Sermon; Lent 5C; John 12:1-8

If you haven’t noticed, the Gospel of John is . . . different.  Unlike the other three, John only records five obvious miracles.  Jesus is given to long monologues.  The interplay between light and dark is an important theme.  Where creation begins in the Garden and God calls out to Adam by name because he doesn’t want to be found, on Easter morning Mary is in the Garden and Jesus calls to her by name because she is looking for him.  The gospel has a cosmic beginning and there is a deep sense of the mystical. 

John packs a whole lot of symbolism and mystery into his stories, and this short gospel passage is no exception.

“Six days before the Passover . . .”  Six days in which to work, and then Jesus rested in the grave on a Holy Sabbath.  Lazarus, whom Jesus had raised from the dead, ate with Jesus signifying new life.  Mary anoints Jesus’ feet in an act of humble service, which also foreshadows his anointing by Joseph and Nicodemus at his burial.  So, what to focus on?

At our Annual Meeting I asked you to participate in an exercise where you shared stories of Saint Luke’s.  We then collected words reflective of those stories and I asked you to mark the words that you found most important.  The words that received the most votes were forgiving, compassion, kindness, caring, and several around worship.  The Vestry is working with these words as a guide to reflect who we are and how we can live into the vision those words elicit.

As I was thinking about today’s gospel passage, it occurred to me that this passage reflected our Annual Meeting exercise.  Within this episode are elements of compassion, caring, and worship.

Compassion and caring are closely related.  Compassion has to do with a desire to alleviate the suffering of another person.  With hindsight we know that this act of Mary foreshadowed Jesus’ death and burial.  I doubt she knew what lay in store for Jesus as he entered Jerusalem, was betrayed, and executed; but I want to believe that Jesus was able to look back on this compassionate act as providing some relief while he hung on the cross.

Caring has to do with being attentive to the needs of another.  In today’s gospel, this caring aspect came from Jesus to Mary as he was attentive to her need for protection.  Judas attacked her for foolishly spending money on that perfume rather than giving it to the poor.  He does what people always do – attack someone using an alternative group to gain sympathy without actually meaning to do anything for that group.  But Jesus cared for Mary by protecting her from further attacks.

Mary had an intense belief that Jesus was who he said he was.  At this dinner to honor him – because apparently baking a pie to say, “Thanks for raising my brother from the dead” wasn’t enough – Mary anoints the feet of Jesus.  This in itself was an act of worship, and she offered her body, mind, and spirit in complete devotion.

This was a risky move on her part.  Risky because of the apparent waste of costly perfume (see Judas).  Risky because of her very public act of anointing his feet.  Risky because, at that moment, she was willing to put her proclaimed faith into action.

Again, thinking back on the Annual Meeting and this passage, what would Saint Luke’s look like, or what could Saint Luke’s become, if we fully embodied this story?  How might we change if we were as compassionate, caring, and worshipful as the characters in this story?

How might we be a more visibly compassionate congregation?  If compassion has to do with alleviating suffering, the best way to do this is to increase our aid to, and presence at, the Food Pantry.  Medical debt and an inability to pay utilities are bound to cause suffering, both physically and mentally.  Could we look for ways to help alleviate that sort of suffering?

How could we offer a spirit of caring and better care for the needs of others.  One way we do this now is through Meals for the Soul, where we offer the care of nourishment for those who need it.  But as our congregation ages, other needs will arise.  Rides to and from church, medical appointments, or the grocery story might be helpful.  Basic contact with others through phone calls, letters, or visits show and provide care.

Expanding outside our walls, could we care for children in need of school supplies by providing that service?  And donations to the Rector’s Discretionary Fund allow for emergency care.

As Mary worshipped the Lord completely, are we as willing to pour out ourselves in worship?  Our liturgy is in need of roles to be filled.  What’s stopping you from offering your gifts and talents in joyful service to the Lord?  That’s a risky thing to do, to put ourselves out there in public.  But while our faith may be private, we are also called to live it out publicly.

I could go on, but I’m not here to berate or cajole you.  I am, however, here to get you to think.

From our Annual Meeting you found the most important aspects of Saint Luke’s to be worship, caring, and compassion.  If we see ourselves that way, we need to live into those words.  We need to empty ourselves as Mary emptied herself in such ways that this place is filled with the fragrance of beautiful worship made up of compassionate and caring people such that that fragrance permeates every part and person of this place.  The more we live into that, the more we will be filled with the holy scent of love and service.

As that fragrance permeates this place and us, it then might be said that what we do here will be proclaimed in all the world.  And what this small church does just might reflect one of the biggest mysteries of God – a people living out their faith in very unexpected ways.

Amen.

Sermon; Lent 4C; Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32

In today’s gospel, the religious leaders are griping about Jesus mingling with the wrong people.  In particular, they are outraged that Jesus welcomes sinners and eats with them.  We are not immune to such criticisms today.  Whenever “the wrong people” are welcomed into a place deemed inappropriate for them, the “right people” begin to gripe.  People who smell badly.  People who don’t dress appropriately.  People whose children can’t be controlled.  People who are a little too enthusiastic.  People who are the wrong color.  Or the wrong gender.  Or the wrong nationality.  Or the wrong religion.  These are just some of the wrong people whom the right people want to limit or keep out altogether.  When we begin allowing the wrong people into places not meant for them, there will be a group of right people complaining about it.

Today’s parable from Jesus addresses this very thing.  We have come to know this story as the parable of the Prodigal Son, but that isn’t really accurate.  A more accurate title would be, “The Repentant Son,” or, “The Forgiving Father,” or, “The Selfish Brother.”  Either way, this story touches on all these things and is still applicable today.  Like most parables, if we are really paying attention to them we can see ourselves in each of the characters; and if we are honest with ourselves, we can admit to being each character.

We have been the younger son who has wanted everything we felt was owed to us.  Maybe we got it, or maybe something kept us from getting it, but we eventually (and hopefully) learned that having everything we want isn’t all its cracked up to be.  This, then, requires we repent of our selfish desires.  It takes courage to admit we were wrong.  It takes courage to apologize.  It takes courage to accept whether or not the offended person will forgive us and to accept how this will impact the relationship moving forward.

We have been the father who had to face rejection from another person and let them go.  Maybe it was a child, family member, close friend, whatever.  That rejection or some other sin against us can be extremely painful.  But we have also been the father who, more than anything, wanted restoration.  That desire for restoration allows us to welcome back into our good races those who have hurt us.

We have been the older son who has been loyal but has then suffered the indignity of seeing someone we felt deserving of punishment get off scot-free.  That is a hard pill to swallow, especially when it happens close to home.

Although we have been, at one time or another, all three of these characters, I think more often than not we are the older brother.  I think that more often than not we are irrationally angry when people whom we think are unworthy of grace receive grace.  Or we become resentful of those whom we deem undeserving receive what we see as unwarranted handouts.

I came across a perfect example of this last week.

A woman posted that her psych professor in college offered to give everyone in class a 95 percent grade but only if the students voted unanimously for the proposal.  When the vote was tallied, there were 20 students who voted “NO.”

So he put up a poll asking why people voted the way they did and the choices were:

A.    I want a 95 percent

B.    B.  I think I could do better

C.    C.  I don’t want a grade I don’t deserve

D.    D.  I don’t want someone else to get the same grade as me if they didn’t study as much

It turned out that all 20 students who voted “NO” in the original question chose option D.

The professor went on to say that he had been doing this experiment for ten years and every year there is always at least one person who doesn’t want someone to have what they have because they think that other person doesn’t deserve it.  There was one comment on this thread that I found spot on – “It’s not that I must win, it’s that others must lose.”

We’ve seen this same rationale in everything from student loan debt forgiveness to universal health care and everything in between.

This seems to be the attitude of the older son – having a selfish reason as to why someone else should not have what he has.  We need to remember, though, that God’s economy is about love, forgiveness, and joy over and above spite, punishment, and misery.

What might this look like in the here and now?  Imagine for a minute that everybody I’ve talked to in bars, and whom I’ve told about Saint Luke’s, suddenly decided to show up to church on the same day, 40 or 50 strong. 

They are the younger son who have lived lives not as we would like or maybe even as we approve.  But they’ve all gathered up their courage and come to a place where they’ve been told they are welcome.  They are a little worried about how they’d be accepted, but they came.

On that Sunday when these 40 or 50 people show up, we are the father who has eagerly been waiting for them.  We may not agree with the choices they have made, but they are here and we welcome them home.  We greet them with open arms.  We make room for them in our pew and help them navigate the BCP, Hymnal, and pew aerobics.  After service we invite them to coffee hour, get to know a little bit about them, thank them for being here, and invite them to come back next week.  And maybe we are the father for the next Sunday or two.

But at some point, we become the older brother.  Maybe it’s the third, fourth, or fifth Sunday in when all 40 or 50 people from the bars keep coming back; and they keep coming back Every.  Single.  Sunday.  Maybe it’s when they begin singing a little too enthusiastically and off key.  Maybe it’s when they keep sitting in your pew which you were willing to share for a Sunday or two.  Maybe it’s when they show up at 9:45, leaving you searching for an open seat or maybe even having to sit in the parish hall, relegated to overflow seating.  Maybe it’s when they gather to smoke in the parking lot.

Those of you who have been here for years or for generations might begin to resent their presence.  You might begin asking the Vestry or me why we are letting these people, who have never shown an interest in church before, have a say in how we do things.  That resentment might grow to such an extent that you begin to refuse to even come into this house.

One of the purposes of this parable, and the two that come before it (the lost sheep and lost coin) is to open our eyes to the fact that what brings God joy is not the punishment of others, but the restoration of the lost.  The welcoming of the younger son doesn’t mean he is loved more than the older son.  It doesn’t mean that the older son has been rejected in favor of the younger son.  This parable reminds us that the father had two sons and he loved both of them.  It reminds us that both of the sons are welcomed into the house.  And, maybe most importantly, it reminds us that the celebration has nothing to do with loving one son more and everything to do with restoration from death to life.

May we welcome sinners and outcasts.  May we eat with the wrong people.  May we lavish on them the same unbounding grace that God lavishes on us.  And may we never be jealous of, or offended at, God’s love being poured out on another – even if we deem them to be the wrong people.

Amen.

Sermon; Lent 3C; Luke 13:1-9

“Unless you repent, you will all perish as they did.”  So Jesus answers when asked if the people killed by Pilate were worse sinners than other people.  And he basically says the same thing about 18 people who were killed when a tower collapsed on them.

I’ve talked about this before, but there’s a long line of bad theology attributing bad luck to bad behavior.  Your cancer is not the result of sins you have committed.  Being in the wrong place at the wrong time is not because God placed you there to be punished.  Your chronic pain is not due to a lack of faith.  Sometimes life just happens and bad things happen.  That’s not to say that bad decisions don’t cause pain and suffering, because they can (see: drunk driving); but pain and suffering are not the result of God punishing us for our sins.

So what was Jesus getting at when he said, “Unless you repent, you will all perish as they did?”

First of all, this is not a “repent or die” statement.  Jesus is not saying that if you don’t repent, God will strike you dead or send you to hell.  What this is, though, is a recognition that we all die.  Some people will die early because of an illness.  Some people will die unexpectedly because of an accident.  Some will live many years before death comes calling.  We all die, that is just a fact of life.  What Jesus is addressing here comes from The Great Litany when we ask to be delivered “from dying suddenly and unprepared” (more proof that Jesus was an Episcopalian).

We all die.  And, fortunately or unfortunately, none of us are born with a visible expiration date.  But the fact of the matter is that none of us gets out of here alive.  These stories of those killed by Pilate and by the collapsing tower, as well as the parable of the fig tree, are not about death, but about preparation.

Part of our preparation for death, then, is to make time on a regular basis for confession, repentance, and amendment of life in order to continually live in a right relationship with God.  We are in the season of Lent – the season of self-examination, fasting, and penitence.  We can, and probably should, do those things more often, but this season addresses them directly.  We examine our lives and conduct to see where we have harmed others and/or behaved in ways contrary to the will of God.  We should fast from those things which draw us away from God with an eye toward making a permanent change.  We should make time to honestly confess our sins with the goal of making amends and beginning anew

Lent is the season of honesty.  Just because we think we’re right about something doesn’t make it so. It takes courage to admit we were wrong.  It takes honesty and courage to admit we have sinned and repent.  We all sin, but we are not always honest.  And as we heard at the beginning of the service, “If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us.”

Repentance isn’t just about private piety – it’s also about how our society treats others.

If we work toward being in a right relationship with God, then we should also work toward being in a right relationship with others.  Jesus said the two greatest commandments are to love God and love your neighbor.  You can’t claim to love God and then act and speak in hateful ways against your neighbor.  As John says, “Those who say they love God and hate a brother or sister are liars.  For those who do not love a brother or sister whom they have seen, cannot love God, whom they haven’t seen.”

And who is our neighbor? 

Just a couple of chapters earlier, Jesus told the parable of the good Samaritan.  Over time we’ve Disney-fied this parable, but when Jesus first told it, it was shocking.  Shocking because he deliberately used a member of a despised ethnic group as the hero.  It is the poor, the hungry, the foreigner, the Different Other who are our neighbors.  These are the people God cares about, and we should be better at how we treat them.

Another authorized Confession found in supplemental liturgical sources says, “we repent of the evil we have done, and the evil done on our behalf.”  Sins of racism, both personal and national, the evils of segregation upheld by official policies, or policies that are designed to put down women and minorities, fall into this category.  We need to be honest about these sins, repent, and work to put an end to them.  But if we as individuals and as a nation are unwilling to confront past and current behaviors toward the Other, if we are unwilling to repent of those sins, we risk dying separated from God and unprepared for the consequences.

The parable Jesus tells of the fig tree speaks to this.  For three years a fig tree did not produce fruit.  The landowner wanted to cut it down, but the gardener said, “Wait for one year, let me put manure around it and care for it.  Then if it doesn’t produce fruit, you can cut it down.”

In this parable, it’s important to recognize that continuing in sinful practices will not allow us to bear good fruit.  That extra year tells us there is time to repent.  But being honest about our sins, confessing our sins, and repenting of our sins is uncomfortable; and sometimes going through that process can feel like we’ve been buried in manure.  But what comes from that, hopefully, is good fruit brought on by a change in our life.

We all sin and we all die.  May we have the courage to repent of those sins which draw us away from God and harm our neighbor.  May we live lives worthy of that repentance.  And may our repentance help prepare us to live in a right relationship with God and neighbor.

Amen.

Sermon; Lent 2C; Luke 13:31-35

In the context of the whole gospel today’s passage comes not quite halfway between when Jesus “set his face to go to Jerusalem” and his arrival on what has come to be known as Palm Sunday.  Within this timeframe of Jesus’ deliberate and steady move to Jerusalem, he rebukes disciples for wanting to destroy a town, teaches about what true discipleship looks like, sends out seventy missionaries, heals a number of people, tells a bunch of parables, and does some other stuff.  In other words, he is really starting to make a name for himself.

But more than making a name for himself, Jesus is steadily moving to Jerusalem.  We are called to take up our cross because Jesus himself will be lifted up on his cross.  This sacrificial act was ultimately for the whole world.  That act was to bring all creation out of death into life.  I'm reminded of the old story where someone asks Jesus, “How much do you love me?” and Jesus responds, “This much,” and he stretched out his arms and died.

I normally don’t cross-pollinate gospels, but this is also a good time to remember John 3:17 – God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.

Today’s gospel passage gives us a glimpse into this idea of God’s universal salvation.  Jesus speaks of Jerusalem when he says, “How often I’ve desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings.”  This lament was certainly directed to the people of Jerusalem, but we can also see it directed at us.  If God is trying to gather us together as a hen gathers her chicks, how often have we been unwilling to be gathered up?  How often have we pursued our own devices and desires?  How often have we turned a deaf ear to God’s call?  And yet, God keeps trying.

This idea of God reaching out to all people is also reflected in HOW God reaches out.  We are certainly familiar with images of God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit.  The Lord’s Prayer begins, “Our Father . . .”  But if God is attempting to reach all people, then maybe God is also using more avenues than we normally think of.

In 2 Esdras for example (a book in the Apocrypha), God says this:  I have entreated you as a father to his son, as a mother to her daughter, as a nurse to her children.  This is one example of God appearing in ways that people will understand or have an affinity for.  God is most often referred to as a father, but that doesn’t mean God is male.

As another example, the Spirit of God is referred to as Ruach in Hebrew and Sofia in Greek – both grammatically feminine.  The Wisdom of God as portrayed in Proverbs is also portrayed as feminine.  And today Jesus uses that feminine image when he refers to the mother hen gathering her brood.

Right about now you may be wondering why I’m bringing this up, or where I’m going with all this.

We are in the Season of Lent – the season of prayer, fasting, self-denial, and repentance.  We are in the season of preparing for Easter and new life.  We are in the season of working to permanently change certain behaviors in order to draw closer to God.  In this season we are, or should be, actively searching for God.

As we do this, we are asked to turn back to God from our sinful ways.  In that turning, there is an offer of restoration.  There is time to repent, receive pardon, to welcome the reign of God, and to be welcomed in.  For this to happen, we are being given a variety of opportunities and voices.

We may hear God speaking as a loving father.  We may sense God as the embrace of a loving mother.  We may hear the voice of God in wisdom.  We may experience God as understanding Christ’s sacrifice.  God makes this offer in a variety of ways for a variety of people – because my experience is not your experience.

That universal offer of restoration and salvation runs through Jesus’ ministry.  It runs through his Passion.  It runs through his death and burial.  It runs through his resurrection and ascension.  That offer is made first to the people of Jerusalem and then to all Judea, Samaria, and the whole world with the goal of bringing everyone out of death into life.

God is so much bigger and mysterious than we are able to conceive.  Yet in that vastness, God is calling each of us into a holy relationship.  Whatever our Lenten disciplines, let us look and listen for the presence of God.  And if you hear the voice of God as a mother, so be it.  If you hear the voice of God as a father, so be it.  If you have an image of God as a mother hen protecting you under her wings, so be it.  Because it’s not important that you hear or see God in a certain way, it’s important that you are open to meeting God in mysterious ways.

There is time to return to the Lord; but let’s not miss our opportunity because God didn’t appear as we expected.

Amen.

Sermon; Lent 1C; Luke 4:1-13

Welcome to Lent, that penitential season of self-inflicted misery and austerity.  That season of giving up chocolate and fun.  Or so popular culture tells us.  But as I’ve said, Lent isn’t about 40 days of misery, austerity, and no fun.  Lent is really about making lasting changes that benefit ourselves and our relationship with God.

We are called to the observance of a holy Lent, by self-examination and repentance; by prayer, fasting, and self-denial; and by reading and meditating on God’s holy Word.  But in order to do this, we must be honest with ourselves.  We must be honest in our self-examination so that we may see how we have harmed others or fallen short, and then be willing to repent and make amends.  We must be willing to fast from things which harm ourselves and others.  We must be willing to do away with those things that draw us from God and get better at doing those things which bring us closer.

As we work through our self-examinations, we can ask ourselves, “How are we tempted?”  We get a good look at what temptation looks like in today’s gospel.

After his baptism, Jesus is led into the wilderness where he’s tempted by the devil for forty days.  We are well-familiar with those temptations:  turning rocks to bread, having authority over all kingdoms and nations, and trust God to save you from death.  All of these temptations come while he is fasting.  All of them come at a time when he is probably the most susceptible to hearing those temptations. 

As a culture we tend to attribute giving into temptation to times of weakness.  For instance, I fast every Ash Wednesday, and on the corner of my desk sits a bag of Lindor milk chocolate truffles.  And about 4:00 in the afternoon, with that bag sitting there and proclaiming, “Irresistibly smooth,” I was at a point of weakness.

But think about this:  instead of temptation coming from a place of weakness (I didn’t eat any truffles), it comes from a place of strength.  We are not tempted to do that which we can’t, we are tempted to do that which we can to a greater degree.  When we are tempted, we are not tempted to fall, but to rise.

Eve wasn’t tempted to become like the devil, she was tempted to become like God.  An alcoholic isn’t tempted to take another drink because he’s fallen on hard times, he takes another drink because he’s tempted to think he has beaten alcoholism.  We see it again and again in politicians, police, clergy, doctors, lawyers, and others.  People in a position of power or authority are tempted to abuse their power because they are led to think they are better than others.  The greater the strength or position, the greater the temptation.

Temptation is a paradox.  We aren’t tempted in our weakness, but in our strengths.  If we pursue our weaknesses, we often have resources to rely on.  If we pursue our strengths, we rely on ourselves.  As Paul says, “Whenever I am weak, then I am strong.”

It takes a certain strength to admit weakness.  It takes a certain strength to admit you have sinned, to repent, and to make restitution.  And on the flip side of that, it is the weak person who will not admit to failures, sins, or regrets.  It is the weak bully who grasps for power – but power doesn’t always equate with strength.

As has been said, temptation is deceptively attractive.  We are not tempted outright with debauchery or personal or social ruin.  That comes later, after we have taken incrementally small bites of the apple.  The temptations of Jesus were nothing beyond his power, but the temptations were to use his power inappropriately.  He was tempted to use his power to take the easy way out.

In Lent we are called to self-examination and repentance; prayer, fasting, and self-denial; and to read and meditate on God’s holy Word.  These things are at the core of long-term changes designed to draw us closer to God.

I don’t know what your Lenten discipline is, nor do I much care.  What I care about is how will that discipline draw you closer to God and how will it change you to more reflect the love of Christ on the world?

As we journey through Lent we will be tempted to break whatever discipline we have chosen to follow.  We will be tempted to break those disciplines not because we are weak, but because it will appeal to our sense of strength.  We will be tempted to break our discipline because it will appeal to our belief that we are already good enough.

If you commit to, say, reading a chapter of 2 Kings every weekday during Lent starting tomorrow (because there are 25 chapters and 25 weekdays from Monday until Holy Week), it’ll be easy to say, “I’m a fast reader, so I can easily make up a day.”  Or if you give up sweets, it’ll be easy to say, “My diet’s good, I can splurge every now and then.”  Or maybe you want to pray a Daily Office (Morning or Evening Prayer), you might say, “I go to church every Sunday, it’s okay – I’m good.”

Temptations arise because we think we are stronger than we are.

But know this:  it’s okay to admit weakness, because it is in acknowledging our weakness that we will come to know God more fully.  And that just might be the biggest change any of us can make.

Amen.

Sermon; Ash Wednesday; Matt. 6:1-6, 16-21

“Beware of practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them.”

This directive by Jesus instructs us to not wear our faith or religion on our sleeves.  In other words, PDRs – public displays of religion – have more to do with being noticed by others than with our relationship with God.  Normally this is pretty easy for Episcopalians – really, how many times have you talked with anyone about your faith, let alone invite them to church?  But on Ash Wednesday this becomes a little more difficult when we all leave here with ash crosses on our foreheads.

What do we then say about practicing our piety before others?  Well, for starters, we can remember that context is everything, so we need to pay attention to the whole sentence.  The problem doesn’t lie in practicing your piety before others; the problem lies with practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them.  We need to remember that the crosses imposed on our foreheads are not there to remind people how pious we are – they are there to remind us.

They are there to remind us that we are mortal.  We are born, we live, and we die.  We were formed of the earth, and to earth shall we return.  Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.  This mortality of ours, rather than being a morbid fascination, reminds us that life is fleeting and challenges us to live a life that shines the light and hope of God onto a very dark world.

They are there to remind us that we belong to Christ.  At our baptism, we were sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked as Christ’s own for ever.  We are anointed with holy oil and the priest uses that oil to mark our foreheads with the sign of the cross.  That holy cross, invisible to us, is visible to Christ and the spiritual powers of the world showing us to be holy people of Christ.  And on Ash Wednesday we receive a very visible cross reminding us that we were sealed and marked as Christ’s own for ever.

They are there to remind us that the path to life lies through death.  To get to Easter, we must go through Good Friday.  They remind us that to follow Christ requires us to take up our cross.  They remind us of Christ’s sacrificial love.

So while we don’t have ash crosses placed on our foreheads to be seen by others, others will see us.  That visible sign is a mark that we have been set apart.  That visible sign can be a conversation starter about faith and practices.  It may also serve as the basis for an invitation to come and see what this is all about.

On this Ash Wednesday we are reminded that we are but dust and to dust we shall return.  We are reminded to make a right beginning as we begin our Lenten journey.  We are reminded of sacrifices made not for the sake of being miserable, but for the sake of making a lasting change.  And we are reminded that we do what we do not to be seen by others but recognizing that others will see us.

On this Ash Wednesday, may we begin to live lives worthy of Christ’s sacrifice and the cross we wear.

Sermon; Last Epiphany C; Luke 9:28-43

One of the things we know about God is that God is unknowable completely.  We can describe who and what God is positively: as in, God is love or God is sacrificial or God is creative.  We can also describe who and what God is negatively: as in, God is not hateful or God is not selfish or God is not destructive.  We cannot know God completely, but being willing to live with and into God’s mystery is an important spiritual step.

Today is the Last Sunday after the Epiphany.  It is the last Sunday of the season of manifestation and revelation.  Like on the First Sunday after the Epiphany when Jesus was baptized and a voice from heaven said, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased,” today we again hear a voice from heaven stating, “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him.”  Both of these events help us to see into the mystery of who Jesus is.

On that first Sunday, Jesus is found praying after his baptism.  What he’s praying about we don’t know, but we can probably guess it has something to do with his upcoming ministry.  At that point he is confirmed as God’s Son and then guided/led/driven out into the wilderness and his encounter with the devil.  On this last Sunday we have a parallel event.  Once again a voice comes after Jesus was praying.  This time, however, the voice is directed at his disciples:  “This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him.”  On the first Sunday, Jesus receives heavenly confirmation for his ministry.  On the last Sunday, he receives confirmation of his Passion.

Immediately before today’s incident, Jesus asked his disciples, “Who do people say that I am?”  This led to Jesus’ first Passion prediction and the mandate to take up our crosses.  This is the “Eight days after these sayings” that your bulletin references but, for some reason, weren’t included in the gospel reading.

Those eight days Luke references are significant, not the least of which is because Sunday is often referred to as “the eighth day.”  As in, after the six days of creation and day of rest, Jesus was resurrected on “the eighth day,” a day of new creation.

The two people with Jesus, Moses and Elijah, have a two-fold purpose.  First, it recognizes that Jesus is the fulfillment of the Law and the Prophets.  They were speaking of Jesus’ departure, or his exodus – a powerful image for the early Jewish followers of Jesus.  Second, these two men at this Transfiguration event foreshadow the two men at the tomb (another transfiguration of sorts) and the two men who meet the disciples after Jesus ascends to heaven.

Finally we have the cloud that overshadowed them and from where the voice came.  It was a cloud that overshadowed Mt. Sinai with the glory of the Lord and in which Moses received the Law.  It was a cloud that lifted Jesus to heaven 40 days after his resurrection.  And it was the Holy Spirit that overshadowed Mary, allowing her to conceive the Holy Child.  Luke’s reference to a cloud is there to remind us of God’s presence from the time of Moses to the Ascension and beyond.

On the First Sunday after the Epiphany, we hear the voice from heaven confirming Jesus as God’s Son.  Today, the Last Sunday after the Epiphany, we hear a voice from heaven telling us to listen to him.

As I said, this directive to listen to him comes after his first Passion prediction.  This is no accident.  When Jesus tells us that the way to life is through death and the cross, we can’t discount that.  We need to listen to him.

The way to life isn’t through riches.  It’s not through the heretical prosperity gospel.  It’s not through focusing on ourselves.  The way to life is through sacrifice.  It’s through the death of selfish desires.  It’s through lifting up those who are lowly.  It’s through loving the outcast, foreigner, and those whom society would throw away.  It’s through listening and acting on the words of Christ.

Throughout the Season of Epiphany we have seen instances of Christ’s revelation and manifestation.  From the star and wisemen to his baptism and signs and wonders, we have been given a glimpse of who Jesus really is – the Son of God, Savior of the world.  But there’s only so much we can take in.

Ultimately we must acknowledge that God is only partially knowable.  We catch glimpses here and there, but we know only in part, so we must come to terms with living into the mystery.  On this Last Sunday after the Epiphany we can glimpse that mystery if we pay attention.

We saw the mystery of Jesus as Son of God at his baptism.  We saw the mystery of miraculous signs at the wedding in Cana and on Lake Gennesaret.  We are overshadowed by the mysterious cloud of God’s presence.  And we live with the mystery that the path to life is through death and sacrifice.

May we, like the disciples on the mountain eventually did, find the courage to proclaim and live into the sacrificial mystery of God.

Amen.