(a homily)
Today we celebrate the Annunciation of the Lord. The story is told that the angel Gabriel appeared to Mary to tell her that she would bear the Son of God. The conception was to be the work of the Holy Spirit. Though the news puzzled her, she accepted the word of the angel and declared, “Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord. May it be done to me according to your word.”
Not being the kind of human that would be able to bear a child, I admit that I tend to struggle with how to place myself in this story. Who am I? Certainly I'm not Mary; really, none of us are. Neither am I Gabriel, though this particular morning I am supposed to bring a message. But perhaps part of the problem for me to conceive of my place in this story is that I'm trying to find my place, my individual self. If we're going to read ourselves into this story, we need to do it together.
It is true that the story depicts one particular event in history. However, the Word of God still speaks today, still "stories" those who read and hear it. The Annunciation is announced among us today, even here in East Tennessee. Today, an angel tells us, the Holy Spirit will come upon you and the will of the Son of God will dwell in you. We must respond, "Behold, we are the handmaid of the Lord. May it be done to us according to your word."
Christ is among us in our gathering. We receive the bread and wine, his body and blood, and the grace of God is conceived within us and among us as we are made anew the Body of Christ. We even are made messengers, heralds of the impossible made actual. And thus, by God's empowerment, we too can say, "Here I am, Lord; I come to do your will." We may not be Mary, or Gabriel, or even Joseph or King Ahaz, but by the Word of God, we fellowship with them, we are incorporated into their stories together. Hopefully we will respond well to the signs given to us, a response made possible by the one sacrifice of the Son of God, a response that reverberates throughout all our lives, individually and communally.
(Feast of the Annunciation of the Lord: Isaiah 7:10-14; 8:10; Psalm 40; Hebrews 10:4-10; Luke 1:26-38)
Monday, March 31, 2008
Friday, March 21, 2008
good, Friday
What year, which reading,
will the cries of "no king but Caesar"
curdle our own blood when we speak them
with our lives?
Our legs broken that we might bow,
bend the knee, quibbling
before governors for our murderous
intentions fulfilled.
Righteousness, goodness,
love, meekness: despised and crucified.
Enemy forgiveness, suffering swallowed,
endured.
O Caesar, you don't understand.
Forgive us for giving
you power, corrupting you,
giving you reason
to smirk.
Lord, we kill, we die,
but let us rise above
our derelict voices, our
choice for power.
Restore us to
exiled love.
will the cries of "no king but Caesar"
curdle our own blood when we speak them
with our lives?
Our legs broken that we might bow,
bend the knee, quibbling
before governors for our murderous
intentions fulfilled.
Righteousness, goodness,
love, meekness: despised and crucified.
Enemy forgiveness, suffering swallowed,
endured.
O Caesar, you don't understand.
Forgive us for giving
you power, corrupting you,
giving you reason
to smirk.
Lord, we kill, we die,
but let us rise above
our derelict voices, our
choice for power.
Restore us to
exiled love.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
An Ecotheological Thought for Holy Week
To know that the world is essentially united is excruciating; a person in that moment of recognition, that experience of unity, realizes the place of the cross in creation. That person feels in that moment the separation that sin generates between created beings in themselves and among each other; even more the separation between the created order and God. Such a recognition will lead a person in the way towards the cross, towards the work of participation in the restoration of unity begun, completed, and to be in Christ and perfected by the Spirit.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Tea on back deck, under the sun
A cup of amber tea.
My friend crafted
the cup from clay
made by God, packaged
by humans, glaze
probably mechanically
distilled. Amber tea,
from yellow, black
leaves, Chinese. Iron
Japanese pot for steeping.
Unbleached sugar, its time
as Paraguayan cane
crystallized, shipped last
in plastic. Dust bits float
on the surface. Am I
swallowing my own skin?
Spume, mirror of the sun,
of a face, diminutive,
effervescent, from
the center out to a
circumstantial part
of the potter's
boundary, minus the three
aloofly polar domes
there alone, noticed
and inspiring. Inspiring
to be not too concerned,
not merely observant.
My friend crafted
the cup from clay
made by God, packaged
by humans, glaze
probably mechanically
distilled. Amber tea,
from yellow, black
leaves, Chinese. Iron
Japanese pot for steeping.
Unbleached sugar, its time
as Paraguayan cane
crystallized, shipped last
in plastic. Dust bits float
on the surface. Am I
swallowing my own skin?
Spume, mirror of the sun,
of a face, diminutive,
effervescent, from
the center out to a
circumstantial part
of the potter's
boundary, minus the three
aloofly polar domes
there alone, noticed
and inspiring. Inspiring
to be not too concerned,
not merely observant.
Nothing to Fear
(a homily)
"Of whom shall we be afraid?" Even though this week we prepare to walk again the way to the cross, we have nothing to fear. Even though we face the truth that faithfulness to the Gospel brings upon us opposition from the powers, we ought not withhold the Word of Love. This Word has set us free, and it calls us to work for the freedom of others. We have something to say to those who seek to imprison the nations if we in our spirits are freed from their ways of oppression. Literally, there are people in this world in dark dungeons, and not so figuratively in prisons, be they penitentiaries, covert detention centers, ghettos, slums, hollers, and projects; or mansions, high-rise apartments, cubicles, and corporate boardrooms. The very philosophical foundations of our surrounding culture and political system seek to confine us by fear to our individual selves, our individual families and friends, and to make us blind to the just union that God seeks to bring forth to the nations in Jesus Christ, and through the body of Christ, the Church.
But let us remember, we have nothing to fear. We, in our baptisms, were placed in the grave. We have already tasted death (though, perhaps, its stench has been hidden from us). Having tasted death, we shall not be afraid of death any longer. Instead, this Holy Week we walk in the steps of Jesus to the Cross. We hear his teachings, witness his betrayal, see his agony. We can see these anytime we read the news or make an effort to observe and engage the world. This day, and throughout the week, too, we gather around the table; we feast with the company of the saints. We recognize that we must break open our perfumes and anoint the feet of Jesus, wash the feet of our brothers and sisters. We like Lazarus have been raised from the dead, only to watch the Lord of Life go to the cross to truly conquer death. With the cross there is resurrection; release from the dungeons and the mansions.
Let us become prepared in the worship of God, the fellowship at table, to walk in the way of Jesus in the power of the Holy Spirit. Such a walk leads to the cross, but we are guided by the Lord, our light and our salvation, so we shall not be afraid. Christ gives himself for us, and we ourselves for his cause, the Kingdom. At this table we taste death and we taste life, the life of the world.
(Isaiah 42:1-7; Psalm 27; John 12:1-11)
"Of whom shall we be afraid?" Even though this week we prepare to walk again the way to the cross, we have nothing to fear. Even though we face the truth that faithfulness to the Gospel brings upon us opposition from the powers, we ought not withhold the Word of Love. This Word has set us free, and it calls us to work for the freedom of others. We have something to say to those who seek to imprison the nations if we in our spirits are freed from their ways of oppression. Literally, there are people in this world in dark dungeons, and not so figuratively in prisons, be they penitentiaries, covert detention centers, ghettos, slums, hollers, and projects; or mansions, high-rise apartments, cubicles, and corporate boardrooms. The very philosophical foundations of our surrounding culture and political system seek to confine us by fear to our individual selves, our individual families and friends, and to make us blind to the just union that God seeks to bring forth to the nations in Jesus Christ, and through the body of Christ, the Church.
But let us remember, we have nothing to fear. We, in our baptisms, were placed in the grave. We have already tasted death (though, perhaps, its stench has been hidden from us). Having tasted death, we shall not be afraid of death any longer. Instead, this Holy Week we walk in the steps of Jesus to the Cross. We hear his teachings, witness his betrayal, see his agony. We can see these anytime we read the news or make an effort to observe and engage the world. This day, and throughout the week, too, we gather around the table; we feast with the company of the saints. We recognize that we must break open our perfumes and anoint the feet of Jesus, wash the feet of our brothers and sisters. We like Lazarus have been raised from the dead, only to watch the Lord of Life go to the cross to truly conquer death. With the cross there is resurrection; release from the dungeons and the mansions.
Let us become prepared in the worship of God, the fellowship at table, to walk in the way of Jesus in the power of the Holy Spirit. Such a walk leads to the cross, but we are guided by the Lord, our light and our salvation, so we shall not be afraid. Christ gives himself for us, and we ourselves for his cause, the Kingdom. At this table we taste death and we taste life, the life of the world.
(Isaiah 42:1-7; Psalm 27; John 12:1-11)
Saturday, March 8, 2008
Not He
When I think to myself
of myself:
"Here, this is the prophet
who was to come
into my world.
By force,
make him king"--
I must withdraw
to a quiet place
by myself
to remember kingdoms
were not meant
to be of this world.
of myself:
"Here, this is the prophet
who was to come
into my world.
By force,
make him king"--
I must withdraw
to a quiet place
by myself
to remember kingdoms
were not meant
to be of this world.
Monday, March 3, 2008
To the City of Peace and Wholeness, Unfamiliar
(a homily)
Those who can give up their native place will be open to making room for the other for they recognize their own displacement. Rejected, we can become accepting people, which is to love the enemy, the estranged and the stranger. Prophets have no honor in their hometowns. Miracles are performed in neighboring communities; the water is made into wine, the unfamiliar is familiarized and all the more made mysterious and beautiful.
This is newness of life; a new home, a new way of living in the City of Peace and Wholeness, the Kingdom of God. Past wrongs are forgiven and forgotten. Bitter tears are transformed into joyous exaltation. Wine is pressed from abundant grapes, the fruit of labor done not in vain. All work becomes a prayer, our practice becomes praise of God.
Let us continue journeying together toward Jerusalem, the city where we will meet our fate. It is where we have been heading in this Lenten season, following Jesus to the cross, His glorification. Today, feasting on simple bread and wine transformed by the Holy Spirit into transforming spiritual food, we taste the bitterness of Christ's broken body, Christ's death; but, we also receive a taste of the celebration to be had in the new city, a celebration that begins even now. Here, the new heaven becomes present, and we are made seed for the new earth.
As we near death this very hour, at just this time we too are told and we come to know that we will live; the Holy Spirit, the Breath of God, dwells in us. We may have to leave the place of our original comfort, but in so doing we walk towards the City of Peace and Wholeness.
(Isaiah 65:17-21; Psalm 30; John 4:43-54)
Those who can give up their native place will be open to making room for the other for they recognize their own displacement. Rejected, we can become accepting people, which is to love the enemy, the estranged and the stranger. Prophets have no honor in their hometowns. Miracles are performed in neighboring communities; the water is made into wine, the unfamiliar is familiarized and all the more made mysterious and beautiful.
This is newness of life; a new home, a new way of living in the City of Peace and Wholeness, the Kingdom of God. Past wrongs are forgiven and forgotten. Bitter tears are transformed into joyous exaltation. Wine is pressed from abundant grapes, the fruit of labor done not in vain. All work becomes a prayer, our practice becomes praise of God.
Let us continue journeying together toward Jerusalem, the city where we will meet our fate. It is where we have been heading in this Lenten season, following Jesus to the cross, His glorification. Today, feasting on simple bread and wine transformed by the Holy Spirit into transforming spiritual food, we taste the bitterness of Christ's broken body, Christ's death; but, we also receive a taste of the celebration to be had in the new city, a celebration that begins even now. Here, the new heaven becomes present, and we are made seed for the new earth.
As we near death this very hour, at just this time we too are told and we come to know that we will live; the Holy Spirit, the Breath of God, dwells in us. We may have to leave the place of our original comfort, but in so doing we walk towards the City of Peace and Wholeness.
(Isaiah 65:17-21; Psalm 30; John 4:43-54)
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Sight Anointed
Blind and blind
and awake O sleeper.
I'm tired, but I may be awake.
When do I see?
When I see I don't see, I see.
Small, slight, unobtrusive,
the light can be seen;
though it would be
better to not have a king.
Olive oil and wine poured,
tasted and absorbed.
Anoint with spit and mud,
words' liquid and earth.
Awake O sleeper, see.
(1 Samuel 16:1b, 6-7, 10-13a; Psalm 23; Ephesians 5:8-14; John 9:1-41)
and awake O sleeper.
I'm tired, but I may be awake.
When do I see?
When I see I don't see, I see.
Small, slight, unobtrusive,
the light can be seen;
though it would be
better to not have a king.
Olive oil and wine poured,
tasted and absorbed.
Anoint with spit and mud,
words' liquid and earth.
Awake O sleeper, see.
(1 Samuel 16:1b, 6-7, 10-13a; Psalm 23; Ephesians 5:8-14; John 9:1-41)
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