Air, water, fire -Sermon from August 10th

(c) 2014 C. B. Park, all rights reserved

Today is a day for air, water and fire. Air and Water for the gospel. Fire for a deacon of the church.  These elements stand side by side today; they do not destroy each other. They inform each other and give us lessons in living our faith in the world.

Water for the ancient world meant chaos.  Water was a threat.  Floods destroy the planet; the sea blocks the escape for Moses. You don’t get through the waters of this world without divine intervention. Wind joins with water to create dangerous waves that swamp your boat or fling you into the chaos.

Jesus walking on the water gives the disciples hope because they see that the powers of evil have no effect on their Teacher.  He tells them “it is I” – the equivalent of “I am” here – the God of the universe has everything under control.  It’s just that we don’t always perceive this to be true. 

Water is Matthew’s metaphor to remind us that being a disciple of Jesus means that we may find ourselves in situations that are threatening, even (as they say) unto death.

Such was the case of our deacon of the church. Lawrence of Rome served as archdeacon under Pope Sixtus in the early years of the Christian Church.  It was in the mid-200’s under the violent rule of emperor Valerian.  Valerian required that the treasuries of the church be emptied into the coffers of the Roman empire and that all sacrifices be made to the emperor.  Pope Sixtus would become the second pope in a row to give up his life on behalf of the faith.  Deacon Lawrence visited Sixtus in prison. He was said to have been distressed to see his bishop in custody and wanted to go with him to his death.  Sixtus, though, had other plans.  He told Lawrence to take the money from the church’s treasury and distribute it to the poor.

Lawrence did as he was told and when Sixtus came to trial he confirmed that he had done the distribution of treasure by his own hand. The word “treasure” caught the attention of some of the guards and he was arrested.  Deacons just don’t know when to keep their mouths shut. Never have. Never will. I was a deacon for 15 years.  Believe me, I know this.

So Lawrence found himself in prison.

Soldiers were sent to Lawrence’s cell to force him to give the church treasure over to Valerian.  Lawrence told him that if he were given three days, he would bring the treasure of the church to the emperor.  He gathered together a crowd of poor and sick people who depended upon the Church’s charity. When the soldiers came for the collection, Lawrence told them “Here are the vessels in which is contained the treasure. And everyone who puts their treasure in these vessels will receive them in abundance in the Heavenly Kingdom.”

As you can probably guess, this didn’t help his cause.  Valerian ordered him to be tortured – death by the sword was too good for these Christians who wanted to die quickly for their cause.  Lawrence was racked, beaten, and flailed.  Finally, he was laid on a gridiron and positioned so that he would burn to death slowly.  The folklore surrounding his martyrdom reports that Lawrence told his captors that he was done on one side and that they should turn him over.  After they did, he gave up his spirit.

Lawrence was buried in the catacombs of Rome and the gridiron, I understand, is in the reliquary of the church that bears his name just outside the city boundaries.  He is known today as the patron saint of bankers, comedians, and fire (or, if you will, ‘barbeque’).

Air, water, fire.  The more I reflect on Peter in today’s gospel and the story of Deacon Lawrence the more parallels I see.  Both are enmeshed in chaos. Peter in the wind and the waves; Lawrence in the political reality that would lead him to the flames. Both reached out to their teacher and mentor bidding them to take them along. Both ended up following Jesus to their own martyrdoms.  Following Jesus is not for the faint of heart.

We cannot forget how incredibly lucky we are to be Christians in this place and in this time.  Perhaps that thankfulness is why I cling to the stories of people like Peter and Lawrence. Or the brave witness given by Oscar Romeo, who was assassinated at the altar in San Salvador, or of Bernard Mizeki, who was stabbed to death while defending his catechism class in Zimbabwe. 

Even now, as we gather here in Dublin, Ohio, to worship without fear, hundreds of Christians in Iraq are being targeted for execution because they have committed their lives to following Jesus.

I’m aware each week that being an ordained person was often a life-threatening situation.  There’s very little protection between a priest with outstretched arms and an angry mob.  The history behind the priest receiving communion first is that, if the elements had been poisoned by an enemy the priest would be killed before the others gathered for the Divine Liturgy. For the priest – it was the Last Supper!  One of my professors at Trinity said once that “We are first in line because we are first for the lions.” (This is why priests should never upset the altar guild!)

We may think our lives are chaotic, but we are so very mistaken.  Some Christian leaders may claim that we are being persecuted in this country, but they are so very mistaken.  We are ignored, yes. We are misunderstood, yes. We are laughed at, yes. But, when it comes to being “persecuted”, at worst we are victims of our own choices.

The last parallel of Peter and Lawrence is one of Good News.  Both found grace in being a disciple of Jesus Christ.  Despite the fact that their faith came at great personal cost, both went to their end deeply committed to their faith and showed a certain sarcastic quality with their tormentors.  Peter decided to be crucified head down so that he wouldn’t be taking the same form of death as his master.  But, you can just imagine what the soldiers then had to contend with in the process.  “Turn me over,” Lawrence said to the Roman soldiers. Even in the midst of his pain, he found the bravado to taunt his executioners.

May we be brave enough to step into uncharted waters of ministry, walk through windstorms of fear, and endure fiery attacks from those who hate us in order to share the love and grace we have in our knowledge of Christ.  And may we take time each day to be thankful that our opportunities for service are not putting us in danger on a daily basis.  Pray for peace, my friends, in all the world.

Amen.

[Note: On August 11th, Robin Williams took his life and with him a piece of all of our joy.  May Lawrence, the patron saint of comedians, keep him company.] 

(c) 2014 C. B. Park, all rights reserved

An odd kingdom metaphor

(c) 2014 C. B. Park, all rights reserved

Many things came to mind when I read all of Jesus’ metaphoric descriptions of the kingdom of heaven.  First, I thought, ‘again with the seeds’?  Haven’t we had enough of those stories already?  The next three metaphors are a little more interesting.  Yeast – that, like the mustard seed, starts small but grows until it takes over and leavens the entire measure of flour.  A hidden treasure in a field and a pearl of great price, which are known only to the purchaser: the one who is willing to give up everything to own it. A burgeoning net, full of fish, which are separated at harvest time.

Seeds, soil, weeds, yeast, pearls, treasure, judgment.  The kingdom of heaven is like all that. It’s like something else, too.  It’s all so ordinary.  Yes, even the ordinary is someone’s treasure.  Treasure is in the eye of the beholder.  Barbara Brown Taylor, in her sermon on this text, bids us to look deeply into these metaphors. Find the extraordinary in the ordinary.  I love that strategy. Yet, as I kept reading and re-reading, I couldn’t shake another metaphor that kept invading my brain.  It was stubborn. It was crazy.  Yet, there it was.  And, I’m sure that Jesus, having the sense of humor of his heavenly Father, probably would have used it also, if the two-wheeled apparatus had been invented in his time. 

God help me (and I know She will), I think the kingdom of heaven is like World Naked Bicycling Day.

Okay…first – a little history.  I had not heard of this particular observance until last month when I was in England with our little pilgrimage group. Apparently it is an annual event – held all over the world – to bring attention to the vulnerability of those who ride bicycles.  Three of us had spent the day at the museums and decided it would be best to take a cab to Westminster Abbey for Evensong in order to get there on time.  My companions shall remain anonymous unless they decide to identify themselves.  (Of course, some of you already know who they are…)  As we approached Trafalgar Square, I looked out the cab window and caught a glimpse of someone riding a bicycle. He was, as my granny used to say, ‘buck nekkid’.  “There’s a naked guy on a bicycle back there!” I said to my companions. They were a little skeptical.  Well, they were skeptical until the cab began to slow down.

There wasn’t just one ‘nekkid’ guy on a bike.  There were hundreds. HUNDREDS!!! 

The crowd was mostly men, but there were a few women scattered hither and yon.  They had stopped in front of Buckingham Palace in order to sing happy birthday to Queen Elizabeth…in their birthday suits. The cab had ceased to move.

Holy Mother of Pearl.  What does a priest do when she’s wearing her clerical collar, accompanied by parishioners, and surrounded by nude people on wheels?  Well, first she looks at them and says – if either of you take a picture of me with these naked people, I will excommunicate you.  And then, well, she observes.

She observes the cab driver dying of embarrassment.

She contemplates blessing the crowd from the safety of the cab. 

She decides not to.

She observes her traveling companions capturing the moment with complete and utter hilarity, one of them declaring this to be “the most awesome cab ride ever!”

She laughs, she giggles, and she’s awestruck that anyone would subject themselves to a bicycle seat in a condition of undress.

She observes the extraordinary diversity of creation and human—okay, mostly man--kind…with amusement, amazement, shock, disbelief, and finally, ‘Oh Lord, enough already!’.

And so, you all must be wondering, what the heck any of this has to do with the kingdom of heaven? Remember that Barbara Brown Taylor said to look for the extraordinary in the ordinary.

So, let’s go back to all of Jesus’ stories.  Multiplied harvests, great trees from small seeds, pearls and hidden treasures…all of these are exaggerations.  None of it could have been expected.  I assure you, the sight of hundreds of unclad cyclists was very unexpected and quite beyond the norm.  The kingdom of heaven takes us by surprise.

Forty years ago this weekend, eleven brave women, a few brave bishops, and the presence of the Holy Spirit said to the church “Our time has come.”  The seeds planted by Philadelphia Eleven paved the way for women’s ministries in the church to grow to great heights and bear much fruit.  Even our British friends have finally grafted themselves to these branches. Who could ever have expected so much in so little time. Surprise!

A sower who distributes seeds everywhere is to be seen as an extravagant giver. What the seeds become is up to the soil.  Of course, the meaning of this parable needed to be explained.  

It wasn’t completely understood by the disciples.  Just like not knowing the cause behind the bicycle ride kept me from fully appreciating the message that was being sent.  “Be careful. We’re vulnerable. We have as much right to be here as you do.”

Missiles are fired and bombs explode across Israel & Gaza.  Immigration policy is debated. People we consider to be adults try to solve their differences by shouting at each other and committing violence on each other. As we continue in these ridiculous practices, our children look up to us with eyes filled with fear, eyes that are being taught not to trust. The kingdom of heaven is still far off as long as we refuse to acknowledge the vulnerable ones among us who just want to be loved and deserve to inherit more than a life of continued anger and hatred. They have as much right to be here as you and I do.

You know, this nude parade on wheels probably only took about 15 minutes.  But, as I reflect on it now, it’s scary how quickly the novelty wore off and I was ready to get on to the next thing.  I was a bit miffed to arrive at Westminster Abbey so late that we had to sit in the overflow section and not in the quire.  I may have marveled at God’s creation for a moment, but boredom followed closely.  I could say the same thing about kivas in the southwestern United States or one more automobile in the Henry Ford museum.  If I’m honest with myself, I realize that I do the same thing with God’s kingdom sometimes.  Each year rolls through with another stewardship campaign, another Vacation Bible School, another EfM class…another….sermon.  If I’m not careful, I can get trapped in a cab full of cynicism and miss the indescribable show outside the window.

When I get distracted by my own wants and desires I forget to look for the kingdom of God in the ordinary stuff I encounter every day.  The ordinary becomes extraordinary when we search for God in it. It becomes extraordinary as we reflect upon it.  It becomes extraordinary when we invest ourselves and our resources in it.  The ordinary becomes God’s kingdom when we quit trying to control everything and appreciate the gifts God sends our way…even when it derails our perfect plans to serve or worship. I have to remember, also, that the kingdom of God – the shalom of God – is exceedingly fragile.

Having said that, though, if I do have another ‘most awesome cab ride ever,’ I really hope it’s not clothing optional. I realize that in heaven everything will be revealed, but ewwww.

(c) 2014 C. B. Park, all rights reserved

To do the right thing

(c) 2014 C. B. Park/July 6/St. Patrick's, Dublin, OH

 

Many of you have asked me about the recent pilgrimage that many of us made last month.  The most frequent question “What did you like the most?”  This is a terribly difficult question to answer.  I don’t think there is much about England I don’t like!  Maybe London traffic?  However, I think if I had to pinpoint one memory and claim it as favorite, it would be seeing T.S. Eliot’s play Murder in the Cathedral. 

Why?  Well, first because we were all together that evening.  And, unbeknownst to us at that time, one of our merry band of pilgrims was to become a guest of Britain’s National Health Service and her spouse stayed behind to care for her.

Second, it was staged inside St. Bartholomew the Great Church – famed for being the set for one of the weddings in Four Weddings and a Funeral among other films.  Third, I’d read this play several times when I was in seminary but had never seen it produced.  It is the story of the martyrdom of Thomas Becket at Canterbury Cathedral.  St. Bartholomew’s was built before Thomas Becket was born and he very likely worshipped there during his lifetime.  We really don’t appreciate the concept of “old” in this country.  There, you can scoop out history with a spoon.

At one point in the play, Becket is visited by four tempters.  He recognizes three of them. They suggest that he give in to the desires of the flesh, of wealth, and of power to pre-empt his struggle with Henry and bring peace to England. (Sound familiar?)

The fourth tempter is unexpected.  He is Becket’s ego and it is this tempter that gives him the most demanding choice.  Becket must decide whether to continue his course to keep the laws of the church and the power of the king separate  for the glory of God or in order to elevate himself to the status of holy martyr.  T.S. Eliot gives these words to the beleaguered archbishop:

The last temptation is the greatest treason:

To do the right deed for the wrong reason.

This theme is so profound that Eliot repeats it in “Little Gidding,” the last of his Four Quartets, when he writes:

And all shall be well and

All manner of thing shall be well

By the purification of the motive

In the ground of our beseeching.

It was this theme that came to me as I read today’s selection from Paul’s letter to the Romans.  Paul, too, is wrestling with his ego and his inability to keep the law because of its unattainable standard.  And here’s the rub: we read this on the very weekend that we, as a country, celebrate our freedom and independence. 

If there is anything I take away from this it is that we are not independent and we certainly aren’t free.  We are enslaved by sin and dependent upon God’s grace.

Oh, we’re good people.  No argument there.  God loves us. No argument there either. But, beneath the façade of “everything is fine” lies the uncompromising truth that we are so steeped in our own desires and our own egos that, try as we might, we cannot always do the right thing.  Worse yet, we too often do the right thing for the wrong reason. 

In these few verses, Paul is inviting us to turn a mirror to ourselves and ask us to describe what we see.  Paul isn’t interested in whether or not we’ve made a misstep in our actions so much as he’s asking us to be honest about our relationship with God.  Is the good we do for God’s glorification or for the building up of our own ego-slash-resume?  How often have we turned from God-centeredness to self-centeredness? 

One of the confessions of sin that we use states that we have denied God’s goodness everywhere and has us repenting of the evil we have done and that others have done on our behalf.  In this confession we are acknowledging what Paul understood well, that we are up against a force so strong that we cannot begin to break it on our own. 

Sin is a force that bends our good intentions.  It is a force that lowers us to our base level where we simply hurl blame at each other instead of seeking Christ in each other. It is a force that threatens to keep us from yoking ourselves to Jesus like a child…trusting and full of hope.

It is not enough to confess our sins and ask for God’s forgiveness.  We so easily say those words without meaning them. We easily confess what we’ve already rationalized. Absolution doesn’t come solely via a priest’s words and the sign of the cross.  As Christians, it is in our embrace of the cross, in the surrender of our will to the Spirit’s, in our relationship with God our Father and Christ our Brother, where true absolution lies.  We cannot do this alone. We need each other. We need the example of the saints. We need the prayers of the martyrs.

In Eliot’s masterpiece, after the soldiers have murdered Becket, they turn the audience into the jury of their peers and state their case that we – the people in the pew – have murdered the archbishop. The soldiers simply did as they believed the people wanted…as they believed the king wanted.  Besides, Becket could have avoided everything if he’d just done the right thing. 

I think that the chorus of the Canterbury women said it best. 

Forgive us, O Lord, we acknowledge ourselves as type of the common man,

Of the men and women who shut the door and sit by the fire;

Who fear the blessing of God, the loneliness of the night of God, the surrender required, the deprivation inflicted;

Who fear the injustice of men less than the justice of God;

Who fear the hand at the window, the fire in the thatch, the fist in the tavern, the push into the canal,

Less than we fear the love of God.

We acknowledge our trespass, our weakness, our fault;

we acknowledge

That the sin of the world is upon our heads; that the blood of the martyrs and the agony of the saints

Is upon our heads.

Lord, have mercy upon us.

Christ, have mercy upon us.

Lord, have mercy upon us.

Blessed Thomas, pray for us.

Amen.