Sermon 635+December 24, 2010

765th Week as Priest
591st Week at St Dunstan’s
Christmas Eve Celebration

For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life. –John 3:16

The Incarnation.

Grace to you and peace, from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

It has been a busy Season of Advent at our house this year, and I’ll guess the same has been true at your house. We’ve had Jenny and Matthew living with us since July, right around the time of John Wells’s first birthday. The Elms is not a large house, as you know, and it has seemed all the smaller now that five people live there. Of course, that won’t last forever. Matthew has a new job in the College of Liberal Arts at Auburn University, and they have their eyes on a duplex. We have loved living with our grandson, who is the joy of my life—or as W.H. Auden said, he is

My North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song.

They told me it would be this way with grandchildren, but I could not imagine what they meant; now I know. Before the child was born, I saw “in a mirror dimly,” but now I see the love of God face to face in the face of a little child. Before I knew in part; now I understand fully, even as I have been fully understood.

Still, it has been pretty crazy recently at The Elms. Our big cat disappeared, probably because it was all just too much chaos for him. Then the manx cat knocked over the Advent candles in the dining room. Then Leigh arrived home from Birmingham with Ro-Ro, Margaret’s huge and gangly dog, a pooch that reminds me in no small way of Scooby-Doo. Ro-Ro runs through the house on a wild tear, and her tail beats the air, or shatters a piece of pottery, or a glass, or your glasses if you let her get too close. Then there’s Zita, the chihuahua, who is like Scrappy-Doo, except less happy and more yappy. Zita runs through the house barking at guests, at me, the cats, and any sudden noise or rustle of wind.

Yes, I mentioned “cats,” in the plural. Cats. I know. Advent is to be a season of quiet reflection and joyful expectation. How can I have a minute’s peace to close my eyes in my red chair and pray for quietness and simplicity, when I know that at any moment a lean and hungry house cat may claw my leg or jump into my lap?

But then, I have changed. Some cats I actually like. Well, one or two, as long as they live outside and pretty much stay away from me. But all other cats unhinge my sanity like half a dozen shots of Tequila, or a Freddy Krueger horror movie, or some mind-altering substance taken unawares. We have one of each.

So, let’s see … that makes four adults, a little boy, four dogs, and two or three cats—all under one roof. I was complaining the other day about the level of chaos swirling about me and Leigh said, “Well I don’t think Joseph whined about all the extra people and the animals, and they were spending the night in a barn!” I muttered something about one night in a barn couldn’t compare with four weeks of uninterrupted misery. She asked me what I said, and I replied, “Awww, nothing.”

So that’s quite enough complaining. I’ve asked you to remember the child in the last week of Advent leading into this Christmas Eve, believing, after all, that it is the child, the Holy Child, who defines us for who and what we are. We are followers of his Way. We are disciples of his teaching, and children of his Father. We are his North and South, his East and West, his noon, midnight, talk, and song. He gave himself for us, died for us all, and that is the only reason we can make such a wild claim on the Son of God.

But this claim is our North and South too, our East and West. In him we live and move and have our being, said Paul. Jesus speaks in the Revelation to John, and says: “I am the root and the offspring of David, the bright morning star.” This Jesus, the Christ, is the one whom we worship this holy night, the root and offspring of David, the bright morning star.

In truth, this eve of Christmas delivers to us at a most important time, a fullness-of-time moment, a truth that has defined time itself. All time before this night two thousand ten years ago, is known as B.C., Before Christ. All time since this night all those years ago, is reckoned as Anno Domine, in the Year of Our Lord.

The central and essential information at the heart of this and every Christmas Eve is the Child himself. He was with God, and he was God, from before the beginning of all time, but he came to us as Emmanuel, that is, “God-with-us.” It is the Incarnation that I am trying to show you.

Jesus was the Holy Child, the Son of God, the Messiah, and the Morning Star—but he was more than that. He was both fully God and fully man. Do you understand this? Jesus was God. In him, no longer was God to be unknown, faceless, and formless for us. No, he came to us in the form of a baby, an innocent child, and in that child we see all the grace and glory that comes from God. God is now with us, not distant and far away from us. He is Emmanuel. He is the Prince of Peace, and in him God is most pleased to dwell.

Christmas is the one time of the church year that we can simply rest in this assurance of God’s infinite goodness and mercy, without having to be reminded of the cost. It’s okay, believe me. We can remember the child, and in remembering the child, we understand ourselves as children of God.

Life will become very busy again, I’m sure. The New Year is almost here. Classes begin on the tenth of January. MLK is the following weekend. And our lives will again be filled with the rush and anxiety of this age. Let me remind you this night of God’s peace found in the face of the Holy Child. But God’s peace can also be found in the face of your own child.

We have baptized 11 children this year at St. Dunstan’s, and more new babies are on the way. Look carefully into the faces of these children and the face of your own child, and you will see strong evidence of God’s love. Hold your child or your grandchild in your arms and you will experience a holy mystery—that God loved the world, and all of us, and all of creation so much, that he gave his only Son to us. Amen.

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Sermon 636+December 26, 2010

766th Week as Priest

592nd Week at St Dunstan’s

Holy Baptism of Mary Alice Barley

Little Lamb.

Grace to you and peace, from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

It is my strong belief and conviction that every child—every person, for that matter, presented for the Sacrament of Holy Baptism, ought to be treated like royalty. That may sound surprising to you, especially if you come from a church or tradition different from this Anglican one. But, please, let me explain …

 From the beginning, it was God’s intent that human beings—men and women and boys and girls—would be created in the image of God. This does not refer to our bodily image, although I have no doubt that Mary Alice Barley is perfectly excellent in every way. No, the image of God refers to our spiritual being, those aspects of our being which, as St. Paul said, are excellent and worthy of praise. Our desire for goodness. Our striving for justice. Our capacity for mercy. Our need to help others. These are the aspects which are made, I think, in the image of God.

The birth of a child, as I am fond of saying, is “God’s opinion that the world should go on.” That’s the American poet Carl Sandburg, not my words, but I do like them and believe them.

The birth of a child is also cause for celebration and great joy in the Christian community, and in our family and with our friends and neighbors. I know that Mary Alice’s birth was greeted with great joy, and that for Benjamin and Rebecca their joy is made complete in her. She is, after all, a perfectly excellent baby. She sleeps all night. She is blessed with a quiet and gentle disposition. She is obviously intelligent, given the gaze of those all-knowing eyes—not to mention the gene pool from which she came!

Mary Alice is also innocent. In fact, it is impossible to imagine that she is in any way less than perfection itself; however, she will unfortunately dispel this otherwise sensible notion by her third birthday. Speaking of the innocence of a child reminds me of “The Lamb,” by the English poet William Blake. It seems to be the very picture of Mary Alice …

THE LAMB

By William Blake

Little Lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?
Gave thee life, and bid thee feed,
By the stream and o’er the mead;
Gave thee clothing of delight,
Softest clothing, woolly, bright;
Gave thee such a tender voice,
Making all the vales rejoice?
Little Lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?

Little Lamb, I’ll tell thee,
Little Lamb, I’ll tell thee.
He is called by thy name,
For He calls Himself a Lamb.
He is meek, and He is mild;
He became a little child.
I a child, and thou a lamb,
We are called by His name.
Little Lamb, God bless thee!
Little Lamb, God bless thee!

Mary Alice is not ready to take on the vows and promises of the Way of Christ. But her parents, her godparents, and her grandmother certainly are—and they willingly and completely do so this holy night. They will answer for Mary Alice, and they will promise most seriously that Mary Alice will be raised as Christ’s own, a child of the household God, like a royal heir to the House of David. And when she is old enough, Mary Alice will have the opportunity to take on these promises for herself, by herself, at her Confirmation.

It is also my strong belief and conviction that these Sacraments that we celebrate—and in our tradition there are seven: Baptism, Eucharist, Confirmation, Ordination, Marriage, Reconciliation, and Unction—serve to mark the “fullness of time” moments of our lives. I remember such a fullness of time moment on a very hot summer day at the Jule Collins Smith Museum a couple of years ago. It was the marriage of Benjamin Barley and Rebecca Hardy, and many of you were there that day. Rebecca was a beautiful bride; she seemed to glow with joy. I was sweating, like a horse rode hard and put up wet. It was a day of perfect beauty, in a place of perfect beauty, and if I may say so, some of my very best work—or more accurately, and appropriately, some of Christ’s own work.

This Holy Baptism is also Christ’s own work. He takes Mary Alice as his own. He holds her in his loving arms, never to let her go. His joy is complete, and so this night, our joy is complete as well. Amen.

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Sermon 633+Oct. 30, 2010



22nd Week after Pentecost
757th Week as Priest
583rd Week at St Dunstan’s

Counting Our Blessings

Grace to you and peace, from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

On a day like today, when we experience the brightest of blue skies, and the first frost of autumn, and we gather together as family and friends to celebrate new life, we should all be counting our blessings.

The first and best blessing that comes to my mind—and I’m sure to yours as well—is Josiah Rahn Monson. His is the new life we celebrate today, and his new life in Christ.

St. Paul told us time and again that we should two aims in life—to be in Christ, and to be a part of the Body of Christ. To be “in Christ” means to be willing to suffer with Christ, and to strive to become more and more like Christ in our daily life. To be a part of the Body of Christ, we must be part of the Christian community, which is the Church. We can be in Christ by ourselves, but we cannot be the Body of Christ without other companions in the Way, those who share our love of Christ, and with whom we break bread, offer prayers, learn the apostles’ teaching, and share fellowship.

I am indeed thankful for this Christian community and what it means to more than 200 students and friends. We are in our 91st year of active ministry to the Auburn University community, and in many ways I feel that we are only beginning. There is much work to do. There are many more students to reach with the message of Christ’s love and God’s saving grace. It is a particular blessing for me to be able to serve here as priest and chaplain.

We all count our blessings this day, and we thank Almighty God for the blessing of family and friends, of good health, and good food. We thank the Lord for the significant events of our lives together—for marriages, for births, and for baptisms. We thank God for the heroes who have gone before us, and who have made our nation and our people safe through their sacrifices. We thank Almighty God for the freedoms we share in this great country, and we count among them first the freedom to worship God as we choose.

The American poet Carl Sandburg said that the birth of a child is God’s opinion that the world should go on. Certainly the birth of Josiah Monson is evidence that the world should go on, and that in this little boy our joy is complete this day.

We offer him to our Lord Jesus Christ, beseeching him to make of Josiah a worthy servant, a wise and compassionate friend, a devoted son, and over time a righteous man. He will be raised in the Church and brought to know Christ, to love Christ, and to serve Christ. This, my friends, is the greatest blessing of all. Amen.

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Sermon 632+Oct. 24, 2010



22nd Sunday after Pentecost
757th Week as Priest
583rd Week at St Dunstan’s

Good to Great.

Grace to you and peace, from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

There’s an Auburn student majoring in Sociology who spends part of every Monday at Wrights Mill Road Elementary, helping kids to improve their reading, and focus their attention on important goals, and encouraging them to do their best in every area of life. Linda Tremaine, the principal at Wrights Mill, gave him the opportunity to be a part of the school’s mentor program. This allows the Auburn junior to work with children who need encouragement, either for academics or behavior. There are four fifth grade boys he works with individually. He talks with them about the importance of good behavior and always doing the right thing. He’s been doing this for quite some time, long before he was a famous college quarterback for the #1 ranked, BCS-bound Auburn Tigers, long before he was in the running for the Heisman Trophy.

But things haven’t always been that great for Cameron Newton. A few years ago, Cam bought a laptop computer at a very cheap price. He didn’t know it was stolen property, and he said later that buying the laptop was “the stupidest decision I could ever have made.” He made his apologies public and urged young people everywhere not to make the same mistake that he did. Those actions took a great deal of courage and character, at a time when many heroes and icons tend to show us their worst behavior—and either deny it or blame it on somebody else. Not Cam Newton. He has gone from disgrace to good to great, and I couldn’t be happier for him or for Auburn.

Cam was a virtual unknown before the start of this season. He signed with the University of Florida right out of high school, and then after the laptop case was closed, he fled to Texas and played a season for a junior college team in Brenham, which is halfway between Austin and Houston, in southeast Texas. It was a humbling experience for him, one that Cam says changed his life. Now at Auburn, Cam Newton says, “I plan to lead by example and bring others to play at their best.”

You probably know I’m not a big football fan. I much prefer the art and class of baseball over the brutal, head-bashing war of football. But I am profoundly impressed by Cam Newton and his coach, Gene Chizik. The Auburn coach’s new message to his team is “Good to Great.” If you walk into the Auburn Athletic Complex, these words, good to great, can be found posted up everywhere. The team wears shirts; the words are displayed for them never to forget their time is now to go from good to great.

They knew they were good. Auburn has consistently been a good football team over the years. But we haven’t been great very often. A 13-0 season here and there. A National Championship back in 1957. But seldom really great.

What’s the difference between being good and great? And what in the world does this have to do with St. Dunstan’s?

Well, if you study Cameron Newton, I think you’ll find some answers. He has known failure and defeat, and yet he has not allowed them to define him. He has made mistakes and exercised poor judgment, but they have not destroyed him. He has come back from adversity and loss, and he has remembered that his success has not been because of his individual gifts or skills alone. He has developed into a person of character and confidence, but he has always remembered to credit his coaches and his teammates for whatever success he has made. He is humble, and friendly, and possesses a winning smile and a great attitude toward life and other people. He is a hero to four 5th grade boys at Wrights Mill Road Elementary, and to thousands of others. These are a few of the differences between being good and great.

What it has to do with St. Dunstan’s is everything. We have been talking the last couple of weeks about the importance of making good decisions, and the need to focus our attention on what is truly important in life.

We have been through very difficult times as a Christian community—and we have known failure and defeat, individually and collectively—but we have not allowed these imposters to define us. We lost our funding from Holy Trinity in Auburn and St. James in Alexander City last year, about $5,000 gone. We have been hit with a string of disappointments over the past few years—burst plumbing, leaking ceilings, stolen property, vandalism by our neighbors, and increased costs of utilities—but we have not given up our hope and our commitment to this church and to each other.

We are truly, all of us, in this together. Whenever someone is pregnant, or has given birth to a new baby, or is being baptized, or getting married, we share their joy, and with them our joy is complete.

When someone among us is sick, or in need, or going through a difficult time, we all suffer, and we all share the adversity.

I went to see Fisher Martin last Thursday at UAB Hospital when Buck Marsh and I gave our presentation to Diocesan Council. And by the way, we received the full amount we asked for–$18,649 to repair our roofing and interior ceilings and walls. Anyway, back to the important topic of Fisher Martin. That little boy was doing great, gaining weight, and feeling very good. But this afternoon, Kerriann, Fisher’s mother, called to say that he must have two surgeries this week. One, called a debriment to remove infection around his wound; and the other to place a gastrostomy tube in his stomach. But little Fisher is a fighter, and he will not be defeated by these imposters either. His father, Dr. Chris Martin, wrote me last Friday. Here is part of what he said:

All of you, our friends and people of faith, have an incredible role and purpose in the returning health of this precious little lamb of God.  It is nothing short of awesome to know that at almost any hour of the day or night there is a friend or family member or maybe even a complete stranger to us who are constantly praying for our son.  One day he will know that all these people had such a great love for him and burden on their heart for his little life.  Thank you is not enough and there are no words to express the peace and power I feel as a result of your intercessions on behalf of our family.  Father Wells pointed out that he felt Fisher was the perfect name for him because he is a “fisher of men”.  So many people are being drawn closer to the Lord because of our beloved baby.

So, I urge you to continue to pray without ceasing for Fisher and his family. Pray, also, for our church and our people. As St. Paul told the Ephesians, “be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.”

Next week we will have a special celebration on the Eve of All Saints’ Day. We will sit at tables, reminding us of the early church. We will name those good things, those blessings, that we share as members of St. Dunstan’s. And I will ask you to make a promise that night, to give for the support of our common mission and ministry. This is a good church. It is time for us to become great—in the eyes of God and in the hearts of men and women and boys and girls. Amen.

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Thanks to the Auburn University web site for good information about Cam Newton. Wells+

Sermon 627+August 15, 2010

12th Sunday after Pentecost
Celebrating the Feast of St. Mary the Virgin
August 15, 2010
747th Week as Priest
573rd Week at St Dunstan’s
Visiting Priest at Christ Church, Arcadia Pretoria, South Africa

The Person of Mary.

Grace and peace to you, from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

The Theotokos.

There is one remarkable person in all of human history who lived a life of such great humility and radical obedience to God that she was chosen to be the Theotokos, the God Bearer. Her name was Mary, and she was probably about sixteen years old at the time, a young woman living in the village of Nazareth in rural Galilee. She had been engaged only a little while to a man named Joseph, when the angel Gabriel came to her and said, “Hail, O favored one, the Lord is with you.”

Do Not Be Afraid.

In the words of Luke’s Gospel, Mary was “greatly troubled and considered what sort of greeting this might be.” She was terribly afraid and completely stunned by the angel’s appearance—because he said, what angels always say—“Do not be afraid.” But then Gabriel said something altogether new and different: “Mary, you have found favor with God.” Furthermore, he said that she would bear a son, “and you shall call his name Jesus.” Gabriel said that the Child would become great, and he would be called the Son of the Most High, and he would sit on the throne of David in an everlasting kingdom. In the Book of Genesis, Sarah laughed when the angel told her she would have a child. But then Abraham and Sarah were in their nineties at the time. Zechariah was struck speechless when Gabriel visited Elizabeth with similar news, just before the angel appeared to Mary. But Mary responded differently in her encounter with the holy: “Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word.” Though she had no husband, the Holy Spirit would come upon her and the power of the Most High would overshadow her, and she would bear a holy child, the Son of God. She was a human being who became the Mother of God, the one person who stood in so close a relationship to God the Son, that she must, of all the people who have ever lived, have the place of highest honor in the kingdom of heaven. Accordingly, we honor Mary and we look to her life as an example of humility and obedience to God. She was with Jesus in his most impressionable years. She was his follower, and she was present at his Crucifixion. After he was raised from the dead, Mary was with the disciples in the upper room, waiting and praying until the coming of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost. She was the Mother of Jesus, and we all know a mother’s influence on her son …

 A Mother’s Influence.

Fifty years ago, my brother Jim sat on the floor of the kindergarten room at Vacation Bible School, coloring a picture of Noah’s Ark. His teacher, Miss Grace Wright, knelt beside him and said, “O, Jim, what a wonderful drawing! Do you think you’d like to be an artist when you grow up?” “Oh, I don’t know,” replied Jim, “I guess I’ll be whatever my mother decides.” Our mother thought Jim would be a doctor or a lawyer, but never an artist. He decided, instead, to study literature at Yale University, and he is the head of the English Department at Washington and Lee University, and the author of several books.

I don’t remember deciding what I would be when I grew up … I sort of fell into different careers along the way. Twenty years ago, my wife Leigh and I were visiting her parents in a nearby city. I saw a photograph and story about her old boyfriend, Steve Woodie, in the Advertiser-Journal. “Look at this, Leigh!” I said. “Your old boyfriend, Steve Woodie, has been promoted. Now he’s the supervisor of the city garbage department!” I was convulsing with laughter and self-congratulations. “Just think, Leigh,” I said. “If you had married Steve Woodie, you’d be married to a garbage man now, instead of a bank president and a priest!” “No, Wells,” she said. “If I had married Steve Woodie, he’d be the bank president and priest.”

The Anglican-Roman Catholic International Commission.

Representatives from the Anglican Communion and the Roman Catholic Church have been meeting since 1965 in an international commission to find common theological ground. Their most recent statement is entitled, “Mary: Grace and Hope in Christ.” Divisions over the Virgin Mary were clearly drawn in the Reformation, and extreme Protestants were outraged by any special notice or noble status given Mary. “Our Lady” and the “Queen of Heaven” were considered blasphemy to the Puritans, whose special joy it was in the Cromwell years to destroy the statues, icons, vestments, and crosses of England’s cathedrals and abbeys.

Developing Marian Doctrine.

From the Middle Ages to the present age, the Roman Church has adopted practices of Marian doctrine extending beyond belief in the Virgin Birth … The first of these dogmas or doctrinal statements is the Immaculate Conception. This dogma states that the Virgin Mary was born without the stain of Original Sin. Next is the belief in the Perpetual Virginity of Mary. The premise is that Mary had no other biological children besides Jesus, although the “brothers of Jesus” are mentioned throughout the New Testament. The third dogma is called the Dormition of Mary in the East, or the Assumption of Mary in the West. The belief is that Mary did not die, but was taken up into heaven. It is true that Anglicans and Episcopalians have been “making a larger space for Mary in their liturgy and devotions,” but these extra-Biblical beliefs are not considered necessary to salvation, at least not in our Anglican tradition. But there is a wideness in God’s mercy, and there is a wideness in our Beloved Church.

The Via Media.

Anglicans and Episcopalians typically find themselves standing theologically somewhere in the wide middle, the via media or “middle way,” between Catholic and Protestant, and claiming to be both orthodox and reformed. In this middle way of thinking, the Blessed Virgin Mary is nothing more or less than the most extraordinary of persons. Her full humanity, her complete humility, and her total obedience are all that God ever needed of Mary—and she responded to God “at the fullness of time” with faithfulness and trust, and God found favor in her.

Heresies and Creeds.

Jesus Christ, the Son of God, is both fully God and fully man. His true and physical birth came from Mary, in every sense a human woman. Thus, Jesus is truly of our human substance, as well as being of the same divine substance as God the Father and God the Holy Spirit. This is the emphatic statement of both the Apostles’ Creed and the Nicene Creed. The Nicene Creed was finalized early in the Fourth Century AD at a Church Council to defend the Orthodox Faith against two principal heresies—Gnosticism and Arianism. There were some in the early Church convinced that Christ was not truly human, only that he appeared to be. In reality, they said, he was a purely divine and spiritual being. These Gnostics believed there was special, spiritual and hidden knowledge available only to the inner circle of “true believers.” The other heresy was Arianism, the belief that Jesus was Perfect Man, but in no way divine. There was an insidious logic to Arius’s theology, but it was based on the belief that much of the Gospel was misreported and misunderstood—and the belief that Jesus was perfect, but he was not the Christ. Fully God and fully man: This is the foundation of our understanding of the Incarnation of Jesus Christ, of Emmanuel, of God-with-us.

The Fullness of Time.

St. Paul described this moment as “the fullness of time.” The world as we know it would never be the same Anno Domine as it was Before Christ. And we remember this day the most extraordinary of human beings, the Blessed Virgin Mary, and we celebrate her faithfulness, her humility and obedience to God. She is the Mother of Jesus Christ, who bore him in her womb and brought him into the world at the fullness of time. “The fullness of time” is a concept that we ought to see as operative in our own lives—the point at which God brings great change into our lives, and he hopes we will respond with humility and obedience. God opens a door for us. He breathes new life into an old institution. He brings new life into a family. He brings favor to us. “Let it be to me according to your word,” said Mary. “Let my soul magnify the Lord, and my spirit rejoice in God my Savior.” Amen.

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Sermon 629+August 22, 2010

13th Week after Pentecost
748th Week as Priest
574th Week at St Dunstan’s
Welcome Night 2010

On a Mission from God.

Grace to you and peace, from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

A year ago, the Episcopal Church completed a strategic plan that called for a new focus on mission and ministry. Top of the list was this one:

The Church needs to see campus ministry and young adult ministry as the most important evangelism and mission area there is. It is where our culture is the most dynamic, most committed, most culturally diverse.

The Year of Mission is our theme and direction for this academic year at St. Dunstan’s. The original idea for a Year of Mission came from Dr. Norbert L.W. Wilson, one of our Faculty Advisors and a candidate for the ordained ministry of Deacons. Clearly, the work of campus ministry and young adult ministry is our top priority—and has been for the past 91 years!

Eleven years ago, when Leigh and I arrived at St. Dunstan’s for the start of the academic year, this Christian community identified an annual theme or spiritual direction for Auburn’s campus ministry—and we have continued to do this each year:

2000-2001      The Year of Restoration
2001-2002      The Year of Celebration
2002-2003      The Year of Spiritual Journey
2003-2004      The Year of Community
2004-2005      The Year of Growth
2005-2006      The Year of Fellowship
2006-2007      The Year of Agapé 
2007-2008      The Year of Renewal
2008-2009      The Year of the Word
2009-2010      The Year of Discovery, and now for
2010-2011       The Year of Mission

Lately, we have been brainstorming about mission work that we have done and hope to do as the Episcopal Church at Auburn University. Here are a few ideas that have surfaced:

Our Missionaries to China: Maegan Collier and Jaime Burchfield
Alabama Rural Ministries and “Bike Across Alabama”
The Veterans Home in Southside Opelika
The East Alabama Food Bank
Education for Ministry (EfM)
The Annual Martin Luther King, Jr. Celebration
The Friends of Jimmy (12 Step)

But what I want to do tonight is to focus on your personal mission work. Think of it as being “On a Mission from God.” That’s a quote, by the way, from a 1980 movie titled The Blues Brothers, starring Dan Ackroyd and John Belushi, which, now that I think about it, came out well before almost all of you were born. Anyway, “On a Mission from God.” That’s our focus this year.

In tonight’s gospel lesson, Jesus gets in trouble with a synagogue leader for healing a crippled woman in the middle of his teaching lesson. Jesus laid his hands on her and said, “Woman, you are set free from your ailment.” In our own Anglican tradition, healing is one of the seven sacraments of the Church. But in Jesus’ day, the Pharisees outlawed such activity on the sabbath. The writer of Hebrews really had it right, however. Our God is not a rule book. He is a consuming fire. Jesus was telling them that the sabbath was made for us—as a gift, a blessing from God. Not to punish people with violations, restrictions, and penalties. Back in the day people would get stoned to death for picking up sticks, or cooking, or whatever. I think Jesus is telling us today something much more important, and much more personal. On your mission from God, whatever that is, people will doubt you from time to time. They will misinterpret or misunderstand what you’re doing and why you’re doing it. They will not believe that you are on a mission from God, or that God’s is calling you in any way. But do not doubt yourself. Just continue to be faithful.

Furthermore, if God is your strong rock (as the psalmist tells us he is), and a castle to keep you safe, then don’t worry about approval or disapproval of your mission work. Just keep on doing it. And don’t worry about getting to heaven, or going to hell, for doing your mission work. Remember that Christ has already conquered sin and death. All sin and death. Your sin and death. Concern yourself instead with living a life that is worthy of Christ. Keep your eyes and your heart on the mission.

But because we are receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, we must also realize that God means serious business. God takes your life seriously—and what you do with it. Realize that God is asking you right now what the poet Mary Oliver asks:

Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

Realize that your one wild and precious life is of infinite importance to God—even if you don’t think it is, even if you don’t care about your life, your purpose, your mission in life. God cares. And God will not leave you alone. He will keep coming after you, bringing you back home on his shoulders. And you will find no peace and no rest until you rest in God.

So we return to the concept of Sabbath and our deep need to rest in God. Jesus was not condemning the Sabbath or a day of rest. He was telling us to observe the day of rest, but don’t let it become a restriction. Do whatever has to be done that day. Bend or break the rules if necessary, but do Christ’s own work. That may mean feeding the hungry, or healing the sick, or any number of small, unremembered acts of kindness and of love.

But remember yourself, too—your soul and body. How can you function without rest, or sleep, or healthy food and drink, or exercise, or the continual process of learning, or the daily discipline of meaningful work? In 1930, the agrarian poet John Crowe Ransom wrote about work in a way that carries much meaning for us today. He said:

The first principle of a good labor is that it must be effective, but the second principle is that it must be enjoyed. Labor is one of the largest items in the human career; it is a modest demand to ask that it may partake of happiness.

It is God’s good pleasure that your mission in life would partake of happiness and purpose. But you must decide to choose and accept them—or not. It is our mission and our responsibility to get up—with God’s good help—and do what needs to be done.

So what exactly is your mission and your responsibility this academic year? First let’s realize that we may have one main mission or purpose in life, but we all have many responsibilities. That means we’ve all got to learn to multi-task. And it also means seeking balance for your life. It means setting priorities, using your time and talents and your resources wisely and well.

The members of 12 step programs know that you’re in big trouble if you let yourself get hungry, angry, lonely, or tired. That’s when you have to stop—to HALT—and think about what you’re doing and why you’re doing it.

Just a week before Leigh and I left for South Africa, I was going to run home on a Sunday afternoon for about an hour. It was three o’clock and the Compass Bank clock read 102 degrees. I had just pulled out of the church driveway and was in front of 17-16, when a guy and a girl were crossing the street. (By the way, it seems that students and locals alike all disregard traffic laws. They jay-walk and pull across on-coming traffic to park, and don’t stop at yellow lights or stop signs—like we’re in an old Andy Griffith episode and we live in Mayberry.)

But back to the story: The two of them were crossing the street, when suddenly the girl collapsed in the middle of Magnolia Avenue, like she had been shot by a sniper. I stopped my car and asked, “Is she sick?” He ignored me and pulled her to her feet. “Do you want me to call for help?” “Naw,” said the guy. “She’s just drunk.”

On a Sunday afternoon. How can this happen? Sadly, I think this kind of thing happens over and over to people who have forgotten how important and precious and fragile life really is. They’ve lost their balance and their common sense and their mission in life. Or they just don’t care.

I don’t want you to be like this. Your life is of infinite importance to God, and it is of infinite importance to me as God’s servant and as your priest. You have a mission and it started on August the 18th. I want you to go to class every day, and study every day, and sit on the front row, and meet with your professors at least twice during the semester. I want you to be successful, and healthy, and happy in your work. I don’t want you to become hungry, angry, lonely, or tired. I want you to make the most of your one wild and precious life. I want you to come with me, with all of us, on a Mission from God. Amen.

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Sermon 628+August 21, 2010

12th Week after Pentecost
747th Week as Priest
573rd Week at St Dunstan’s
Marriage of Craig Eugene Bertolet and Anna Vladimirovna Riehl

At Long Last, Love.

With apologies to William Shakespeare, T.S. Eliot, W.B. Yeats, Boris Pasternak, Simon and Garfunkel, Frank Sinatra, Felix Mendelssohn, and the Commissioner of Major League Baseball.

Grace to you and peace, from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

There once was a man who had his books and his poetry to protect him. Shielded in his armor, safe within his office on the top floor of Haley Center, he laughed and punned and changed the subject with amazing skill. He was a rock and he was an island. And we believed that he would remain so throughout the remainder of his scholarly, solitary life.

But he was not done, and although I am not Donne, I can say with conviction that

No man is an island, entire of itself,
every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main.”

Do you remember the scene from Doctor Zhivago when Yuri and Lara see each other again at the ice-covered farmhouse in the Russian countryside? Do you recall how beautifully the sun shone on the snow and ice, and how lovely Julie Christie looked in that fur coat?

Well, the weather here is nothing like that. We are as far from snow and ice as once could imagine. But this is love more than any movie, book, poem, or song. And if I may quote Sinatra, “it is love at long last.”

Our Lara is a Russian beauty just as lovely in wedding dress and no fur coat, and though our hero is more like C.S. Lewis than Yuri Zhivago, “A woman would run through fire and water for such a kind heart.”

All this snow and ice reminds me of T.S. Eliot’s “Little Gidding.” Which begins with that image of “The brief sun [that] flames the ice, on pond and ditches, In windless cold that is the heart’s heat,” This poem always makes me think of my own mentor and English professor, Dr. Ward Allen.

But now I am more drawn to the end of the poem, where Eliot concludes that

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.

Anna and Craig have been making separate journeys in order to arrive at the remarkable intersection of their lives, what we tend to call “holy coincidence” here at St. Dunstan’s. It all may appear arbitrary and random, but we know it is not. The journey has guidance and purpose, although it is seldom realized until after the fact, when we arrive where we started—that is, seeking and finding purpose, meaning, clarity, relationship, at long last love—and knowing it for the first time.

Not that Craig and Anna have been running in circles all this time. After all, they are accomplished scholars in their own right—a medievalist and a Shakespeare professor. Well, Craig may have been circuitous in his own navigations, returning time and time again to his beloved England—but they have each been making a separate journey, at times “such a long journey, at times the ways deep and the weather sharp, The very dead of winter.” A little more Eliot, if you please, but a journey nonetheless, a journey to each other.

The image of a journey is central to the sacred stories of our faith and to the great works of our literature. Mr. Shakespeare said that “Journeys end in lovers meeting.” Imagine a set of stairs, if you will, or As You Like It …

No sooner met but they looked;
No sooner looked but they loved;
No sooner loved but they sighed;
No sooner sighed but they asked one another the reason;
No sooner knew the reason but they sought the remedy;
And in these degrees have they made a pair of stairs to marriage.

The simple truth is that we need each other. We need the help and support of another person. We need comfort and understanding. A shoulder to lean on, to cry on. We need to share our lives, our laughter and joy, our prosperity and adversity. This, I believe, is God’s best intention for Anna and Craig, and for us all.

We know this essential truth about ourselves from one of the earliest of the sacred stories. The LORD God creates man, takes one good look at him, and says, “It is not good for the man to be alone.” Not good at all.

We need each other. Craig needs Anna. Anna needs Craig. Life goes on, and gets better, and God has said from the beginning that this is very good.

Let me tell you a secret about the three essential elements of a lifelong, life-giving, healthy relationship—and they are not a cup of tea, Mendelssohn, and tenure. In fact, you may want to be taking notes.

The first of these essential elements, to no one’s great surprise, is romance. Here I mean love as W.B. Yeats described it,

I had a thought for no one’s but your ears:
That you were beautiful, and that I strove
To love you in the old high way of love;

Here I admit, freely and openly, that I am a hopeless romantic. There, I said it. I believe in the love that is a consuming fire. I believe in the love at whose name we grow quiet, or as Mr. Shakespeare said, “Speak low if you speak love.” And I believe in long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days.

That last one is a quote from Annie Savoy in the baseball movie classic Bull Durham, not the Song of Solomon, but then we all know that baseball is not only God’s favorite sport, it’s also poetry.

The next essential element is friendship, but you probably guessed that already. Not a casual or convenient friendship. Not fair weather or I’m outa here, but an enduring and deep relationship based on trust and mutual respect. In this modern world we tend to discount friendship in favor of prenuptial agreements and one-night stands, but I stand, instead, for friendship. Here is the measure of friendship amidst the tempests of life: to be able to say that “I would not wish any companion in the world but you.”

And the last of the essential elements? Well, this may come as a surprise. Marriage requires nothing less than a complete, unqualified commitment. That’s all. Just a complete—and completely unqualified—commitment to the other person. In sickness and health. In life and death. “The courses of true love never did run smooth,” so we must make that deepest and strongest of promises in marriage, the kind of promise that lasts for a lifetime.

So, Craig and Anna, we love you and in our love for you our joy is complete. “Now join your hands, and with your hands, your hearts.” Amen.

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Sermon 625+July 18, 2010

Eighth Sunday after Pentecost
743rd Week as Priest
569th Week at St Dunstan’s
204th and Last Week at St Matthew’s in-the-Pines

The Day of the Lord.

Our Old Testament lesson is taken from the Book of Amos, one of the twelve Lesser Prophets of the Hebrew Scriptures. We heard the first oracle or prophecy from Amos last week. He described a plumb line that the Lord was using to measure the righteousness of Israel. Now we hear that the Lord has placed a basket of summer fruit before Amos. This really puzzled me, so I went to the Interpreters Bible Commentary, a twelve volume set of dense and difficult books that priests and preachers use when they don’t understand the scriptures. Or they should use the Commentary, because otherwise they might be making it up. Here’s what I found: The Hebrew word for summer fruit is almost the same as the Hebrew word for “The End.” Just like what you would see at the end of an old movie or Bugs Bunny cartoon. However, the End refers to the Day of the Lord, a time of reckoning and of judgment.

The prophets all seem to have this vision of the end times in common. They see it as a day of darkness and gloom. Jeremiah calls the Day of the Lord a “day of vengeance.” The great prophet Isaiah says that “the day of the LORD comes, cruel, with wrath and fierce anger, to make the earth a desolation and to destroy its sinners from it.” Ezekiel says, “the day of the LORD is near; it will be a day of clouds, a time of doom for the nations.” Joel says, “The sun shall be turned to darkness, and the moon to blood, before the great and terrible day of the LORD comes.” Obadiah, Zephaniah, Zechariah—they all warn Israel of the coming of the Day of the Lord.

Everything up to this point has been sackcloth and ashes. The people are judged by God and they will be sent into exile, cast out in every place. Wandering, starving, dying of thirst, the People of God are getting exactly what they deserve—the end has come. It’s a terrible and terrifying picture, isn’t it? No forgiveness, no mercy, no possibility of “just one more chance.” It reminds me of the people on street corners and university campuses, yelling that the end is near, repent now. There used to be a sign on the highway between Fayette and Jasper that read, “Repent Now … This is Your Last Chance!” We saw the sign for years, on Highway 278 just before you saw the Concrete Christ. It was a statue of Christ, standing in front of a Lawn & Garden Supply store, larger than life, with his arms and hands outstretched, in a gesture of welcome and acceptance.

There have always been groups of Christians who live in great fear and dreadful anticipation of the Day of the Lord. They believe in the medieval predictions of Nostradamus or Hal Lindsey. They thought that Y2K was not only going to be the end of all computers, but also the end of all creation. They have Sunday School classes on the Book of Revelation and find “proof” of the end times in the fall of the Soviet Union, earthquakes and hurricanes, oil spills and economic collapse. These “millennialists” have always been on the fringe of the Christian faith. They find that a message of fear and doom is very effective in convincing people to get “saved” through a public profession of faith in Jesus Christ. Then those who are “saved” live in a constant state of guilt and shame and self-loathing for things done and left undone.

I have to wonder what this message really has to do with the love and mercy of our Savior and Lord—the One who has conquered sin and death through his atoning sacrifice on the Cross of Good Friday.

Malachi, the last of the prophets, said something new: “Behold, I will send you Eli’jah the prophet before the great and terrible day of the LORD comes.” He was saying that the way of the Law was coming to a conclusion, that there is light at the end of the tunnel. Jesus himself said that John the Baptist was Elijah, the prophet, returned to announce the coming of the Messiah. And Jesus was that Messiah—and more: He was the Son of God, the Prince of Peace, Wonderful Counselor. He was Emmanuel, which is literally, “God is with us.” The old measures and metaphors of plumb lines and baskets of rotten fruit no longer apply. We live in the Day of the Lord, the Age of the Holy Spirit, and we know that the Kingdom of God which Jesus promised is coming into the world. We get occasional glances of this Kingdom of God. Brief opportunities to know that God is truly with us, and that we are indeed living in the Age of the Spirit. The birth of a child, an unexpected act of kindness, an experience of love and forgiveness, a baptism, the celebration of Holy Eucharist, a day of great joy and happiness—all of these and countless more are reminders that Christ has conquered sin and death, and that through Christ we live with a sure and certain hope—that we will be raised with him to new life.

St. Paul told the Colossians of this “hope of glory.” He called it “the mystery that has been hidden throughout the ages,” but he knew that Christ was one with the Father, and that he was “before all things” and that “in him all things hold together.” Much of this life is mystery. We can explain very little about our natural world—from the core of the Earth’s center to the farthest reaches of distant solar systems. But we live without fear. We live with unconquerable hope—because we know that “in Christ all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, and through him God was pleased to reconcile all things to himself.” Or as Julian of Norwich wrote, “All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.” Amen.

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Sermon 624+July 11, 2010

Seventh Sunday after Pentecost
742nd Week as Priest
568th Week at St Dunstan’s
203rd Week at St Matthew’s in-the-Pines

Plumb Lines and Living Stones.

The first time my family visited St. Michael’s Episcopal Church in Fayette was in 1982, before Margaret was born. We moved there from Montgomery so I could work at the local community college and begin work on a PhD at The University of Alabama. We weren’t even sure that there was an Episcopal Church in Fayette, but we were sure we wouldn’t be moving there without one.

There was no “Episcopal Church Welcomes You” red-and-blue sign. There was no phone number in the Fayette phone directory. But we found it. The church was still under construction, so we wandered into the nave and found a string hanging from one of the rafters all the way down into the middle of the little chancel. A handwritten note at the end of the string read “Bill and Herb: Be sure to take your empty beer cans home with you. Mark+”

That was Mark Johnston, now the Executive Director of Camp McDowell. In Mark’s previous vocation he was a carpenter (imagine that, a priest who is a carpenter!). He and the parishioners built the church. Yes, they hammered the nails and sawed the boards and hung the sheetrock. They painted and plumbed and ran the wiring. The women of the church built the stone foundation, as Bill Yon said, perhaps the only time in Christendom it has ever happened.

St. Peter wrote in his first letter, “Like living stones be yourselves built into a spiritual house.” This was the literal truth about St. Michael’s in Fayette. They are, to this day, living stones built into a spiritual house. St. Michael’s is a small church in a small town, but those characteristics are of no real consequence. It is a place of living stones, still being built into a spiritual house.

Our sacred stories abound with images of building—of plumb lines and cornerstones, temples and palaces, living stones used to construct a church, and even our own bodies as temples of the Lord.

Amos and the prophets often referred to “the House of Israel,” and they often urged the people to get their house in order, to clean house, to sweep out the old and broken ways, and to set things right with the Lord. It happened many times in their history—in covenant renewals, in the reading of the Book of the Law, and in the cleansing of the Temple. Surely the same idea can apply to our own lives and circumstances. In this present Age of Anxiety we can all think of ways in which our own house needs repair and restoration.

St. Dunstan’s leaks again. Don’t be too worried about it. I was lamenting the leaks one day and Mary Belser said, “Wells, this church has been leaking for all of the fifty years I’ve been here.” But every time our bishop comes to visit, he invariably points out what we already know and tells me to fix it. He places a plumb line against this spiritual house and measures our righteousness. That’s what a bishop does.

We have seven areas of damage in our roof and ceiling where water finds its way during every hard rain. You’ve no doubt seen them—in the McDowell Room, the offices, the sacristy, the stairwell—and perhaps you’ve even set a down a bucket or two to catch the water. Thanks, especially to Matthew and the Church Mice.

But we are working on the problem, and we will continue to do so until the House of the Lord is dry and clean and set in order. We have money set aside for the immediate repairs, and a little more for the full restoration. We’ll have to ask Carpenter House for help, but after all, it’s a good cause.

Unlike St. Peter, the prophet Amos wasn’t really speaking of a literal building. His concern was for the hearts and minds of God’s people. Their lives were confused and filled with chaos. At the crossroads of the known world, Israel would be conquered at various times by the Assyrians, the Philistines, the Babylonians, the Persians, the Egyptians, and the Romans. They were enslaved in Egypt and cast into exile in Babylon. Their great temple was destroyed twice, and ultimately never built back. Today all that is left is a crumbling western wall called the wailing wall. On the site of the Temple now stands a Muslim mosque.

There are several lessons to be learned about the story. The plumb line that Amos refers to is a measure of righteousness: “See,” says the Lord, “I am setting a plumb line in the midst of my people Israel.” They are measured, judged, by YHWH and found to be untrue and dangerously off center. The plumb line shows that their workmanship has been faulty and their house, their lives, their world, looks like it may all come crashing down.

They have forgotten what should be at the very center of their lives, and they have wasted their time and talents, their energy and their abilities, on things of no consequence. They have made a mockery of all they have built, and “things fall apart, the center cannot hold.” (W.B. Yeats)

The same happens with us, in our own day and time, when we forget the plumb line. It applies to our lives as well as any building. The plumb line is the sacred stories themselves, teaching us how to live and showing us the path of righteousness. The plumb line is Christ, giving us the measure of a perfect life and showing us our deep need for the love and grace of God.

How does the plumb line measure your life? What would you honestly say about your own workmanship? Like the young lawyer in Luke’s gospel, we know the measure of our lives. Not rules and laws. Not sacrifices and services. No, the measure is the Great Commandment:

“You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself.”

If we truly love God in this all-encompassing way—with our full self—heart, soul, strength, and mind—then the church is at the very center of our lives, and we are those living stones built into the spiritual house.

If we devote occasional attention or divided loyalty to God, we know the measure of the plumb line: our lives are partitioned and anxious, overloaded with empty activity, signifying nothing.

My old friend Ken Fields said once, “All God wants of you is a complete, unqualified commitment. That’s all.” Nothing more. And nothing less. Amen.

Sermon 621+June 20, 2010

Fourth Sunday after Pentecost
739th Week as Priest
565th Week at St. Dunstan’s
200th Week at St. Matthew’s in-the-Pines
Visiting Priest at Church of the Good Shepherd in Decatur
Holy Baptism of Evelyn Kate Morris
Infant Daughter of Matthew and Rachel Morris

The Sound of Silence.

IN THE LESSON FROM FIRST KINGS the prophet Elijah has demonstrated the power of God—whom the People of Israel call “YHWH, the Jealous God of the Desert.” Elijah’s God defeats the Baals of the Canaanites, which after all are not gods at all, and King Ahab’s 450 prophets of Baal are put to death by Elijah’s sword. Now he must run for his life; Elijah must flee from the wrath of Ahab and his evil Queen Jezebel. Jezebel’s threat is real: She vows to kill the Lord’s prophet within a day’s time—and anybody who knows Queen Jezebel knows she means it!

ELIJAH FLEES into the wilderness, and is befriended by an angel—who for once says, “Get up and eat,” instead of “Do not be afraid.” Elijah is strengthened by the angel’s bread and the Spirit of the Lord, and he is able to travel 40 days and nights to the holy mountain of Horeb, about 200 miles south of Ahab’s palace. There he finds a cave and spends the night—certain that he is far enough away from Ahab and Jezebel to be safe from their vengeance—at least for the night.

BUT YHWH has a different idea. He wants his prophet to return to Ahab and Jezebel, and to stand up to them once again. In the middle of the night, the word of the LORD comes to Elijah, saying, “What are you doing here? Go outside and stand on the mountain and wait to see what happens.”

HERE’S WHERE THE STORY gets really interesting. Elijah the prophet is standing on the side of the holy mountain, waiting for the LORD to pass by. Everybody knows that you can’t look YHWH directly in the face. Everybody knows that you can’t stand in the LORD’s presence. It’s just too much to handle—even for the prophet Elijah.
 
SUDDENLY there is a great wind, so strong that it is “splitting mountains and breaking rocks in pieces.” But Elijah realizes that the LORD is not in the wind. After the wind comes an earthquake, but again, the LORD is not in the earthquake. After the earthquake there is a fire, but the LORD is not in the fire. All of these phenomena are demonstrations of God’s mighty power, but they are not God himself. It’s an idea as old as the Creation itself: God is the Creator of everything that is, and we are his creatures—earth, wind, fire, plants, animals, and human beings.
 
THEN THERE IS THE SOUND OF SHEER SILENCE. Those are the words to describe God’s presence in the New Revised Standard Version of the Bible, the translation we use each week in Episcopal worship. From an earlier time, the King James Bible calls it “a still small voice.” I like them both, and I think that both translations are helpful to our understanding of the sacred story—and the holiness of God.

THINK OF THE LAST TIME you heard the still small voice of God. Perhaps it was the time you were waiting for the birth of a child. The American poet Carl Sandburg wrote that “the birth of a child is God’s opinion that the world should go on.” Or maybe you experienced the sound of sheer silence in a time of quiet meditation or prayer—something I’m afraid we do too little of and too infrequently. Have you ever walked into this church in the middle of the week and simply sat in the quiet, listening? What you hear is the sound of sheer silence. Or consider the last time you observed a full “day of rest.” It’s called the Sabbath, and it’s the fourth commandment in the Book of Exodus. “Honor the Sabbath and keep it holy.” It is supposed to be a full day of rest, of quietness, of the sound of silence. It is both a gift from God and a commandment from God. Not a general guideline or a suggestion, rather a commandment. Listen to the silence. Listen for the still small voice of God.

THE PAINFUL TRUTH is that we have precious little of the sound of silence in our lives. Instead we watch television or go to the movies. We play the radio in our cars, or talk on the cell phone, or text. We surf the Internet or check our Facebook page. We twitter. We play Wow! And Wei and all kinds of loud video games. We are surrounded by noise. And if we want to escape the noise and chaos always around us, we listen to our iPod. But nobody, it seems, listens to God. Nobody takes an unplugged walk in the woods, or a full day of rest.

OUR LIVES ARE FILLED UP—with work, school, meetings, organizations, sports, driving, texting, talking, getting and spending and laying waste our powers, attending the daily chaos of modern life—but we are too busy, too frantic, too anxious to listen to God. Two centuries ago, the English poet William Wordsworth spoke of being quiet and listening for the divine voice:

“With an eye made quiet by the power of harmony, and the deep power of joy, We see into the life of things.”

I BELIEVE that if we really did honor the Sabbath, cut off the noise, pray and sit quietly in the “beauty of holiness” as our Prayer Book says, that we actually might begin to see into the life of things. If we were to put aside the busy-ness of our daily lives for some amount of time each day, and attend to the still small voice of God calling us to see into the life of things, we might actually pay more attention to the quality of our own lives.

THE IRONY is that our quality of life should be the very best of any human beings in the history of the world. Americans in the 21st Century enjoy the benefits of technology, personal freedom, law and order, excellent health care, nourishing food and clean water, vacations, sick days, and a longer life expectancy. Our life is so terrific, or it should be. Instead, we are citizens in an Age of Anxiety.

JESUS WAS MET by first one demon and then another, when he stepped ashore at the country of the Gerasenes. “We are Legion,” shouted the wild man living among the tombs. Despite our wealth and possessions, our therapies and nutrition plans and medications, we are as beset by demons as any people in any age. Our demons don’t have pitchforks or horns. They don’t wear red pajamas, but they are every bit as dangerous and destructive. They are the “diseases of affluence,” the demons of addiction, heart disease, cancer, depression, anxiety, bipolar disorder, PTSD, obesity, domestic violence and child abuse, and the list goes on.

NOW I’M NOT SUGGESTING that we abandon modern medicine for exorcism, or anything of the kind.  What I am suggesting is that it is no small wonder our lives are characterized by noise and chaos and anxiety when we so seldom listen for the sound of sheer silence, for the still small voice of God.

IN BOTH CASES –after Elijah hears the whispering voice of God, and after the demoniac is healed by Jesus—they are called to action. “Go, return on your way,” YHWH tells Elijah. “Return to your home,” says Jesus, “and declare how much God has done for you.”

I BELIEVE that the words of Holy Scripture are never completely written until they are written in the pages of our own lives. These stories tell us something important about our own circumstances and situations. Just like Elijah the prophet, so are we called—to listen for the voice of God. Just like the demoniac, we are called to accept Christ’s healing love. Just like his Apostles of the First Century, we are called to carry the Good Shepherd’s message of grace and peace to a hurting world. Amen.

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The Rev. Dr. John Wells Warren