For the healing of the world - A Sermon for 1 Lent

A Sermon for the 1^st Sunday in Lent (RCL B) 2-26-2012

Offered by Nathan Ferrell for Trinity Episcopal Shared Ministry

Texts:              Genesis 9:8-17; Psalm 25:1-9; Mark 1:9-15

Themes:         the great litany, the rainbow covenant, the desert fast
Title:               For the healing of the world

Welcome to the season of Lent, my friends! If you were not able to join us on Ash Wednesday, well then I say to you: Welcome!

Lent may not be your favorite season of the Christian year. But I hope that doesn’t lead you to under-value it’s importance. Lent is vital for us, if for no other reason than because it forces us to face – once again – the reality and the consequences of sin.

I’m going to venture a guess and say that I am like most of you, in that I would much rather spend all of my time basking in the celebrations of the Lord’s nativity and his rising from the dead. In those times when we can sing out that now-forbidden “A” word!

But this is not how life works. Before the feast comes the hard work of preparation. Before we can rejoice once more in the glory of the new life that we receive because of Christ’s rising from the dead, we have to prepare by going through this process called the Lenten fast.

And we begin today by considering together the far-reaching consequences of sin.

Surely most of you have heard of the scientific principle commonly known as “the butterfly effect”. This principle states that complex processes can lead to vastly different results when the starting conditions vary even in the slightest measure.

It means that, in a dynamic system with many moving parts, any number of different factors might impact the course of events. Since this principle was developed by a meteorologist from MIT, his thesis was that the flapping of a butterfly’s wings in Brazil may change the atmospheric conditions just enough to allow a deadly tornado to develop in Texas.

My friends: this is how I think of the effects of sin, and this is what our lessons teach us today.

You and I typically think of sin as some personal thought or action that we each have done.

Sin is personal, and it affects us personally. But how often do we think about how our sins – our negative choices – affect the course of events in the lives of those around us, and even in the entire world.  

We are prone to think of sin simply as what goes on inside of me. It is that, of course, but it is not limited there. Our choices have a profound effect upon the entire world, even if we are not able to quite perceive and understand that effect.

Mark’s Gospel states that, after his baptism by John, the Spirit immediately drove our Lord out into the wilderness for forty days where a number of things happened. He was confronted by Satan. He was apparently befriended by wild animals. And he was attended by angels.

Satan. Wildlife. And angels. That’s quite a trinity of dynamic forces at work – both visible and invisible forces! And I have to say, as an aside, that I am quite jealous about the wild animals bit. I love the wilderness and wild animals, but they always seem to stay far away from me, even when I am actively trying to seek them out!

Now, most commentators have seen the presence of the wild beasts as a sign of danger. The Lord is thrust out into the wilderness where he is exposed to the dangerous attacks of Satan and the wild beasts.

So they say. But that’s not the only way to read this, and it’s certainly not how I read it.

 The wilderness here in Mark’s gospel is not at all a wasteland of danger and peril. First, John the Baptizer appeared “in the wilderness” proclaiming his message of baptism and repentance. Here the Lord goes out into the wilderness for his time of struggle against Satan. Later, the Lord retreats to “a deserted place” in order to pray. Further along, he feeds the five thousand out in “a deserted place.” The Greek word in every instance is the same: Eremos. The desert. The wilderness.

Far from being the place of danger and demonic forces, the wilderness is in fact the place where Jesus goes to more deeply connect with the one he calls Abba and where some of his most powerful ministry occurs.  

Why then are the wild beasts with him? Why did Mark’s Gospel alone feel compelled to include the animals? It is a sign of the healing of creation. The animals sense that here is one who seeks to do them no harm, but who upholds and completes the covenant of the rainbow.

The covenant story told here in Genesis takes place soon after the great flood recedes and the ark comes to rest. If you go back and read the story in its entirety, you will notice some interesting features, like God holding each animal accountable for its life. That’s a different way of thinking about judgment day, isn’t it?

But the most important fact is that this covenant, as the text states, is between God and the earth and all living creatures of the earth – human and animals alike. “All flesh that is on the earth.”

But why did the entire earth need to be swept clean in the first place? Because of the consequences of human sin. Our sin has global, even cosmic consequences – consequences that affect all of the living creatures of the earth. But so does God’s work to reverse the effects of our sin. So does Christ’s work of healing.    

There’s an old story told about St. Kevin of Glendalough, one of the great celtic saints of Ireland.

St. Kevin took Lent pretty seriously. He would spend all 40 days in a little hut in the woods sleeping on a large gray flagstone, eating no food, drinking only water. Once, while Kevin was lying on that flagstone with his hands stretched out, a blackbird came and hopped into his hand and began to build a nest there. Kevin decided to stay still and to not move at all throughout Lent so that this blackbird could lay her eggs and hatch her brood. It was so taxing that even the angels came and begged Kevin to give up his arduous Lenten discipline, but he was determined to let the blackbird finish her breeding. (Wisdom of the Celtic Saints by Edward Sellner, P. 161).

What do we see here? Just as our sins have consequences that might affect all of creation in ways which we cannot quite understand, so it is true that the saving health of new life which Jesus brings to us also has consequences which affect all of the earth.

Our Lord “was in the wilderness forty days, tempted by Satan; and he was with the wild beasts; and the angels waited on him.”

Like him, we do not live isolated from the rest of the world, whether from human society or the company of all the living things of the earth or from the company of angels.

Even when you sit at home all alone – perhaps in the evening, and even when it feels as if you are isolated and disconnected, it is never true.

There is more than meets the eye. We live all of our lives in a web of interconnectedness. Our daily actions, our daily choices – for good or for bad – have important consequences for our sisters and brothers around the world and for all living creatures. To remember this, and to take it to heart, is why our Lenten journey is so very important.

May God give us grace always to pay attention, to be aware, and to make choices for good and for the healing of the world. Amen.

Understanding to Discern What is Right

Sermon for Proper 15 B (RCL), Offered by Nathan Ferrell at HS, Bellmawr & St. Luke’s, Westville

Texts: 1 Kings 2:10-12+3:3-14; Psalm 111; Ephesians 5:15-20; John 6:51-58

There is an old Irish story about St. Moling, who was the head of the monastery at Glendalough in the Wicklow mountains of Ireland sometime after the passing of St. Kevin.

Once a young musician with a harp came to the monastery and asked if he could play music for the monks. All of them were in the refectory then eating their supper, all except for Moling. After playing his beautiful music, he joined them in their meal. And after the meal, he asked which one of them was the famous Moling, who was known throughout the land for his holiness. The brothers told him that Moling was praying in the church, for this was one of the three days each week when the abbot fasted. So the young man took his harp to the church in order to play for Moling. The monks shook their heads, however, and smiled to themselves, because they knew that Moling never allowed himself the pleasure of hearing music.

The young man entered the church and saw Moling kneeling in prayer, so he sat next to the altar and began to play his harp. Moling did not even life his head or open his eyes, but took out 2 balls of wax from his pocket and stuffed them into his ears. The young man smiled and continued to play, and amazingly, the wax in Moling’s ears began to melt. Even though the saint tried to push the wax back in, it was no use, as it melted down his neck.

At this point, the young musician brought out a small stone and began to scrape it back and forth across the harp strings. This produced horrible screeching and Moling found it unbearable. He winced and writhed in agony. In a minute, the young man discarded the stone and played again so sweetly on the harp, that the saintly abbot was soothed and filled with great joy at the beauty of the music.

When the music stopped, Moling asked the young man: “Are you a devil sent to tempt me, or an angel sent to bless me?”

“You must make your own judgment”, the young man replied. “When I scraped my harp with a stone, it made the noise of the devil. And when I played it with my fingers, it made the sound of an angel. Music, like food and drink, can be an agent of evil, or a source of goodness.” Then the young man took his harp and left.

And from that time forward, Moling welcomed all musicians to play at the monastery. And he gave up fasting, except on the mandatory fast days when everyone fasts. And his brothers at the monastery noticed that from then onward, he became more gentle and kind, and that he had even acquired a sense of humor (Celtic Fire, ed. Robert Van de Weyer, p.200-204).

It’s an odd, old story perhaps, but one that illustrates the challenge of gaining wisdom by one of the saints of God. For today, the Church calls us to consider living with wisdom as a crucial part of the new life we have in Christ.

Here in our reading today from the First Book of Kings, we read of the famous request of the young King Solomon for wisdom. In his dream, God spoke to Solomon, offering him whatever his heart desired. Solomon asked not for wealth, not for victory over his enemies, not for a long life. He asked for practical wisdom in making prudent decisions on behalf of the nation.
This request pleased the Lord. God says that Solomon will indeed receive understanding to discern what is right. It seems on the surface to be an incredibly unselfish action by the new king. Solomon is known generally as the acme of wisdom in the Bible. But we do well to remember the larger picture of Solomon’s life. In order to secure his throne, Solomon had to kill his opponents; even one of his half-brothers, Adonijah, he had assassinated.
The truth is that we are never able to remove entirely the selfish impulse from our efforts. Every human being is selfish; it is in our nature to pursue self-preservation. We seek to protect ourselves and those we love from harm.
Solomon desired to be known as a great and wise King, one who faithfully led his nation. This is a worthy goal, but it is not entirely self-less.
The same is true of St. Moling, the Irish saint we heard about earlier. Surely, he was proud of his rigorous devotion. His ego was stroked by his widespread fame as a holy man.
As it was for Solomon, and for the saints of God, it is impossible for any of us to remove entirely our selfish motives from even the most generous of acts.

And this is why we need God’s wisdom so desperately. We need understanding to discern what is right, to see clearly our motives for what they are, to truly know ourselves. God’s wisdom then strengthens us to minimize the harmful effects of our selfishness by opening our eyes to see reality at a deeper level.

Saint Paul’s admonition today is right on target: “Be careful then how you live, not as unwise people but as wise, making the most of the time.” And if you reflect on this, you see how this can cut two ways. Some hear Paul’s words as a call to austerity, a demand for increased seriousness.

But the story of St. Moling shows how God’s wisdom leads us to a more balanced life. The musician-messenger sent to Moling helped to open his eyes to his own selfish pride in rejecting the good gifts that God provides in creation.

All of this points us back to the Living Bread which comes down from heaven and gives life to the world. As St. Paul states elsewhere, Christ IS the wisdom of God (1 Corinthians 1:24).

Now, this passage from St. John’s Gospel has long been a starting point for debate about the true nature of the eucharist. John’s Gospel speaks in such literal terms about the body and blood of Christ, that many in the first century and all of the centuries since have had difficulty in accepting them on face value. Many tomes have been written concerning these words to provide support for, or to deny, the idea of transubstantiation.

But that is not the point of John’s Gospel here. What Jesus offers is a radically different avenue to a relationship with God. To be with God is to be alive! To walk with Jesus through this life is to have access to the wisdom of God.

It is not enough simply to give mental assent to the idea of the real presence of Christ in the sacrament and to receive communion with faith. What good is it to do this and yet to not have the heart changed by the wisdom of God? Unfortunately, many of my fellow Roman priests have demonstrated this. How many of them have daily received Christ in his body and blood, and yet have then walked out and daily committed heinous crimes against innocent and defenseless children?

“Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them” (John 6:57).

Surely to have Christ abide in me means than simple ritual. It means that I am changed on the inside; that God’s wisdom has altered my outlook on the world; that my selfish impulses can be seen for what they are, and placed to the side in order to serve those around me.

To share my life with the life of Jesus Christ means that my heart is open so that he can live through me, weak and foolish and selfish though I may be.

It was the great Martin Luther who said: “God rides the lame horse and carves the rotten wood.” And that is good news for all of us. Amen.