Archive for Gospel

Keeping It on the Move

Posted in Homilies with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on February 4, 2018 by timtrue

VJ

Mark 1:29-39

1.

Vida Joven de Mexico is an orphanage I like to visit in Tijuana.

Okay, to be honest, I don’t really like to visit the home. I don’t necessarily enjoy visiting it in the same way I enjoy visiting a good restaurant. Nevertheless, there is something profoundly enjoyable—as in it fills me with life-giving joy—each time I go.

My most recent visit was last Saturday. My wife and son went with me. We sponsor an 8yo boy there named Daniel. One of his front teeth is still growing in; and, though the two of them don’t speak the same language, he and my son will pass a soccer ball to each other or play checkers or wage dinosaur wars.

It does my heart tremendous good when, after enduring the hassles of remembering our passports and long drives and waits, we arrive to the smiling, well-fed and cared for, and comfortably dressed children of Vida Joven.

But I said they were orphans. This is not entirely true. For the parents of all the children who live at Vida Joven are probably all still alive. The children have been abandoned, fortunately found by the state’s meager social services network.

Daniel’s story paints the picture as well as any. He’s the third of four siblings, the only boy. Social services found them all when Daniel was only three years old because his older sister, still a small child herself, had ventured outside to forage for food in an effort to keep herself and her little siblings from starving. The children, dirty and disheveled, were living in a shanty, trash strewn throughout, no sign of parents anywhere.

Of course, along with the life-giving joy I experience when I visit Daniel, his sisters, and the other children of Vida Joven, I also experience a kind of righteous indignation.

No child ought to have to experience the inhumane conditions faced for a time by Daniel! And yet it continues to happen: only a fraction of Mexico’s large street-children population ever become wards of the state.

God is love, we know. And love sees dignity in every human being. Mexico is our neighbor; and demonstrating love to our neighbor is a key part of what “God is love” means. Moreover, the Episcopal Diocese of San Diego is in a formal partner-relationship with the Anglican Diocese of Western Mexico; and Tijuana is geographically within this diocese.

Shouldn’t we privileged neighbors to the north be doing more about it?

By the way, if you ever want to join me on a trip, let’s talk. A vanpool typically visits on the third and fourth Saturdays of every month, leaving the parking lot of St. John’s Episcopal Church in Chula Vista at 9am, returning between 2pm and 3pm.

2.

So: joy, compassion, indignation—and we come to today’s Gospel.

Jesus and the two sets of brothers with him leave the local synagogue, where Jesus has just healed a man of an unclean spirit; and now enters the house of Simon, one of the disciples.

Jesus carries the Good News from a public place to a private place. And, after all, isn’t that what the incarnate God is all about? God with us?

And Jesus doesn’t just enter Simon’s house as a normal guest would enter, to lounge in the triclinium, in the front part of the house, and enjoy a meal. No! Jesus, instead, goes into the most private part of the house, to the house’s inner recesses, where Simon’s mother-in-law is convalescing.

The Incarnation is everywhere—from the most public to the most private places of our lives.

And there Jesus takes this dear woman by the hand, lifts her up, and her fever leaves her immediately.

The Incarnation, we see, heals both spiritually and physically.

And she responds to Jesus’ healing by serving others! In fact, Simon’s mother-in-law is the first human in all the Bible to be called diakonos; in other words, she’s the church’s very first deacon.

Simon has been called disciple. But here’s a picture of true discipleship: someone who responds to Jesus’ love by loving others outwardly.

Well, word gets out. All the villagers needing spiritual and physical healing are brought to Jesus; who heals them, presumably, late into the night.

And very early in the morning, probably very tired, Jesus withdraws to a lonely place so that he can pray.

And what does Simon do? He hunts for Jesus.

This word, hunts, is a verb of purpose in the Greek. Simon hunts for Jesus with an agenda, with an intervention in mind.

Why in the world has Jesus gone off to pray, Simon wonders? Doesn’t he know there’s more work to do?

And so Simon—unlike his mother-in-law—gets it all wrong. He asks, “Don’t you understand how badly the people here need you, Jesus? What are you doing praying? It’s time to get back to your ministry and mission!”

Simon misses the point. The Good News is not to be cloistered up in a house somewhere so that people can make a pilgrimage to it and be healed. Rather, the Good News is to go out, to heal the people wherever there is brokenness, in places public, private, and anywhere in between.

The Gospel is meant to be kept on the move.

And so Jesus says, “Let us move on, for that is what I came out to do.”

And that is exactly what he and his disciples do. They go throughout Galilee, proclaiming the Good News in synagogues and casting out demons.

3.

What impresses me most about today’s Gospel?

It’s not that Jesus meets me where I am.

Sure, this is an important truth, one with which we are all familiar. The Incarnation is with us. We have our personal demons. He helps us confront them and overcome them. And he does this right where we are, in our present state of life, without having to make a pilgrimage to an English cathedral or the Holy Land. Jesus meets and loves me right where I am.

But that’s not the truth hitting me squarely between my discipleship eyes today.

Nor is it that here the Bible gives us a strong and important argument for women in ministry. Simon’s mother-in-law is the very first human called a deacon in the Bible. Angels have been called deacons before this point, but not humans. Later on other humans are called deacons—Stephen and Philip in the Acts of the Apostles, for instance—and it even becomes an office of the church!

That all starts here today, with Simon’s mother-in-law, a woman. Why then has it been a struggle in the modern church’s life to ordain women? Why is it still a struggle for two congregations within our own diocese?

Anyway, yes, the ordination of women, too, is an important point. But I don’t think it’s the main point.

Rather, what impresses me today is that Jesus determines to move on, to keep the Gospel on the move, to bring the Good News out to those who need it. He doesn’t want us to keep it to ourselves.

Now, don’t misunderstand me; I am not saying that our buildings are unimportant.

A key part of Israel’s history was to establish a building for the king—a palace—and even more importantly, a building for God—the Temple.

Indeed, today’s passage touches on buildings and their importance. A large part of Jesus’ ministry occurs inside buildings—in synagogues; in houses; in the Temple courtyard.

The buildings we build are necessary and good. They give us a place to gather as a community and engage in the important rituals that unify us as a body of Christ. Things like architecture, furniture, and placement of windows matter. Facilities serve a valuable purpose.

Even the word!—it comes from the Latin facilis, which transliterates almost directly into English as facile, meaning easy: our facilities make Christ’s mission to heal the world easier than it would be otherwise.

But, human nature being what it is, we can tend to want our buildings to exceed their purpose—just as the religious leaders of Jesus’ day had exceeded the Temple’s purpose by locking God inside and making it well-nigh impossible for the common person to approach the divine.

Whenever we convey the message that Jesus is to be found only in here; whenever we stop bringing the Good News out to the broken world around us, we end up doing the same thing Jesus so vehemently opposed throughout his earthly ministry.

Despite whatever our facilities might tempt us to think, the church’s purpose is not a social club, not a place for refuge, not a museum to house historical and cultural artifacts, and not a community chapel.

The local church, according to Jesus, our founder, is a force for transformation if it is anything at all, going outward, outward, ever outward, healing the world around us from its brokenness.

4.

In light, then, of this discussion, how can we—St. Thomas of Canterbury Episcopal Church—keep the Gospel on the move?

That’s an admittedly broad question. So, let me be more specific.

How can we, St. Thomas Episcopal Church, bring the Good News to the abandoned children of Mexico?

These children are our neighbors. These children live within the geographical boundaries of our partner diocese. And these children are growing up impoverished and illiterate—broken and in need of Christ’s healing. How can we go out to them with Christ’s Good News?

It’s not a rhetorical question.

I wrestle with it all the time.

  • I am a member of the diocesan multicultural taskforce.
  • I am continuously alerting others to the plight of Mexico’s street children.
  • And I am seriously considering joining Vida Joven’s Board of Directors.

But I am also a priest of Christ’s church, called to be the spiritual leader of this local body. So today I’m asking you to wrestle with this question too: How can we bring Christ’s Good News to children like Daniel and his sisters?

How to Turn the World Upside Up

Posted in Homilies with tags , , , , , , , , on November 1, 2014 by timtrue

Matthew 5:1-12

Our world is inverted.

It’s been that way since the beginning—or shortly thereafter, anyway.  For in the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.  And God is a perfect God.  So God would not create the world to be a certain way—right side up—just to turn it upside down for fun, as if to see how we humans would handle it or some such nonsense.  No, that would go against God’s good nature.  Rather, it was inverted soon after the conclusion of the sixth day, soon after God created humankind in his own image.

We know the story.  God created people, not the animals, in his own image.  The animals were different, created to help us image-bearing people, created so that humankind might be glorified in some way.  In turn, humankind was created to glorify God.  From the bottom up, then, it was creatures, people, God.

But the serpent came along.  And he was crafty; craftier, in fact, than all the other creatures.  And he spoke.  (Does this remind you of anything?)  And he said to the woman, “Surely you want to be as gods too, don’t you?  Surely you want to know good from evil?”

Thus she and her man gave in to the crafty serpent.  They listened to it; and they put themselves in subjection to it.  And, when they did this, at the same time they exalted themselves above God.  From the bottom up, now, it was God, people, creatures.  In their sin—in their fall—all creation was turned upside down.

The prophet Isaiah says it this way: “You turn things upside down! / Shall the potter be regarded as the clay? / Shall . . . the thing formed say of the one who formed it, / ‘He has no understanding’ (29:16, my emphasis)?”

Our world is inverted.

In a nutshell, we see the Gospel—the good news—of Jesus Christ here. For God so loved the world—the cosmos; creation—that he sent his only Son to re-establish the created order; to set things right side up.

We see this in the book of Acts, right?  That’s the book in the New Testament that follows the Gospels.  It tells the story of what Jesus’s followers started to do after he lived, died, and rose again; it tells the story of the founding of the church.

One episode goes like this: two of Jesus’s followers, named Paul and Silas, come to the city of Thessalonica.  There they enter the local synagogue and begin to proclaim that Jesus is the true Messiah of Israel.  Several people, including many leaders, like this message and convert.  But this riles up the other synagogue leaders who go out and, with the help of some local ruffians, start a riot.  The mob captures some Christians and drags them before the city officials; and the mob leaders say: “These people”—i. e., these emperor-defying Christians—“who have been turning the world upside down have come here also” (cf. Acts 17:1-9, my emphasis).

The Christians, they said, were turning the world upside down.  But the world was already upside down—inverted—since just after creation.  But turning the already upside down world upside down—isn’t that really just to turn it upside up?  That’s what the church is doing!  Or, at least, that’s what the church is called to do.

Are we doing it?  Are we doing what we can to put the world upside up?

Now we come to Jesus’s Sermon on the Mount; and, in particular, to its introduction: the beatitudes. “Blessed are the poor in spirit,” he teaches, “for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”  And, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.”  And again, “Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.”  And so on.

The poor in spirit?  Those who mourn?  The meek?  This doesn’t sound like a list of things I aspire to be.

And why are these people even blessed?  Because theirs is the kingdom of heaven; they will be comforted; and they will inherit the earth.  But aren’t these all things that will happen in the future?  Isn’t this a kind of pie-in-the-sky thinking?

I don’t know about you, but I have a hard time with this.  Sure, you can tell me all you want that if I behave myself in the here and now then I will be rewarded in the future.  But that sounds an awful lot like something my second grade teacher told me.  I don’t really buy it.

I want to be blessed now.  And it seems to me—from the way things work in the world around me—it’s not the poor in spirit, the mournful, and the meek who get their way in the present.  It’s fine and well to want a nice life in the future, or a nice afterlife; but what about the here and now?  I want to be comfortable now!  I want to hear Jesus say something like this:

Blessed are those who make a lot of money!  For theirs is a comfortable home in a no-crime neighborhood where their kids can attend the best schools.

Why doesn’t Jesus tell me this?

A couple observations.

First, Jesus’s discourse is designed to turn the world upside up.

The culture tells us in very tangible ways that the happiest or most blessed people are those with the most money, those who have fought their way confidently to the top of their respective ladders, those who live most comfortably.

Jesus’s beatific list runs against this; it’s counter-cultural.

But is this list so bad?

It starts out with poor in spirit, mournful, and meek.  These sound to me like a person who has been humbled before God—not a bad place to be.

The list continues, saying, blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness; the merciful; the pure in heart.  I’m not sure our culture values these characteristics too much.  Just try putting some of these descriptions on a resume—peacemaker; persecuted for righteousness’ sake; reviled for Christ’s sake—and good luck getting that job!

No, these are not characteristics valued highly by our culture.  But they are highly valued by Christ; and they characterize the citizens of his heavenly kingdom—or they should.

Which brings us to my second observation.  This beatific list isn’t all about the future.  Instead, it is about the present, the here and now.

We hear terms like heavenly kingdom and we see the future tense (they will be comforted, they will inherit the earth, etc.), and it’s easy to go into pie-in-the-sky mode.

Some glad mornin’, when this life is o’er, I’ll fly away.

And when I do, we think—when I fly away in glorious rapture at the trumpet blast—then I’ll be poor in spirit and all the rest; ’cause then I’ll inherit the kingdom of heaven.  But I’m not about to be poor in spirit and meek and all that before then!

But that’s just Jesus’s point!  We are not living in a world as aliens and strangers; we are not living in a world that will all burn up and fade away and good riddance!  The meek shall inherit the earth, not some imagined fantasy land!  It’s not all going to end like Left Behind tells us (itself an inverted way of thinking), but through Christ saving the world in an ongoing way through his church; his church that is made up of humble, meek, merciful, peacemaking, righteousness-seeking, upside-up people—you, me, all the saints—in the here and now.

Think of the beatitudes, then, as a how-to list.  Beginning now, with you, these are how to turn the world right side up.  Strive after humility.  Strive after purity of heart.  Strive to be merciful, a peacemaker, and all the rest.  Strive to live each day as a citizen of the heavenly kingdom, for that is what you are.

Planet of the Apes, the Gospel, and Gustav Holst

Posted in Movies with tags , , on June 23, 2013 by timtrue

Last night I watched the 2001 film Planet of the Apes.  One of my kids, Hannah, gave the DVD to me for Father’s Day, a generous gesture considering her meager income of a weekly allowance and the occasional odd job, when the mood strikes–her, that is, not me.  I had no idea what to expect other than what I could recall from reruns viewed as a child, usually on days when I stayed home from school sick and my mother had no idea what else to do with me.  “Why don’t you watch some TV?” she would say.  The episodes were, in a word, cheesey.  But, hey, that was the seventies and everything had to be done with makeup, trick photography, and wires.  And what more did a boy’s imagination need anyway?  Now, however, I had a DVD in my hand made in 2001, starring Mark Wahlberg and and Helena Bonham-Carter and directed by Tim Burton.  Surely, with names like this, here would be the real deal, filled with awesome computer-animated visual effects and surround sound to tantalize the auriculars.  Surely, at least, this imagination-triggering full-length motion picture wouldn’t be cheesey, right?

Wrong!  Apparently Tim Burton wanted to keep the seventies cheese feel.  The apes were computer-unenhanced people with basic masks and makeup, to include a lot of hair, just like in the seventies.  When Wahlberg’s character’s spacecraft crash-landed on the planet of the apes in a pond (an event that bore striking resemblance to Luke Skywalker’s crash-landing once upon a time when he was seeking Yoda), the special effects consisted of an underwater air-hose, underwater lights, a smoke machine, and a fan.  Ooh, eerie!

Now I’m sure that Mr. Burton spent long hours and hard work to make the masks, apply the makeup and hair just right, and construct the elaborate sets needed for his re-telling of the Christ story (a hero, Wahlberg, fell out of the sky and reconciled enemies–whether people (and apes) would choose to believe it or not), and deliberately avoided the animating enhancement capabilities of computers.  Maybe Mr. Burton was trying to make some kind of statement; I don’t know, I haven’t watched, nor have I made any plans to watch, the thirteen hours of special features included on my special edition 2-disc DVD set.  But even the most elaborate set and the most detailed artistry, sadly, Mr. Burton, cannot compete with the technologically advanced visual effects that can be done on a few computers in rude cubicles in some office on Sunset Blvd.  Your attempt at old-school then, Mr. B, felt, well, old.  And in the film industry that translates as second-rate, B-film cheese.

Near the end of the film, Wahlberg’s character returns to earth.  But don’t worry, I’m not about to spoil the ending.  For that you’ll have to go out and rent it and watch it yourself.  Or buy it.  Heck, you can borrow my DVD if you like.  Just make sure to get it back to me by, um, this time, er, next, uh, millennium or so.  Anyway, you, the viewer, can tell Wahlberg’s character, shooting through space at warp speed in another spacecraft, is nearing earth because he passes near a planet with telltale rings, Saturn.  But if that weren’t enough of a clue there is loud, spacey music, strikingly similar to, but not quite–oh, what the devil is that piece?  Why of course!  It’s Gustav Holst’s The Planets.  Oh, wait, it’s not really.  Just similar.  And you realize that, like everything else in the movie, the music too is just a second-rate rip off of something first-rate.  Even the cheesey show of my boyhood sick days might be first-rate, arguably anyway, in the sense of its originality.  But this!  Its makeup, its storyline, even its music–they’re all rip-offs!

I think I’ll take Hannah out for a first-rate matinee soon.  Any suggestions?