"Child of God!"

“Child of God!”

Sermon preached by the Rev. Lowell E. Grisham, Rector

St. Paul's Episcopal Church, Fayetteville, Arkansas

March 2, 2014; Last Epiphany, Year A

Episcopal Revised Common Lectionary

(Matthew 17:1-9)  Six days after Peter had acknowledged Jesus as the Christ, the Son of the Living God, Jesus took with him Peter and James and his brother John and led them up a high mountain, by themselves. And he was transfigured before them, and his face shone like the sun, and his clothes became dazzling white. Suddenly there appeared to them Moses and Elijah, talking with him. Then Peter said to Jesus, "Lord, it is good for us to be here; if you wish, I will make three dwellings here, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah." While he was still speaking, suddenly a bright cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud a voice said, "This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him!" When the disciples heard this, they fell to the ground and were overcome by fear. But Jesus came and touched them, saying, "Get up and do not be afraid." And when they looked up, they saw no one except Jesus himself alone.

As they were coming down the mountain, Jesus ordered them, "Tell no one about the vision until after the Son of Man has been raised from the dead." 

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My dear friend Craig Gates died last month.  We were priests together in Jackson, Mississippi.  For almost a decade Craig and I were in a small group of friends who met together weekly to share our lives in a forum for mutual accountability.  I teach the method we used regularly to our Journey to Authenticity class.  It’s a powerful tool for growth.  It’s a powerful context for friendship.

Craig was exuberant, extravagant, irrepressible, loud and outgoing.  A larger-than-life Cajun-Italian.  He always greeted friends with a huge hug, and usually a kiss.  It took me a while to get used to that.  And he called everyone, “Child of God.” 

He would be in the middle of a story, enjoying it even more than his listeners, and one of his boys might interrupt.  “Just a moment, Child of God, Poppa’s telling a story,” and he would resume.  At the end of the story, before the laughs could quiet down, he would turn with full attention to his son, “Yes, Child of God, what is it you wanted?”  Not, “Child of Mine,” but “Child of God.” 

That’s what he called all of us. 

Upon departure, Craig’s typical extravagant “Good-bye” was a loving look and the heartfelt words, “Child of God, I love you.” And maybe another uncomfortable kiss.

In the funeral homily, Bishop Duncan Gray mentioned how profuse Craig was with his praise of others, once embarrassing the Bishop with so much extravagant praise that Duncan just stammered for an appropriate response before Craig saved him, “Child of God, just say, ‘thank you’.”  With that word, “Child of God,” Craig was pointing us to our truest identity.

Today we read the story of the disciples on the mountain with their friend Jesus, when their eyes are opened, and they see their friend as he really is – the glorified Child of God.  And they hear his truest identity confirmed by the heavenly voice, “This is my Son, the Beloved.” 

Some time later they will hear Jesus pray to the Father about all of this, saying, “The glory that you have given me I have given them, so that they may be one, as we are one, I in them and you in me, that they may become completely one, so that the world may know that you have sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me.”  (John 17:22-23) 

How might you live if you always regarded yourself as Beloved Child of God?  What if you consistently remembered, “I am God’s Child; the Beloved,” and embraced that as your deepest identity?

I used to direct summer camps for adults with physical and mental disabilities.  It was great fun.  The highlight of each camp was the Talent Show.  Every camper offered something.  And every offering was greeted with a standing ovation.  A piano solo of random notes – standing ovation.  A group of girls twisting to the Beatles – standing ovation.  Another piano solo of random notes – standing ovation.  A 3-second interpretive dance – standing ovation.  A woman who speaks not a word and seems without the gift of personality sits at the piano.  We wait for the random notes.  She plays “Twinkle, twinkle little star” – standing ovation, with tears.  And the Elvis impersonators – standing ovation, with screaming, fainting female camp counselors.

One of the regular Elvis impersonators was Ross.  Ross was big and round, with a voice that resonated across the camp.  You heard him when he first got off the bus.  “Hey, hey, hey everybody!  Ross is here!” he announced.  “I wanna see all the girls.  I wanna invite all the girls to come up to Greenville to visit me.”  Oh, Ross loved the girls.  And he feared them so.  The girls were wonderful, and awe-ful.  Full of awe.

Ross taught me the meaning of what theologian Rudolph Otto called mysterium tremendum et fascinans – the ineffable numinous mystery that attracts us with dreadful awe and fascination.  Oh, the Girls were mysterium tremendum et fascinans to Ross.  The way he said the word:  “The Girls.”  Full of reverence, wonder and fear.  He gave voice to what so many male adolescent counselors were also feeling but could never express. 

Ross understood mystery and wonder in the presence of numinous power.  He knew The Girls had that power.  So did Elvis.  “The King,” he spoke with respectful wonder.  “Elvis is the King,” he announced in words of praise.  Ross loved Elvis.  And on Talent Night, Ross became Elvis.  He grabbed the microphone, he shook his hips, he waved his scarves, he sang with passion.  And when the girls rushed the stage in screaming adulation, he nearly fainted.  Oh, it was transcendent.  Transfiguring.  Wonderful.  Then followed:  a standing ovation.

There was another mysterium tremendum et fascinans that Ross knew.  Jesus.  Jesus was even more wonderful, powerful and numinous than Elvis and The Girls.  Ross spoke the name with reverence, with whispered awe:  “Jesus.” 

I’ll never forget giving communion to Ross.  I would place the bread into his hands with the familiar words, “the Body of Christ, the bread of heaven.”  He would look at it with reverent awe and speak the Holy Name, “Jesus.”  Then glance to heaven, where it seemed that the veil over eternity must have parted for him to give him a glimpse.  Then he consumed the bread, and his countenance changed into something powerful, energized, renewed.  And he walked away purposefully, empowered with joy.  Chills went up my spine.  Every time.

Ross and the others at that camp lived with challenges I can only imagine.  One of my favorites surprised us one night with a grand mal seizure.  She wasn’t prone to seizures according to her medical form.  Sometime later after she had recovered, I went to see how she was doing.  “I’m retarded, crippled, partially paralyzed in one arm, and legally blind.  Now seizures!  Good Lord!  What next?”  And the way she said it, you knew she knew, she would get through whatever was next, and the Good Lord would be with her to help her through it.  She was radiant, transcendent.  A Child of God.

What if we all lived our lives knowing that we are a Child of God, Beloved?  What if we knew that whatever we offered, it would be received with a standing ovation?  A standing ovation from heaven, where we are loved without qualification.  What if we met our next disappointment and challenge with the honest lament, “Good Lord!  What next?” knowing that we will get through whatever is next, and the Good Lord will be with us to help us through.

In a few moments you will open your hand, and bread will be placed there with the words, “The Body of Christ, the bread of heaven.”  When that moment comes, will you hear within you the sound of the Holy Name – “Jesus”?  Will you sense the opening of the thin veil between heaven and earth, and will you feel the life, the energy, the empowerment coming upon you?  Can you hear the sound of the heavens?  They speak your name: “Child of God.”  “Child of God, I love you.”

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