You were a child of mine

FOURTH SUNDAY OF ADVENT
Year A
December 19, 2010
Ss. Peter & Paul, 10:00 a.m. Mass

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God with us,
borne by Mary’s flesh
beyond all convention:
give us the faith of Joseph
to see the Spirit’s work
where the world sees only shame;
to listen to the promise
and waken to the cry
of life renewed and love reborn;
through Jesus Christ, the one who is to come
Amen.

(Steven Shakespeare: Prayers for an Inclusive Church)

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I have always loved this Sunday, the Fourth of Advent. It speaks of announcement; in another year on this day, we hear the story of the announcement by the angel Gabriel to Mary that she will conceive and bear a Son. In yet another year, we have the story of Mary’s visit to her cousin Elizabeth and the two pregnant mothers compare notes. And, it’s always a joy on March 25 each year to celebrate the Annunciation to Mary again, often providing us with a joyful respite in the austerity of Lent.

But on this Sunday, in Liturgical Year “A”, the “Year of Matthew” (so called because the gospel that bears his name is used throughout much of the year), the prominent character in the narrative is Joseph. Poor old - we think; probably he was in his thirties and considerably older than Mary, who could well have been about 14 or so – poor old Joseph! Here he is, engaged to Mary, and finds she’s pregnant . . . and not by him. In the “old dispensation,” we heard that he “would divorce her quietly,” and move on with his life. But he doesn’t. He “took her as his wife . . .That child is from the Holy Spirit . . . you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.”

Sam Portaro has written:
Joseph was not a sophisticated man, else he would not have put up with [what he had to put up with]. He was humble and maybe even a little simple, the kind of man who has a soft heart, the kind described as “the salt of the earth.” He was probably a carpenter of sufficient competency to make a living at it, but there is no evidence that he was in any way exceptional—except that he was the kind of man who could take a pregnant, teenaged wife and a troublesome, temperamental boy and make a life with them. He was that remarkable person who could shrug off the gossip and the complaints, [and] take them in stride….


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And think, too, about Joseph and the role that dreams play in the narrative: in a dream, Joseph has announced to him: go ahead and take Mary as your wife, despite the sure shame that would come your way; in a dream, he is told to take his wife and his son and flee to Egypt because jealous and cruel Herod wants to destroy the child; in a dream, Joseph is told that it is safe to go home to Nazareth, now that Herod’s dead. We could say, “Joseph, the Dreamer,” as though he was somewhat wifty and ungrounded. Ah, but he’s not – I would beg to differ with that sort of assessment of Joseph.

Yesterday, I went up to the Grotto. Maybe you’ve been there to visit, pray, hear good music at Christmas time, walk their new labyrinth, or walk the Stations of the Cross. Well, in 1997, as a tourist in Portland, I was given a free token for the elevator to get me up to the second level. I remember being aghast at that – to me – dreadful, “embalmed Mary and Child” and was ready to descend on the elevator immediately! But I continued my tour of the area and ran across the most remarkable thing: “Stations of Joseph.”[“Garden of Joseph”?] There are about six of them, and I saw them again yesterday; they are carved in marble, and are set up to be a Rosary devotion. Each station has a “sorrowful” part and a “joyful” part. E.g., the “sorrowful” part at one station is “Joseph is confused about the birth,” and its opposite, or “joyful” part, is “Joseph is joyful at the Birth of Jesus.”

I spent some time pondering these carvings, and thinking about Joseph and asking God to help me just “be” with Joseph for awhile, and not just to get through a homily that still was unwritten, but to find something that might enlighten and delight my hearers – and me.

I remembered a hymn by Brian Wren, “You were a child of mine.” It’s called “Joseph’s Carol”:
You were a child of mine.
I watched you born, and wept
with joy to see your sticky head.
I held you in my arms.
I watched you, awe-struck, as you slept.
I love you, Son of God:
you were a child of mine.

You were a boy of mine.
You wallowed in the sand.
You copied me at work, and played
with hammer, wood and nails.
You talked to me, and held my hand.
I love you, Son of God:
you were a boy of mine.

You were a youth of mine.
Quite suddenly you grew.
You sought and questioned wiser men.
I felt you breaking free.
I raged, admired – and feared for you.
I love you, Son of God:
3 you were a youth of mine.

Last Thursday, the 16th of December, was the 40th anniversary of my ordination as a Priest in the Church. So much has changed since then. I was a young, cocky cleric and an anti-war member of Episcopal Peace Fellowship. There I was, stuck in a small town in southeastern Kansas, where I really didn’t want to be. But that night I felt the weight of Apostolic hands that were pressed upon my head by the Bishop and all the priests present to make me a priest.

I indulged overly much in “priestcraft”. That’s a buzz- word meaning all the details about how to conduct yourself as a priest, right down to how to hold your hands at Mass, how to hear a confession, how to anoint the sick and dying, what to wear, etc. It’s a much healthier scene today. More broadly speaking, it’s tougher to be a priest in today’s world; then, there were still some discounts for clergy. I could buy gasoline for 35 cents a gallon, rather than the full price of 38 cents! Things are more honest now.

Spiritually speaking, I’m better grounded now than I was then. And now we affirm our Baptismal Covenant in a big way, and understand our ordinations to be a part of the Ministry of All the Baptized. We renew that Covenant every time we celebrate a Baptism here. The “Priest-as-Entrepreneur” is now the order of the day.

I feel the time has come to “re-invent” myself! I’m still going to be very much a priest, but I’m going to “re-retire” and “go on sabbatical” for a season. This is done with the advice of my spiritual director and Bishop Michael, and the consent of our rector Kurt, along with encouragement from Bishop Ladehoff, my wife, and family and friends. I’m going to go to church with LaVera and not take on any supply work or service with diocesan groups for about six months. Surely, I have some “churchly” commitments to honor during that space of time, but the emphasis will be upon finding anew in the Mystical Body of Christ what it is to be a priest in his seventieth year.

Bishop Michael said to me recently, “Do things in your retirement that bring you joy.” Dear friends, being at the altar and in a pulpit in this place brings me much joy, but, like Joseph, who had to contend with the culture in which he lived, and to be “just Joseph,” I am going to take a big risk and be “just Phillip.” I want to do it without the trappings, accoutrements and subculture of “priestcraft.” In the words of the opening prayer I used today, I desire, with Joseph, to “see the Spirit’s work where the world sees only shame; to listen to the promise and waken to the cry of life renewed and love reborn.” You will understand, I hope and pray, that I’m not leaving or “checking-out.” You may not see me often, but know I pray for you all and love you very much. I hope you’ll pray for me and for LaVera, who has shared this often rough journey for over 45 years.

These past four and half years have been wonderful for us at Ss. Peter & Paul: the worship style, music, and community life all suit us to a “tee.” We love helping with Brigid’s Breakfast on Saturdays and being in a congregation that takes God seriously, and laughs and weeps together through thick and thin. We are blessed with Fr. Kurt’s wisdom, pastoral sensitivity, and vision. And…is there another parish in the Episcopal Church that has a “parish defibrillator”? I only wish I could easily put our history into words, in the form of a book! I can’t promise a parish history, but please know that it’s still on a “back burner,” if only in my “Joseph-dreams”!

I’d better close this before I get maudlin and sound like I’m preaching at my own funeral! Here’s the conclusion of Brian Wren’s hymn about Joseph:
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You were a son of mine,
full-grown, my hope and pride.
You went your puzzling way, a man
so ready, fine and young:
life broke in me the day you died.
I love you, Son of God:
you were a son of mine.

You are the Lord of all—
My child, my man, my son.
You loved and gave yourself for me.
Now I belong to you—
New worlds are born, new life begun.
I love you, Son of God:
You are the Lord of all.

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[Excerpt from Sam Portaro’s Brightest and Best: A Companion to Lesser Feasts and Fasts, Cowley Press, 1995; Brian Wren hymn from Faith Looking Forward, Hope Publishing Co., 1972]

Homily by Phil Ayers+