Sermon: C Easter Day 31 March 2013

Is 65: 17-25; Ps 118; 1 Cor 15:19-26; LUKE 24: 1-12

Alleluia! Christ is risen! The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia! Amen.

“Welcome happy morning age to age shall say.” And so we arrive at the real 

Easter Morning, the 4^th day of a three-day sequence. Parishes that do glorious Vigils, as we do, have some inclination to skip Easter morning, because it has already become Easter; they’ve sung “Jesus Christ is risen today;” and what more is there to do to welcome the risen Lord. We began this service with a Procession for this reason. While the parishes that do Vigils have done processions, and readings, and drama, and darkness and light, and more, Easter morning is still Easter morning, and Easter cannot be observed with less moment than the other two major Church festivals of Christmas and Pentecost. Whether or not a Vigil was held doesn’t impact those people for whom Easter happens in the early part of Sunday morning. The great Triduum, the great Three Days don’t include Sunday, because Sunday is always Sunday and always a feast to remember and relive Easter, especially on …Easter. Easter morning can never be an afterthought to the Vigil, nor simply zipped through. Easter is at least Easter, especially on—Easter.

C Easter Vigil 2013

 Alleluia! The Lord is risen! The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

If, in the Genesis first reading by the third Day of Creation, we have not demonstrated clearly that this great liturgy is different from all others, surely that tonight’s Sermon is listed on page 18 should be a definitive clue. This liturgy is not designed around a balance between the Liturgy of the Word and the Liturgy of the Table. This Liturgy is more like a family reunion party after not seeing each other for a while. Everyone needs to hear our grandparent’s, our ancestors’ family stories, enough of them to recognize themselves as part of the family. We want to push those old voices along too, but the stories remind us, who we are, where we came from, what makes us a community, and to where we’re traveling together. That story, one made of so many stories, takes time and listening, time and feelings, time and mystery, time and beauty.

Sermon: C Baptism of Our Lord 13 January 2013

Is 43: 1-7; Ps 29 1-11; Acts 8:14-17; LUKE 3: 15-17, 21-22

Gracious G*d, grant that those baptized into your Name may keep the covenant they have made. AMEN.

This morning we celebrate three distinct occasions, all connected through the presence and revelation of Jesus Christ, and also each connected to us in the here and now. First it’s the season of Epiphany, the season of light, when each week someone or some group understands that this baby, this particular person, is, in some way, in such close relationship with G*d that he made and makes real, an experience of G*d, with G*d, to those who are in these weekly stories. Second, the Sunday after the Epiphany is always the baptism of Jesus, and so we’ve heard that account. Since it’s Epiphany Season and the Baptism of Jesus, the Church has selected this as one of the liturgical dates appropriate for baptisms in the church. We are honored and blessed to be baptizing two children Theo Gray and Arthur Patrick Watson to welcome them into the church, this congregation of St. John the Evangelist, this parish of the Episcopal Church, the larger Anglican communion, and the whole Christian community—and with the human family reaching towards a connection with the eternal and Holy.

meditation for the Epiphany “Arise, shine, your light has come.”

A couple of my neighbors plaster over their entire houses each Christmas with so many lights and  blinking Santas and glowing nativities that it’s like having a little bit of Vegas on my way home each night. Others have just a string of colored lights around their porch, or electric candle decorations in their windows.

All these thousands of years later, even in the form of all this cheap plastic and LED spectacle, I find profound hope knowing that humans have not lost their instinct for following the light. The wise men found the Christ by no magic or special knowledge other than this: the entirely primitive, entirely human fascination with lights in the sky. We share this instinct with almost every other living creature on earth, including plants and algae. We find God by doing what life does: looking for the light, and growing toward it. And behold, in awe, along with the Magi: the source of all light, shining in the darkness, is here. Arise, shine, your light has come.

Leonart Bramer: Journey of the Three Magi to Bethlehem. Credit: Wiki Commons. Click on the image to enlarge.

Sermon: B Last Pentecost Proper 29 King of kings 25 November 2012

2 Sam 23: 1-7; Ps 132: 1-13; Rev 1: 4b-8; JOHN 18: 33-37

Grant, O God, that all may be brought under the most gracious rule of your Belov’d Son, King of Kings AMEN

Chip our seminarian, who defines a providential gift as a Field Ed person, is graciously being our parish musician this morning. He was a good sport about giving me apt travel music, from Messiah, “King of kings and Lord of lords, and he shall reign forever.” Some of the music for Jesus as King and Lord, is some of our most familiar and favorite, even if on careful word-checking, we’re less enthusiastic about some of the ideas that go with such august positions as King of kings. The kingly images in music are ones that have leapt out at me this week, rather than visual ones.

Meditation for Proper 23 - October 14th: “Who can be saved?”

Who among us has not, at least once, like Job, railed to God about the unfairness of life, complained about an apparently undeserved trouble, as if our own good deed ought to exempt us from difficulty or entitle us to an uninterrupted stream of obvious blessings?

Mark’s follower of all the rules, recipient of many of those obvious blessings, was also so seduced by and reliant on possessions that he could not forfeit them even to secure eternal life.

    

Who can be saved?

    

All. For with God all things are possible – mercy and grace for all who but ask -- demonstrated through Christ’s presence among us, acquainted with our need, ready to heal even the blindness of the 1% crying, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” into the void created by their own abandonment of trust in the Lord.