Courageously Bear the Cross

Courageously Bear the Cross.

Those were the words the seminary dean said as he placed my graduation cross over my neck at our final Eucharist. Of course, since it was the dean, it was in Latin!  Had it only been three years ago that I stood in the same place on Holy Cross Day and entered my name in the Bexley Hall Matriculation Book?   “Am I really through with this scholastic endeavor?” I thought to myself.  It went so fast. 

The Feast of the Holy Cross – September 14 -  was our patronal feast at Bexley Hall.  It was begun to honor the work of Helena, the mother of Constantine, who led the effort to clear the debris from atop the Church of the Holy Sepulcher and in so doing unearthed the True Cross – nails and all.  The remembrance started innocently enough, but of course, became more and more ornate as time went along.  At seminary, we pulled out all the stops on Holy Cross Day.  Incense, sung liturgy, much bowing and scraping, and (of course) we had to sing our College Fight Song: Lift High the Cross.

It was great at the time.  But, right now I just want to close my eyes and shudder.  I just don’t think this was what Jesus had in mind. I’ve been thinking about this all week – the Feast of the Holy Cross coming so close upon these propers where Jesus asks us to take up our cross and follow him. With these words Jesus admonished his apostles; with these words he admonishes us. Courageously Bear the Cross.

Okay, but what does that mean?

Jesus is pretty darn clear:  It’s not about us.  His rebuke of Peter tells us that. We are to deny, forego, and ignore the devices and desires of our own hearts so that they might break open and spill out the love of God in our homes and communities.  We are to be willing to march into the messiest, smelliest, most unpleasant, and sometimes deadliest situations on behalf of Christ because that is exactly what Christ did for us.

As much as I hate the thought of Jesus being ashamed of me, I know I’ve made too many decisions about faith and ministry based on my own needs and not the needs of the reign of God.  Jesus asks “Who do you think that I am” and I am caught standing at a jewelry counter examining some gem-encrusted pendant and wondering if it will go with my paisley clergy shirt.  It’s a wonder that a large hand hasn’t appeared from the ether and slapped me upside the head. It does make you wonder about us, doesn’t it.

·         We toss around words like ministry and ‘bearing the cross’ like Tinker Toys. They sound pious but we really don’t have much attachment to them.

·         We forget that liturgy is to be more than esthetically pleasing. We come to church only for comfort and not for inspiration or strength.

·         We buy crosses to wear as bling, not as a declaration of our faith.

·         We volunteer only when activities are convenient or fit into our secular schedules.

·         We forget how privileged we are to be able to worship freely in this country.

You and I distract ourselves so easily from the kingdom of God. As some of my Facebook friends like to post: “We have so many first-world problems.”  

The relative ease of our lives makes us forget that ministry requires serious commitment….it’s not for the faint of heart.  I heard two stories this week to remind me of this.

A friend told me that one year he received one of those ubiquitous Christmas letters.  You know the kind, everything is wonderful, hope you’re well, I probably won’t think about you much over the next 11 months, but happy holidays anyway.  The one he received though had a bit of tragedy.  “They said that they’d experienced some financial hardship and because of that they weren’t able to refurnish their house at the shore,” my friend explained.  “I wish I’d had their tragedy. I was still grieving the loss of my mother.”

Another friend related an experience on a trip to Africa.  It was a story told by one of the priests he’d met there…a true story…a horrendous story.  It was a story of two church pews. In one, a woman sat alone. She was a Hutu woman and her entire family had been killed in the Rwandan genocide.  Behind her sat a man, a Tutsi man, with his family.  He and his people had been responsible for the woman’s solitary presence. It was the priest’s charge to foster a climate of reconciliation so that they could both share that holy space. Now that’s a story to remember when I think I’m having a bad day at the office!

This week has been full of grief and in need of reconciliation.  We remembered those who lost their lives in the tragedy of September 11th. Then, we watched as our embassies were attacked and innocent people killed because a few people are unable and unwilling to set their egos and agendas aside long enough to honor the dignity of others different from themselves.

Do you think that Jesus is here for our salvation only?  He may be your personal savior, and mine, but salvation is not only for us in our privileged bubbles but for the whole, messy, screwed up world.  If we don’t proclaim that salvation through our day-to-day living we are wasting the gift.

Do you think that religion is just about showing up once a week, saying the right prayers, and not engaging in activities that help heal the world?  If you are, then heed well the words of Jesus to Peter. You are about earthly things, not heavenly ones.  It takes more than an hour a week to feed your soul with scripture, study, prayer, and action. It takes more than an hour a week to center yourself in Christian community.

The disciples found it hard to understand that the Messiah was to suffer and die on an instrument of shame.  They expected something more majestic, something more defiant.  But, if the Messiah walked into Jerusalem knowing that what horror awaited him, how can we dare think that our walk with Jesus will be a stroll through a lamb-filled meadow on a spring morning?  We are told to follow him into the horrors that life often brings.  But we are FOLLOWING HIM; he has gone before us and will not abandon us. 

Today, Jesus invites us to begin again, to be reconciled one to another, and be strengthened to bear the cross in whatever path we are led.  Pray for steadfastness, that our privilege not distract us from ministering to the people who are hurting, from seeking forgiveness from those whom we have hurt, or from centering our whole lives on the Gospel and thereby living in God’s kingdom every day.

To be honest, Frederick Buechner said it so much more eloquently:

(The Cross) is the place where such a mighty heart was broken that the healing power of God himself could flow through it into a sick and broken world.”

Courageously Bear the Cross. Amen.

(c) 2012 C. B. Park, all rights reserved.

Batting a Thousand

Sermon preached at St. John's, Worthington, Ohio, on September 2, 2012

(c) 2012 C. B. Park, all rights reserved

 

“Liturgy is a part of our everyday life,” I told a class at St. Pat’s a few years ago. “It’s everywhere!”  They looked at me like I had three eyes.  So, I asked them to think about what makes up liturgy.  Thinking of church, they came up with:

·        People gathering for a purpose.

·        Songs chosen for the occasion – Advent, baptisms, that sort of thing

·        Readings chosen for the occasion - lectionary

·        People who have specific roles in leading the liturgy

·        Common responses to common calls culminating in a shared experience

·        Sending out into the community

After they identified the core ingredients of this thing called liturgy, I asked them to consider one of my favorite community liturgies:  A Cubs game at Wrigley Field.  By their countenance, I’d grown another eye.  But, I explained –

People gather there for a purpose.  Some are there with family, some are alone.  Some are there to party, some are there because they love the game.  Some want to immerse themselves in history.  But, all are there to enjoy a few hours away from the worries of the world.

Our opening hymn is the Star Spangled Banner.  There is the ceremonial pitch from the honored singer of the day.  

It all happens in the Big Inning. We read the statistics of the players in our bulletin – I mean game program.  The umpires and officials take their places at their assigned bases.  The coaches and team members line up in the dugouts ready to start the ritual.

“Play Ball!” says the home base ump.  And, the crowd roars its approval.

If you are a Cubs fan, you know the proper response to the unfortunate circumstance of the visiting team hitting a home run.  If you are visiting and are unaware – we let you know about it loudly:  Throw it back!  If you do not comply with the rubric, I mean tradition, the crowd gets more insistent.  When the ball finally finds its way back onto the outfield grass, the crowd roars its approval.

The innings roll on.  Finally, we get to that point we’ve all been waiting for.  The public address announcer introduces the guest singer for the Seventh Inning Stretch.  “A-one, a-two. . .” the singer begins, and then we all sip from the cup of baseball – “Take me out to the ballgame…”

On a good day, there are only 9 outs left.  We sing the “Go Cubs Go” song when there’s a victory. Win or lose, its been an experience.  We pour out from the stadium into the neighborhood of Wrigleyville.  

Some of us drive back home, some take trains, others to stay awhile longer to enjoy the lingering aroma of hot dogs, peanuts and cracker jack.  Thanks be to God!

“Okay, we get it,” the class was resigned. 

“Really?” I said.  I then asked them to take the example a step further. “What if you’d arrived and the stretch was sung in Spanish.  What would that do?”  “Imagine that when you left the game you were expected to reach out to people in need?”  I heard them swallow hard and sigh. 

Liturgy for its own sake is like a day at the ballpark.  It’s entertainment.   It’s self-centered.  We may be here for a shared purpose, but at the end of the ritual we go back to our unchanged selves and routine lives.  We can sing our songs or throw back home run balls as our parents and grandparents did, but unless we’re open to letting the liturgy change us, we just mosey past the turnstiles into a harsh and angry world.  All we’ve done is escape it for a while along with other like-minded people.

That’s what got Jesus’ knickers in a twist.  

He wasn’t against liturgy and ritual.  They have their proper place.  It’s just that the Pharisees and the scribes were more interested in how things got done than why things got done.  They were more about the trappings than about the transformation.  The cups and bronze kettles were polished wonders to behold, but the orphans and widows were hungry and no one seemed to notice them.

Growing up in high falutin’, Anglo-Catholic, Northern Indiana, I identify more with the Pharisees and scribes than I want to admit.  We were so wedded to the liturgy and the pomp and circumstance that I spent more time being afraid of church than happy to be there.  It was lovely – billowing clouds of incense, organ music, and very predictable verbiage.  The rector actually did a great job moving the congregation through the prayer book change.  We were ever so compliant.  But, in my 18 years there, I don’t remember ever hearing about justice.  My ethical upbringing came from my family, not my church. 

Then, I went to college.  The service wasn’t the same as I was used to – egad – you mean there are different ways to access Word and Sacrament?  Good Shepherd, West Lafayette, used the contemporary Lord’s Prayer.  Holy moley!  I sure stumbled over that for a good long time.  But, then it became a part of me. Now, it’s my preference. 

For the first time I heard sermons that connected the lessons and the liturgy to what we were actually to do in the world.  I learned about the difficulties of the food stamp system and how shaming it was to those trying to access it.  We participated in letter writing campaigns.  I learned about a world that was much darker and scarier than I’d ever realized.

I went to college a good Episcopalian.  I left it a struggling Christian.  The broader use of the liturgy was a significant part of that transformation. 

The journey through liturgy and discernment is still a struggle. My diaconal experience at St. Stephen’s was culture shock.  Then, I was exposed to the Lutheran tradition while I was in seminary.   By being open to new ways of being in community, I became more open to hearing the voice of God in sermons and liturgies.  Our church services included art and mime and dance as well as the stuff I was used to all the time.  Even St. Patrick’s pushed me.   Our 5:30 pm service uses contemporary music and has an abbreviated order of service.  I couldn’t imagine how it would work.  But, it did!  And, the late service is the fastest growing of all of the Sunday offerings.

What I came to learn was that church could not be my personal sanctuary.  In order to spread the good news of the Gospel of Christ, we must fling open our doors and speak to people who have not heard of Jesus in ways that will appeal to them, not us. 

That was a hard lesson to learn.  Deep inside of me was, and still is, that Northern Indiana girl who loves her bells and smells. But Jesus is insistent – it’s not about you and your need for personal religious happiness.  It’s much more important than that.  You’re here to have your eyes opened, to see God’s presence in every person, place, and thing. You’re here to bring people closer to God by being God's representative and advocating for the poor, the outcast, and anyone whose voice cannot or will not be heard.

My sisters and brothers, we are here not to polish brass, but to prepare for service in the world.  We are not here for solace only, but for strength – strength to take a hard look at those who are victims of injustice and find a way to restore them to full membership in society.  We are not here for pardon only but for renewal – a renewal of resolve to uphold our baptismal covenant and usher in the reign of God.

And, if we embrace this calling, my friends, we’ll be batting a thousand. Amen.