Annual Address 2009 (3 Epiph B)
(Jonah 3: 1-5; Ps 62: 6-14; 1 Cor 7: 29-31; Mark 1: 14-20)
All we’re asked to do is to follow Jesus when he calls.
A number of us wrestled this past week with what it means to be called by Jesus. This is some of what emerged: To be called means to be known by name. To be called means we are asked to respond, to get up and do. To be called means that we are asked to live the deep mystery of our own lives, and the deep mystery of the life of the one who calls. To be called means to live in trust, to walk in faith.
Jonah was called to speak strange words of God to hostile people. He was famous for his reluctance and for how God’s call to him never stopped. Jesus was himself called, and Jesus called others. No outline of a plan, no five or ten year goals. I wonder if there were others who were called and who did not respond to Jesus. The ones we know by name were the ones who got up “immediately” and followed, without knowing the five or ten year plan.
Is Saints Peter and Paul a called community? And to what life are we called? It’s not enough to say, “Of course we’re called. We’re a church!” Some churches do not ask these questions. Some do not listen to God whispering the answers.
How has God whispered to us since last Annual Meeting?
We have grown and deepened, I believe. We have welcomed the awesome gifts of people come among us who are helping to re-imagine our ministries with children and youth, music and worship, outreach to the poor, and deepening our ongoing formation in Christ. These ministries are visible in a deeper joy and higher visibility of children and youth, with a revived catechumenate, with music enriched by the gifts of the community, with new ways for the Companions and Culdees of Columba to share life and fellowship, with new and ongoing outreach programs. We have a hunger for God and Christ and a deep joy in our fellowship with one another. That hunger and that joy is tangible. We have pursued a mission among Hispanic folks and that congregation is growing and is vital.
Others are drawn to this life we share. The parish and The Columba Center received an Ecumenical Service Award this past May. Pilgrims seek us out, who have heard of our outreach work or the spirituality lived in our worship or of the Celtic note we strike.
Our journey has had its measure of struggle and pain. During my sabbatical parish leadership coped with the challenge of a fistfight at Brigid’s Table and made hard decisions in the aftermath. Maybe that’s why “I Survived The Sabbatical” t-shirts were given to the wardens! We continue to struggle with budget and money concerns. We said good-by to a number of dear old friends, faithful members, and one former member: Chuck Reese, Ruth Sommerville, Cythia Brown, Sally Shore, Evelyn Coulter, John Rice, Bob Cockburn, Brian Russell, Marjorie Purcell, and Art Roddy. May they rest in Jesus.
We all have a sense of our world changing rapidly. The language of change is everywhere. Portions of our economy collapse, and we need only look around us this morning to see people who have been directly impacted. Many of us have a sense that together we need to take a new path. But there is hope.
Hope was spoken aloud as the nation and world was electrified by the past election. No matter how we voted, we were moved by the language and longing for hope. The world spoke of America turning down a new path. People of non-European lineage stared with joy at the first African-descended President, and spoke of hope.
I think all hope is grounded in humanity’s deepest belief that all our lives have worth and meaning and that we are the free children of God, loved beyond measure. And God shall call and we shall follow until God will be all in all.
Are we a called community? How may that take flesh this year?
If we are a called community, we will live the outrageous love of God openly and visibly and seek new ways to make that loved life visible. The world is changing, and how we are visible to those called to find us needs to change as well.
If we are a called community, we shall fully welcome those who do come to us and take the adventure that their presence and gifts offer. This year six Vestry seats open, and with prayer and discernment the nominating committee spoke to many and six responded. Of those six, three are less than age thirty, and all but one have been among us less than five years. It used to be that Saints Peter and Paul had a way of letting people know that they were “newbies” for at least five years. That vestige of older church culture has come to an end and needs to come to an end.
If we are a called community, we will continue to develop the Hispanic component of our parish and let their increasing presence change us as God wills.
If we are a called community, we will keep asking ourselves what it means to be a church in this era called by some “post-modern.” I do believe that we are called to be a community living a classic Trinitarian faith, rooted in the Word and the sacraments, deeply appreciative of our Anglican and Catholic heritage. But I also think that when we quietly and prayerfully examine various parts of our life, “we’ve always done it this way” is not a good enough answer. We need to speak in new ways, reach out to new people, seek new ways to celebrate and to serve.
The time is short, as Paul says today. There is a sense of urgency to our life. We have a great gift and we are called to live it with passion and with joy. We may have a reprieve on money matters for one more year. This year will soon be over and we need to ask ourselves what God calls Saints Peter and Paul to be and to do with a stressed budget amidst a wounded economy. For the world is hurting. It’s tempting to make Annual Meeting all about our internal affairs. But as William Temple said, the church is the only organization which exists for those who are not yet members. We are Christ in the world. Only God could come up with such an impractical way to work. To be a called community is to listen and to respond. We don’t know where it will all end. But I am naïve enough to believe that if we listen and follow, we will walk with Jesus and will never be left alone. That’s all we’re called to do and to be when all is said and done.
archived musings and preachments
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Hearing and Meeting
2 Epiphany B 2009
(1 Sam 3: 1-10; Ps 139: 1-5, 12-17; 1 Cor 6: 12-20; John 1: 43-51)
Do we hear the voice of God? Do we answer, “Of course!” or “of course not!” or “I don’t know what that means.” We read texts that tell of God speaking. God IS speech in our tradition, God is word. But what do we believe about the voice of God? Not God’s speech to the holy and the famous, but God’s speech to us, to you and to me. Do we hear the voice of God?
Do we hear in the Bible the voice of God? Does Samuel’s story help us hear? This IS a story of speaking and hearing. We hear “the Word of the Lord was rare in those days”, a statement which has always made me feel at home. This story is set in a temple and the boy was a priest, but even then Samuel did not know that God was speaking. His sleep is disturbed, and he thinks the old man Eli is calling. It also takes old Eli time to believe that God may still speak and that it is the boy, not him, who is being addressed. He does tell Samuel to listen and what to say back.
What wakes us up in the middle of the night? What is hidden in the speech or silence we hear? Is it in our own pain or our own joy where God’s speech is hidden? Where else do we hear the voice of God? The speech of God is a hidden speech. Dietrich Bonhoeffer said that any God that would let us prove his existence is an idol. The speech of God is no easier to prove. The speech of God may be subtle and soft, but when heard it can move hearts and change lives. Perhaps to be a person of faith is to believe that God’s speech is still possible. A world in which God may speak is a world with hope. A world in which God may speak is where power or wealth or despair or death does not have the last word. A world in which God may speak is a world where all our assumptions may be upset. A world in which God may speak is where faithful hearts are listening hearts. Do we hear the voice of God?
Have we ever met Jesus and what does that mean?
Today’s Gospel tells about meeting Jesus. Jesus decides to go to Galilee, he does not say why. Before he goes he finds Philip and says, without explaining what it will mean, “Follow me.” Philip follows by finding Nathaniel and asks him to come see Jesus. Nathaniel does not buy it and Jesus likes that. Jesus says he saw Nate under a fig tree, and Nate bursts out with that statement of faith—“Son of God! King of Israel!” Why? Two different groups in my hearing this past week wondered why. And Jesus tells Nate that he’ll see greater things still—just like Jacob long ago, Nate will see angels rising and descending, not on some stone in the wilderness, but on the mysterious Son of Man.
What does it mean to meet Jesus? Did we meet Jesus in our own face or in the face of another, in prayer or worship, sacrament, speech, or silence? Was it once only or does it still happen? One seeker told me that they wished they had not met Jesus because life was simpler before they had. But done is done, and once our hearts and minds have been kindled we find we wish to go deeper and deeper. And then we are surprised when we find our lives changing, our immersion in the community of Jesus deepening, our sense that our life has a new center growing.
And no matter what we have felt, no matter what we have learned, no matter how far we’ve come, Jesus may still come as a stranger and a surprise. I don’t believe that we follow Jesus because we know him. We know Jesus because we follow him, we’ve begun the journey, and we learn of him on the way. Each time we take the road with Jesus, the wonders we find will be greater still.
Have we ever met Jesus and what does that mean? The answer will deepens, and he’ll show us more wonder still.
(1 Sam 3: 1-10; Ps 139: 1-5, 12-17; 1 Cor 6: 12-20; John 1: 43-51)
Do we hear the voice of God? Do we answer, “Of course!” or “of course not!” or “I don’t know what that means.” We read texts that tell of God speaking. God IS speech in our tradition, God is word. But what do we believe about the voice of God? Not God’s speech to the holy and the famous, but God’s speech to us, to you and to me. Do we hear the voice of God?
Do we hear in the Bible the voice of God? Does Samuel’s story help us hear? This IS a story of speaking and hearing. We hear “the Word of the Lord was rare in those days”, a statement which has always made me feel at home. This story is set in a temple and the boy was a priest, but even then Samuel did not know that God was speaking. His sleep is disturbed, and he thinks the old man Eli is calling. It also takes old Eli time to believe that God may still speak and that it is the boy, not him, who is being addressed. He does tell Samuel to listen and what to say back.
What wakes us up in the middle of the night? What is hidden in the speech or silence we hear? Is it in our own pain or our own joy where God’s speech is hidden? Where else do we hear the voice of God? The speech of God is a hidden speech. Dietrich Bonhoeffer said that any God that would let us prove his existence is an idol. The speech of God is no easier to prove. The speech of God may be subtle and soft, but when heard it can move hearts and change lives. Perhaps to be a person of faith is to believe that God’s speech is still possible. A world in which God may speak is a world with hope. A world in which God may speak is where power or wealth or despair or death does not have the last word. A world in which God may speak is a world where all our assumptions may be upset. A world in which God may speak is where faithful hearts are listening hearts. Do we hear the voice of God?
Have we ever met Jesus and what does that mean?
Today’s Gospel tells about meeting Jesus. Jesus decides to go to Galilee, he does not say why. Before he goes he finds Philip and says, without explaining what it will mean, “Follow me.” Philip follows by finding Nathaniel and asks him to come see Jesus. Nathaniel does not buy it and Jesus likes that. Jesus says he saw Nate under a fig tree, and Nate bursts out with that statement of faith—“Son of God! King of Israel!” Why? Two different groups in my hearing this past week wondered why. And Jesus tells Nate that he’ll see greater things still—just like Jacob long ago, Nate will see angels rising and descending, not on some stone in the wilderness, but on the mysterious Son of Man.
What does it mean to meet Jesus? Did we meet Jesus in our own face or in the face of another, in prayer or worship, sacrament, speech, or silence? Was it once only or does it still happen? One seeker told me that they wished they had not met Jesus because life was simpler before they had. But done is done, and once our hearts and minds have been kindled we find we wish to go deeper and deeper. And then we are surprised when we find our lives changing, our immersion in the community of Jesus deepening, our sense that our life has a new center growing.
And no matter what we have felt, no matter what we have learned, no matter how far we’ve come, Jesus may still come as a stranger and a surprise. I don’t believe that we follow Jesus because we know him. We know Jesus because we follow him, we’ve begun the journey, and we learn of him on the way. Each time we take the road with Jesus, the wonders we find will be greater still.
Have we ever met Jesus and what does that mean? The answer will deepens, and he’ll show us more wonder still.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Ordinary?
2 Christmas B 2008
(Jer 31: 7-14; Ps 84; Eph 1: 3-6, 15-19a; Matthew 2: 13-15, 19-23)
I just made the drive down I-5 to take eldest kid back to college. We’d had a cozy time all together this Christmas break, snowed in and all, and had avoided major fights. So he was not thrilled to return to the dorms and keeping order among the undergraduate Ducks.
We see the vision at Christmastide. We are dazzled by the light of God poured out into human flesh and bone. For a brief moment all things seem right, and even when we wrestle with pain and loss we feel we are given a great gift.
But we always must return—to what one poet called the Time That Is. The Roman Catholic calendar calls it Ordinary Time. Back to work, back to school, and if that were not enough Ordinary Time the tax forms are beginning to arrive. And darker ordinary time is waiting—rockets and tanks in the Gaza Strip, talk of recession almost everywhere. Where does Christmas go? And what did it mean?
Coming back north on I-5 the car radio lost its grip on my usual alternative music stations, so I let the radio search. It came up with a sentimental old radio drama. I listened and smiled while squinting through snow flurries in the dark. After the predictable happy ending the announcer said some pleasant things and concluded with, “Celebrating the 12 days of Christmas with you.” I appreciated that.
I appreciated it because we need 12 days to let the meaning of Christmas sink in. Today we have the gift of a Sunday often lost, the Second Sunday of Christmas. Who are we, the people of God who celebrate the Christ-Mass each year? And who is the God of this vision that blazes out, yet seems to fade?
We are people of hope. And this God is the God who transforms.
Jeremiah sings it. “With weeping they shall come, and with consolations I will lead them back.” The prophet spoke to a broken and broken-hearted people who had lost land and hope. It is exactly when things seem darkest, when hope seems lost and God is silent, that God shall take us to God’s own heart. We are adopted members of the family of God. Mourning shall be joy, and there will be abundance to share. No exile is forever. Hold to God and God shall bring you home.
Paul sings the harmony. Spiritual blessing is given to us in the Beloved, wisdom, revelation, enlightenment, hope, and glory—all this the apostle has prayed for us. And we have it. A wise fellow recently told me, “The prayer of faith is thanking God for what God has given, even if we do not yet have it in hand.” The gift has been given to us.
And the Gospel tells how hope is born. The infant Hope was born amidst tension, violence, and fear. Powerful forces contended to possess the holy land. To protect his little family Joseph, the new dreamer of dreams, knew he had to live on the run. The beloved of God was born a refugee. Today Joseph would have to contend with Israeli tanks and Hamas rockets and surly frightened soldiers at checkpoints. He would feel right at home. But God came to birth in such a world. And God was born so that the world might be transformed.
An ancient monk said that God transforms us by taking flesh like fire changes iron. The heat spreads and shares its strength and light to the cold metal, until it glows with fire and may be shaped into something new and beautiful and even stronger than before.
Claim in hope the unspeakable blessings given, even if we do not yet have them in hand. Know that God’s fire spreads and transforms our flesh and souls. Trust God to make us a new creation, home of God’s fire, beautiful and strong.
(Jer 31: 7-14; Ps 84; Eph 1: 3-6, 15-19a; Matthew 2: 13-15, 19-23)
I just made the drive down I-5 to take eldest kid back to college. We’d had a cozy time all together this Christmas break, snowed in and all, and had avoided major fights. So he was not thrilled to return to the dorms and keeping order among the undergraduate Ducks.
We see the vision at Christmastide. We are dazzled by the light of God poured out into human flesh and bone. For a brief moment all things seem right, and even when we wrestle with pain and loss we feel we are given a great gift.
But we always must return—to what one poet called the Time That Is. The Roman Catholic calendar calls it Ordinary Time. Back to work, back to school, and if that were not enough Ordinary Time the tax forms are beginning to arrive. And darker ordinary time is waiting—rockets and tanks in the Gaza Strip, talk of recession almost everywhere. Where does Christmas go? And what did it mean?
Coming back north on I-5 the car radio lost its grip on my usual alternative music stations, so I let the radio search. It came up with a sentimental old radio drama. I listened and smiled while squinting through snow flurries in the dark. After the predictable happy ending the announcer said some pleasant things and concluded with, “Celebrating the 12 days of Christmas with you.” I appreciated that.
I appreciated it because we need 12 days to let the meaning of Christmas sink in. Today we have the gift of a Sunday often lost, the Second Sunday of Christmas. Who are we, the people of God who celebrate the Christ-Mass each year? And who is the God of this vision that blazes out, yet seems to fade?
We are people of hope. And this God is the God who transforms.
Jeremiah sings it. “With weeping they shall come, and with consolations I will lead them back.” The prophet spoke to a broken and broken-hearted people who had lost land and hope. It is exactly when things seem darkest, when hope seems lost and God is silent, that God shall take us to God’s own heart. We are adopted members of the family of God. Mourning shall be joy, and there will be abundance to share. No exile is forever. Hold to God and God shall bring you home.
Paul sings the harmony. Spiritual blessing is given to us in the Beloved, wisdom, revelation, enlightenment, hope, and glory—all this the apostle has prayed for us. And we have it. A wise fellow recently told me, “The prayer of faith is thanking God for what God has given, even if we do not yet have it in hand.” The gift has been given to us.
And the Gospel tells how hope is born. The infant Hope was born amidst tension, violence, and fear. Powerful forces contended to possess the holy land. To protect his little family Joseph, the new dreamer of dreams, knew he had to live on the run. The beloved of God was born a refugee. Today Joseph would have to contend with Israeli tanks and Hamas rockets and surly frightened soldiers at checkpoints. He would feel right at home. But God came to birth in such a world. And God was born so that the world might be transformed.
An ancient monk said that God transforms us by taking flesh like fire changes iron. The heat spreads and shares its strength and light to the cold metal, until it glows with fire and may be shaped into something new and beautiful and even stronger than before.
Claim in hope the unspeakable blessings given, even if we do not yet have them in hand. Know that God’s fire spreads and transforms our flesh and souls. Trust God to make us a new creation, home of God’s fire, beautiful and strong.
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