in time in which we must make a choice to take the road toward non-violence – in which we more fully discover the kingdom of God; or to choose the road of idol worship in which we continue to worship weapons of mass destruction, whether these weapons be held by the government or by individuals. Newtown, CT is that crossroad. We are there and we have paused momentarily as we individually and collectively make the choice.

My brothers and sisters, the crossroad looms and we must make the choice for non-violence. The Firearm and Injury Center at Penn State, which has been studying firearm fatalities and injuries in this country for many years, reports that between 1980 and 2007, the average number of deaths in this country from firearms has been 32,300.1 32,300 of our sisters and brothers dead from gunfire. The number of injuries each year is more than twice that number. 32,300 dead people every year so that we can retain our precious right to collect guns. Are you kidding me? We have passed the point of absurdity and now must make a choice. A choice that is actually quite simple, though not easy. We must remove automatic weapons from our society and work very hard and long on the many other types of guns that people “collect.”

Blood is running in our streets, blood is running down our school hallways, in movie theaters, in our houses of worship, in our workplaces, in our homes. Carnage is all around us, and we do have the means to stop a considerable amount of it. And as Christians, we have an obligation to work toward the elimination of such suffering and the healing of this sickness.

For that is what violence is. A sickness. An addiction. And we Americans have become rabidly addicted to violence. On a global scale we see terrorists around every corner and so we allow a multi-front war to drag on in perpetuity, raining down bombs on innocent people all over the world. Here at home, folks convince themselves that the big bad government is coming for them and so they must arm themselves like paranoid petty dictators. This is insanity. This is a group of people living in a state of panic in a way that has nothing to do with doing “whatever he tells you to do.”

The addiction of violence has to be treated like an addiction to alcohol. In order to get to the underlying issue for the alcoholic, you must get the alcohol out of their hands. It is only then that they can begin that climb to recovery. So to with violence. Yes, violence is more complicated than guns. But in order to really be able to work our recovery, we have to get the guns out of our hands.

I stand before you today, speaking of non-violence, not because I am non-violent, but because I am working my recovery. I have never fired a gun, or used any weapon, I've never even been in a fist fight. But that doesn't mean I don't have violence within me. I hear Mary saying to me now, “when are you going to do something?” and “do whatever he tells you to do.”

The tragedy in Newtown has finally awakened not only me, but many people in this country from the kind of stupor of denial that we have lived in regarding gun violence. I urge you, I beg you, in the name of Mary and in the name of Jesus, do “whatever he tells you to do.” Pray everyday to work your own recovery from violence. Pray that our country will learn to work the program. Then, do something: Write your elected officials, demonstrate, use any kind of non-violent means to communicate to those in power that we insist on putting an end to this insanity which can only result in such evil. Insist, that it is much dimplier than people are making it out to be. Stop the carnage. Stop the bloodshed. Stop the weapons of mass destruction. When we do this we will, like Jesus, shine forth God's glory to all the world. 32,300 people are waiting for us to act this year. God help us if we don't. AMEN.


1 Firearm and Injury Center at Penn, p. 5.

Feast of the Epiphany C - Jan 6, 2013

HolyCross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Scott Wesley Borden, OHC

Epiphany C – Sunday, January 6, 2013

Isaiah 60:1-6 
Ephesians 3:1-12 
Matthew 2:1-12

The three sages arrive at the house of the widow and her crippled son
from Gian Carlo Menotti's opera, "Amahl and the Night Visitors"
staged at Intimate Opera of Pasadena

Here we are – coming to the end of the Christmas story – the Kings, who had so much farther than everyone else to travel, have finally arrived.  As a child I used to wonder why, if these “wise men” were so wise, didn't they know to start earlier...

As is our monastery custom, the kings have taken their place along side shepherds and various cattle looking at the holy family at the creche.  And we can feel a sense of vague Episcopalian superiority because our kings have made the journey and arrived on the correct day: Epiphany – while “some people” have had the kings in their manger scene all along... sniff...

Of course, we can only feel vaguely superior for a few moments, because if we stop to think about it, we have to realize that the kings, or whatever they may have been, will never arrive at that stable and will never take their place along side shepherds and the sweet little animals we use to decorate our manger scenes.

The problem with the Christmas Story is that there is not one story, but two.  In our minds they quite easily run together.  But when we trust our memories, some important details get dropped.  Most of what we know as the Christmas story comes to us from Luke.  Luke has shepherds.  His telling of the story is particularly good for a warm and fuzzy Christmas.

But this Feast of the Epiphany directs us to Matthew – the “other” Christmas story.  Matthew has wise men.  And if you take away all the warm and fuzzy stuff from Luke, Matthew is telling us a much darker story.

Matthew begins by more or less calling the roll of Jesus' forebears, starting with Abraham – who fathered Isaac, who fathered Jacob, and so on generation after generation.  It is a powerful list, full of twists and turns and illegitimate children and such.  But its hard to imagine a happy family gathering around the Christmas Tree and one of the happy children begging to hear yet once again “the begats.”  It's hard to imagine the Hallmark Christmas Special in which Matthew has a place.

When it comes to Jesus' birth, Mathew is in a “just the facts” sort of mood.  Before their marriage, Mary is found to be pregnant so Joseph is going to quietly end the engagement.  But an angel, the first character with a speaking part, gives Joseph the full story.  And so Joseph takes Mary to his home and Jesus is born – at home.  No muss, no fuss, no stable, no details...  I haven't shortened it much because there isn't much to shorten...

That brings us up to today's feast – wise men, or magi, or astrologers appear in Jerusalem from the east.  They were following a star, but they somehow seem to have lost sight of it.  They have but one question: “Where is the infant king of the Jews?”

Ooops.  This would be like walking into a hearing by the House Committee on Un-American Activities and asking “where is that infant communist who is going to take Joseph McCarthy's place?”  Paranoid hell breaks loose.

Herod, King of the Paranoids, gets wind of the question and, like any truly insecure despot, he begins to fight.  Herod learns from his minions that Jesus is to be found in Bethlehem.  And so, in a touch of irony, it is Herod that puts the wise me back on the right path.  Star back in sight, off they go to meet Jesus.  And this is the epiphany – the manifestation: the star points to Jesus.

The wise men, while they're there, open their treasure chests and give gifts to the baby – gold, frankincense, and myrrh...  notoriously inappropriate baby gifts...  I had the understanding that the giving of the gifts was the point of the journey – bearing gifts we traverse afar, as the hymn says...  But in Matthew's actual telling, it is worship that is the prime purpose of the wise men.  The gifts come almost as an afterthought.

The wise men go home and the story gets much darker.  In our calendar the Slaughter of the Holy Innocents has already come and gone, but its proper place in the sequence of things is still to come.  Herod, in paranoid rage, tries to kill the infant contender for his throne by simply having all the little boys in Bethlehem killed.  Talk about blunt weapons...

Icon of Rachel weeping for her children
credit unknown

Mysterious, cold, paranoid, violent...  these are the kinds of adjectives that Matthew's story of the birth of Jesus bring to mind for me.  No cattle lowing...  no shepherds proclaiming glory to God...  no peace on earth...  little if any goodwill toward anyone.

Matthew is so sparse with details that, of course, over the centuries, we have had to invent them.  So first these mysterious visitors acquire a sex – they become wise men; an occupation – they are astrologers or magicians; a number – there are three of them (because there were 3 gifts); upward social mobility – they are kings; they get names – Caspar, Melchior, and Balthazar; and perhaps most surprising – they acquire race, or least one does – one of them is black.

Along the way, these three kings acquire a back story.  Details of their travel from wherever emerge.  The story of Amahl and the Night Visitors is, for me, one of the most moving Christmas stories the Bible never told.  As the kings make their way to Bethlehem, they stop for the night at the home of Amahl – a crippled child.  Amahl lives with his poor, widowed mother (she has no name).  They are destitute.  Hardly able to feed themselves, they are certainly in no position to entertain royalty.  And yet it is their home in which Caspar, Melchior and Balthazar take shelter for the night.

Amahl emerges from the imagination of Gian Carlo Menotti.  It was a made-for-television opera – back in the day when television had higher aspirations.  While I snarkily suggested earlier that one would not expect to find Matthew's Christmas story in a Hallmark Christmas Special, I may have been too clever by half – Amahl and the Night Visitors was, in fact, the very first Hallmark Christmas Special...  way back in 1951.  It's not exactly Matthew – to be honest its not Matthew at all, but it is surely inspired by Matthew...

Amahl and the Night Visitors finds Menotti at his most romantic – the score is lush and the music is beautiful.  But one moment stands out in a particularly poignant way.  When the kings have their first moment alone with the mother they ask if she has seen the child they seek.  They describe him: His skin is the color of wheat, the color of dawn, his eyes are mild, and his hands are those of a king, as king he was born...  And she answers yes, she has seen this child.  It is her own child: Amahl.  And then she laments that nobody will bring her child gifts, though he is sick, and poor, and hungry and cold...

I find that out of a made-for-television Hallmark special, a particular glimpse appears to me of what Matthew may be telling me in his hard-to-warm-up-to Christmas story.

The kings are looking so hard for the Jesus they expect, that Jesus, in the form of Amahl, stands right in front of them and they do not see him.

The good news of these mysterious wise travelers from afar is not that their journey was easy or direct, or that they were such gifted detectives – they needed the help of Herod after all.  The good news is that they persevered.

Its quite fun and heart warming to locate ourselves in Luke's Christmas story – we can be shepherds or, perhaps cattle and sheep, or maybe even Joseph or Mary.

Locating ourselves in Matthew's Christmas story is more heart chilling, but a good exercise nonetheless.  I can find myself among the magi who wander and get lost...  who can not see Jesus standing face to face. I can find myself among the greedy minions who cling to Herod for power and protection, even when it calls for committing atrocities.  And ultimately I am Herod – who would rather commit unspeakable acts than tolerate Jesus, Emmanuel, God with us, God with me.

The joyful good news, the Gospel, is not that I'm prepared for Jesus in my life.  The good news is that Jesus comes into our world just surely as Jesus came into Herod's world.  Jesus comes because of our need, not because of our desire.  Our world is often dark, unjust, cruel, and wicked.

And so we pray come, Lord Jesus.