What is Truth?

I dove into the Gospel of John today. Well, I'll be more honest, I was pushed into the Gospel of John today. During this time of waiting, of anticipation, of longing, I expected to read excerpts from Isaiah, Matthew, Mark, or Luke. That's what I expected. But I should have known that, while Advent is a time of waiting, anticipation, and longing, it is most assuredly a time of surprises.

And so, John was the Gospel read from today.

More specifically, John 18, the story of Jesus' trial before Pilate. This is a funny text to read in the dawn of Advent because its almost like fast-forwarding the movie during the opening credits to the climactic push leading to the story's hinge. But, on the flip side, this is Jesus' soliloquy about his king-dom being of another kingdom. And, so, I guess on this cold Advent day it is fitting, albeit funny, to read of Jesus' own struggle with kingship even as we wait again for God to formally reclaim this kingdom here.

This passage left me at a place of unease. I have read this John passage every year on Good Friday (so have you, you just may not realize it), and my reading for today ended at verse 37 with Jesus saying, "I have come to testify to the truth."

And that's where it ended. Silence.

In my mind I heard the echo of Pilate's wonderful response, a response that I would ask, "What is truth?" But there was no satisfying question to Jesus' statement in today's reading. Yet, the question was asked in my mind as I read through it. It was an immediate reaction.

So, here at Advent, I'll echo Pilate in response to the waiting period that we now are in. What is truth? Are we waiting and waiting for a king that will never come? Or are our wick trimming and candle keeping actions for a reason.

I think the truth is that wick trimming and candle burning are reason enough on their own, as we must have light in this world until the Light returns. And the light will return, in one way or another, that is promised.

And so, we wait and we struggle with what it means to be citizens of a kingdom that is not yet realized. We struggle with Jesus in John 18, even as we wait for the Advent now.

Let us cut our quick and light our sparks. The truth is, God is coming again in one way or another, and although we struggle with it, we do not struggle alone-Christ struggles with us.

See you in church,
VT...

On End Times and Verbs for God

As we come to the end of the church year our thoughts turn to the end of time. Why? Because the natural cycle of things demands that we do. All created things have an end.

And so, now, as our thoughts turn to the end time, so do our verbs for God. Specifically, we make the decision as to whether God at the end times is Savior or Destroyer. Is God the willing participant in the end of times, or the saving grace found when time ends.

I choose the latter.

I choose the latter in the face of those who pray for the end. I choose the latter in the face of those who claim the "reckoning" to be coming, who claim the destruction of the world is God's plan.

"Fools," I say. "Have you not seen? Have you not heard? Remember the angels, the first time God came. Not with cries or shouts of death, but with the cries of a baby, the cry of life."

But, its not always easy to call God Savior. It's not always easy to see life in this world.

Walter Brueggemann speaks to this in his prayer "You are known in hiddenness." It reads:

God hidden from us in your myriad verbs,
we confess you where we do not see you:
in healings,
in emancipations,
in feedings,
in forgiveness,
in many ways of newness.
We do not see you, but we dare to name you
by our best names-
we name you father and mother,
we make you lord and saviour,
we praise you giver and lover.
In our daring naming of you and in our very glimpsing,
we know you are beyond us
unutterable,
hidden,
refusing all our manufactured labels.
You are known in hiddenness,
powerful in suffering,
whole in woundedness
and we are yours...all of us...gladly. Amen.

See you in church,
VT...

On Visions of Light, Prayer, and Song

My faith looks up to thee
Thou Lamb of Calvary,
Savior divine!
Now hear me while I pray,
Take all my guilt away,
O let me from this day
Be wholly thine!

So went my prayer today. I had read about St. Ignatius having strange and amazing visions from meditating on the phrase: "I am a sinner...I am a sinner..." Far from being a kick to the ground, somehow this phrase became a comfort for me. It first exposes the truth: I am a sinner. It then exposes the hope: In prayer comes that confession, and thus, that absolution. This led to the next wonderful verse.

May thy rich grace impart
Strength to my fainting heart,
My zeal inspire;
As thou has died for me,
O may my love to thee
Pure, warm, and changeless be,
A living fire!

A living fire. As I sat in contemplation I envisioned my form falling under a light intense and bright. My form remained, by the "accidents" were changed. And then, beams from my fingers, as small beacons of light for some wayward ship somewhere. I had become a flame-head, one of those Pentecost survivors. It may sound strange, but this was the vision.

While life's dark maze I tread,
And griefs around me spread,
Be thou my guide;
Bid darkness turn to day,
Wipe sorrow's tears away,
Nor let me ever stray
From thee aside.

And the vision was through, but somehow it lingered in the air. I felt re-energized after a day that was quite taxing. It was as if my guide was made apparent in that beaming light. Christ himself, taken away those things that had weighed me down, that Sin that I confessed to holding onto. No longer was the day weighty, but now was wait-y. That is, I was waiting for the next event. No longer with dread, but with anticipation. No longer with a heavy heart, but now with a heart of joy, with a heart that longed to be plucked again.

When ends life's transient dream,
When death's cold, sullen stream
Shall o'er me roll;
Blest Savior, then, in love,
Fear and distrust remove;
O bear me safe above,
A ransomed soul! Amen.

My new prayer: that when I fall asleep for the last time on this earth, a surprise like the one I experienced today be waiting for me behind those eye-lids. A surprise of life, re-energizing grace, and beacons of light to take this wayward ship home.

Amen.

See you in church,
VT...

The hymn verses from "My Faith Looks Up to Thee" by Raymond Palmer

On the Mass and Sweet Communion...

It was mostly empty when I walked in. And, truth to say, it was mostly empty (as far as people go) when I walked out. But it was full of other things, despite the empty air. It was full of peace and love.

"Welcome! Welcome!" She was almost yelling at me. Dorothy was obviously late in her years of life, and her hearing was slowly slipping. But she was the first to greet me so enthusiastically in a long time at church. It was a Wednesday morning, and I had decided to walk down to the small Episcopal church down the street for Wednesday morning Mass.

"Welcome! Welcome!"

And the Mass began. There were nine of us there, including the pastor. But church happened. It was all spoken, but our hearts sang. It was mostly quiet, but the room was filled with the sound of rushing air, the Spirit of God hovering over those baptismal waters.

A bold word was spoken by the elderly priest. "One day this congregation is going to wake up!" he said. "One day we will be the missionaries that God intends of us, to have others know that God loves them. They can hear that here. They will hear that here!" he prophesied. And I believe him. The people believed him, and took it upon their brow, their arms, their hands...they held that Word, the law and gospel rightly intermixed. They prayed it and played with it.

And we ate. A small round of bread. A small dunk of wine. A small sacrifice for a small congregation. But a large sacrifice for the large Church universal.

And we ate again, afterward. The other members there shuffled me and my friend into the fellowship hall. The table there was set. Real china coffee mugs. Piping hot coffee cake laid out on the table. They handed me the knife, invited me to dive in and divide the cake for everyone assembled. And I took the honor and did so, knowing that it was a mark of hospitality to invite the guest to carve the main course.

And the fellowship made a continuous movement, from the sanctuary to the hall. The conversation continued from the Mass to the small breakfast, and the Spirit followed right along with us. Or was it leading us?

I suspect it was leading us.

See you in church,
VT...

Sermon: All Saints Sunday

Luke 6:20-31

²⁰Then he looked up at his disciples and said:
"Blessed are you who are poor,
for yours is the kingdom of God.
²¹"Blessed are you who are hungry now,
for you will be filled.
"Blessed are you who weep now,
for you will laugh.
²²Blessed are you when people hate you, and when they exclude you, revile you, and defame you on account of the Son of Man. ²³Rejoice in that day and leap for joy, for surely your reward is great in heaven; for that is what their ancestors did to the prophets.
²⁴"But woe to you who are rich,
for you have received your consolation.
²⁵"Woe to you who are full now,
for you will be hungry.
"Woe to you who are laughing now,
for you will mourn and weep.
²⁶Woe to you when all speak well of you, for that is what their ancestors did to the false prophets.
²⁷But I say to you that listen, Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, ²⁸bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you. ²⁹If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also; and from anyone who takes away your coat do not withhold even your shirt. ³⁰Give to everyone who begs from you; and if anyone takes away your goods, do not ask for them again. ³¹Do to others as you would have them do to you.

Blessed

I held my nephew in my arms as he pointed to the end of the aisle. He wanted to go see great-grandma again.

So we walked up the aisle, him being four and me being twenty-four, and we leaned over the casket.

“Is that great-grandma?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said as I nodded.

“Can I touch her?” he asked.

“Sure. With one finger.” I said.

And so I leaned over so that my nephew, my four year old nephew, could begin to learn about the cycles of life.

He gently touched her hand. Then he looked up at me with big brown eyes and asked again, “Is that great-grandma?”

“Yes,” I nodded.

“Mama said grandma is in heaven,” he said.

“Yes,” and I nodded again.

Then he looked back at me with those eyes and asked, “Then, is this heaven?”

And I hugged him close and whispered, “Not yet. Not yet.”

Not yet.

All Saints Day reminds us that this world is not heaven. Not yet.

All Saints Day is twenty-four hours of emotion. Strong emotion. And if its not twenty-four hours of emotion for you today, it will be one day because, well, we will all one day celebrate a saint’s life on All Saints.

And it’s such a mixed bag! At one time we give thanks for a person’s life, for their example, for their joys, and even for those small habits of theirs that become endearing over time.

And at the same time, we wish there was no All Saints Day at all. We wish there was no need for an All Saints Day because here, on this day, we are reminded that we live in an imperfect world. A world that, while good and vibrant and full of life, still experiences pain. Still experiences death.

And that is not surprise to us. All things have cycles; our life revolves around the seasons. Even the Christian life, the Christian calendar revolves around seasons. In four short weeks we will be in Advent, the beginning of the Christian calendar. Which means that here, now, we are in the twilight of our season, celebrating All Saints Day.

And even though it is no surprise to us that life has seasons, that we, as part of the created order still experience those seasons, including death, we long for that day when there will be no need for All Saints Day. We long for that day when we won’t commemorate those who have gone before us because, well, they’ll be right next to us. They’ll be with us. Or, rather, we’ll be with them, along with the whole of creation in that new Zion, that new holy place of God’s being.

And we wait fervently for that day. We cry out for that day. We shout out for that day. And we catch a glimpse of that day and the promises it holds in today’s gospel.

In today’s gospel, known as Jesus’ “Sermon on the Plain” because he is standing on a plain in Luke when giving it, we hear once again that we are a blessed creation.

Blessed are you who are poor,
for yours is the kingdom of God.

"Blessed are you who are hungry now,
for you will be filled.
"Blessed are you who weep now,
for you will laugh.

All of those “you” statements are plural. Jesus is blessing us as a group, as a creation, and giving us promises of life. This poverty that many feel will not be forever. This hunger will not always afflict our bellies. Our eyes will not always flow with tears. The season will change, God has promised that.

It is a promise that is both for the here, and also for the not yet. In the here and now, today, we are to give to the poor, feed the hungry, and wipe the tears of those in pain. In doing so we bless those we comfort, we fulfill that prophecy for today. And likewise, there will be a time when we are in need, when we are hungry, when our tears need to be wiped away and someone, through the grace and love of God, will fulfill that prophecy for us.

And this is what that final piece of this verse is referring to. The “golden rule,” as it has come to be known. It is that piece that encourages us to feed the hungry, give to the poor, and provide for the sad and the weary because there will be a day when we are in their place and will long for food, comfort, and gifts of grace.

But these blessings, these words from Jesus also contain a promise for the not yet, for the tomorrow of creation. God has blessed us through the promise that, when the creation’s tears are no longer consolable, when we have run our course, when we are the saints for whom others celebrate this day for, there is a surprise yet to come.

Even then, even in death, even in that place where darkness seems to have the final say, God promises to feed us, provide for our needs, cause us to laugh, to sing, to dance, to praise, to love. Our cheeks will never again have to turn; our eyes will never well up for feelings of loss. We’ll not have enemies; we’ll not fear others from stealing our possessions because God will be all we have, and all we need.

That day, even that day, contains the promise of life, contains the blessings that we hear today.

And ultimately, we follow the “golden rule,” not simply because we want others’ help on that day when we are hungry, or poor, or weary and crying. But because it is the way that God deals with us. This God, whose love is so radical as to come and stand with us, to come and experience the darkness of death with us, is one that promises us life even as Jesus was resurrected.

This God is the same one who blesses us with the kingdom, with heavenly food, with grace-filled laughter, even as Jesus burst from that tomb to expose death for what it is: an empty hole that only holds some rags and a few angels who tell us the good news once again. Death, like that tomb, is empty.

Death causes us to cry. Yes. It causes us to tear our clothes, yell at God for forsaking us as we bring oils, and flowers, and heavy hearts to those tombs that still dot our lives. Yes. But the blessing still stands, and death is ultimately the bed clothes of old lying in an empty tomb where the gardener tends the living flowers outside because there is no one inside.

Here, on All Saints Day, we give thanks for those loved ones, those ones we have held close, those ones we continue to hold close. We give thanks for their example. We give thanks for their mission. We give thanks for their love.

But more than that, we give thanks to the God who promises that there are surprises still to be had, blessings still to be given; both here in the today and in the tomorrow. God has promised throughout time and space to never abandon us, even in the darkest hour. God has promised that all tombs will one day be empty, and we will stand face to face with each other and our God who keeps true to the blessings given. Who keeps true to the promises given.

This world is not heaven. Not yet. And All Saints Day is a mixed bag, yes. But God has promised that this mixed bag we experience now will be only one thing eventually: everlasting life.

Amen.