Thursday, December 24, 2015

A Mother's Face

A Mother's Face

Sermon preached by the Rev. Lowell E. Grisham, Rector
St. Paul's Episcopal Church, Fayetteville, Arkansas
Christmas Eve, December 25, 2015
Episcopal Revised Common Lectionary

(Luke 2:1-10)  And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed.  (And this taxing was first made when Cyrenius was governor of Syria.) And all went to be taxed, every one into his own city. And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judaea, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem; (because he was of the house and lineage of David:) To be taxed with Mary his espoused wife, being great with child.  And so it was, that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered. And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn. 
And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.   And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.  And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, 
        Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.
 And it came to pass, as the angels were gone away from them into heaven, the shepherds said one to another, Let us now go even unto Bethlehem, and see this thing which is come to pass, which the Lord hath made known unto us. And they came with haste, and found Mary, and Joseph, and the babe lying in a manger. And when they had seen it, they made known abroad the saying which was told them concerning this child. And all they that heard it wondered at those things which were told them by the shepherds. But Mary kept all these things, and pondered them in her heart.  And the shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things that they had heard and seen, as it was told unto them.
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I'll bet you are all familiar with some of illustrations of optical illusions. You look at a drawing one way, and you see a flower vase. But if you change your focus toward the background, it is two faces turned toward each other in profile. Or the one that looks like a young woman or an elderly lady, depending on where you focus.

Some people have a hard time seeing one of the images once their brain has imprinted on the other. Sometimes it helps to have a friend coach you through it. Scientists tell us you can't see both images simultaneously. Our eyes and minds shift back and forth and tend to follow our focus. Occasionally, the imprint of one version will be so strong that it is virtually impossible for a person to see the other image, even if they've glimpsed it or seen it before. It takes energy and concentration to see the other image. We tend to see what we focus on. We tend to see what we expect to see.

Luke's Christmas Gospel offers a dual focus that I find compelling. It begins on the world stage: And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed. (And this taxing was first made when Cyrenius was governor of Syria.)

Caesar Augustus, the founder of the Roman Empire, who ruled that Empire for 40 years as one of the most powerful men in human history. And Publius Sulpicius Quirinius, the governor of Syria, who was charged with making an assessment of the regions of Samria, Judea, and Idumea (or Edom), starting with a census, in order to facilitate the Roman tax.

When Caesar sneezes, little places like Judea and Galilee get pneumonia. It's still that way. That tax decree set in motion a militant chain of reactions, starting with the creation of the Jewish party of the Zealots. The Zealots believed that God alone rules. They worked to oust the Romans by violence and to install a theocracy, with themselves in charge. One wing of their movement, the Sicarrii, focused on assassinations of fellow Jews who they believed either collaborated with the Romans or held to false tenants of Judaism. The Zealots were described by Romans in terms not unlike how we describe ISIS. They were terrorists deserving death, and the Romans crucified the worst of them. The Zealots' militancy led to their seizing Jerusalem briefly, provoking a war involving Jews against Romans, Jewish sects against other Jewish sects, breathtaking causalities, mass executions, and finally the destruction of Jerusalem and its enormous Temple. Thus began the great Diaspora of the Jews, exiled from their home, and Jerusalem became a Roman city called Aelia Capitolina

If you had lived in Bethlehem on the evening we celebrate tonight, the focus of whatever was that century's version of CNN would have been Augustus, the Census or Quirinius, or the latest Zionist atrocity. These are the things historians like Josephus report.

But the most earth shaking event was actually happening in a cave serving as an animal shelter: the birth of a child to a young Jewish peasant family. We now number the years of history from before and after that night. But the only contemporary notice came from some shepherds who were sensitive enough to pay attention to something that seemed like an angelic message in the middle of the night. And some ivory-towered scientists who theorized about a connection between something in outer space and something on earth.

Life in Bethlehem and Jerusalem and Rome went on unaffected by this birth. Rocked to sleep instead by the latest violence, the newest economic forecast, and today's political crisis.

So Luke gives us both reference points, both objects of focus. Caesar and Mary. Quirinius and Joseph. The incendiary census and Jesus. We know what is actually more significant. We know what God is up to then. But will we wire our brains so that we will continue to keep that focus? Will we continue to focus on what God is up to in this world of optical illusions?

Recently I was talking with one of our high school seniors, Tel Johnson. I was interviewing Tel for a Fuller Youth Institute research project about youth ministry. This is one of the questions, I asked Tel: "When God looks at you, what expression do you imagine is on God's face?" Now take a second. How would you answer that question if I asked you that tonight? "When God looks at you, what expression do you imagine is on God's face?" Tel said she recalled being with her mom's best friend right after her baby was born. "That look of a mother, gazing at her newborn baby. That face: peaceful. A smile, not big and teethy, but deep and enduring," she said. "That's how I imagine God's face looking at me."

Oh, yes! Yes indeed! God looks at us like Mary looks at Jesus, or like any loving mother looks at a beloved child. A look filled with loving care. Tel's answer filled me with gladness, and maybe a little pride too. That a child who has grown up in this congregation as she has, experiences God that way…? Well, we're doing something right. And so are her parents, and so is Tel.

God is love. Humble, simple, present love, deep in the heart of reality. The deepest and most powerful reality at the core of the universe, the source of life and light. Love so deep and so humble; almost invisible. To recognize that ever-present love, you have to shift your focus intentionally. You have to adjust your view, often away from the garish and loud, and toward the quiet and subtle.

We say that on Christmas, God comes to us as a baby: a child born to a displaced middle-eastern peasant family with no shelter but a manger for animals. That's not easy to see. Until Jesus revealed himself to the Romans by entering Jerusalem in the manner anticipated for the coming Messiah, his ministry stayed well below the radar. He was hidden, like a pinch of yeast in a huge measure of flour, or a tiny coin lost in the stone cracks of a poor woman's dark hut.

Think of the stories of Jesus. When he took the disciples to the great Temple of Herod, one of the architectural wonders of the ancient world, Jesus' focus was on a widow placing a penny in the treasury. He declared that her gift was greatest gift in all that Temple. When he looked at wildflowers covering a field, he said that the field was grander, more beautiful than all of the jeweled raiment of King Solomon, the richest of rulers.

When others saw a stranger or an alien or someone repulsive or an enemy, Jesus saw a beloved child of God. He healed the Canaanite woman's child and gave living water to a Samaritan, both traditional enemies of his people. He healed a Roman soldier's slave and naked madman living in the tombs. In violation of Biblical laws of cleanliness, he touched a corpse and a leper, bringing them life. He invited himself to eat at the home of Zacchaeus, the hated, rich chief tax collector of Jericho, and a few miles down the road, he healed a blind beggar. He included among his closest companions a tax collector, several peasant fishermen, one of those aforementioned Zealots, and many women, like Martha's sister Mary, whom he let sit at his feet as a student, a place normally reserved only for men.

Jesus invites us to live in his world. One way to describe what it is like to live in Jesus' world, is to imagine how Jesus looked upon each person he encountered. Judging from his actions toward them, you might say that Jesus looked at each person he encountered much like a mother looks upon her beloved child. Jesus chose to look with compassion and love toward all. He made that choice in the middle of a turbulent, threatening, violent world. And he spread peace.

He invites us to live in that alternative world. But it takes some discipline and some focus. We're conditioned to see what CNN sees, or what that worst tyrant, our own small, self-interest sees. We've got to shift our focus. Is it a vase or is it two human faces? We tend to see what we focus on. We tend to see what we expect to see.

Tonight will you see the heavens opened in joy at our celebration of the birth of the Christ Child? Will you know his presence in the communion of bread and wine, his body and blood? Will you be one with all of us, his Body in the world?

Will you walk out of here with your eyes healed? Seeing God's face turned toward you in infinite love, God's eyes looking at you lovingly, like a mother gazing upon her child. Will you walk out of here and choose to see the world through eyes of Jesus, eyes of compassion and love?  Shift your focus just a bit, and you can. You can see like one who is able love your neighbor as yourself? That would be a wonderful Christmas gift to the world.

Glory to God in the highest, and on earth, peace, good will toward all.

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The Mission of St. Paul's Episcopal Church is to explore and celebrate
God's infinite grace, acceptance and love.

For information about St. Paul's Episcopal Church and its life and mission, please contact us at
P.O. Box 1190, Fayetteville, AR 72702, or call 479/442-7373
More sermon texts are posted on our web site: www.stpaulsfay.org
Click the “Video Online” button to watch full services and sermons live-streamed or archived. 

Tuesday, December 22, 2015

A Blue Christmas Sermon

A Blue Christmas Sermon

Sermon preached by the Rev. Lowell E. Grisham, Rector
St. Paul's Episcopal Church, Fayetteville, Arkansas
December 22, 2015; Feast of St. Thomas
Episcopal Revised Common Lectionary

(John 20:24-29) Thomas (who was called the Twin), one of the twelve, was not with the other disciples when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, "We have seen the Lord." But he said to them, "Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe."

A week later his disciples were again in the house, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were shut, Jesus came and stood among them and said, "Peace be with you." Then he said to Thomas, "Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe." Thomas answered him, "My Lord and my God!" Jesus said to him, "Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe."
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Each year we gather here in the penumbra of Christmas, and we read an Easter story, the story of Thomas, one of Jesus' closest friends, one of the twelve. Thomas' feast day is December 21, always on or adjacent to the winter solstice, the darkest day of the year.

Thomas was the one who didn't share the Easter cheer. He was not with the others when the resurrected Jesus appeared to them. When the others ran to Thomas with their glad cry, "We have seen the Lord!" Thomas just couldn't go there emotionally. All he could see in his sleepless mind were the raw images of two days before -- the marks of the nails and the spear in the side of his beloved. The corpse. He needed something that real to heal the real grief that overwhelmed him so.

It says something powerful about Thomas that he was with the others the following Sunday. He: broken and grief stricken. The others: buzzing about resurrection. Thomas stayed in community, even when he felt isolated, different – a non-believer. And it says something about the early church that he was welcome and embraced there, with all his doubts and darkness. That's the quality of community that is at the heart of the church at its best.

It seems such an appropriate story to tell on this night when we gather in the darkness, honoring our losses, our hurts and fears, our pains and doubts – placing these tender feelings and memories into a holy container prior to entering the celebration of the coming of the Light from Light. We read that Jesus honored the grief and doubt of his friend Thomas, visiting Thomas within his community with a presence that allowed Thomas also to be a witness of the light of resurrection, life out of death.

Each year I bring tender memories to this place. I bring my own grief and frustration and doubt. I also bring my sense of being part of the whole. I have the privilege of sharing losses with some of you. I cannot know your pain from within you, but sometimes I know some of what you carry. We bring our burdens to this service, like holy packages, offerings to the God who knows and shares our human heartache. We face our reality with the brave authenticity of Thomas, who knew what he had seen and was not assuaged by happy platitudes, no matter how true they might seem. We touch one another in solidarity and prayer. And we light a candle in the darkness, a sacrament of the Word that "the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it." (John 1:5)

There was someone at last year's Blue Christmas service whose loss I recognized. It was a recent, profound loss that changed the deepest relationships in her life. I ached for her. I prayed for her as we all prayed together.

That night she went home after this service and wrote an email to some friends. She copied it to me the next morning. She's given me permission to share it with you:

Went to the "Blue Christmas" service at our church tonight. Today is St. Thomas Day (of Doubting fame), which made for very appropriate readings, full of uncertainty and broken pieces.

There were less than thirty people there -- a very small number for this congregation -- and the feeling of sorrow, of illness, of pain, of grief, of devastation was thick in the air. Remember, we are Episcopalians; we no more cry in public than we dance in the streets.

So all these awful feelings were wrapped in so tight, but couldn't help seeping through our cracked places.  But it was dark, and quiet, and most of us were so tired we just didn't give a damn any more.

I saw one woman with a head scarf that hinted at chemotherapy. Many worshippers had difficulty kneeling, or standing, mostly older folks, although some horribly young.  Too many sat alone; the two women in front of me, maybe sisters, maybe friends, maybe partners, clutched each other's hands tightly through the service.

It was very low-key.  We normally don't sing or pray very loudly anyhow, but tonight we mumbled and whispered.  One woman broke down into heartbroken, gasping sobs, and lurched for one of the priests as she went up to the altar rail.  We all turned politely aside, but she was past caring, past any shame, as they hugged and wept.

There was no need for a collection plate. Everyone brought sorrow, and weariness, and grief, and loneliness, and anger, and hopelessness, all bundled up to the altar, made holy just by the freedom to admit it. In the face of all that raw pain, I was ashamed at first that my offering was so small and shabby.  But I thought of my children and yes, the dog, and brought their sadness and bewilderment. I thought of my friend whose son was murdered, and whose daughter has been diagnosed with epilepsy; and of another friend who has not spoken to her grown son for five years; and another who struggles with crippling arthritis while caring for her mother with dementia; and I brought the age and helplessness and fear and exhaustion they have honored me by sharing.

I thought of my friends on this email list, who endure ailments and terrors and disappointments and failures -- sometimes bravely in silence, sometime even more bravely making themselves vulnerable through telling -- and offered my sadness and anger on their behalf, and my astonishment at the privilege of knowing them.

I thought that the Host of such a feast -- even if entirely a projection of our own wishes and hopes -- could not possibly behold these offerings without tears, nor resist reaching out hands to accept and embrace and bless.

And on the way out I lit a candle for you, each of you, all of you.

And the flame did not go out.
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The Mission of St. Paul's Episcopal Church is to explore and celebrate
God's infinite grace, acceptance and love.

For information about St. Paul's Episcopal Church and its life and mission, please contact us at
P.O. Box 1190, Fayetteville, AR 72702, or call 479/442-7373
More sermon texts are posted on our web site: www.stpaulsfay.org
Click the “Video Online” button to watch full services and sermons live-streamed or archived. 

Saturday, December 12, 2015

Demagoguery and Good Fruit

Sermon preached by the Rev. Lowell E. Grisham, O.A., Rector
St. Paul's Episcopal Church, Fayetteville, Arkansas
December 13, 2015; Advent 3, Year C
Episcopal Revised Common Lectionary

(Philippians 4:4-7)  Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice. Let your gentleness be known to everyone. The Lord is near. Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

(Luke 3:7-18) John said to the crowds that came out to be baptized by him, "You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? Bear fruits worthy of repentance. Do not begin to say to yourselves, 'We have Abraham as our ancestor'; for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham. Even now the ax is lying at the root of the trees; every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire."
                And the crowds asked him, "What then should we do?" In reply he said to them, "Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise." Even tax collectors came to be baptized, and they asked him, "Teacher, what should we do?" He said to them, "Collect no more than the amount prescribed for you." Soldiers also asked him, "And we, what should we do?" He said to them, "Do not extort money from anyone by threats or false accusation, and be satisfied with your wages."
                As the people were filled with expectation, and all were questioning in their hearts concerning John, whether he might be the Messiah, John answered all of them by saying, "I baptize you with water; but one who is more powerful than I is coming; I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing fork is in his hand, to clear his threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire."

                So, with many other exhortations, he proclaimed the good news to the people.
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On the evening of November 5, 1963, I cried myself to sleep. I was eleven years old. The reason for my grief was the election that day of Paul B. Johnson, Jr. to become governor of Mississippi. His campaign motto, "Stand tall with Paul," referenced his act the previous year in my hometown when he stood in front of federal marshals as if to prevent them as they escorted James Meredith toward enrollment as the first black student at Ole Miss. His whole campaign focused on his intention to lead the resistance against outside agitators trying to change Mississippi's "way of life," a code for segregation. Once again my state had elected the candidate who played the race card with the most radical vigor. And I cried that night, praying, desperately asking God to help, and to save us from the suffering and continued backwardness that afflicted the place I loved.

Despite his campaign rhetoric, Paul Johnson turned into a wise and moderate governor. In his inaugural address he changed his motto, choosing the theme "Pursuit of Excellence." In that opening address he announced this: "Hate, or prejudice, or ignorance, will not lead Mississippi while I sit in the governor's chair," and he lived that promise, making no more demagogic outbursts and leading with common sense for the common good. Courageously he fired two KKK members from the Highway Patrol, and quietly, behind the scenes, he cut off the air of the segregationists who had elected him. When the U.S. Congress passed the Voting Rights Act of 1965, Governor Paul B. Johnson, Jr. urged Mississippians to comply. Indeed, he did "stand tall."

Paul Johnson has been coming back into my consciousness as I've engaged in conversations recently about some of the over-the-top rhetoric that has peppered the current presidential campaigning. I'm being hopeful. Paul Johnson gives me hope. Sometimes politicians will use inflammatory demagoguery as candidates, but then become more realistic and pragmatic when the role turns to governance. I hope so, at least.

I think we see an example of that in today's gospel. "You brood of vipers!" (I always enjoy saying that.) "You brood of vipers," shouts John the Baptist, gesturing emphatically with hot, red eyes furrowed toward his Jewish listeners. Fiery words, threatening words. Boldly spoken in the tradition reserved for demagogues and prophets. Sometimes it's hard to discern the difference.

John warns them not to assume any sense of privilege before God simply because they are God's chosen people. God can raise up children from any tribe, from any nation or race. God can raise up children from these stones on the ground, says John. With vivid, threatening imagery, John tells them God's expectation of them. Bear good fruit. Bear good fruit.

What do you mean? begs the crowd. Get specific. What should we do?

And John shifts from campaigning to governance. When he stops preaching and gets specific, he actually offers some pretty modest, practical answers.

Be generous! If you've got two coats, share with someone who has none. If you've got food, share with somebody who doesn't.

The tax collectors ask John, What about us? They are the lost and unrighteous of that day. Jewish collaborators with the foreigners occupying their homeland; facilitating that occupation which was paid for through crippling extortion executed by Jewish tax collectors. John tells them, "Collect no more than the amount prescribed for you." Now that answer is more radical than it may sound. That extra collection was how the tax collector was paid. Get out of the dirty business, he's saying.

Soldiers ask, What about us? Romans. Foreigners occupying the land. Gentiles. John tells them, not abuse to abuse their power. "Do not extort money from anyone by threats or false accusation, and be satisfied with your wage."

What interesting answers! These are all answers about how we use our power and our wealth. These are all answers with economic significance.

John the prophet is talking about something that all of the prophets talked about. How do we create a fair and just society? A society where the secure and comfortable are generous with the vulnerable and poor, so no one will be vulnerable or poor. A society where those with power are gentle and just; where the powerful do not use their power to take advantage of their situation and to profit at the expense of those who are under their authority. A society of justice toward the vulnerable and poor, especially economic justice. Economic justice is arguably the most central theme in the entire scripture.

The crowd seems satisfied by John's rather modest agenda once they get down to the details. But there's one more question. A question about the burning hope that is always within the hearts of the Jewish people. Are you the Messiah? "No!" says John, with healthy self-definition. Then John proceeds to articulate his hope for the coming Messiah, and as he does, he moves back into his power language. He recalls the ancient yearnings of his people. His words again become destructive and militaristic. Like so many others, John expects an armed Messiah who will winnow and clear the threshing floor; who will gather the good wheat into his granary; but the wicked chaff he will burn with "unquenchable fire." Beware, you brood of vipers!

Many months later, John languishes in prison. He hears of the work of the one whom he baptized, the one in whom John put his hope: Jesus. It didn't seem to be working out like John had imagined. Jesus was not shock and awe. Jesus was not "bomb the hell out of the bad guys." There was no winnowing, no separating the right and wrong, no "us and them." There was no unquenchable fire. It's not what John expected or hoped. From prison John sent to ask the question that was once asked of him, "Are you the one?"

Jesus' answer: "Tell John what you have seen and heard: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, the poor have good news brought to them. And blessed is anyone who is not offended by me." That's Jesus' agenda.

We don't know whether that answer was enough for John, I hope so. I hope he was satisfied with this different Messiah. For not long afterward he was executed. John became just another victim of the abuse of power, another person unjustly beheaded by an evil tyrant. And history keeps repeating itself even unto today.

So our crowd asks, What should we do? I think we get the same answers today. Bear good fruit.

Be generous. Share with the vulnerable and poor until everyone is secure and comfortable.

Get out of the dirty business of exploiting power or money. Use power to create justice, especially economic justice.

And replicate the ministry of Jesus. Open the fearful eyes of the blind with the perfect love of God, for only perfect love can cast out their fear. Help everyone to be free to move about their world with a sense of security and liberation. Restore the rejected to a place of healing and wholeness. Listen. Listen. Listen. And bring good news to the poor.

Talk is cheap, and often meaningless. It is our actions that count. But our actions tend to follow our attention; and our attention is often ruled by our ears and our eyes; and our ears and eyes are often distracted by the demagoguery and violence that infect our world.

So return your attention to the story of Jesus and to the words about him. Listen and see. Let your imagination be filled with his reality. Let the scriptures fill your imagination and motivate your heart, with words like these from Paul, which seem to me like good words to close with:

Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice.
Let your gentleness be known to everyone.
The Lord is near.
 Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
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The Mission of St. Paul's Episcopal Church is to explore and celebrate
God's infinite grace, acceptance and love.

For information about St. Paul's Episcopal Church and its life and mission, please contact us at
P.O. Box 1190, Fayetteville, AR 72702, or call 479/442-7373
More sermon texts are posted on our web site: www.stpaulsfay.org
Click the “Video Online” button to watch full services and sermons live-streamed or archived.