Serve Somebody - Sermon for 3 Lent

A Sermon for the 3rd Sunday in Lent (RCL B) 3-11-2012

Offered by Nathan Ferrell for Trinity Episcopal Shared Ministry

Texts:             Exodus 20:1-17; Psalm 19; 1 Corinthians 1:18-25; John 2:13-22

Themes:         the decalogue, the goodness of the law, true worship, the weakness of God
Title:               You're Gonna Have to Serve Somebody

Frank Sinatra versus Bob Dylan.

Now that sounds like an odd sparing match, doesn’t it?

Well, I for one have no desire to imagine those two duking it out in the boxing ring. I am thinking rather of their music – music representing not only two entirely different genres, but two very different views on reality.

Most of you probably know this as one of Sinatra’s most famous songs. But don’t worry. I will not do you the disservice of trying to sing it for you this morning.

Frank Sinatra, My Way, With Lyrics --BETTER VERSION-- - YouTube

“For what is a man, what has he got? If not himself, then he has naught.

To say the things he truly feels and not the words of one who kneels.
The record shows I took the blows and I did it my way!”

That was Sinatra’s vision of the good life, the happy life, the successful life:

“I faced it all and I stood tall and I did it my way.”

And, you know, there is something noble and admirable about that approach to life, but there is also something quite sinister about it as well. We’ll come back to that in a minute.

Now, for the sake of contrast, consider one of the famous songs by Bob Dylan, after his spiritual awakening in the 1970s. And no, I’m not going to sing this either! But here are some of the words:

You may be a construction worker working on a home.

You may be living in a mansion or you might live in a dome.
You might own guns and you might even own tanks.
You might be somebody's landlord, you might even own banks.

But you're gonna have to serve somebody, yes

You're gonna have to serve somebody,
Well, it may be the devil or it may be the Lord
But you're gonna have to serve somebody.
 
Here, my friends, we find a much deeper spiritual insight into the reality of human life.

It doesn’t matter who you are or what the exterior circumstances of your life might be, because you will serve somebody. The only question in life then, is this: whom will you serve?

We began our liturgy this morning with a recitation of the Decalogue and a few minutes after that we heard a reading of this in the original text. It was the pre-supposition of the Hebrew people who recited and recorded these 10 commandments that we all are going to serve someone.

The decisive factor facing the people at Mount Sinai was choosing whom to serve.

“I am the Lord your God…You shall no other gods before me…for I the Lord your God am a jealous God.”

In the biblical worldview, the assumed status of each human being is that every one of us will serve some god or another, and that we each need to choose whom to serve.

So, you see, Bob Dylan got it right!  

And the problem with Frank Sinatra’s vision is that it places himself at the center of the universe – and not himself as he truly is, but as the idealized image of the strong, independent, invincible, unmovable, heroic man. This ideal man is the god who must be served.  

Sinatra is by no means alone in this vision of his. He has a host of compatriots – mostly men! - who share that vision of themselves. But this company does not make his vision any less dangerous.  

In 1984 Archbishop Desmond Tutu was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for his struggle toward a democratic South Africa free from apartheid. He explains that all Nobel laureates also received a book by Harald Ofstad entitled Our Contempt for Weakness, which had a deep impact on Tutu.  

This book is a thorough examination of the roots and core principles of the Nazi movement in Germany. And this is what Ofstad wrote:

“If we examine ourselves in the mirror of Nazism, we see our own traits – enlarged but so revealing for that very reason. Anti-Semitism is not the essence of Nazism.

Its essence is the doctrine that the ‘strong’ shall rule over the ‘weak’, and that the ‘weak’ are contemptible because they are ‘weak’. Nazism… expresses deeply rooted tendencies, which are constantly alive in and around us.

We admire those who fight their way to the top, and are contemptuous of the loser. We consider ourselves rid of Nazism because we abhor the gas chambers. [But] we forget that they were the ultimate product of a philosophy which despised the ‘weak’ and admired the ‘strong’.”  (God Has A Dream by Desmond Tutu, P. 39)

I do not want to suggest that Frank Sinatra was a supporter of the Nazi ideology, but you can see that the core principle is the same: “I faced it all and I stood tall and I did it my way.”

Why? Because I am strong, and I am not one of those weak losers who have to kneel and ask for forgiveness!

What a contrast this is from the message of the Cross! For what is it that St. Paul said?

“We proclaim Christ crucified.” The Messiah tortured and imprisoned and punished with the capital punishment reserved for criminals and rogues. This is the message we present to the world!

“God’s weakness is stronger than human strength.” Did you hear that? God’s weakness.

You see, the cross is so common to us now that we completely forget what it meant to those who first wore it! On the surface, it was the sign of failure and weakness.

A story is told of one of the desert fathers in Egypt who was met by a few sons of the pagan Roman Emperor who had come out to Egypt for a hunting expedition. They used enormous nets to round up the wild animals, but it one of their nets they found this desert monk named Abba Milido.

The funny thing is that he had been in the desert so long, he was so wild and hairy now, that these princes couldn’t tell if he was a human or an animal or some kind of ghostly spirit!

So Abba Milido told them, “I am a man and I am a sinner, and I came out here to weep for my sins and to adore the Son of the Living God.”

To which the princes replied, “There is no god but sun and water and fire. Adore these, and sacrifice to them.”

“Oh no I will not!” said the monk. “You should acknowledge the true God who made these things.”

And now the princes laughed and said, “A condemned and crucified criminal is what you call a god!”

And they mocked him. (The Wisdom of the Desert by Thomas Merton, p.58).

What a ridiculous thought! These young men of power and wealth – to bow down in homage to a condemned and crucified criminal! How stupid! How foolish it seemed to them!

And how stupid and foolish it still appears to many even today!

We need to be careful not to stumble into this most common pitfall in human thinking – the mistake of celebrating and honoring the strong, the mighty, and the powerful, and of denigrating the weak, the poor, and the needy. Even those of us who wear the cross around our necks often fall into this trap.

But the weakness of God seen in this cross is stronger than any human strength! 

And it reminds us over and over again that we must choose.
We must always choose - which path we will take, which god we will serve.

You see, Dylan was right! And he sang it with wisdom and insight:

“You're gonna have to serve somebody,

Well, it may be the devil or it may be the Lord
But you're gonna have to serve somebody.”

May we all have the grace to choose to serve the Son of the Living God, the One condemned and crucified in weakness, but raised to new life in the power of the Spirit. Amen.

The Cross of our Lord

Sermon for Proper 9 C RCL 7-4-2010, Offered by Nathan Ferrell for Trinity Episcopal Shared Ministry

Texts: 2 Kings 5:1-14; Psalm 30; Galatians 6:7-16; Luke 10:1-11, 16-20

On this day, we celebrate the declaration of our nation’s independence from the rule of the King of Great Britain. This declaration took place 234 years ago, but it continues to have great significance for our lives and for many around the world.

We are proud – rightly so – of the bravery and resolve of our forebears in declaring this freedom from tyranny, and also in their willingness to risk everything to turn that declaration into a reality.

We are proud also of the role that our Episcopal Church played in the founding of this nation. The history of our Episcopal Church cannot be separated from the history of our nation’s founding. Just across the river in Philadelphia, the founding events of our nation and our church took place in the later years of the 18th century.

Of course, the first place we have to look for these connections is Christ Church in Old City, Philadelphia, about 5 miles as the crow flies from where we worship here today. How many of you have taken a tour of Christ Church?

Do you know that Benjamin Franklin, Betsy Ross and their families attended Christ Church? Did you know that George Washington and John Adams, when they lived in Philadelphia as the nation’s President, both attended Christ Church and worshipped by using the Book of Common Prayer?

Did you know that the one-time rector of Christ Church, William White, served as the Chaplain of both the Continental Congress and the new United States Senate?

Once the Continental Congress moved to New York in 1785, they elected a new Chaplain who was Samuel Provoost, the rector of Trinity Episcopal Church now on Wall Street. Provoost also presided over the prayers for the inauguration of General Washington as first President of the United States.

This inter-connected history continues even to this day. Most major national celebrations take place today within our National Cathedral in Washington. We built this in fulfillment of our vision to serve as the nation’s church. It has always been the vision of the Episcopal Church.

The Episcopal Church as we know it today was created at the first General Convention which met at Christ Church, Philadelphia in 1785. That Convention authorized a new Prayer Book, and the Preface of that book is included in our Prayer Book today. Let’s turn to it and read 2 key paragraphs together:

(Paragraphs 5&6 of the Preface to the first Book of Common Prayer in these United States ,Philadelphia, PA, October 1789)

“But when in the course of Divine Providence, these American States became independent with respect to civil government, their ecclesiastical independence was necessarily included; and the different religious denominations of Christians in these States were left at full and equal liberty to model and organize their respective Churches, and forms of worship, and discipline, in such manner as they might judge most convenient for their future prosperity; consistently with the constitution and laws of their country.

The attention of this Church was in the first place drawn to those alterations in the Liturgy which became necessary in the prayers for our Civil Rulers, in consequence of the Revolution. And the principal care herein was to make them conformable to what ought to be the proper end of all such prayers, namely, that "Rulers may have grace, wisdom, and understanding to execute justice, and to maintain truth;" and that the people "may lead quiet and peaceable lives, in all godliness and honesty."

All of these truths cause us to be very proud: proud of our American heritage, and proud of our church’s key role in the formation of this nation. We have a reason to be proud; we have a right to celebrate today.

But there is a difficulty for us as Christians in displaying this pride. What is it that St. Paul wrote to the Galatians, which we heard read in our midst here today?

“May I never boast of anything except the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, by which the world has been crucified to me, and I to the world. For neither circumcision nor uncircumcision is anything; but a new creation is everything!” (Galatians 6:14-15).

What does it mean to boast in nothing except our Lord Jesus Christ? What does that mean for nationalism, for patriotic pride?

Let me briefly suggest that patriotism and pride in our human institutions are natural and normal. These are not to be rejected, because love of country is an important part of that love of neighbor which God longs to see within us. But this love for country must always be held in tension with our deeper identity as Christians, with our first love for our Lord.

When we finally go the way of all flesh and are joined with our ancestors, it will not matter then whether our nationality is American or French or Kenyan or Brazilian. Those labels belong only to this fleeting world; they represent temporary arrangements among human beings.

But this Church of Jesus Christ to which we belong, within which we worship and learn and grow, this is a distinctive community of human beings which outlasts any empire or confederation or nation.

When we here stand up and declare our faith in the words of the Nicene Creed, we are in fact declaring our truest and deepest allegiance. This never-failing Church of Christ has no flag toward which we face; instead we face the cross. And there it is that we turn when we pledge our allegiance, this Cross of our Lord, by which the world has been crucified to me and I to the world.

In our Gospel reading today, we are reminded of our mission as the Church: to go forth and cure the sick and bring the message of the kingdom of God to all people.

This kingdom includes people of every race, language, people and nation. It is God’s kingdom, and it is the only one which is worthy of our deepest loyalty.

So, go out and celebrate this Independence Day. Celebrate with pride in this wonderful nation. But remember to keep proper perspective. As you celebrate, remember your calling as a laborer in the kingdom of God, and “rejoice that your names are written in heaven” (Luke 10:20).

Let us pray (Collect for Independence Day from the Book of Common Prayer):

Lord God Almighty, in whose Name the founders of this country won liberty for themselves and for us, and lit the torch of freedom for nations then unborn: Grant that we and all the people of this land may have grace to maintain our liberties in righteousness and peace; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

Let No One Deceive You

Sermon for the 3rd Sunday of Pascha / Easter (RCL – Year B)
Offered by Nathan Ferrell at HS, Bellmawr & St. Luke’s, Westville

Texts: Acts 3:12-19; Psalm 4; 1 John 3:1-7; Luke 24:36b-48

I recently heard a story, from Bart Campolo, of a 14 year old boy in Philadelphia who had been sentenced to time in a rehabilitation program for violent juvenile offenders. He had shot and killed an innocent teenager to prove himself to his gang. At the trial, the victim’s mother sat impassively silent until the end, when the youth was convicted of the killing. After the verdict was announced, she stood up slowly and stared directly at the convicted boy and stated, “I’m going to kill you.” Then he was taken away to serve several years in the juvenile rehab facility.
After about six months, the mother of the slain child went to visit his killer. He had been living on the streets before the murder, and she was the only visitor that he had in jail. For a time they talked, and when she left she gave him a little money for cigarettes. Then she started step-by-step to visit him more regularly, bringing food and small gifts.
Near the end of his three-year sentence, she asked him what he would be doing when he got out. He was confused and very uncertain, so she offered to help set him up with a job at a friend’s company. Then she asked about where he would live. He had no family to return to, so she offered him the temporary use of the spare room in her home. For eight months he lived there, ate her food, and worked at the job that she found for him.
Then one evening she called him into the living room to talk. She sat down opposite him and waited for a moment, collecting herself. And then she said, “Do you remember in the courtroom when I said I was going to kill you?” “I sure do,” he replied. “I’ll never forget that moment.” “Well, I did it,” she went on. “I did it. I did not want the boy who could kill my son for no reason to remain alive on this earth. I wanted him to die. That’s why I started to visit you and bring you things. That’s why I got you the job and let you live here in my house. That’s how I set about changing you. And that old boy, he’s gone. So now I want to ask you, since my son is gone, and since that killer is gone, if you’ll stay here. I’ve got room and I’d like to adopt you as my own son if you let me.” And so she became the mother he never had, and he became the son whom she had lost.

During these great fifty days, we are celebrating the reality of our risen Lord and the new life that he has brought to humanity. During these days, we sing with joy, we proclaim the “alleluia”, we speak of the joy of the resurrection. This is good and right thing. But this does not simply do away with the pain and trials of life.

“Little children, let no one deceive you.” My friends, we need to be honest and to recognize that, though Christ is risen, though death and the powers of hell have been overcome, that evil still exerts much influence over our lives. Think about this poor mother who lost her son for no reason. None at all except for a stupid, nasty game played by other young boys.

2000 years after the incarnation and resurrection, after the coming of Christ into the world, this remains a dark and evil world. The power of Christ’s resurrection life has changed and transformed countless billions of human lives over the years. But it has not seemed to make much of a difference in the general direction of life on this planet. Even today, poverty inflicts unnecessary pain on billions of human souls. Recently I heard a news report of a densely populated region in central China that is the steel mill center for China’s rapid development. Among the people of this province, birth defects are 6 times higher than in the rest of the country. Through our own actions today, we are causing cancers and birth defects and new viruses that cause great harm, as well as causing mass extinctions of other species and changes to our entire global environment.

This world of humanity remains a dark, dark place. But it is precisely there that our Lord comes, dies and rises again.

My wife, Erin, is an artist, an oil painter. If you’ve ever watched an artist begin to work on a blank canvas, you will soon realize that a good, memorable painting requires multiple steps and layers to achieve the desired effect. Erin likes to paint with bold, bright colors. But before she can begin to use these colors, first the entire canvas or board must be covered with a dark brown or black base layer. Without this darkness beneath the painting, the colors will not be as bold and bright and noticeable.

Now think back to the mother over in the city who lost her son in a violent crime, and yet who gained an adopted son 3 years later. Nothing could ever replace the son that she lost. There is no way to explain away her pain, and we can never minimize it. And yet, out of this pain, new life has emerged. New hope, new possibilities.

We know with certainty that sin is detestable to God. What did we hear proclaimed today in John’s first letter? “No one who abides in God sins; no one who sins has either seen him or known him.” God longs for us to live a life without sin, a life without lies or deception, anger or wrath, a life without violence or bloodshed, greed or selfishness. Sin breaks the heart of God and it causes us pain.

But the truth is that without our sin, then we would never know the new life that Christ brings to us now.
Without the pain of the cross, then the apostles would not have been struck with wonder and awe and joy when they encountered their Lord, now risen and alive in their midst.

Without the struggle of our lives, then we can never know the joy of victory, the peace that comes from accomplishment, the possibilities of a new beginning.

Let no one deceive you. In this midst of seeming darkness and struggle, new and full and abundant life is available through the risen Lord. Where do you see it springing up and bearing new fruit?

May the eyes of our faith ever be open to notice and to see our Lord as he goes about his redeeming work among us. Amen.

Blood Gushes Out

A Homily for Good Friday 2009 (4/10/2009), Offered at Church of the Holy Spirit, Bellmawr, NJ

There’s an old celtic story from Ireland about a conversation between Mary and Jesus when he was a young boy.

“Are you asleep, Mother?” Jesus asks.

“No, I am awake, dear Son.”

“Why are you awake, Mother?”

“Because I am distressed by a vision of you.”

“What is that vision, Mother?”

“It is a slim dark man, on a black horse, with a long
sharp lance in his left hand. He pierces your right side, and blood gushes
out.”

“Where does the blood fall, Mother?”

“It falls into my heart and into the hearts of all that love you.”
(Celtic Fire, by Robert Van de Weyer, 1990, p. 162-3).

Why do we call this day good? How can we give such a positive appellation for a day of suffering and pain, forced upon one who never deserved such treatment?

In the eastern churches, it is called Great Friday because it stands apart from and above every other Friday of the year. Perhaps the title of good derived from that ancient title many hundreds of years ago.

Of course, we know now why it is Good Friday. In this cross, we discover who we really are. What other people have been bought at such a cost? Who else in the history of humankind has ever willingly died to create a new community, to redeem a new nation?
-Because of this Good and Great Friday, we know that we are loved, we know that nothing – not even death – can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

The blood which gushes forth from the cross falls into the hearts of all that love him. Does it fall into your heart? Does it touch your heart? Are you there, standing with the Blessed Mother at the foot of the cross, gazing on the one who was pierced?

I can think of no better place to stand. Stay there at the foot of the cross. Spend your entire life there with Mary, allowing the awesome majesty of love divine to ever hold sway over your heart and mind.

One more ancient Celtic song for our reflection upon the Cross:

“I adore the suffering King who feels my suffering; I love the sorrowing Lord
who knows my sorrow.

At his death, no fire came upon his captors to
burn them, no great flood rose to sweep them away; the earth did not open to
swallow them up; the sky did not fall to crush them.

No fierce
birds came to attack Pilate; no wild beast mauled the priests and the scribes;
no snake rose up to bite those who whipped Jesus.

He allowed them
to accuse him falsely, without opening his mouth. He let them drag him to the
cross with no words of reproof. He watched quietly as they drove nails into his
hands and feet.

He who created the universe, he who preserves the
universe, he whom the sun and moon obey, he who rules the stars, forsook his
mighty power.

So he suffered with us who suffer much; he sorrowed
with us who feel much sorrow.

I adore the suffering King who feels
my suffering; I love the sorrowing Lord who knows my sorrow.”
(Celtic Fire, by Robert Van de Weyer, 1990, p.167-8).

Amen.