The Second Sunday after the Epiphany, January 18, 2026

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Bernard Delcourt, OHC

The Second Sunday after the Epiphany, January 18, 2026

• Isaiah 49:1-7
• 1 Corinthians 1:1-9
• John 1:29-42

Click here for an audio of the sermon

In the name of God, the Lover, the Liberator and the Life giver. Amen.

"Come and see."
With these three simple words, Jesus extends an invitation that echoes through the centuries and reverberates in this church today. It is an invitation not merely to observe, but to experience; not simply to learn about God, but to encounter the living presence of the Divine in our midst.

In today's gospel, John the Baptist stands at the Jordan, and as Jesus approaches, John proclaims, "Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world!" This is no ordinary introduction. John recognizes something in Jesus that others might miss—the fullness of God dwelling in the fullness of a human person. This is the great mystery of the Incarnation that we contemplate during this Epiphany season: that God has chosen to make the divine presence known not in distant thunder or burning bushes alone, but in human flesh, in a person who walks dusty roads, who gets tired, who seeks out the company of friends.

Jesus is the ultimate manifestation of God. In him, the invisible becomes visible, the infinite becomes intimate, the eternal enters time. As John testifies, "I saw the Spirit descending from heaven like a dove, and it remained on him." The Spirit that hovered over the waters at creation now rests upon this man from Nazareth. In Jesus, we encounter not a messenger from God, not merely a prophet speaking about God, but God's own self, present and active in the world.

This is the scandal and the glory of our faith: that God would choose to be so vulnerable, so accessible, so completely present in human form. The fullness of God—all that is holy, all that is love, all that is creative and redeeming power—dwelling in the fullness of a human person. Not partially human. Not pretending to be human. Fully God and fully human, without division or separation. In Jesus' joy and sorrow, in his compassion and righteous anger, in his prayer and his silence, in his teaching and his touch, God is made manifest.

But here is where our gospel passage takes a remarkable turn, one that speaks directly to those of us who have dedicated our lives to seeking God in intentional community. After John points to Jesus, two of his disciples begin to follow. Jesus turns to them and asks, "What are you looking for?" In typical Hebrew fashion they respond with their own question: "Rabbi, where are you staying?"
"Come and see," Jesus replies.

This invitation is at the heart of the monastic vocation, isn't it? We come to places like this not because we have all the answers, but because we are looking for something. We come with questions in our hearts; with longings we can barely articulate. And Jesus' response is not to hand us a doctrine or simply a rulebook, but to invite us into relationship, into presence, into the experience of staying with him.

The text tells us they remained with him that day. The Greek word used here is meno—to abide, to dwell, to stay. It's the same word Jesus will use later in John's gospel when he tells his disciples, "Abide in me as I abide in you." This is not a brief visit or a casual encounter. This is the beginning of a transformed life, rooted in staying close to the source of all life and love.

What happens when we accept Jesus' invitation to come and see, to stay and abide? Andrew discovers something so extraordinary that he cannot keep it to himself. He rushes to find his brother Simon and announces, "We have found the Messiah!" Notice that Andrew doesn't say, "I have found the Messiah." He says "We have found." Already, in these first hours of discipleship, there is a recognition that the experience of encountering Christ is communal. We discover God together.

This brings us to a profound truth that we embody here in our life together: we are often manifestations of God to one another. Andrew was a manifestation of God to Peter, bringing him to Jesus. John the Baptist was a manifestation of God to his disciples, pointing beyond himself to the Lamb of God. In our monastic community, in our worship, in our work, in our moments of recreation and rest, we are called to be Christ to one another, to reveal the divine presence through our words and actions, our listening and our love.

But this manifestation of the divine extends even beyond the human community. The more-than-human creation speaks of God's presence as well. John saw the Spirit descending like a dove — the natural world bearing witness to the holy. In this monastery, surrounded by wildlife and natural beauty, we know this truth intimately. The rhythm of the seasons, the persistence of growing things, the songs of birds at dawn, the silence of snow — all of creation is shot through with divine presence, reflecting back to us the glory of the Creator.

God is present everywhere. This is the radical claim of our faith. There is nowhere we can go to escape God's presence, as the psalmist reminds us. If we ascend to heaven, God is there. If we make our bed in the depths, God is there. If we dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there God's hand leads us.

But more than this—and here is the mystery that can sustain us through all of life's challenges—God is present deep in our heart and soul. We cannot be separate from God and Jesus, no matter how far we wander, no matter how lost we feel. The same Spirit that descended upon Jesus at his baptism dwells within us through our baptism. We are temples of the living God, sacred spaces where the divine presence abides.

This is why contemplative practice is so central to our life together. In silence and stillness, we descend into the heart where God already dwells. We don't create God's presence through our prayer; we simply become aware of the presence that has been there all along. As St. Augustine prayed, "You were within me, but I was outside, and it was there that I searched for you."

When Jesus looked at Simon and said, "You are to be called Cephas"—Peter, the rock—he was seeing not just who Simon was in that moment, but who he would become through the transforming power of God's presence. Jesus sees us with the same penetrating love. He knows our deepest identity, the self we are becoming, the image of God being revealed in us day by day.

"Come and see," Jesus says to us still. Come and see what God wants to teach you. Come and see what God wants to gift you. The invitation is open, always. It is an invitation to experience rather than simply to understand, to abide rather than simply to visit, to be transformed rather than simply to be informed.

In our life here, in this community dedicated to prayer and presence, we are responding to that ancient invitation. We have come. We are seeing. We are staying. And in our staying, in our faithfulness to the rhythm of prayer and work, in our openness to being Christ to one another, we become part of the great chain of witnesses that stretches back to Andrew and Peter, to John the Baptist, to all who have pointed beyond themselves and said, "Look, here is the Lamb of God."

May we continue to accept Jesus' invitation to come and see. May we recognize him in one another and in all of creation. May we abide in his presence, knowing that we can never be separated from his love. And may we, like Andrew, be so transformed by our encounter with Christ that we cannot help but share the good news: We have found the one for whom our hearts have been searching all along.
Amen.

The Second Sunday after the Epiphany C, January 19, 2025

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Ephrem Arcement
The Second Sunday after the Epiphany, January 19, 2025

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

 Click here for an audio of the sermon

     What does it tell us about God that Jesus’ first miracle was to turn water into wine…in fact, the best kind of wine? 

          For me, it makes sense that the church presents the miracle of Cana to us on this second Sunday after the Epiphany…this season of excess!  The season when light shines out like the dawn and a burning torch; when the desolate and forsaken receive more than they could have ever dreamed; when the decades of despair and unfulfilled hopes finally yield to a reality so overwhelming that the only image appropriate becomes a wedding feast where God shows up and becomes the source of divine intoxication!  If we Christians are accused of being boring, it’s certainly our fault, not God’s!

          When’s the last time you’ve ever heard that Christianity is about excess?  Probably never!  Not the excess of ego-centric desires that are self-destructive or the excess of things that weigh life down but the excess of Life itself that gushes forth from a place of inner superabundance and vitality…where joy just can’t be contained and where peace remains steady come what may. 

          For far too long Christianity has relegated the supernatural and superabundant life to a time and place after this life here on earth comes to an end…after the struggle here below, we’ll taste the new wine in the kingdom to come.  Heaven is not earth and earth not heaven.  Now here on earth we experience the cross, only then in heaven will we experience the resurrection.  Now is pain and suffering, only then will every tear be wiped away.  This is not the gospel!

          The Incarnation of Christ, along with the drama of his death and resurrection, ascension and Pentecost, means that heaven and earth now overlap and heaven begins before earth ends.  It means that we are now being transformed from glory to glory…that today is our wedding feast; today we are united to God; today our cups overflow with new wine!

          But, you may say, mine doesn’t!  Today I don’t feel like my life is overflowing with this joy, with this peace, with this new wine.  Today I feel dried up, depleted, against an insurmountable wall.  Instead of abounding in faith and hope, I’m struggling just to keep my head above water and stay in the game.  Well, the good news is that the truth goes deeper than our circumstances and our feelings.  Within us all, no matter how we feel at any given moment, churns a reservoir of new wine waiting to spring up and break through our feelings and make our lives an epiphany of God’s glory.

          But how does this happen?  Let us take a closer look at how it happened in today’s Gospel. 

          On the third day, John says (alerting us to the day of the Resurrection), at a wedding (where there is supposed to be great celebration), Mary, the mother of Jesus, is faced with her own set of circumstances that threaten to bring a quick end to the celebration.  “We’ve run out of wine!”  Wine, for the first century Mediterranean world, is the central sign of celebration and joy; an instrument which augments life and gives to it what we can’t conjure up for ourselves.  It’s the central sign of grace.  Two people coming together drawn by the covenantal bond of love should, in God’s eyes, be celebrated with this augmentation of life that wine provides.  It is God’s desire to make our lives into something we can’t make them into ourselves.

          Mary’s move in this dire circumstance is not to try to fix the problem herself.  She knows who to turn to, and she does: “They have no wine,” she tells Jesus.  And we’re a bit shocked by Jesus’ curt response: “Woman, what concern is that to you and to me?  My hour has not yet come.”  Have you ever asked something of God and felt like you’ve gotten the cold shoulder?  That’s probably a bit how Mary must have felt!  Yet, notice, she doesn’t throw a temper tantrum, and neither does she walk away in shy acquiescence.  No, she holds out the hope that Jesus will do what he thinks best given the circumstances…and says to the servants, “Do whatever he tells you.” 

          Let’s not overlook Jesus’ reference to his “hour.”  In the Gospel of John, this “hour” refers to the time of his crucifixion in shame which will directly result in his resurrection in glory.  And the various signs, or miracles, the miracle of Cana being the first, all precipitate these cataclysmic events.  Jesus knows that the moment he begins to perform signs that his days are numbered.  And he does them anyway…beginning here at a wedding in Cana.

          He tells the servants to fill the depleted jars with water.  Clay jars frequently in scripture represent our lives.  Here they are depleted.  Water represents what we can put into them, one of the fundamental elements of our existence.  Water sustains life.  Wine transforms life.  And when the servants draw out what they expect to be water, they get instead water transformed…wine, indeed, the best kind of wine.  And in this climactic moment of the story, John the Evangelist, adds his parenthetical exclamation: “Jesus did this in Cana of Galilee and revealed his glory.”

          This is a story about how God sees us in our circumstances that are less than ideal and even sometimes dire.  And the story is clear: it is not God’s desire that we remain in these circumstances: dried up, empty, ready to give up.  Instead, the story asks us be follow the way of Mary into the pattern of transformation.  And here is the pattern:

•    First, we must accept the invitation to the wedding.  We have to be present where love happens.

•    Second, we must be equally present to the impossible circumstances that arise.  It’s wrong for us to expect that our lives will be free from obstacles…it is through our obstacles that God is going to reveal God’s glory.

•    Third, we need to make our requests known.  And notice here, Mary’s request was not for herself; it was for the sake of all gathered together, especially the hosts and the other invited guests.

•    Fourth, we need to have faith…trust in the word of Jesus even when you don’t fully understand him.

•    And fifth, we need to leave our request in Jesus’ hands.  We need to let it go!

This posture of faith, of hope, and of love, even when our lives are depleted, becomes the recipe for the miracle of transformation.  We’re not asked to deny the harshness of reality or to try to escape it but to journey through it into a deeper reality.

          So, what does it tell us about God that Jesus’ first miracle was to turn water into wine…indeed, the best kind of wine?  It means that if we turn to Christ in our time of need and offer to him our empty, depleted clay vessels, we can expect to be filled with grace, like Mary was filled with grace, and to taste, in this life, the excessive joy of God’s new wine.

          The prophet Isaiah, like all good prophets, sees what others fail to see.  Isaiah sees God’s children ravished by their time of desolation and exile, feeling forsaken and forgotten by God who they think may have given up on them.  But Isaiah comes with a message…good news… “you shall be called by a new name”… “You shall be a crown of beauty…a royal diadem…no more called Forsaken or Desolate, but My Delight Is in Her, and Married.”  Married to whom?  Married to God, her bridegroom who rejoices over her and cherishes and protects her and causes her to shine out like burning torches of coruscating joy and peace and charity.

          The love of God is our Epiphany.  Our old name is no longer adequate to express our newfound truth.  God’s love poured out in Christ shining and illuminating all who come to receive this love become an epiphany…the excess of God manifesting itself in our everyday lives.  Heaven shines through earth through us and by this sign we reveal God’s glory and show the way for others to follow. 

          Brothers and sisters, our dark world is depending on us to live our epiphany…or, as I like to say…to coruscate: to shine out, dazzle, shimmer, burn…with the glory of God.  To be like the first Christians in the second chapter of Acts…so full of the Spirit that they were thought to be drunk with new wine.  Maybe it will be when we start living with more of this kind of excess that those floundering about in a world of darkness will find their way to the wedding feast.

Epiphany 2 B - January 14, 2024

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Luc Thuku

The Second Sunday after the Epiphany, January 14, 2024

• 1 Samuel 3:1-10(11-20)
• 1 Corinthians 6:12-20
• John 1:43-51

Click here for an audio of the sermon

 

Dear Friends we gather again this morning to celebrate the Lord’s resurrection in a Special way this season of Epiphany when we continue to remember God’s manifestation of self through His incarnate Son Jesus.

In our first reading and Gospel today, we hear of two individuals being called. The first one is Samuel who was called directly by God. As a young man and inexperienced in the ways of God, he didn’t know who was calling or how to respond but luckily he was not going about it alone. He had Eli, an experienced guide who had the spirit of discernment and who after being woken up a third time by his protege was able to discern that it was God who was calling the young man. Eli would have been angry about being woken up by Samuel repeatedly. He would have ignored him or be rude to him. Eli would have chosen to use the little ‘child psychology’ he had and tell Samuel that he was not his absent father or his judgemental mother; but he was a true priest and a true man of God! I am sure we know of people who hold positions of spiritual authority who have no time for their charges and/or who leave them insulted every time they encounter them.

Strangely enough, when Samuel eventually answered God with the response Eli had coached him to use, the message that came through was for Eli. Shocked, Samuel didn’t know what to do with the prophecy of doom directed to his mentor.

Eli’s sons Hopni and Phinehas were priests just like their father. However unlike their father, they were bad priests. Scripture actually calls them scoundrels! They kept for themselves meat that people sacrificed to God which was against the law. They carried out every imaginable atrocity including raping women who served at the tent of meeting…sounds familiar? Like some of our modern day priests and preachers, they were wolves in sheep’s clothing. Eli tried to stop them but they ignored him which means that they neither respected him. Eli should have relieved them of their priestly office but he did not and therefore God had to intervene and hence the message through young Samuel.

God may be patient, kind, merciful and long suffering but as He shows in this case, He will nor tolerate abuse of power forever. God is a defender of the oppressed, of the abused, of the despised, of the hungry and of the destitute. He will equally not tolerate sin in whatever form. Scripture tells us in 1 Peter 1:15-16 that God is holy and we too must be holy!

So what happens when the Christian becomes the oppressor? I am sure it is hard to fathom a Christian being an oppressor but remember slavery was theologically backed and condoned by preachers and good Christians practiced it; apartheid was condoned and theologically backed by preachers and good Christians went along with it…“But that is in the past” one might be tempted to say… Yes, but what about the Mexican and other Latin American immigrants, the men and women working in our ‘Christian’ owned farms as we speak despite it being a Sunday, to produce the food that our ‘Christian’ nation will most probably end up wasting? What about the Asian and African immigrants changing our elderly parents’ diapers in the nursing homes around this ‘Christian’ nation for peanuts?… “But they are fairing better here than in their ‘shithole’ countries” if I may borrow from Mr. Trump’s sick vocabulary! Yes they do I agree, but does that justify paying them wages that keep them enslaved and treatment that is at times worse than we accord our dogs and other pets? What about the African American male who cannot move anywhere near me or my business because they are threatening…just by their being? The reality my dear brother and sister is that we, good Christians that we are, have blind spots.

In many ways throughout our lives, we have been oppressed either literally or figuratively. Those moments are easy to identify. However, what we don’t see are the many instances in which we, although at times accidentally, assume the role of the oppressor. All of us are guilty. Not any single one of us is spotless and if we think we are, we are lying to ourselves and others and do not deserve the name Christian.

The second individual whose call we hear about today is Nathaniel. Nathaniel unlike Samuel did not get called by the Lord directly. There is an intermediary, Philip. In this short story about the call of Nathaniel, we encounter enthusiasm, prejudice and extraordinary insight. These three things are a reminder today that we share not only a common humanity with the people of Jesus’ time but also traits and characteristics that enliven and sometimes make our day to day lives difficult and sad. Philip and Nathaniel, just like you and me were prone to moments of enthusiasm and almost unconscious prejudice.

If we first speak about Philip before we go to the main character of our passage Nathaniel, his encounter with Jesus had been a dramatic and life changing event. Jesus was direct with him. When Jesus met him, he asked him to join the small group of followers that he was forming. Philip dropped what he was doing and followed. There may have been more to the encounter than we know that might have added to the extraordinary excitement that made Philip go to find Nathaniel. Whatever it was that impressed him so much, Philip was hooked and he was charitable enough to want his friend to come and share in his new found experience.

Nathaniel on the other hand thinks Philip has lost it. To a Jew worth the name, the people who lived in Nazareth were not only rural backward people but were also a racially mixed community, therefore impure, and hence his famous retort… “what good can come from Nazareth”. Nathaniel was just like us who encounter and even perhaps in our unguarded moments exhibit judgement. We ask each other for instance in Kenya, what good can come from such and such a tribe, in Africa, what good can come from Nigeria, and in the West what good can come from Africa or the third world! Prejudice is as old as humanity! The beauty of this particular passage, however, is that John does not attempt to whitewash the character of the disciples. Despite what we might want to, or at times do, think of them, we encounter them as real people, their beautiful and ugly sides together. The reason why Jesus chose people who demonstrate the same failings we meet in the people we encounter in our lives is the same reason he chose us.

I am sure Philip being Nathaniel’s friend knew that Nathaniel had a sarcastic side and all. He therefore risked embarrassment, humiliation and even rejection when he went to call him. He however had inner conviction that if Nathaniel could meet Jesus, He would be convinced that despite him coming from that ‘godforsaken’ town of Nazareth, he was also the Messiah, the Savior, the Redeemer that Jews had hoped for ever since the fall of Adam.

Jesus saw in Nathaniel a totally honest but blunt person. He did not allow Nathaniel’s prejudice against his home town and its people block his view of the good in him as a person. Jesus saw the potential of what Nathaniel could be. He loved and accepted him just as he was, without an attempt to change or ‘fix’ him. The encounter was so revealing and life giving to Nathaniel that he made his confession of faith there and then…”Rabbi, you are the Son of God! You are the King of Israel”.

When we became Christians, we too encountered the living God. A courageous person like Philip, be it our parents, evangelists or missionaries cared enough about you and me to bring us to the place where God is. Jesus looked into our souls and judged you and I to be the person he was calling. Sinful as we were, Like Nathaniel, we had the potential to be the type of people Jesus calls to be his intimate followers, his beloved brothers and sisters. Filled with this knowledge, let us therefore affirm our faith again that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, our king, our redeemer and sustainer. Let us also remember that we have a duty and service to represent Jesus to others. He calls us because he knows us. Jesus calls us like Nathaniel, despite our looking down on people and our prejudices against others in our day, to be changed by our encounter with him. An encounter with Jesus calls us to engage people in the totality of their being. Whatever their race, background, class, level of education, wealth or poverty, mannerisms and behavior, all are to be brought to Jesus. We are to evangelize them holistically. True evangelism for Jesus is concerned not with ‘fixing’ people but about poverty, disease, hurt, grief, discrimination, injustice and not of least importance sin!

Paul in our second reading this morning singles out sexual sin and describes how it affects the body and spirit of the sinner. Sin displaces Jesus from our bodies, which are His temples and therefore to get our relationship with Jesus back on track when we fail, we need to repent and once again enthrone the Lord Jesus in our hearts. May we get good guides and spiritual authorities like Eli who will help us to listen and discern the Lord. May we get good Apostles like Philip who will risk all to bring us to the Savior because while we still live in this world, we all need the Savior.

Amen.

Epiphany 2 A - January 15, 2023

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Adam McCoy, OHC

Epiphany 2 A - Sunday, January 15, 2023

Isaiah 49:1-7

1 Corinthians 1:1-9

John 1:29-42

Click here for an audio version of this sermon

Today’s gospel gives us the evangelist John’s account of the Baptism of Jesus.  I’ve always thought there is something a bit “off” about it.  The accounts of Jesus’ baptism in the synoptic gospels, Matthew, Mark and Luke, are all straightforward narratives of the baptism, differing somewhat in details but each telling what happened from an eyewitness point of view.  But John is different: he gives us a curiously roundabout story, full of indirection.  John the Baptist tells us the story.  But he does not tell us the story of the baptism itself.  Rather, he tells us what he saw: “the Spirit descended from heaven like a dove, and it remained on him.”   This is a very economical text, so even more curiously, in this very compact narrative, the Baptist tells us twice - twice! - “I myself did not know him”.  “I myself did not know him”.  A point is being made here, a point about knowing.  He only knows who Jesus is because he saw the Spirit in the form of a dove.

In John’s gospel the action of the baptism isn’t actually told, but is referred to indirectly.  John the Baptist did not know who Jesus was until he, John, saw the dove descending.  And the next time he sees Jesus, it is at a distance, as Jesus is walking by, in an almost cinematic scene, the two great men passing but not actually meeting.

What can we make of all this narrative indirection?  

John’s gospel begins with the famous line, en arche en ho logos, which every seminarian hopes will be on her or his Greek translation exam.  In the beginning was the Word.  So we ponder the Word, the Word which is the light that is coming into the world. The Logos itself absorbs our attention.  But remember what happens when the Word, the light, comes into the world: “He was in the world, and the world was made through him, yet the world did not know him.  He came to his own, and his own people did not receive him.”  The gospel of John is talking about receiving, about recognizing, about knowing.  The tragedy of the world is in not recognizing, not knowing the One who is its own creator, who is the Word on which its very existential order is based, and so not receiving Him.   

The story of the baptism of Jesus by John in the Jordan is a real life example of what it means that the world – the world including all the best people in it, even John the Baptist, whom Jesus later calls the greatest of all the prophets – the whole world, including the righteous part of it – is simply not capable of knowing, of recognizing, the Word when it comes.   

With this theme announced, John’s gospel immediately introduces John the Baptist, the herald of the coming One, whose prophetic sign is to be out in the desert, crying out in the wilderness.  Preparing the way for His coming and baptizing God’s people into their new entrance into God’s promised land.  Into a new life, a new beginning.  And, embodying the prologue’s statement about not knowing, not recognizing, John the Baptist himself does not know who the Logos is when he comes.  Twice - twice - the Baptist tells us, “I myself did not know him”.  “I myself did not know him”.  He knows him only because of the sign from heaven, and then they do not even meet.  This telling, far from being straightforward, is a miracle of indirection.  It is a description of the world we live in.  It is a description of our existential reality, our not being capable of knowing, of recognizing, God’s presence among us without God’s intervention.     

John’s account of the baptism of Jesus could be an illustration of the gospel’s insight into how the Logos enters into our world: How indirect it can be, how it is not immediately apparent even to those of us who are eagerly waiting for its appearing among us. 

What can we make of this?  Is it simply a narrative for us to puzzle over?  Is it John the evangelist’s way of dealing with John the Baptist, famous in his own time when Jesus was hardly known?  It is those, clearly.  But there is something else here as well.

One of the things seriously observant religious people, and I hope that we here this morning  qualify in this, do is to read and meditate on scripture.   One form of that, of course, is lectio divina.  We read the text as it is, try to understand it in its own context, and then let the text move us in meditation, contemplation and prayer.  It is astonishing how often even passages that seem the least promising end up opening us to new light, new life, new beginnings, new entrances into God’s promised land for us.

What draws people to faith?  I would venture that while people are searching for community, while they desire the simultaneously rational and emotional and ecstatic satisfactions of beauty, while they hope to build peace and justice, the primary thing they yearn for is assurance of God’s existence, assurance that the world we live in is God’s world, that our lives matter in an ultimate sense, that God is real and present to us.  Please forgive me, in this I am speaking of my own experience and generalizing it to all of us, but when we find God in our own lives, that finding is usually far from a straightforward story.  It is usually by indirection: the unexpected, or perhaps entirely ordinary, appearance of things in our lives that brings God’s presence to us.  Jesus was apparently one of the undifferentiated crowd of people come out to the Jordan to be baptized.  John the Baptist he did not know him - until the Spirit revealed Jesus to him.  

I suspect there is a strategy in telling this story to us the way John’s gospel does.  The Baptist and his disciples are standing in for all the people of God, all who are waiting for the Word, waiting for the light, to come among us.  We are like John the Baptist.  We want some sure sign that God is coming into the world.  We hope and we pray for God’s coming, and for the fruit of God’s presence among us in a renewed community, in beauty, order, peace, justice, and in our ecstatic union with the divine.  But it does not come on our schedule.  It does not come in our expected categories.  We don’t actually know what or who it will be, what form our encounter may take.   Like the disciples on the road to Emmaus, we may already be traveling with the Lord and do not know it until we invite him into our actual lives to share a simple meal.  He may come to us as a thief in the night, completely unexpected.  As in the parables, Jesus tells us that we will find God present in the ordinary.  We need to open our eyes to see and our ears to hear what the Spirit is filling and transfiguring right here and right now.  While we, like John the Baptist, may be ready, even eager, for the inbreaking of the Word, we have no idea what it will look like or how it may happen, or who may embody it.  

So what to do?  Well, as this story John tells suggests, there is a way.  

Get ready.  Go out into our own wilderness.  Realize who we are: God’s people.  Focus on God’s promise.  Be honest about who we have become and heed the cry to change.  Get down into the river.  Wade in the water.  Let it roll over us.  Watch for the sign of God’s presence.  We don’t know yet exactly how but we need to be ready, to be open to the unexpected.  The Word will come.  The light will shine in the darkness.  And then, when we are called, follow. 

Epiphany 2 C - January 16, 2022

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Josép Martinez-Cubero, OHC

Epiphany 2 C - Sunday, January 16, 2022

Isaiah 62:1-5

1 Corinthians 12:1-11

John 2:1-11

Click here for an audio version of this sermon

“They have no wine.” “Woman, what concern is that to you and to me? My hour has not yet come.” Ay, no no, Jesus. That is not a response I would ever give my mother. Her response would likely be: “Nene, I don’t care about you hour. They have no wine!”

Today’s Gospel lesson is not really a story about scarcity, but a story about abundance- lavish, even excessive; about 150 gallons of first-rate wine just to keep the party going where, from our reading, we gather many are already drunk! So, I must acknowledge from the start, having a bit of struggle reconciling a biblical story about such extravagance with our current global reality of such severe scarcity in so many places. “They have no wine.” 

Mary’s presence in this story, however, is what has been speaking most to me as I’ve prayed with this story for the past few days. She appears only twice in John’s Gospel: in this passage about the wedding at Cana, and later on when she stands at the foot of the cross. These two brief appearances by Mary connect Jesus' first sign and his last breath. But through her pivotal role in this story, I can hold up the promise of God’s abundance against scarcity and need.

“They have no wine,” she says to Jesus. I get it. It’s a line that has daily incarnations in my prayer life: “They have no clean water.” “They have no food.” “He has no money.” “She has no cure.” “They have no justice.” “I have no more patience.” It is the line a pray when I feel helpless and don’t know what to do. It’s the line I pray when I feel like all I have left in me is to insist on the power of telling God the truth as I see it in my daily prayer. “They have no wine.” 

This is the thing; I know this Gospel lesson about Jesus turning water into wine reveals God’s generous nature, and the miracle constitutes the first of seven “signs” of Jesus’ divinity, and the event is the onset of the Incarnate Word’s public ministry. It is a beautiful “epiphany” story full of symbolism and eschatological significance and blah blah blah! But at the end of the day, I have no idea how to turn gallons of water into gallons of wine (not that I think that is actually possible!) But I do know how to do what Mary does. I am thankful that God has given me a well-trained tongue and the ability to speak up and say: “Something’s up.” “Things are not okay.” “There is a need here.” "They have no wine." So to me, Mary is the hero in this Gospel story, and I will tell you why.

In the ancient world, wedding feasts lasted for days, the host was expected to provide abundant food and drink for the duration of the festivities. To run out of wine early was a dishonor and a disgrace. Scholars have many opinions and interpretations about what Mary’s connection to the bride and groom may have been, but no one really knows. And to me, the point is that she is one guest among many, and even amid celebration and distraction, she notices need. She perceives the likelihood of embarrassment and humiliation before Jesus does. “They have no wine.”

Mary notices need, and then, she tells the right person. I’m sure must of you know that stupid song, “Mary did you know?” Well, she does know! She knows who her son is, and she is confident of his ability and his generosity to meet the need.

  

Mary notices need, she tells the right person, and then, she persists. I don’t get Jesus’ initial reluctance to help when Mary first approaches him. Perhaps he is not too eagered to begin the countdown to the crucifixion. But whatever the case may be, Mary isn’t faced by her son’s reluctance. There is a problem, right here, right now, and she insists on a change of plans.

Mary notices need, she tells the right person, she persists, and then, she trusts. She doesn’t set out any expectations. She doesn’t tell Jesus what to do. She offers no suggestions about what kind of wine they need. Mary trusts her son’s loving, generous character, even when he initially shows reluctance.

Mary notices need, she tells the right person, she persists, she trusts, and then, she invites obedience: “Do whatever he tells you,” she says to the servants. There was no running water in the ancient world, and stone jars that could hold 20 to 30 gallons of water must have been huge and heavy! Thinking about how difficult the servants’ task must have been, reminds us of the committed obedience that alone makes faith possible.

So, in this Gospel story, Mary acts as a catalyst, holding open the door for something to happen, the door to a new possibility, the door to a new life, the door of hope. She serves as a great example for all of us- to notice need, to tell the right person, to persist, to trust. And sometimes we need to be the ones who obediently carry the stone jars and pour water even when we can’t even imagine that it will make a difference. And sometimes we need to be the chief steward recognizing new wine and encouraging others to taste new life.

"They have no wine."  “Do whatever he tells you.”  May we live in the tension between these two lines, that illumined by God’s Word and Sacraments, may shine with the radiance of Christ's glory. We can keep human need before our eyes, and tell God hard truths, even as we celebrate the abundance of God’s love. ¡Que así sea, en el nombre del Padre, del Hijo y del Espíritu Santo!

Amen+

Epiphany 2 B - January 17. 2021

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Josép Martinez- Cubero, OHC

Second Sunday after Epiphany  - Sunday, January 17, 2021

1 Samuel 3:1-10(11-20)

1 Corinthians 6:12-20

John 1:43-51

Click here for an audio version of this sermon

“Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” Can anything good, redemptive, and just come out of the present brokenness in which we are all living? What is our call as Christians? These are the questions stemming out of the lectionary readings for me on this second Sunday after the Epiphany, the time manifestation, revelation and seeing what really is. What is our call as Christians? We are called to love. And that does not mean being nice, although in many circumstances being nice is a good thing. But Jesus said that the greatest commandment is “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.” The second is like it: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” Never did he say: “You shall be nice to the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.” “You shall be nice to your neighbor as yourself.” This is important because if, as baptized Christians, we are to renounce Satan and all the spiritual forces of wickedness that rebel against God, and we are to renounce the evil powers of this world which corrupt and destroy the creatures of God, and we are to renounce all sinful desires that draw us from the love of God, then we must call out evil for what it is. That is the loving act right now, and it will surely not seem very nice to a lot of people. 

Some twelve years ago, I was teaching a voice lesson in my Manhattan apartment on a Saturday morning when I received a phone call from a mother of one of the Pied Piper Actors Society members. The Pied Piper Actors Society was the leadership and service youth group of the Pied Piper Children’s Theatre, the community outreach program I founded and ran at Holy Trinity Church in Manhattan for 15 years. Sam was at the hospital. His stomach had been pumped due to alcohol poisoning. 

The story is that a group of about ten Pied Piper Actors Society teenagers plotted and succeeded in getting a hold of a substantial amount of vodka and beer, going to the park after dark and having a party. Most of them had never drank before and were curious. So they proceeded to get very drunk and chaos ensued. There was a lot of vomiting, passing out… you know, that sort of thing. Two of them who had not drank, thanks to the fact that they tried and thought it was vile and didn’t like it, became very frightened about what was happening to their friends and began to try to get a hold of parents to confessed what had gone on, and to let the parents know they were in trouble and needed help. A passerby saw one of the teenagers on the ground barely breathing and called 911.

To say I was beyond stunned by the news is an understatement! The kids of the Pied Piper Actors Society did this? The group known in the entire area of Northern Manhattan for their good behavior, maturity and outstanding qualities of leadership did this?? Oh I was angry! It was one of the worst experiences of my life. It was also one of the most important and oddly life-giving experiences of my life. I came to know a lot about my relationship with God and a capacity for love I didn’t know I had, and experienced first-hand what the love of Christ sometimes looks like. And I’ll say this: it did not look nice! 

I immediately called an emergency meeting with all the parents of the kids involved. All came. I know now that many of them were thinking: “Oh God, Rey-Rey is really angry!” Others thought I was meeting with them to dismiss their kids from the program. (It did cross my mind.) And yes, my ego attended that meeting, too! “Do you realize how damaging this could have been to the reputation of this theatre program?” I remember asking. But by the grace of God, I was able to get passed my ego, and ask for their help. I told them I needed to turn that horrible incident into something wholesome and good. 

Punishment for the sake of retribution has never made sense to me. But I did want those kids to meet some serious consequences for their selfish behavior. I also urged the parents to examine their own drinking behavior, as I needed to do mine. The parents were amazing. It was a wonderful, heartfelt dialogue, and they offered many good suggestions. In the end, I decided those kids needed to work. After some investigating on how much alcohol each kid had actually drunk, I created a chart that indicated how many hours of volunteering work each of them would have to do according to how much they drank that night. A certain amount of hours of manual labor had to be done at the theatre, the other hours had to be done at a not-for-profit organization approved by me.

I called a meeting of the members of the Actors Society for the next day, in the evening. It was not optional. They had to be there if they wanted to remain in the group and wanted to continue participating in the theatre. All came. Yes, they were terrified, and that was OK with me. The ones who had not been part of the incident were wondering what was going on. I called the names of each of the ones who were in trouble and asked them to stand up. I explained to the group what they had done, the entire time talking through my clenched teeth. I gave them “their sentence” and explained to them the reason for it. All of the energy they had spent engaging in such incredibly selfish, hurtful and hateful behavior had to be redeemed by energy spent in good actions for the theatre, the community and themselves. We got a lot of great work done in the months that followed!

But more happened. I brought in a drug and alcohol counselor to have several sessions with the kids so they could learn more about the subject. I engaged in one-on-one conversations with each and every one of those kids to hear them and get to know more about their experiences at school, at their homes, etc. Why? Because I knew it was not my job to change them, but it was my responsibility to be a good role model and to make it very clear to them where I stood. 

I will forever be grateful to have been guided by the Holy Spirit to live out the love of Christ throughout that whole situation- a love that requires boldness, engagement and accountability instead of avoidance, politeness, and niceness. 

What is our call as Christians? We are called into relationship with a God whose capacity to restore and resurrect has no limits. I don’t know how to exist without believing that there is no place, time, circumstance, or situation that is beyond God’s ability to redeem. Can anything good come out of last week’s events on Capitol Hill? The answer is YES! This must be our hope as people of faith- a hope we must model for the world. And that hope requires us to speak prophetically, especially those of us with a platform to speak publicly to hundreds of people about the Jesus of love, hope, and justice and to call out the evil of a false Christianity that leads rioters to enter the nation’s Capitol Building raising a cross and signs that read “Jesus Saves.” Lord have mercy!! Throughout his ministry Jesus called out religious hypocrisy at every turn, and so must we if there is to be any redemption from what is happening in this country.

Last week we saw first-hand the spiritual forces of wickedness our baptism requires us to renounce. Christian nationalism is heresy, and a sin. White supremacy and any kind of racism are wicked forces of evil. Christianity and white people are not entitled to any privilege in our civil government. God does not love Americans or white people more than anyone else. Anti-Semitism and Islamophobia are anti-Christian and are sins. Any kind of homophobia or discrimination against LGBTQ+ people is anti-Christian and it is a sin. Nativism and nationalism are anti-Christian and are sins. Saying one is a Christian while, in any way being a part of, supporting, or covering up these evils is a horrible hypocrisy! No, I do not need to listen to or try to understand anyone’s racism or homophobia. As a Christian, I am called to call it out for what it is, and for the love of God, invite them to repent.

May we, like Samuel, who obeyed the call to name corruption in his own religious home, and to call out sin for what it was, even if it meant to turn the institution that sustained him up-side-down, live boldly into the call of Epiphany and speak prophetically, that we may see heaven opened and the angels of God ascending and descending. 

¡Que así sea en el nombre del Padre, del Hijo y del Espíritu Santo!

Amen+  

The Second Sunday after Epiphany - January 19, 2020

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY
Br. Maximillian Esmus, n/OHC
The Second Sunday after Epiphany - January 19, 2020

Isaiah 49:1-7
1 Corinthians 1:1-9
John 1:29-42

Click here for an audio version of this sermon.

We have here an “Epiphany moment.” The glory of God is glimpsed in Christ, discipleship begins, the foundation of the Church is laid. And it all happens so quickly! The Baptizer points at Jesus and says, Behold, the Lamb of God! Two of his disciples get the message and go after him. Jesus looks at them, says, “What are you looking for?” and they reply, “Rabbi, where are you staying?” He simply says, “Come and see.”

They spend the rest of the day with him, and the gospel community is born.

The very first act of Jesus in this Gospel is to turn and look at these two disciples. I speculate that they became fully convinced this was the bona fide Anointed One at that moment when Jesus looked them in the eye. Just then, they caught a glimpse of the eternal, and they knew that the salvation of Israel was at hand, that the Lamb of God was here, taking away the sin of the world.

And Jesus, in turn, saw the image of the Divine reflected back to him in their eyes. This is one of Jesus’s greatest superpowers: his ability to look at you and see you for who you really are, and to love you for it.

When Jesus asks what they seek, the disciples don’t request from this Rabbi a word of wisdom, nor a Messianic holy war manifesto. They seek to know where he is staying. It is about being with Jesus, and Jesus being with them, mutually beholding each other.

The initiation of this community of mutual beholding is almost shockingly direct. I want to know, How is it that these two are able to see Jesus for who he really is? How is it that they are able to respond so unreservedly to Jesus’ equally unhesitating acceptance?

I think that the disciples were able to see and respond because they were well prepared for this moment by a good teacher: John the Baptist, the preacher of repentance. John, who it was said would “go before the Lord to prepare the way, to give God’s people knowledge of salvation by the forgiveness of their sins.”

I believe the disciples’ eyes were open to Jesus in part because they had acknowledged their human frailty and received God’s promise of forgiveness in those cleansing waters, and in so doing, had received the gift of humility. They had set aside all pretense. Humility, the honest acknowledgement of my situation as a beloved, broken, sinful, forgiven child of God, is a crucial element in my readiness to behold the Lamb of God.

What does the path of repentance – the path toward humility – look like? The Gospel does not give us any details about the paths that originally brought those two disciples to the Jordan river to be cleansed. We can imagine and speculate about that. We can think of our own stories of forgiveness and repentance.

I’d like to share one such story that comes the realm of legend and myth. It comes from one of the greatest epic myths of Western Culture, or at least, one with great influence on me from my childhood. As in all myths, the characters in this story are archetypes, whose experiences are universally relevant.

The story begins:

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, there lived a young Jedi knight named Anakin Skywalker. He was a skilled Jedi, strong in the force, and advancing well in his training. He and his wife, Padmé, a formidable politician, were expecting their first child. One day, Anakin had a nightmare, a prophetic vision that Padmé would die in childbirth.

Anakin became greatly distressed, and began acting out in anger at the unfairness of this fate. How could this happen to him? How could Anakin, so strong in the Force, be dealt such a devastating loss? In his desperation to resist Padmé’s fate, Anakin abandons the ideals of his Jedi masters and begins to seek the security of cultivating power and control.

When the time came, Padmé gave birth to twins, and named them Luke and Leia. Then, tragically, she died.

Anakin acted out in anger and frustration yet again. His fellow Jedi knights, fearing for the safety of the twins, took them away into foster care. In the darkness of Anakin’s grief, the Evil One came to him with sympathy on his face and said, “Oh, my dear Anakin. What a tragedy. If only you had been strong enough to save Padmé. If only you had loved her enough. If only you hadn’t been so angry.”

In his pain Anakin believed these words. He didn’t think he could bear the shame of what he had done, and what he had failed to do. He started to believe himself incapable of love, to believe that he was in some way defective. He had to hide. And so, he crafted a mask for himself, a dark mask and a cloak that would project strength, power, and invulnerability. He called this mask Darth Vader. For many years, Vader lived a kind of half-life, almost more machine rather than man, and allied himself with the Evil One.

Then, one day, Darth Vader’s son Luke, now grown to adulthood, returned to him, and said to him, “Father, I know there is good in you. I see the good in you. Won’t you take my hand and come back home to yourself?” And Vader felt so threatened by Luke’s compassion, more threatened by this than by any who had ever raised a sword against him, that he swore to destroy Luke.

But Luke said, “I will not fight you, Father. There is good in you.” Vader didn’t believe it, he said it was too late for him to have such hope. But then he saw Luke do a remarkable thing. Luke was so determined not to jeopardize his relationship with the one he loved, that he chose even to surrender to the most destructive forces of the Evil One, rather than draw a sword against his own flesh and blood.

Seeing this, Darth Vader – Anakin – finally understood something about love he had long forgotten. He at last was able to face the guilt over the wrong he had done, and the shame – the unearned guilt – over what had been beyond his control. In receiving Luke’s acceptance of him, he accepts himself. He casts the Evil One into the abyss, and repents. He turns around to face his son.

The first thing he says is, “Luke, help me take this mask off, so that I can see you with my own eyes.”

“Help me take this mask off, so that I can see you with my own eyes.”

The black helmet is lifted off, the twisted mask is peeled away, and behind it we see a broken man whose eyes are filled with nothing but love for his son. The deep shame of past hurts, failures, and losses has fallen away, and with it has fallen away the need to armor up, puff up with pride, and protect himself.

And we see that all along, behind the mask of Vader have been the eyes of a man desperate to love, desperate to give himself in love. Luke had said over and over, “I know there is good in you.” And Anakin’s final words to Luke are, “You were right about me. You were right.” Thus ends the story of Anakin Skywalker.

I, like you, wear a variety of masks – personas – that disclose a curated version of myself to myself and to the world. They obscure a deeper me, the “me” who I’m not so sure is lovable, or capable of love.

But God knows — God knows that your point of origin is not sin, it is love. He sees the goodness in you. He says to you, in the words of the Psalmist: “Princely state has been yours from the day of your birth; in the beauty of holiness have I begotten you, like dew from the womb of the morning."

When you undergo repentance, and let go of your mask, you see Christ afresh. And then you can Look! Behold – the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world! And you find yourself adoring him, overflowing with love that spills over into every relationship, into every hurt that needs healing.

Christ notices you beholding him with these new eyes of love and says, “What are you looking for?” And you say, “You, Rabbi. I’m looking for you! I have seen you with my own eyes, and I wish to abide with you. Tell me, Where are you staying?”

And he says, “Come and see.” He guides you along the way to where he abides. He says, Come here to where two or three are gathered in my name. There I am. Come and see – in the face of this little one who comes from a distant land seeking a cup of water to drink. Give it to her, and in so doing, you give it to me. Come and see. In the fragile and majestic beauty of this world my Father made. Come here to the table and see the broken bread; there I am. Abide with me and I will surely abide in you.

Jesus knows that my attention is fickle, my resolve is weak, and the old habits of shame and self-rejection are not overcome in a day. I find myself hiding, holding back, losing sight. So again and again, I turn back to the one I love and I say, “Rabbi, teacher, open the eyes of my heart. Help me take this mask off; so that I may see you, where ever you are staying.”