For Absalom

On Sunday, February 12, Episcopal Churches across the country commemorated the Feast of Absalom Jones, the first person of African descent ordained a priest in the United States. 

Absalom Jones from a portrait by Raphaelle Peale.

In 2021, the Episcopal Church, under the leadership of our Presiding Bishop Michael Curry, in an effort to live into its call of racial reconciliation, established the Absalom Jones Fund to provide scholarships to the only two Historically Black Colleges and Universities in the country founded by the Episcopal Church: St Augustine’s University in Raleigh, and Voorhees University in Denmark, SC. These institutions, as Bishop Curry pointed out in his pastoral letter that went out last month, are training Black leaders of the future, who will go forth and build a more just and equitable society for all of God’s children in the spirit of Absalom Jones, who understood that education was the key to empowerment.

But who was Absalom Jones? When I asked that question of my parishioners on Sunday - a church filled with white faces - I could count on one hand the number of folks who had even heard his name before. I’ll admit that I wasn’t familiar with his story until I was a seminarian, but it’s a story that highlights both the wonderful and the heartbreaking aspects of the Episcopal Church and its heritage. In observance of his feast day, my parish honored Absalom Jones by designating our offering on Sunday to go to the Absalom Jones Fund, and the Church as a whole share his story this week, let us pray that we be bold in our mission to live into those baptismal promises to seek and serve Christ in ALL persons and to proclaim by both our words and our examples the Good News of God in Christ, because Blessed Absalom did just that.

His story began in Sussex County, Delaware when he was born into slavery on November 7, 1746. It could’ve ended there, as it did for so many others who have gone nameless, but God had other plans. 

He was named Absalom after King David’s most favored son from the Second Book of Samuel in the Hebrew Bible. But where the biblical Absalom’s story ended in tragedy, this Absalom persevered. He managed to learn how to read with the New Testament as his main resource. At 16 he and his mother, sister, and five brothers were sold to a farmer, who turned around and sold Absalom’s mother and siblings and promptly moved, with Absalom, to Philadelphia. Like so many other families ripped apart by American slavery, they were never reunited. 

Absalom was permitted to attend a Free School; that is, a nighttime school run by Quakers, which is where he learned more fully to read and write. Once the door had been opened, Absalom proceeded to kick it down. He continued to read and to educate himself as much as possible, even when he was sold once again to a man named Wynkop – who was listed as a member of the Vestry of Christ Church, Philadelphia. Around the same time he was sold again, Absalom married a slave girl by the name of Mary King – who was owned by a neighbor of Mr. Wynkop - on January 4, 1770. 

Adelphi Free School in what is now the Chinatown district of Philadelphia.

By 1778 Absalom managed to purchase his wife’s freedom during the height of the American Revolution. The law stated that children took on the status of their mother, so if a woman was enslaved, so was the child. So for the sake of his future children, Absalom made sure his wife would be free, even while he continued to be enslaved. Six years later, after Absalom wrote to him and perhaps inspired by some of the radical ideals of this new United States of America, Mr. Wynkop manumitted Absalom- which is the process of freeing enslaved people by their enslavers. Absalom then took the surname ‘Jones,’ which, according to one story from a PBS report in 2009, was as an indication of his fully American identity.

As was often the case, the Church served as the source for hope and the promise of freedom for so many enslaved peoples. Absalom had been involved in the Methodist Episcopal Church, which was founded in 1784 as a new denomination by Francis Asbury and Thomas Coke. He served as a lay minister at St. George’s in Philadelphia with his friend Richard Allen, and together they established the Free African Society to aid in the emancipation of slaves and provide education, food, and other resources for newly freed Black folks. As a result, the Black membership of St. George’s exploded.

Richard Allen, friend and colleague of Absalom Jones, who would go on to found the AME Church.

You can probably guess what happened next. The white parishioners were uncomfortable that all these new folks would upset their establishment, and so the Vestry voted in 1792 to force Black worshippers to the balcony without any prior notice; and when Absalom, Richard, and others came to worship and sat in their regular pews, they were tapped on the shoulder by the ushers and told they had to go upstairs to worship. They all promptly walked and never came back. 

You might wish this was a kind of one-off situation, especially since it was a northern church, but the truth is that tensions were high around that time after the first General Convention of the Episcopal Church in 1789, where Methodists and Black Episcopalians were each hoping to have seat, voice, and vote at the Church’s governing body, but both were turned away. The result was that the Methodist Church became its own full-fledged denomination – and the largest in the country – and many Black folks decided the Episcopal Church was not for them.

Absalom and Richard wanted to found a church for Black folks where they wouldn’t have to acquiesce to racist conditions. The result was First African Church in Philly, which they founded in 1792, the same year they walked out of St. George’s. While Richard wanted it to be a Methodist congregation, Absalom sought approval from William White, the Bishop of Pennsylvania and first Presiding Bishop, to admit them into the Episcopal Church. It was and became known as the African Episcopal Church of St. Thomas, with Absalom serving as lay leader while he studied for ordination to become the church’s rector. Richard Allen, meanwhile, founded the African Methodist Episcopal Church that same year and became its first bishop in 1816. The two of them remained lifelong friends and collaborators.

The current version of the African Episcopal Church of St. Thomas in Philadelphia.

In 1802 Absalom became the first African American to be ordained a priest in the United States. As rector of St. Thomas he was known as a great preacher, and some white folks even said he had hypnotic powers over his congregation. He started a tradition of preaching an anti-slavery sermon on New Year’s Day, and when the Constitutionally-mandated end of the African slave trade occurred on New Year’s Day, 1808, he preached what he called a ‘Thanksgiving Sermon,’ which was published and brought him renown throughout the country. He took part in petitioning Congress on multiple occasions to end the Fugitive Slave Act of 1793, which not only forced runaway slaves back into bondage but often resulted in free men and women being kidnapped and sold into bondage in slave states – think of the film 12 Years a Slave. He decried the legislation and called for “some remedy for an evil of such magnitude.” Despite his pleas on the moral and ethical ground that God abhorred such an institution, each of his petitions failed. 

Absalom continued to be an outspoken advocate for the abolition of slavery as a whole for the remainder of his life and a fixture in Philadelphia, helping to found day schools for Black children because they weren’t permitted to go to public school with white kids. He never stopped dreaming, praying, and working for the Beloved Community that he heard Jesus call people to build, all the way to his death on February 13, 1818. He is interned at the current edition of St. Thomas Church.

In the section of the Sermon on the Mount that we heard in church on Sunday, Jesus reminds the people that it is not enough to simply follow the letter of the Law, especially if the spirit of the Law is neglected. White folks in Absalom Jones’ time followed the letter of their own Law, both when they enslaved his family and when they forced him and others to worship in their church balconies. It is not enough for us to simply look at the way things are and say, “Well, that’s just the way it is and nothing can be done.” Absalom Jones didn’t do that. He may not have lived to see the full abolition of his people, but he never stopped working toward that goal. He didn’t look at the way things were and said it was fine, instead he looked at it all through the lens of the Gospel of Jesus, which called him then, calls us now, called those folks on the mount who listened to Jesus, to dream of something different, to lives of transformation and reconciliation. To do that means to tread through troublesome waters, to tell hard truths, to be hurt by folks you thought cared. It is no easy task, which is why nearly everyone eventually abandoned Jesus. But blessedly, Jesus never abandons us. He never abandoned Absalom Jones, or Richard Allen, or Martin Luther King, or anyone else who has stood up for full rights and privileges and freedoms of all God’s children.

I may look out in my own congregation and see a church full of white folks, but that doesn’t mean this feast day shouldn't matter; in fact, I’d say we white folks desperately need to take part in it. We need to hear Absalom’s story and those of all of our Black siblings who have been wounded by the Church but whose love for Jesus has endured. We need to admit our own blindspots, especially in times when we’ve just been following the rules instead of embracing one another. We need to hope and work for a time when Sunday mornings are not the most segregated hour in America. This day is for all of us, in the sure and certain hope that the dream of Jesus, the dream of shalom for all God’s people, can and will be achieved. We will do it, with God’s help. Blessed Absalom Jones, pray for us. 

Preserve & Illuminate

'Jesus said, “You are the salt of the earth; but if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything, but is thrown out and trampled under foot.

“You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid. No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.

“Do not think that I have come to abolish the law or the prophets; I have come not to abolish but to fulfill. For truly I tell you, until heaven and earth pass away, not one letter, not one stroke of a letter, will pass from the law until all is accomplished. Therefore, whoever breaks one of the least of these commandments, and teaches others to do the same, will be called least in the kingdom of heaven; but whoever does them and teaches them will be called great in the kingdom of heaven. For I tell you, unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.”'

--Matthew 5: 13-20

When I was growing up, my mother would sing to me and my dog as we nodded off to sleep. She kept this practice going until I was roughly 10 years old. One of the songs she would sing most often, sitting in the little rocking chair that now sits in our home, was This Little Light of Mine. I can still hear her particular cadence and the way she sang it, and to this day it feels like everyone else is singing it wrong if they don’t hit the notes and pitch that she did! It’s a sweet little song that has stuck with me, and I loved that we’re sang it as our closing hymn this past Sunday

This Little Light of Mine is a song whose words are lifted straight from our Gospel text this week, this section of the Sermon on the Mount in which Jesus admonishes the people listening to him to be “salt of the earth and the light of the world.” It’s such a well-known piece of the Gospel that the line “let your light shine before others” is imprinted on the back of our parish's t-shirts, and I’ve very often used it at the bidding of the offertory in our worship services. There are, though, a couple of things that Jesus says regarding salt and light that don’t really make sense, but by digging into them we get a clearer understanding of Jesus’ message to that crowd on that mount, and to all of us now.

Jesus first wonders what would happen if salt lost its taste. Well, that’s a good question, Jesus, because it’s not scientifically possible. Salt cannot lose its taste; it cannot lose its saltiness. He then points out that no one allows a light to lose its shine by putting it under a bushel basket – and there’s that adorable moment in This Little Light of Mine when we go “Hide it under a bushel? NO!! I’m gonna let it shine!” It’s an usual image because nobody would even think of putting a candle or oil lamp under a bushel basket because it would just set the bushel on fire! Maybe some folks in the crowd were left scratching their heads at these two somewhat ridiculous illustrations, but this is Jesus at his best, using hyperbole and absurd examples to get his point across. 

And that point is this: that salt and light cannot lose their properties, they cannot not be what God made them to be and do what God made them to do without devolving into something else. If salt lost its taste, it’s not salt anymore. If a light were snuffed out, it’s not light anymore. And YOU, Jesus says to the crowd, you are the salt of the earth, you are the light of the world. You folks that I’ve just told are blessed of God – you hungry, meek, merciful, reviled peacemakers – you are the salt of the earth and the light of the world, and like salt and light, you cannot not be what God made you to be or do what God made you to do. 

What God made them to be – and made us to be – is disciples of Jesus. What God made them to do – ad made us to do – are the actions of Jesus. And so, like that crowd that so eagerly listened to Jesus, if we are to be his disciples, then we must, like Jesus himself, season the world with love – like salt – and illuminate the world with grace – like light. When we cease to do these things, we cease to be disciples of Jesus. Like salt that has lost its saltiness or light that has lost its shine, we would devolve into something else. Call it what you want, but you can’t call it Christian. This is the lesson of the salt and the light. 

There is one significant element of being salt and light, of being disciples of Jesus, and that is being in right relationship with God and with one another. This is the reason Jesus follows up the metaphor of salt and light with a quick lesson on the Law. Many have looked at Jesus and seen a person – seen a rabbi, an authority figure – who disobeys the Law. He doesn’t follow kosher, doesn’t wash his hands, doesn’t obey the Sabbath, interacts with women, heals foreigners, and he’ll eventually be publicly executed, which, according to the Law, accounts him as accursed. But Jesus makes clear that he has not come to abolish or trample on the Law at all, but instead he has come to fulfill it. How? By his very person, his very presence, his very example of how to live in right relationship with God and others. This is again where salt and light work as a teaching tool for Jesus because salt is a preservative, and those who were so zealous for preserving the Law had forgotten how to be in relationship with others, they had put the Law above people and forgotten the important lesson that the Law was made for people, not the other way around, and while they wanted to preserve the Law’s letter, Jesus was more interested in preserving its spirit. For Jesus is the very light of the world that had come to illuminate the Law, and he calls them – and us – to remember that when life becomes more about obeying the rules than it does about people and their sorts and conditions, then we have sinned – that is, we have missed the mark, the literal meaning of the Greek word amartia, which is the archery term that our Scriptures translate as sin. 

How we live in relationship with God is reflected in how we live in relationship with others. How we love others is reflected in how we love God. This is what being salt and light – both preserving and illuminating – are all about, and Jesus will circle back to this point near the end of the Sermon on the Mount when he reminds them in Matthew 7, verse 12 that the whole Law is summarized in the commandments to love God and love neighbor – what we call the Golden Rule. If it sounds like a big responsibility, well, it kinda is. How do we keep up being salt and light and loving others and God all the time, when we ourselves get tossed and turned by the raging storms of life?

Fortunately, we can remember that it really isn’t up to us, so long as we can let go and let Jesus do his thing. That's what grace is all about, after all. Jesus tells us to let our light shine, but have you noticed that there is only one person in the Gospel who ever literally shines? That’s Jesus when he’s up on Mount Tabor and is visited by Moses and Elijah and the voice of God says, “This is my Son, listen to him!” That moment is the Transfiguration, and we’ll hear about it once again on the Sunday before Lent begins. Jesus is the only one who has ever truly shone with the divine light, so it’s not up to us to be “on” all the time or try our damndest to be the best possible Jesus follower there ever was, to be the tastiest salt and brightest light, we just let him do the work through us. Our light can only shine in the context of Jesus, when we allow him to shine through us, when we let go of our own egos and our own need for control and let Jesus take over. It’s kenosis, the Greek word Paul uses for emptying oneself, or what my spiritual director calls “spiritual surrender,” and it is the key to fully integrating our lives into that of Jesus.

We can preserve the gifts of the past while illuminating a new way forward, and we can be in right relationship with God and each other, and we can do all these things because it's Jesus who is doing it all in us and through us. Honestly, we cannot help but be both a preservative and a beacon for the future because, like Jesus points out, salt can’t lose its taste and light can’t lose its shine without no longer being salt or light. We Christians can’t stop loving God and others, we can’t stop doing the work of Jesus to create Beloved Community that looks more and more like the Kingdom of God, and we can’t stop putting people above institutions and powers and principalities without no longer being Christians ourselves. So be the salt and season this world with love. And let your light, the Christ light that is in you, let it shine, let it shine, let it shine. 

Divine Blessedness

'When Jesus saw the crowds, he went up the mountain; and after he sat down, his disciples came to him. Then he began to speak, and taught them, saying:

“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. 

“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. 

“Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth. 

“Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled. 

“Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy. 

“Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God. 

“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God. 

“Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. 

“Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you."'

--Matthew 5: 1-12 (The Beatitudes)

Another pop quiz: What is the longest teaching of Jesus in any of the Gospels? It’s the Sermon on the Mount, and it spans three full chapters in the Gospel of Matthew, from the start of chapter 5 to the end of chapter 7. That’s a pretty long sermon, I gotta say. Folks in my parish get restless if I start to hit the 15 minute mark; I can’t imagine what it was like for Jesus’ audience!  

Icon of The Sermon on the Mount.

Here's the the scene: Jesus has gone atop a hill – or a mount – near the sea of Galilee. It didn’t even have a name at the time, and if you go there today it’s simply called the Mount of the Beatitudes. This huge crowd gathers around to hear him speak, and he takes his position – not standing on a rock or in a makeshift pulpit. Instead, he sits down because that’s what teachers and philosophers in the ancient world would do when they wanted to make a point that everyone should listen to. And this whole scene is intentional, with Jesus going atop this rather simple hill and offering a teaching that directly mirrors Moses going atop the mighty Mount Sinai and giving the Law to the newly freed people of Israel. More than a few times in the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus will emulate Moses, the Law-Giver, and teach his people just as Moses did, which might be why Matthew is often called the “teaching Gospel.”

Jesus begins his sermon, not with commands, but with declarations of Divine Blessedness – this is where the Latin term ‘Beatitude’ comes from, it literally means Divine Blessedness. In the crowd are probably a few wealthy folks, maybe even some Roman soldiers or temple officials, but for the most part the crowd consists of poor folks who are desperate to hear some good news. And this is what they got:

Blessed are the poor in spirit.  That is, those who find their identity in true relationship with God, not in material possession or self-aggrandizing. Yours is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are those who mourn, those who know what it is like to lose, who understand the extraordinary teacher that is suffering.  You will be comforted.

Blessed are the meek.  This is straight out of Psalm 37, verses 9 and 11 In our lexicon meekness is associated with gentleness or passivity, but that’s not what is meant here.  Rather, Jesus is saying blessed are those who have a sense of humility, those who do not give in to the “futility of unyielding anger” as Preston Epps put it, even in the face of overwhelming power like Rome. You will inherit the earth with your meekness, which is a means of non-violent resistance against the very powers and principalities who use their military might and political prestige to gain even more power.

Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness; that is, actively doing the will of God. This isn’t a foolish hope, but a deep desire to see the Kingdom of God come on earth as it is in heaven. Blessed, then, are those who strive for righteousness, justice, and equality—not just for themselves but for others—and do so with the same passion as one who feels the pains of hunger and thirst.  Those folks who desire and work for God’s righteousness with that kind of abandon will have their hunger filled.

Blessed are the merciful.  If you want to get mercy, you have to show it.  If you want to be forgiven, you have to forgive.  The measure given will be the measure gotten back. Such as these will receive mercy.

Blessed are the pure in heart; that is, those whose motivations are unmixed, clear, and undivided by agenda. Blessed, Jesus says, are those of you who speak up for others or do some kind of good, not because you’re gonna get something in return, but because it’s simply the right thing to do.  God, after all, sees not our outward actions but the motivations of our heart – remember the story of when David was chosen as King. Those with pure intensions will see God, Jesus says.

Blessed are the peacemakers.  Did you know that the Roman Emperor wasn’t just called Son of God, but also Peacemaker? Ironic, given that such peace – the Pax Romana – was achieved through brute force and domination. Jesus is a new kind of peacemaker and Son of God, who works through acts of mercy in anticipation of God’s own actions of mercy when the Kingdom comes in its fulfillment. It’s not passive – Jesus himself turns over the tables when necessary – but it is direct, and is about facing, naming, and confronting the evils of the world. In our own day we need to be reminded of that.  Making peace is not about accepting things because we are afraid of the trouble of doing something, but making peace is about actively facing things, even when the way to peace is through struggle.  These are the ones who will be called Children of God.

Blessed are those who are persecuted, who have understood that the path to peace often results in struggle.  Theirs will be the Kingdom of Heaven. 

Blessed are any of you, he tells the crowd, when people revile you, those of you who have lost family, friends, or jobs because you dared to seek God’s righteousness and be a peacemaker. Blessed are the members of the Church (with a capital C) who know such persecutions.  Those persecutions are inevitable because the Church, when it really is the Church, is bound to be the conscience of a society.  

And there you have the Beatitudes. Did you notice the verbs Jesus used? No shoulds or shouldn’ts – or thou shalts and thou shalt nots. The verbs are conjugations of “to be” – “Blessed are you..” and “You will…” So many of us get caught in the web of should that we get stuck and miss the bigger message. The Beatitudes are not commands to be followed but declarations to be responded to. Who among you needs to know that you are blessed, especially when everyone else seems to declare you cursed? Who are the poor in spirit, the meek, the mourners, the ones who long for righteousness, the merciful, the pure in heart, the peacemakers, the persecuted, and the reviled reading this message right now? Hear Jesus call you what you are: blessed! 

Loads of psychological studies have shown that children need to hear 10 affirmations for every negative comment. Maybe that’s why Jesus gives 10 pronouncements of Divine Blessedness in this sermon. We become what we are named, whether children or adults. Call someone bad long enough and they’ll believe it to their core; same goes for if you call them blessed. These are pronouncements not just for the crowd who heard them – and those who hear them still – but a reminder for the hearers to be doers and to pay these pronouncements of Divine Blessedness forward.

Much has been made of the debate around the Ten Commandments being posted in public places. But what if we publicly displayed Jesus’ version, these declarations of the blessedness of God upon the very ones to whom the world does anything but bless? If we are to heed the words spoken by the prophet Micah – to do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with our God – then doing so looks like living into the Beatitudes ourselves, both as those who need such blessings and as those from whom such blessings can come.

You Have to Lose, So You Can Win

'Now I appeal to you, brothers and sisters, by the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, that all of you be in agreement and that there be no divisions among you, but that you be united in the same mind and the same purpose. For it has been reported to me by Chloe’s people that there are quarrels among you, my brothers and sisters. What I mean is that each of you says, “I belong to Paul,” or “I belong to Apollos,” or “I belong to Cephas,” or “I belong to Christ.” Has Christ been divided? Was Paul crucified for you? Or were you baptized in the name of Paul? I thank God that I baptized none of you except Crispus and Gaius, so that no one can say that you were baptized in my name. (I did baptize also the household of Stephanas; beyond that, I do not know whether I baptized anyone else.) For Christ did not send me to baptize but to proclaim the gospel, and not with eloquent wisdom, so that the cross of Christ might not be emptied of its power.'

--I Corinthians 1: 10-18

'As Jesus walked by the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon, who is called Peter, and Andrew his brother, casting a net into the sea—for they were fishermen. And he said to them, “Follow me, and I will make you fish for people.” Immediately they left their nets and followed him. As he went from there, he saw two other brothers, James son of Zebedee and his brother John, in the boat with their father Zebedee, mending their nets, and he called them. Immediately they left the boat and their father, and followed him.'

--Matthew 4: 18-22

In the summer of 2018 my wife Kristen Leigh and I set out on our honeymoon/pilgrimage/research trip to Greece. We visited Athens and Sparta, took a boat to Ephesus to see the cave of Thecla, and prayed in the Cave of the Apocalypse where Saint John was exiled on Patmos. And that’s a sampling. 

The newly minted Mitchell's at the monasteries of Meteora in June, 2018.

But the most relevant piece of that trip to my blog this week was when we stopped in Corinth while driving around mainland Greece. Corinth is a really cool town, nestled in the hill country, and as we all know, it has a big role in the story of Christianity, with St. Paul writing to the people there more words than he wrote to any other faith community in any other city; in fact, I Corinthians is the earliest known piece of our New Testament, dating to around the year 40 AD. Paul wasn’t alone, either, as Clement of Alexandria also wrote to the church there, and his letters nearly got included in the canon of Scripture. It must’ve been a pretty significant town and been a thriving Christian community. Not exactly. While walking around the ruins of the old city, I came across a placard that read: “The apostle Paul preached the Christian gospel here unsuccessfully!” Seriously?! You’re trying to tell me that Paul failed?! In a way, yeah, yeah he did.  

The reading for this week from the beginning of the First Letter that Paul wrote to the Corinthians hints a bit at why his message failed. There are divisions, fractures, within the community, the natural human instinct of falling into camps, into tribes, into us and them. Some are saying, 'I belong to Paul,' while others are saying, 'I belong to Apollos' or Cephas (that's the Greek name for Peter), or Christ.  Why make that distinction, and who cares?

It's important to remember that members of these early Communities of the Way, as they were called, had mostly been baptized by the same person.  So you can see what ends up happening:  one group gets baptized by one person, another group by another person, and eventually the groups begin to bicker and argue, saying, "We're more important than you because so-and-so baptized us."  Yes, this was a real argument!  Theologian William Barclay surmised that those who said, 'I belong to Paul' were the Gentile converts, the ones who said, 'I belong to Apollos' were the Greek philosopher types, and those who said, 'I belong to Cephas' were likely the Jewish members of the congregation.  As for those who said, 'I belong to Christ' Barclay suggests that these are your run-of-the-mill fundamentalists who believed that they, and they alone had it all figured out.  As the character Marty Huggins says in the under-appreciated 2012 comedy The Campaign:

Did Paul really think that he was going to convince this ridiculously diverse community to get on the same page? Maybe, or maybe he just thought he could plant a seed and that someday, long after he was gone, they’d figure it out. Or they wouldn’t. God would decide. 

There is a call for unity in Paul’s letter, a call to make Christ their only identifier. We are in the middle of the International Week of Prayer for Christian Unity, which runs from Wednesday, Jan. 18 to Wednesday, Jan. 25.  It was begun by the World Council of Churches, a body literally made up of people from every single recognized Christian denomination, and has been a thing for 115 years. But how many of you knew about this week’s observance, or even of the WCC’s existence? I’ll admit I hear about it from time to time but I never remember to mark the occasion in church because it’s not something mandated by our diocese or the presiding bishop. I’m a servant of the hierarchy, what can I say? 

And while we’re at it, can we even say that the prayers have worked? Has the council achieved a greater sense of unity? The 20th and 21st centuries have not only seen further splintering within Christian bodies – including our own Anglican Communion, and more recently with our siblings in the United Methodist Church – but also the number of folks who identify as “nones” – as in “I’m a part of NONE of the churches” – or “spiritual but not religious” has skyrocketed since the Council was formed in 1908. Is any of this working? Is any of it relevant? 

I believe those are the wrong questions to ask, and I believe Corinth and the work of Saint Paul among those people show us why. For starters, the example of Corinth helps us to remember that there was never a time when the church was truly unified. Any notion that we need to “get back” to the way things were in the original church – not like there ever really was a single, original church – breaks down when someone reads that placard in Corinth or hears this letter. Paul died – was martyred, in fact – having tried in vain to get people behind this crazy notion that God not only stepped into the world but died, rose again, and in so doing redeemed all creation. But if you go to Cornith now, all you’ll find are Christian stores. And you’ll find at least 20 different Christian churches, including the amazing cathedral located in the town centre where Kristen very nearly got into a wreck because people in Greece drive like maniacs! 

Corinth Cathedral of Saint Paul

If you go there now, you'd swear that the placard in the ancient city was wrong. In his lifetime, Paul WAS considered a failure, but that was never the point. The cross, after all, is a stumbling block, it’s foolishness. It looks like the end, a failure, but it’s the means to life. You have to lose, so you can win – as Elton John once sang.

Brothers and sisters, Christian churches are terrified of losing, of failure. They’re terrified of losing members and pledges – or as a clergy colleague says, “butts in the pews and bucks in the plate.” In their panic that look at their neighbors to see what’s working for them, ignoring what’s actually going on in their own communities. They try to find the perfect program or gimmick to “bring in the young people,” the perfect minister to preach sermons that will captivate everyone and offend no one. They try so desperately to solve the problems they face from the outside-in that they never actually talk to people and meet them where they are. They forget exactly what Paul said to the Corinthians, that it’s Jesus and Jesus alone that matters. Nothing else. The harder they try to hang on, the faster they die – or to paraphrase Princess Leia, “The more they tighten their grip, the more folks slip through their fingers.”

That’s because the answer – and yes, there is an answer – is Jesus. It really is that simple. It’s not all that other stuff that identifies us, causing division – this is what happened in Corinth And it’s not programs or worship styles or any other outward stuff. It’s Jesus and the simple invitation to know and follow him. The Gospel for this week tells the story of how Andrew, Simon Peter, James, and John came to follow Jesus. And in case you weren’t paying attention, he didn’t promise them anything. No gimmicks. Just an invitation to follow him. That’s all it is, really. It’s actually that simple. An invitation. Sure, an invitation to come to church on Sunday – when was the last time you invited someone in your neighborhood, or even a complete stranger to come to church with you – but even more so an invitation to be in relationship with other people - which is what "fish for people" means, not to hook folks and bring them into the church doors! It's just about being in relationship with people and seeing where Jesus shows up in it; after all, the glory of God is a human being fully alive, and when two or three fully alive humans get together, you better believe Jesus is in the middle of that, and you can count on something amazing happening, even if we can't see it with our eyes! 

But it’s not up to us. It wasn’t up to Paul to fix Corinth and make it work there, and it ain’t up to us to fix anything now in our own church communities. Just let the Gospel be enough. Let Jesus be enough. It might look or feel like failure. But like Paul, you have no idea what seeds you’re sowing, what God will do long after you’re gone. In the end, God always decides, and that’s really all that matters. 

Looking For Your Real Name

Bible quiz time, kids!  What are the first words spoken by Jesus in the Gospels?  Each one records something different.  In the earliest Gospel, which is Mark, Jesus says, after his baptism and time in the wilderness, “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent and believe in the good news.” In Matthew, he reassures his cousin John it is proper for him to be baptized, so that they may, as Jesus puts it, “fulfill all righteousness.” Luke’s Gospel takes it back a few years and has a 12-year old Jesus calm his worried parents when he goes missing in the Temple after a festival, asking them, “Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?” And this week, we get Jesus’ first words as recorded in the Fourth Gospel, the Gospel of John:  “What are you looking for?”

'The next day John again was standing with two of his disciples, and as he watched Jesus walk by, he exclaimed, “Look, here is the Lamb of God!” The two disciples heard him say this, and they followed Jesus. When Jesus turned and saw them following, he said to them, “What are you looking for?” They said to him, “Rabbi” (which translated means Teacher), “where are you staying?” He said to them, “Come and see.” They came and saw where he was staying, and they remained with him that day. It was about four o’clock in the afternoon. One of the two who heard John speak and followed him was Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother. He first found his brother Simon and said to him, “We have found the Messiah” (which is translated Anointed). He brought Simon to Jesus, who looked at him and said, “You are Simon son of John. You are to be called Cephas” (which is translated Peter).'

-John 1: 35-42

I imagine those two disciples running after Jesus like a dog chasing a car, not sure what they'll do if they ever catch up to him. And then they stop when Jesus takes notice of them. Probably in shock and awe, they hang on his every word. Then he asks the question, “What are you looking for?”

That’s quite a question to chew on, isn’t it?  What about if you were walking along a trail or the sidewalk and you bump into Jesus? Might you be tongue-tied, flabbergasted even? And then HE looks at YOU, and asks, “What are you looking for?  What, in your wildest imagination, would you say?  What, broth-ers and sisters, are you looking for?

What was Andrew looking for when Jesus first asked him the same question? What was his brother Simon looking for when Andrew brought him to meet Jesus? There is a wonderful scene in the graphic novel Marked by Steve Ross. Now, Marked may be a retelling of the Gospel of Mark, rather than John, but Ross puts a version of this moment in the story, nonetheless. Here, Jesus meets Simon and Andrew in their boats. He looks at Simon and says to him, “I will give you what you’ve been looking for.”  “Oh yeah?” says Simon, not even looking up from the nets, “What’s that?” Jesus says, “Your real name.”

How he gets the name is different in each Gospel retelling, but they all agree: Jesus bestows upon the fisherman Simon bar Jonah the Aramaic name ‘Peter,’ which in Greek is ‘Cephas.’ In both languages, the name means ‘Rock.’ 

Where I come from, everybody had a nickname. If you were an athlete, that was especially the case. My teammate Justin Sturgill was both Stu and Sturge. Crickett Adams, a basketball star at Pound High School, got her nickname because of her size. Big R got his name because, well, he was big and his given name started with R, whatever it was. The late, great Arvil Pilkenton, everyone knew as Ox until the day he died just last month. There’s a shiny nickel in it for anyone that can find out what mine was! In most all of those cases, the nickname supplanted the real one, long after anyone re-membered why the name existed in the first place. In a manner of speaking, it became their real name.  

Rock doesn’t just become a nickname for Simon. It becomes the name by which he would be known forever. On some level, whether conscious or not, that’s what Simon wanted when he met Jesus. He wanted his real name, his real self, the self that Jesus already knew. He wanted to be his most authentic and cast away the projections others had of him or that he had of himself. 

The encounter with the Holy One nearly always reveals the true self to those with eyes to see, ears to hear, and hearts to receive. It’s nothing new. God gives Abram and Sarai the new names of Abraham and Sarah after promising them a child in their old age. Jacob wrestles with God through the night and is renamed Israel, the one who struggles with God. An authentic, real encounter with the presence of the Living God changes us forever, sometimes leaving us with a new name, a new identity, and we are never the same after that. 

Perhaps that’s the kicker. The question Jesus offers comes with a kind of qualifier. Because to even begin to answer the question means that we have to be willing to tell Jesus the truth, and be vulnerable enough to change and to be changed. We have to be all in, understanding that if we’re going to answer that question we can’t hide anything from Jesus when he puts it to us; after all, he already knows us. He saw Peter when everyone else saw Simon. He sees your self, your true self, the most authentic version of who you are, which is precisely why he asks that question. It is Jesus seeking you out, inviting you into a relationship that will literally change your life, opening your eyes to see the version of yourself that he sees. Saint Augustine of Hippo put it this way, “We cannot even begin to seek for God unless God has already found us.”

The outward and visible signs of the inner and spiritual grace of God are the Sacraments. Our western tradition gives the number at seven, but from the beginning the Church acknowledged that they were endless. Sacraments are real encounters with the real, Living God through ordinary matter that has been made holy by God’s grace. And when we walk away from each of them, we are changed, we are truly a different person, and sometimes we even get a new name when we come away from baptism, communion, confirmation, unction, confession, marriage, or ordination. That’s what happens when we meet Jesus, we become who we already were, we just didn’t know it yet. That’s what happened to Simon Peter and those earliest followers of Jesus. 

So what are you looking for?  Answers to seemingly impossible questions?  Hope in an often times hopeless world? The simple reassurance that it’s going to be ok?  A new way forward, down a path you cannot see and know but one that you’re willing to take if God leads you?  The fact that you are reading this blog means you’re looking for something. That’s where it starts, in the heart with an earnest longing to know the Living God in Christ, but mark my words, brothers and sisters, if you are willing to answer that question, then you must also be willing to face the incredible, transformative power of Jesus to change you, to give you your real name, your real identity, the version of yourself that he has always seen and known. It’s beautiful, but it ain’t easy – just ask Peter – but Jesus never promised that following him would be easy, only that it would lead to a life that is unspeakably precious.

What are you looking for? However you answer that question, be ready for Jesus to show you who you really are.

The Gift of Epiphany

'In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, asking, "Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage." When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him; and calling together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born. They told him, "In Bethlehem of Judea; for so it has been written by the prophet:

`And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah,

are by no means least among the rulers of Judah;

for from you shall come a ruler

who is to shepherd my people Israel.'"

Then Herod secretly called for the wise men and learned from them the exact time when the star had appeared. Then he sent them to Bethlehem, saying, "Go and search diligently for the child; and when you have found him, bring me word so that I may also go and pay him homage." When they had heard the king, they set out; and there, ahead of them, went the star that they had seen at its rising, until it stopped over the place where the child was. When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy. On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road.'

--Matthew 2: 1-12

What if I told you that we have been doing this Christmas thing all wrong?  What if I told you that for the vast majority of the history of Christianity, it was Epiphany, not Christmas that was the big day of celebration? In fact, Epiphany was, for the bulk of two millennia, considered the second most important day in the faith – after Easter – and the only other day on which baptisms took place. And while it is still important enough that it can be transferred to the next available Sunday, as we my parish did this year, it’s lost some of its luster, and hardly anyone in the secular world recognizes it at all. So what happened?

A lot of things: Charles Dickens, Hallmark, Coca-Cola, capitalism. What was once a fortnight long celebration that started on Christmas Day and culminated in gift-giving and partying on the 12th Night to coincide with the Magi bringing their own gifts to baby Jesus, turned into a month-long corporate cash grab that ended on Christmas Day. Does Epiphany have any relevance in our modern world? I’d say absolutely, and for many reasons besides the gift-giving.

The story of the Epiphany is one only found in Matthew’s gospel. The text tells us that wise people from the East learned of the birth of Jesus, of a supposed king, and came to pay homage to him at his home in Bethlehem - and yes, I say home because according to Matthew not only was Jesus born in a house instead of a stable, but the holy family lived in Bethlehem until their time as refugees in Egypt, only settling in Nazareth afterwards.  The figures who come to see the child are called wise men in our translation, but we have a whole song about them called We Three Kings, plus they’re given the title of Magi by church tradition.  So who (or what) are they?  The term Magi comes from the Greek word used to describe them—magous—which was used for priests from Persia who dabbled in astrology and enchantment; after all, they follow a star to get to where the child is.  In other words, they are sorcerers from Iran, folks who were clearly not Jewish—most likely Zoroastrian, which is the world’s oldest monotheistic religion. They come from the East, from the place of darkness, the place from which two different empires had previously come and conquered the people of Israel. They dress in a flamboyant manner and offer gifts that are quite strange: gold, frankincense, and myrrh, which foreshadow Jesus’ kingship, divinity, and humanity.

Ethiopian Magi by Patrick Comerford

Their coming to Jesus is the moment that the Gospel – the Good News of God in Christ - is opened up to the whole world.  No longer is the narrative that the grace and mercy of the Most High God, the God of Israel, reserved for a single people alone.  Here you have individuals of a different religion, who likely did not suddenly convert to a new faith but returned to their own homes, to their own faith traditions and shared the good news that light and love and peace had come into the world.  They remind us of Jesus’ own words spoken in the Gospel of Mark: “Those who are not against us are for us

The Magi’s strange ways, their garish dress, their extravagant gifts that they give to Jesus, invite us to open our own hearts to accept new traditions and customs, the same way the baby Jesus and his family did.  We have a tendency to fear that which is different, that which is outrageous, simply because we don’t understand it.  A colleague of mine, who is a gay man and an Episcopal priest, wrote an excellent blog post a few years back in which he noted how he and other queer people are so often met with the same kinds of fear, especially when they too express themselves with garish dress and extravagance, and he even made the connection between such culture and our own Episcopal ways of worship.  How many Baptists or Presbyterians come into our churches and are put off by our flamboyance, our fancy clothes, our chanting, our incense?  The Magi were pretty strange, pretty queer, even, when compared to those whom they visited, yet they were welcomed with open arms and gratitude.  We can learn from this story how we too can welcome and be grateful for that which is different, strange, garish, and holy. 

And the Magi remind us that no matter how many times individuals try to snuff out the light of God’s grace and goodness—whether they be kings, governors, or common folk—they will never succeed.  Herod tried to use the Magi for his own ends, but their civil disobedience caused his plans to end in failure.  Even after he resorted to the horrific act of having little children murdered, his plans to snuff out the light of the world failed.  That is good news for us even now, who live in a world where those in power try so hard and resort to horrific acts to stem the tide of God’s justice and love, and like the Magi we are sometimes called to do our part in sending the message to such persons that they cannot and will not ever win, for the light has come into the world, and no darkness will ever overtake him.  

We could very well say that the entire Gospel of Jesus Christ is wrapped up in this one story, a story that reminds us that the Gospel doesn’t belong to us alone – to Episcopalians or even to Christians – but that it is open and available to the whole world. A cruel tyrant tries to stop it, but he can’t. This day reminds us that no power or principality will ever conquer God’s Good News, no matter how hard it tries. This day invites us to welcome the stranger, to welcome that which may be different, and to be grateful for what such persons bring into our lives. It really is a special day, and it kinda makes you wish we still gave all our gifts and partied on Epiphany, doesn’t it?  

May the legacy of the Magi be ours, and may the light that led them to Jesus be that which guides all of us every day of our lives.

Messengers of Gaudate

'The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad, the desert shall rejoice and blossom; like the crocus it shall blossom abundantly, and rejoice with joy and singing. The glory of Lebanon shall be given to it, the majesty of Carmel and Sharon. They shall see the glory of the LORD, the majesty of our God. Strengthen the weak hands, and make firm the feeble knees. Say to those who are of a fearful heart, "Be strong, do not fear! Here is your God. He will come with vengeance, with terrible recompense. He will come and save you."

Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped; then the lame shall leap like a deer, and the tongue of the speechless sing for joy. For waters shall break forth in the wilderness, and streams in the desert; the burning sand shall become a pool, and the thirsty ground springs of water; the haunt of jackals shall become a swamp, the grass shall become reeds and rushes.

A highway shall be there, and it shall be called the Holy Way; the unclean shall not travel on it, but it shall be for God's people; no traveler, not even fools, shall go astray. No lion shall be there, nor shall any ravenous beast come up on it; they shall not be found there, but the redeemed shall walk there. And the ransomed of the LORD shall return, and come to Zion with singing; everlasting joy shall be upon their heads; they shall obtain joy and gladness,  and sorrow and sighing shall flee away.'

--Isaiah 35: 1-10

'My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord,

my spirit rejoices in God my Savior; 

for he has looked with favor on his lowly servant.

From this day all generations will call me blessed: 

the Almighty has done great things for me, and holy is his Name.

He has mercy on those who fear him 

in every generation.

He has shown the strength of his arm, 

he has scattered the proud in their conceit.

He has cast down the mighty from their thrones, 

and has lifted up the lowly.

He has filled the hungry with good things, 

and the rich he has sent away empty.

He has come to the help of his servant Israel, 

for he has remembered his promise of mercy,

The promise he made to our fathers, 

to Abraham and his children for ever.'

--The Magnificat (Song of Mary - Luke 1: 46-55)

'Be patient, therefore, beloved, until the coming of the Lord. The farmer waits for the precious crop from the earth, being patient with it until it receives the early and the late rains. You also must be patient. Strengthen your hearts, for the coming of the Lord is near. Beloved, do not grumble against one another, so that you may not be judged. See, the Judge is standing at the doors! As an example of suffering and patience, beloved, take the prophets who spoke in the name of the Lord.'

--James 5: 7-10

'When John heard in prison what the Messiah was doing, he sent word by his disciples and said to him, “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” Jesus answered them, “Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them. And blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me.”'

--Luke 11: 2-6

On Jordan’s bank the Baptist’s cry announces that the Lord is nigh. In exile in Babylon the prophet dreams of hope and new life given in the dessert, a vision of restoration for a broken people. In a house in Jerusalem, the brother of Jesus writes to a congregation to encourage them to be patient like a farmer, and to wait upon the Lord. And the Mother of God sings and rejoices at the good news brought to her by the message of an angel, the promise of God to turn the world rightside-up.  The #AdventWord for this past Sunday was messenger, and all of these are messengers of the hope for which we wait this Advent.

Since the Middle Ages the third Sunday of Advent has been called Gaudate Sunday, and it takes its name from the first word of the introit, or opening hymn, that has often been sung (in Latin) on that day .  The candle color changes from purple to pink – which I heard a priest explain once to a 5th grader as “We take the purple and solemnity of Advent and mix it with the white and rejoicing Christmas to get the pink for Gaudate Sunday,” to which the 5th grader confusingly responded, “But…purple and white don’t make pink.” Gaudate is Latin for rejoice, which might not have been the #AdventWord for Gaudate Sunday, but it is a theme that runs through the readings for the day. Each of them speaks to the fact that the Messiah is coming – or is already here – and there is great joy in that promise, a promise for which John, Isaiah, James, and Mary were messengers. And so are we. 

Google Image search result for 'Gaudate Sunday.'

Isaiah and James may have been separated by roughly 800 years but they both bring a message worthy of rejoicing. Isaiah paints the picture of a desert wasteland being turned into a robust, lush paradise of blossoming flowers. It’s not only a promise being given for the people of Israel in exile at the time, but it is the ultimate promise that God will restore not only Israel but the entire world. This promised time has come, as far as the apostle James is concerned, in the person of Jesus, but it is also not quite fulfilled – already, not yet, as we often say – and so James offers a message to rejoice through patience, akin to a farmer awaiting the harvest to come in. Advent evokes the words of both of these messengers – the promise of God to restore and rebuild, and for us to await the fulfillment of that promise with patience. 

The Visitation and Magnificat (artist unknown)

But the spotlight on Gaudate Sunday is always on Mary and her song called the Magnificat, which we read together at each of our Eucharistic celebrations on Sunday. Mary has already been visited by Gabriel, God’s messenger who brought her the promise that she would be the Theotokos, the God-bearer, and a few months after that, she goes to the house of her cousin Elizabeth – the mother of John the Baptist – and upon being greeted by her cousin, Mary sings this song of praise to God, a song of promise and hope for a world where the powerful have been cast down, and the poor and lowly have been lifted up. Diedrich Bonhoeffer, the German theologian killed by the Nazis, called the Magnifcat the most revolutionary song ever sung. It has been so controversial through the years that some countries, such as Indian, Guatemala, Argentina, and El Salvador have all banned it from being sung or said in public because of its imagery that ruffled the feathers of those countries’ governments fearful that poor folks might rise up and take over. In her song Mary is the messenger of the very same good news that her Son will proclaim, and we join with her in rejoicing in God who has looked with favor on our lowliness and who is even still casting down the mighty.

Elizabeth’s boy John would not only be born first, but he would proclaim his own message ahead of Jesus – the message of repentance that I blogged about last week. But after John is arrested, Jesus, in earnest, begins his public ministry, keeping John’s message going and adding the caveat that the promise of God envisioned by Isaiah wasn’t just coming in the future, but it was already here - remember Jesus' first words in the Gospel of Mark, "Repent! For the Kingdom of God has come near!" This week we find John again at the center of our Gospel reading, only now he's in prison, and he’s changed his tune. Last week he was speaking boldly of Jesus’ power, but now he questions it. Why? Perhaps because it’s hard to be positive about the future when one is a prisoner. Also, because Jesus clearly isn’t what everyone thinks the Messiah should be.  Where’s the conquering army? Where’s the reclaiming of the throne of David? People aren’t sure what to make of him, which prompts John to send his disciples to ask if Jesus is the real deal. What’s his response? Jesus sends the message back, not that he is the guy and that John and others should believe his words, but he tells them to believe what they see. Tell John, he says, about the blind you’ve seen given their sight back, the lame you see leaping and the lepers you see cleansed, the deaf who are now hearing, the poor who have had good news brought to them.  This is the message.  This is the promise. This is the hope. This is God’s action in the world. As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be. From Isaiah’s time, to Jesus, Mary, and John, to James writing in the aftermath, all the way to us who are the inheritors of their message. What shall we do with it?

We should keep Christ in Christmas.  Yeah, you heard me. As we inch closer and closer to that great celebration, we should keep Christ in Christmas by BEING Christ at Christmas, by being the messengers proclaiming the same promises and by doing the work that Jesus himself did and that he names as signs and symbols of his messianic reign here on earth: heal the sick, bring the exhausted and marginalized back into the community, help people see goodness in the world, make known the sound of joy, breathe life into that which was thought to be barren and dead, bring (and be) good news to the poor. What we’ve heard proclaimed today by these messengers – Isaiah, James, John, Mary, and Jesus – are not just nice stories, but they are our commission to go and do likewise, to be messengers of God’s grace, love, and mercy, as they were.

And this is worth rejoicing. The hope of God breaking into the world, yes, but also the awesome and wonderful responsibility and call given to each of us to be messengers of such hope. It is the promise reaffirmed at Christmas – the promise we wait during this Second Advent to be fulfilled in its entirety. We are the messengers, so let us at all times and places rejoice and magnify the Lord.