The Rev. Eleanor Applewhite Terry
Rev. Eleanor Applewhite Terry delivers the May 1, 2022 sermon.
Sermon: May 1, 2022
The Rev. Ken Schmidt, Deacon
The Rev. Ken Schmidt delivers the Palm Sunday sermon.
Gospel and sermon; April 10, 2022
Anthem; April 10, 2022
The Rev. Eleanor Applewhite Terry Sermon
Sermon for 3 Lent B; March 14 2021
Sermon for Palm Sunday; March 28, 2021
Jesus, when you rode into Jerusalem the people waved palms with shouts of acclamation. Grant that when the shouting dies, we may still walk beside you, even to a cross. Amen (New Zealand Prayer Book, Collect, p. 580)
Often, when I read Scripture in my own devotions, I imagine myself one of the characters, walking beside Jesus hearing and learning from his teachings as if they were spoken specifically for me. It is a spiritual practice I find very meaningful.
But today, on Palm Sunday, I find myself resistant to entering this part of God’s story. The Passion Gospel we hear this morning is as difficult and painful as it is familiar. And, truth be told, I would rather not identify with the participants in today’s Scripture.
I don’t want to be Peter in this story. I’d rather not imagine myself the one to whom Jesus comes in the Garden of Gethsemane and finds asleep. I don’t want to bear the burden of hearing Jesus say to me, “I am deeply grieved, even to death; remain here, and keep awake.” I don’t want the responsibility of being the confidante of Christ in his hour of need. I don’t want to be Peter in the Passion story because I know he will deny Christ three times. And I’d rather not be that person.
I don’t want to be Judas either. No one wants to identify with him. He’s the traitor after all. The bad guy who betrays Jesus with a kiss.
I don’t want to be Pontius Pilate or the High Priest. They are the ones with the authority to decide Jesus’ fate. I don’t want to be the Priest who heard Jesus declare that he is the Messiah, the Son of the Blessed One and then accuses Jesus of blasphemy. I don’t want to be Pilate who hears the testimony against Jesus and must decide whether to free him or have him killed. I don’t want to be in the position of being able to release Jesus, only to be driven by the crowd to execute him instead. It would not be good to be Pilate.
And I certainly don’t want to be Jesus. Not today. It’s too overwhelming to even try and identify with Christ at the moment of his Passion. I don’t want to know the despair and the sorrow that Jesus feels the night he pray in the garden. I’d rather not know what it is to cry from the cross, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
No. I would just assume look at the Passion from a safe, unimpassioned distance. But today is Palm Sunday, and we can’t do that. Today is the day in which we all are forced to play a part in the Passion of our Lord. -The day when we have to struggle with the uncomfortable reality that we do have a role in the story we tell today.
As much as we might be temped to- today is a day when we should not put roses on the cross to make it easier to accept. We cannot gloss over the events of the Passion and jump straight to the Alleluias of Easter without spending time living the story for ourselves. We cannot leave it to others to play our part in the Passion.
We may not want to admit it, and we may not like it, but we all are a little bit like Peter, who sleeps and denies rather than ministers and proclaims.
We all are a little bit like Pilate and the High Priest, in that we share in the conviction that sentenced Christ.
We are all a little bit like Jesus, in those moments when we find ourselves lost and alone in our faith. -When our fear leaves us feeling abandoned, even by God.
And we are very much like the crowd, the passersby, who gather around Jesus and experience a range of conflicting emotions as they hail the arrival of the Messiah, waving palms as he enters Jerusalem, and then turn around and call for his crucifixion.
I have heard it suggested that every Christian, throughout the ages, is present at the foot of the cross. In that moment of sacrifice, we are united in our grief, in our complicity, and in our salvation. So, too, we all find ourselves in the throng that greeted Jesus as he arrived in Jerusalem.
We are part of that crowd that waves the branches of palm. All glory, laud and honor to our redeemer King. And then, within minutes, we who are members of that crowd outside of Jerusalem find ourselves members of another vastly different crowd, shouting for the death of the Messiah.
It’s an emotional roller coaster we ride every Palm Sunday. We are on a twisted path, privileged to shout and proclaim our faith in Jesus one minute, and calling out for his death the next.
Palm Sunday forces us to confront that juxtaposition- as uncomfortable and challenging as it is. It is a day which forces us to admit that we can and should identify with the people in this story. Because the Passion is more than a story. It is the record of one of the most emotionally powerful episodes of our collective faith. It is part of the history of God’s life with us. And we are part of the narrative. We participate in the events we commemorate, capable of praising Christ in one moment and forsaking him the next.
I am sure I am not alone in having friends (and family) who have chosen not to be part of a church. Many of those I know stay away because they see churches filled with hypocritical folk who say they believe in God but then don’t lead particularly faithful lives. Why bother being Christian if they’re no better than the rest of us, one friend asked me.
She was a bit surprised at my response when I agreed that we church folk are no better than the rest. And that’s just the point. We don’t follow Jesus because we are not sinners, but because we are. We live out our lives of faith doing the best we can, but knowing that we are perfectly capable of praising Christ one minute and forsaking him the next. We know we can be invited to stand by Christ’s side in his time of need and instead be found asleep. To be a Christian does not mean to be perfect. To be a Christian is to be convicted by the roles we play in today’s Gospel. To be a Christian is to be reminded by our liturgy today how easy it is to forsake the God who died for us, at the same time we proclaim him as our Messiah.
Saint Paul writes that “God proves his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” (Romans 5:8). Throughout this Holy Week, we will be reminded of the sins and faithlessness which contributed to the death of Christ. But, as we all know, the story does not end today. It does not end with the cry of Jesus from the cross, or with our guilt for the roles we play in his Passion. The story, in fact, is just beginning. And one week from today, we will rejoice again. Thanks be to God. Amen.
The Rev. Eleanor Applewhite Terry
Sermon for 3 Lent B; March 14 2021
Sermon for 5 Lent B; March 21, 2021
Good Shepherd, Acton
May the words of my mouth, and the meditation of all our hearts, be acceptable in your sight, O God, our Strength and our Redeemer. Amen.
My kids once got into a debate about whether J-walking really is illegal. One of them argued it was dangerous- and that’s why you shouldn’t do it- especially in Boston, she noted. Her sister didn’t see it as a big deal either way. And my third was most concerned about what the fine would be if you were caught.
My husband and I humored them for a while and then jumped in to make the parental point that just because you might not get a ticket for something doesn’t mean you should get away with doing something dangerous or wrong. This applies to all sorts of things. There may not be a specific ordinance against skate boarding along the edge of our deck, or walking across a frozen pond in 40-degree weather, but that doesn’t mean it’s a smart thing to do. And there are lots of things that are right to do that don’t have laws to enforce them, like holding the door for someone, saying please and thank you. And not using your cell phone in church!
Those of you who have parented children know it is a long process of maturation to help our kids develop a sense of right and wrong. And rules and laws are helpful teachers because there is always the threat of punishment when they are not obeyed. Yet, eventually, hopefully, as we mature, we come to trust our own judgement more and more. Our inner moral compass guides our behavior as much as the law does. We realize that the reason to return the library book on time is so someone else can enjoy the book too— and that should motivate us as much as fear of the fine.
Much the same principle applies to God’s parenting of us. Back in the days of Moses, the people were given the Law to help them understand the moral behavior that was expected of them. God entered into a Covenant with the Israelites and gave them rules- the Ten Commandments among them- to help them govern their behavior. God attached a series of covenantal blessings and curses. If the people followed the Law and met the conditions of the Covenant established by God, they would flourish. If they strayed, they would be cursed. The Law was meant to help the people mature into right relationship with God and with one another. But that didn’t mean it was always followed. Like we do today, the rules were pushed and ignored and violated.
And for a time, that was the pattern that occurred: faithfulness and infidelity. Blessing and curse. Then Israel fell and later Judah. Jerusalem was destroyed by the Babylonians. The site of the holy Temple, the home of the Arc of the Covenant, was in ruins. The last king of Judah was overthrown, tortured and died in captivity. And it was wondered: is this God’s ultimate curse? Has God finally broken God’s end of the Covenant? Have the people been so unfaithful that God no longer desires a relationship?
And out of the midst of this chaos and the destruction of Jerusalem, the prophet Jeremiah warns the people that God’s judgment is real. Yet, in our first lesson for today, and mid-way through his long prophesy, Jeremiah’s message turns from fear to hope. He prophesies the word of the Lord: “The days are surely coming when I will make a new covenant with the house of Israel and the house of Judah. It will not be like the covenant that I made with their ancestors… a covenant that they broke.”
Instead, God will lay aside his anger, his judgment, his punishment and try again. And this time, the law will be written on their heart, rather than on stone. This time the people will not have rules about God, but will instead know God. It’s an extraordinarily generous promise. And it acknowledges God’s trust and love for God’s people. Despite their past unfaithfulness, God’s desire is for them to do the right thing— not out of fear of punishment, but because God has written the law on their heart. It is the difference between doing the right thing because you’ll get into trouble if you don’t, and maturing into knowing what is best regardless.
As we near the end of Lent, and approach the shadows of Holy Week which lie ahead, it is a comfort to be reminded of how much God loves us and desires relationship with us, in spite of ourselves.
And indeed this desire of God for relationship with humanity is seen over and over in Scripture. From the moment of Adam and Eve’s creation, when God pronounced it very good, to the call of the patriarchs and matriarchs, to the exodus from Egypt and arrival in the Promised Land, to the judgment and blessing of the prophets, and to the incarnation of Jesus and his resurrection we will celebrate on Easter, over and over again in Scripture, God goes to extraordinary lengths to establish, maintain and bless a relationship with us.
That’s the reason for the covenants in the first place, of course. The law is given not simply to provide a list of do’s and don’ts- but to help establish a relationship between us and God and between us and other people. Why are we to remember the Sabbath? -Because it is a way to honor God and draw closer to him. Why are we not to covet our neighbor’s things? -Because doing so has the potential to damage the relationship between us. Indeed, violation of God’s rules, of the Covenant or the Law, is a sin not because we fail to do what God says, but because doing so harms the relationship we have with God and with other people.
In our Lenten Adult Ed class a few weeks ago, we discussed the definition of sin found in our Prayer Book: sin, it says in the Catechism, is “the seeking of our own will instead of the will of God, thus distorting our relationship with God, with other people, and with all creation.” (BCP, p. 848). Rules and guidelines and laws are given to help us form and maintain right relationships. When we break them, we sin, because they damage the relationships God is trying to create for us and with us.
This has been a particularly difficult week for our Asian-American and LGBTQ families and friends. Recent events have exposed wounds that run deep in both communities- the dramatic increase in violence and racism toward Asians in this country since the pandemic began- and the pain borne by the LGBTQ community whenever they are wrongly judged not worthy of God’s blessing. We have a long way to go to overcome the prejudices and burdens of racism and homophobia - in the church as well as in the public square. We have strayed far from the Scriptural ideal of being in right relationship with God and loving all our neighbors. And when the pain is especially raw, as it is for our Asian and LGBTQ beloved, we might be tempted to see our own times superimposed upon those of Jeremiah’s. God distant and uninvolved- fed up with our prejudice and lack of faith. Church irrelevant at best; or part of the problem at worst. People irreverent and unwilling to reach out to know or honor those who do not look or love like them.
Yet as I read Jeremiah’s prophesy for today, it occurs to me that perhaps God makes the task of reconciliation a bit easier than we might realize. God desires relationship- perhaps more than anything else. God wants us to be in right relationship with other people and to be free of the violence and prejudice which corrupts our hearts. And there is ample evidence that God goes to great, extraordinary, miraculous lengths to help this happen.
What if it is not as hard as we think it is to know God and do God’s will? -To restore our relationship with God, other people, and all creation? What if the impediments to knowing God are our own? What if God is closer than we realize and more accessible than we imagine?
Can you hear God’s promise to us? I will put my law within you, and I will write it on your hearts; and I will be your God, and you will be my people. No longer shall you teach one another, or say to each other, ‘Know the Lord,’ for you shall all know me, from the least to the greatest’, says the Lord.
Why shouldn’t this be true? Why shouldn’t the promise of the ages, that God desires relationship with his people, not be for us as much as for Jeremiah’s unfaithful rabble? What if, unlike human love, God’s love comes easy? God’s forgiveness is eternally generous? God’s commitment unwavering?
What if this were true?
It might look like Christmas- when God becomes incarnate to show us the way. It might look like Easter, when death is no longer the end of the story. It might look like Lent, when we repent and are assured of God’s forgiveness. It might be that peacefulness that steals into our hearts every now and then. Or that comfort we discover when we know we are loved for who we authentically are. Or that feeling that encourages us when all other hope seems lost.
Perhaps God’s will for us has been written on our hearts. If so, then we have work to do, my beloved. There is much to heal in our hurting world. May God show us the way.
Amen.
The Rev. Eleanor Applewhite Terry
Sermon for 3 Lent B; March 14 2021
Sermon for 4 Lent B; March 14, 2021
Good Shepherd, Acton
May the words of my mouth, and the meditation of all our hearts, be acceptable in your sight, O God, our Strength and our Redeemer. Amen.
The photos on my phone from a year ago capture how quickly things changed. Snapshots from February vacation week show my 80-something parents, my niece, and my three kids and I enjoying a day at a very crowded New England Aquarium in Boston. And the weekend we took my Dad to the New England Boat Show at the Boston Convention Center. We climbed all over the boats, touching handrails, ducking into tight cabins with other guests, breathing air that very well could have contained COVID droplets. We had no idea what was coming and consider ourselves very lucky.
Even my pictures from March 11, 2020 show how little we understood. That’s the day I took off from work to chaperone my daughter’s class trip to the Harvard Natural History museum. We were a little aware of the need to be extra cautious. I brought along some hand sanitizer and some disinfecting wipes for lunch time. But otherwise we roamed the museum freely. I had no idea that after that day off, I would never return to a normal work day at Old North Church again. Within 24 hours, like you here, we made the decision to cancel worship. I remember the Senior Warden arguing passionately that the announcement not say we would be closed “for the foreseeable future” because she considered that too extreme.
March 14- a year ago today, my photos show three of us volunteering at Old North’s outreach program that morning, distributing food to North End seniors. We decided not to invite the guests into the building, as we normally did, but to distribute the bags from the doorway. Within a month two of the guests, residents of a neighborhood senior residence, would be dead from COVID.
That afternoon I sent my husband a text from the Acton Trader Joe’s with a photo of completely empty shelves. “This is getting scary” I wrote.
None of us, perhaps outside of public health experts, could have foreseen the year that would follow. And I suppose it’s good we did not know. I cannot imagine what it would have felt like at the beginning of everything had we been told how long we would have to endure. That it would be six months before our kids would go back to school- and even then only 2 days a week. That over 1/2 million Americans would die- (even now, we are averaging well over a thousand US deaths a day as of this weekend). That, actually, it would be far beyond “the foreseeable future” before church would regather again in person. And those fun day trips with my parents, for which they had moved from their home in CT to enjoy with their grandkids, those would be replaced by grocery drop-offs on their front porch. The toll on our collective mental health, economy, elders and children is especially hard to bear. It has been a very long year for all of us.
So on this one year anniversary of the week everything came to a halt, it is fitting that our Old Testament lesson takes us into the wilderness with Moses and the Israelites. Perhaps we can relate to their plight more honestly than we ever have before, having spent the last year of our own lives in the wilderness of pandemic.
You’ll recall that the Israelites spent forty years wandering, and complaining their way to the Promised Land. Enslaved in Egypt, their ancestors suffered and toiled for four hundred years until Moses led them to freedom. They crossed the Red Sea in triumph, only to wander for another forty years in the dessert wilderness.
God assured them the Promised Land lay ahead, but it would be a long, dangerous, hard journey. It’s likely that few, if any, of those who escaped Egypt would live to see it. Forty years is a long time- can you imagine if our quarantine lasted that long?- and back in those days, with shortened life spans, at least two generations would come and go before they reached the Land of Milk and Honey.
To say, as our Scripture does, “the people became impatient on the way” is a rather big understatement! They murmured and complained constantly. “Why have you brought us up out of Egypt to die in the wilderness? For there is no food and no water, and we detest this miserable food.”
This behavior drives Moses crazy. For 40 years he endures the complaints of his people, who frequently blame him for their hardships. He doubts his own ability to lead such a stiff necked and stubborn people. But God empowers him to continue, so Moses endures their whining and encourages them to maintain their trust in God. But now, they are starting to “speak against God.” It is one thing to speak against Moses, and his brother Aaron, but quite another to speak against God and distrust God’s guidance and promise.
When God sends manna from heaven for them to eat and provides water in the desert for them to drink, they complain and doubt whether God is with them, even though the evidence of God’s care for them is literally falling out of the heavens upon them. And when, in the verses just before today’s passage, God answers their prayer by helping the Israelites defeat a Canaanite army, they fail to offer thanksgiving, and instead speak out against God. So God gets angry. Very angry. God sends snakes. Lots of them! And poisonous ones at that. And they bite the people and many die.
Suddenly there are snakes everywhere, and the people quickly realize their need to repent and they beg Moses to pray to the Lord to take the snakes away. God must have known this would be a good way to get the people to be more faithful. If daily food and water in the desert aren’t enough to remind them to give thanks to God, then poisonous snakes ought to get their attention! God knows our human nature well. How often we neglect to offer thanksgiving when good things happen, but we sure are quick to turn to God when we need help.
Perhaps, particularly so, when snakes are involved, as I know full well. I am terrified of snakes. All snakes. Doesn’t matter what size. What kind. Whether a pet, or a harmless garter snake in my yard, or a lazy sleeping snake behind thick glass in a zoo. They all scare me equally, whether poisonous or not.
Or at least that is what I thought until the night we discovered a rattlesnake coiled up near our campground in the Grand Canyon. I shared about that trip in a sermon a few weeks ago. I neglected to mention The Snake.
Our guides on that trip said the usual, unhelpful things when the rattlesnake was spotted: “Don’t bother it and it won’t bother you.” “It’s more scared of you than you are of it” - Which I doubt. That snake probably saw people every night at that campground and I was encountering my very first wild rattlesnake within an uncomfortably short slither away from where I planned to sleep. When I pointed this out, one of our guides offered this especially reassuring piece of advice: “If you notice a snake in your sleeping bag, just lie still and let it crawl out first.” Needless to say, my fear of harmless garter snakes in no way compares to the terror of being in the presence of a wild, loose rattlesnake.
So I get the fear of the Israelites. I can relate to their desperate plea that the Lord take the serpents away. I’ve been known to pray that prayer myself, under far less dangerous circumstances. And if God ever feels I’m not devoted enough to my prayers, a snake or two will certainly get me praying right away.
Luckily, for the Israelites, God answers their prayer. He hears their confession, their admission of sin, and he commands Moses to make a bronze serpent and put it on a pole so that from then on, “whenever a serpent bit someone, that person would look at the serpent of bronze and live.”
And just like that the very thing they were afraid would kill them, becomes the means to healing and life. Sound familiar? It’s the paradox of our faith. The story of the cross as well. An image of terror and death that becomes the way to new life- for Jesus. And for us.
God takes the objects of our fear and death and turns them into the way to new life. Thus those who look at the serpent of bronze will live. And those who gaze upon the cross of Christ will live eternally.
And perhaps this gives us a way to think about this year of pandemic as well. Because God will never abandon us in our suffering and death. God will never leave us to face our hardships alone. God will not allow our fears to conquer us. And throughout this year of isolation… this year of sickness for so many, and death for too many, God has been in the midst of us.
It’s a bittersweet milestone we are passing this week — a full year into the pandemic. And even though there is much reason to hope that it will all be over soon… there is a lot that has been lost forever. My own emotions have been all over the place this week— I’m delighted by the prospect of a more normal life come summer and encouraged by the increased availability of vaccines. Yet, I am exhausted when I consider all we have endured, the burdens we have carried, and the challenges which lie ahead.
I have always appreciated the stories of the Israelites in the wilderness. -Maybe not the part about the snakes so much- but it feels very real to me that God’s chosen people grumble and complain, get lost, and can be both incredibly faithful and hopeful and also distrustful and unfaithful. They slog along toward the Promised Land. It takes a very long time. It is hard. It is not always fun. There are snakes along the way— the really scary kind. And yet they persevere because that’s the stuff of which we are made. We are people who live by God’s promise. Who try our best to be faithful, and succeed sometimes, but fail along the way too.
We wander. We complain. We try and fail and try again.
And God never leaves us.
Not Ever.
And that’s a message that I am grateful to hear right about now. -A year into the pandemic. When we are worn out from wandering. And hopeful, but still a little fearful too. We’re getting tired of the manna of this wilderness and are ready for some fun again, but we are not at the end of our journey just yet.
And that’s ok. Because God will see us through to the end. As God has always done. And God will always do. Helping us face all that scares us so that we, too, may live.
Thanks be to God. Amen.
Greetings from Rolando Javier Guzman and Elvin David Argueta Nolasco
Guest Speakers For 3 Lent; March 7, 2021
Guest speakers for 3 Lent; March 7, 2021
Words from Rolando Javier Guzman – 3/7/21
Hello dear friends and brothers of Good Shepherd! So, it is a pleasure for me to talk a litle bit about the scholarship project. So that the community of Good Shepherd to continue to promote in Ocotillo community, right. As we well know, this scholarship project over time has benefited young people here in the community. As we know, we have many of us who have gone to university and studied. For example, we have a lot of professionals here thanks to God. For example, we have professionals in public accounting. We have teachers in middle education. We have professional agronomic engineers and also, we have teachers in mathematics and teachers in language. Also, we have professionals in sociology. Do our professionals direct our thanks to this project? Many young people actually have a career in our community. So, from this project, there are middle educators (currently 2) in our community. Well, dear friends, I will tell you a little bit about my experience as a young man benefiting from this project. Thanks to God first, to my family, and to the community of Good Shepherd because all of you have been believing in my capacity and my responsibilities with each of them and mainly with myself. And also thank to my father, Samuel Guzman, for being a continued presence in our community. So, as we know, Samuel Guzman, was a good person to both communities. So now I will tell you a little bit about my person. I am Rolando Javier Guzman, son of Claudia Perez and Samuel Guzman, graduated from Gerrardo Barrios University with a bachelor’s degree in English. My commitment as a young man is to motivate children and young people in our community to follow their dreams and to value the sacrifice that Good Shepherd made for each of us. We are really very very grateful for this scholarship project. We hope to continue with this and other projects. We are hoping to you have you in our community soon to share new experiences, to share with joys, and to share a lot of experiences with all of you. So, blessing brothers and hoping you will soon be in our community again!
Here’s the video of Mr. Guzman’s message.
Words from Elvin David Argueta Nolasco – 3/7/21
Hello, my name is Elvin David Argueta Nolasco and I am part of the community of El Ocotillo. By this video recording, I want to talk a little bit about myself and how blessed I am by the scholarship program and the sister community Good Shepherd has here in this place. Well, in the first place, I want to tell you that I actually live with my mother who is one of the pioneers of the sister community relationship. Her name is Candida Nolasco. I also live with my wife. Her name is Beatriz Amaya. And I am studying English at the University. And I have been part of the program since I was in high school. I really think that this program has changed not only my life but also the whole community because of the improvement in the level of education in its youth people. Nowadays, there are a lot of professional people in different fields such as teachers, professors, engineers in different areas. For me, this has been a blessing because I was not going to continue studying because I didn’t have enough resources to continue studying. However, I have my goals which I want to accomplish. So, I started to work hard to do that. I was called to be part of the program and now that is the reason why I am so thank you, thankful, sorry, with all of you. Unfortunately, during this (pandemic) period of time it has been difficult to study online but I am trying to do my best in order to continue my learning process. Thanks to God no one in my family has been affected by the virus and hopefully nobody will neither in the community. And again, I want to thank you for all of your support, and I hope that this program can help more students who want to achieve their goals and dreams in the future. Thank you so much. I send you a big hug and may the Lord bless you always! Thank you so much.
Here’s the video of Mr. Nolasco’s message.
Thanks be to God.
Amen.
The Rev. Eleanor Applewhite Terry
Sermon for 2 Lent; February 28, 2021
Sermon for 2 Lent; February 28, 2021
Good Shepherd, Acton
. Our Gospel this morning is a pretty standard text for the season of Lent. You’ll recall that in three of the Gospels, Jesus predicts his suffering, death and resurrection three different times. Three times the disciples fail to understand. And three times Jesus uses this context to teach about the meaning of genuine discipleship. Today’s lesson being, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.”
I found myself in conversation with a clergy friend this week about today’s Gospel lesson. We both are preaching today- and at first glance, neither of us found the Scripture from Mark to be particularly compelling. My friend John joked, “I just can’t find the juice in it!”
So what is it about this familiar teaching that we find so uninspiring?
Can’t you just see Jesus shaking his head at the two of us, well-intentioned priests in his Church, and rebuking us, along with Peter: “Get behind me, Satan! For you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.”
And so we are! There is probably no harder directive than the one which asks us to deny ourselves and take up our cross to follow Christ. And I think part of our aversion to a text like this is our honest admission that actually, we don’t want to do this. Not really. Not completely. Who among us is willing to lose their life for the sake of the Gospel? Who is motivated by this particularly challenge? Isn’t it more human (and more honest) to be like Peter, and object to Christ’s need to suffer, while avoiding our own suffering at all costs?
Historically, of course, there have been magnificent examples of courageous and selfless Christian faith— often from times and settings when Christians were persecuted for their faith, when faithful followers of Christ really did give up their lives for the sake of the Gospel. When rather ordinary folk really did bear the cross, with their lives on the line.
My daughters were quite taken aback by the description of young Tarcisius, who was featured in Lent Madness last week. He was a 3rd century child martyr who died at the hands of an angry mob while bringing the Sacrament to prisoners, on behalf of the priests. It was a dangerous time to be Christian, and the priests were easily recognized. So young Tarcisius, an altar server, was tasked with bringing the consecrated Eucharist to the jail. When a Christian symbol was spotted on the lid of the box he carried, a mob turned on him. He preferred death to allowing the Sacrament to be spilled or desecrated. Is this what it means to bear the cross?
Consider another 3rd c. example- that of Cyprian of Carthage in North Africa. In a letter to his friend, Donatus, Cyprian wrote:[1]
“This seems a cheerful world, Donatus, when I view it from this fair garden under the shadow of these vines. But if I claimed some great mountain and looked out over the wide lands you know very well what I would see. Brigands on the high roads, pirates on the seas, in the amphitheaters men murdered to please applauding crowds, under all roofs misery and selfishness. It is really a bad world, Donatus, an incredibly bad world…”
Would we say the same of our own contact, eighteen hundred years later? We may not have brigands on the highways, or pirates on the seas, but our lives do know something of theft and greed. Humans in every time, it seems, have been known to take delight in the misfortunes of others. And in these hard times of our own, it is not difficult to find examples of misery and selfishness in our own context. What would we see if we climbed some great mountain, or the tower above our church, and looked out over our own community? -An environment in peril? Avarice and greed? Rising economic disparity between rich and poor? A nation divided by politics? Relationships in trouble? People frustrated by the ongoing pandemic while more than half a million American families mourn their dead?
Cyprian goes on to write, “Yet, in the midst of it I have found a quiet and holy people. They have discovered a joy which is a thousand times better than any pleasure in this sinful life. They are despised and persecuted but they care not. They have overcome the world. These people, Donatus, are the Christians, and I am one of them.” Cyprian himself became a bishop.
What if this were said of Christians today? Wouldn’t it be something if people looked upon us, worshipping and praying and trying to lead faithful lives in the midst of these challenging times, and knew us to be a quiet and holy people, who have discovered a joy a thousand times better than any pleasure in this sinful life?
Sometimes, we achieve this. Sometimes our faith can free us to a peacefulness that surpasses human understanding. Sometimes we can experience a grace so special, we know ourselves to be held in the embrace of a loving God. Sometimes our experience of Christian community can be so fulfilling that it overcomes the burdens of the world.
Other times, we find ourselves in Jesus’ words, setting our mind on human things, rather than on divine things, and we are far from Cyprian’s loving description.
Jesus’ challenge to us, one that Cyprian’s community seems to have met well, is to overcome the world for the sake of Christ. I suspect that most of us find this neither desirable nor easy. For the truth of the matter is that we do live firmly rooted in this world. Even in these days of quarantine, none of us are free from the demands, temptations and burdens of everyday life. Christians we may be, but we are also mothers and father and grandparents, children and caretakers, workers, and retired folk. We have obligations and desires that are not necessarily grounded in Gospel values, but that define our lives nonetheless. We worry about worldly things: our income, our health, our families, our homes. We pursue pleasures that bring meaning and happiness to our lives, and while not necessarily harmful, may not always be of God. More often than not, our minds are set on human things because we are human and we do the best we can.
Yet, Lent is a time for us to challenge ourselves. To face the Scriptures that demand much of us. To acknowledge the commitment and devotion that Christ does ask of us. It is tempting to explain away the Scriptures like our Gospel. We convince ourselves that while Jesus may have needed his disciples to take up their cross, to lose their lives for his sake, such a demand is not relevant to us. Perhaps in Cyprian’s day, when Christians were being persecuted, it was necessary that they overcome the world- but in our time- our world’s not so bad that we must forsake it completely. Right? We even trivialize the notion of taking up our cross: equating it with that annoying neighbor or our chronic back pain: “I guess that’s just the cross I have to bear!”
The reality of the Gospel, however, is that the cross is not just some unfair burden we must bear, but a means of death. To take up the cross is to take up that which would kills us, break us… not just annoy or pain us. And most of us choose to avoid this at all costs. In fact, I’ll suggest that it is likely we will always fail this challenge.
I guess that’s why my friend John and I were resistant to this Gospel. Here again is Jesus demanding something of us that we are loathe to do. Here is that age-old challenge that we know we will always fail. Take up your cross. Lose your life for my sake. Deny yourself.
In our Gospel, Jesus directs his comments to Peter, the other disciples, and the crowd. But he is also speaking about himself. For it is Christ who will take up the cross, who will lose his life for the sake of others and the Gospel. It is Christ who will forfeit his life, rather than gain the whole world. It is Christ who gives his all to us, in return for his life.
We may be expected to do the same, but the truth is that we will fail in our attempts every time. It is only in our dependence upon Christ, to walk the way of the cross on our behalf, that we are saved. It is not by our own doing. But by the selfless act of Christ, who does for us what our own selfishness prevents us from doing on our own,
I once heard someone suggest that Lenten disciplines are most effective when they really challenge us. For what do we gain from giving up coffee or chocolate for 40 days, other than the self-satisfaction of having met a goal? But by choosing a discipline that challenges us to fail, we come to recognize that they only way we are to grow spiritually is through our dependence upon Christ.
Our Gospel provides a similar challenge. Christ calls us to bear our own cross, to lose our life for the sake of the gospel, to follow him, even into suffering and death. He sets the bar high. His standards are impossible to meet. And, ultimately, it is Christ who must do it for us, since we cannot do it ourselves. By failing this challenge, we come to recognize our dependence upon Christ for our salvation. We cannot do it alone. It is the cross Christ bears for us.
And for this we say, with upmost humility: Thanks be to God.
Amen.
The Rev. Eleanor Applewhite Terry
Sermon for 1 Lent B; February 21, 2021
Sermon for 1 Lent B; February 21, 2021
Good Shepherd, Acton
May the words of my mouth and the meditation of all our hearts, be always acceptable in your sight, O God, our Strength and our Redeemer. Amen.
It’s been hard to get through the last month without thinking about the weather. The cold and snow here has been manageable, but I’m hearing more complaints about it, especially as we endure the isolation of the pandemic on top of winter. The real weather news, of course, has been out in Texas and the Pacific Northwest, as millions in those regions have experienced uncommon winter storms resulting in horrific challenges. Our hearts are with those who have lost their lives and all those suffering as a result of loss of power, water, and access to help. For those of you who might be able to assist, I commend the efforts of Episcopal Relief and Development. Their disaster relief fund is providing much needed assistance to communities affected by these winter storms across many states.
When I lived in Portland, Oregon for three years, the only significant snow I ever saw was in the mountains. But rain, as you might imagine, was plentiful, especially in the winter. Their rain, however, is very different from our rain. Oregon winter rain is like mist— damp and fine. Thunderstorms and heavy downpours are rare. I never quite got used to the odd phenomenon of “rain with sun breaks” out there- which often meant you needed to drive with both your windshield wipers and your sunglasses on at the same time. Bright, glaring sun would shine down between clouds that drizzled damp, cold rain. A meteorological oxymoron — but one that produced brilliant rainbows.
Rainbows are always a welcome and stunning sight, don’t you think? In Oregon, they helped keep me sane in the midst of the otherwise dreary winters. -A promise that the rains would eventually end, and a sign that, yes, the sun still shines up there somewhere. I pray that those who suffered through the Portland snow and ice storms recently, will soon be treated to rainbows instead. And may they shine over Texas, too.
Rainbows, as we are reminded in our first Scripture today, are a sign of God’s promise and covenant with us. In this passage from Genesis, the great flood has ended. -Perhaps all that is left of the rain is the light mist of an Oregon drizzle. And Noah and the animals and his family are invited by God into an eternal covenant. “Never again,” God promises, “shall all flesh be cut off by the waters of a flood, and never again shall there be a flood to destroy the earth.” A rainbow is given as a sign and reminder of the covenant God has established with Creation. And from this point on in Scripture, water becomes a sign of life, rather than death.
So it’s fitting, that as Jesus begins his public ministry, he does so after rising from the waters of the Jordan River. Jesus’ baptism, like our own, inaugurates and empowers his ministry. In baptism, that which has always been true becomes known: Jesus is named, and claimed, and loved by God. And it is through the waters of baptism that Jesus is strengthened for the challenges which lie ahead. Immediately after his baptism, the Spirit drives him into the wilderness, where for forty days he is tempted by Satan. How quickly the glaring light of God’s Spirit, descending like a dove on Jesus, is overshadowed by the wilderness of temptation!
I have never been to the Holy Land, but I am told that the contrast between the lush fertile valley where the Jordan River flows and the barren desert just over the mountains is startling. Martin Smith, in a wonderful little book of Lenten reflections called A Season for the Spirit describes the landscape as viewed from the ruins of the ancient city of Jericho. “Imagine yourself sitting with me in these ruins,” he writes. “We are looking south down the deepest cleft in the earth and in the distance the Dead Sea is shimmering in the intense heat like a lake of mercury. To the east the river Jordan snakes towards it, and the mountains of Moab from which Moses had seen the Promised Land tower beyond. To the west rise the massive brown hills of the wilderness, rent by deep gorges… This is the place where we are all invited to stand at the beginning of another Lent to take in the meaning of this movement from the river to the desert, and to be caught up in it ourselves.”
Another book of Lenten reflections, A Spring in the Desert, which we will be discussing in our Lenten forum beginning today, explores a similar theme, “rediscovering the water of life in Lent.” As we come upon almost a full year of pandemic life, the images of desert and water, resonate with me as I thirst for new life after so much time in the metaphorical desert of quarantine.
The closest I have ever come to being in desert wilderness was in the Grand Canyon where my husband and I once spent 17 days hiking and rafting and camping along the Colorado River. One day our guides took our group on what affectionately became known as “The Death March.” -An 11 mile hike up a side canyon, across a desert plateau, and down another canyon, where we would meet up with our rafts (and the less adventurous members of our group) five miles down river from where we had begun. Because the rafts would need to travel these five miles to meet us, there was no turning back. Once we committed to the hike, we had to go all the way through.
It was an extraordinary day: exhausting, exhilarating, hot and amazing. After hiking all morning up the tedious switch-backs of the first, steep, side canyon, we came to a lush oasis, where a spring of water gushed from the side of a canyon wall. Trees suddenly appeared. There was shade and cool breeze, and even a somewhat tame wild turkey that begged for scraps from our lunch. It was amazing to experience the life that suddenly sprung forth in the midst of a desert wherever there was water. After our lunch break, we hiked away from the spring and across a flat, barren, hot desert plateau. It took hours to cross. And there was nothing around us except low desert brush, the occasional cactus, and the potential for rattle snakes.
The difference, of course, between the lush oasis and the total desolation of the desert was the presence of water. It was not something created or controlled by human beings. And as we hiked across the swath of desert, it was easy to feel insignificant. Nothing in that landscape relied upon us. And the landscape offered us nothing back in return.
Lent invites us to enter the desert landscape of our spiritual lives. To journey to that place where the only life-giving essence comes from God. Where we are forced to realize that we neither control nor create anything that we need. We are utterly dependent upon God.
Often, such experiences of spiritual wilderness sneak up on us when we least expect it- and when we are least prepared to handle it. We don’t always get to the choose, as Bronson and I did, to enter the wilderness as tourists, accompanied by our beloved, and some skilled guides who know the trail and how much water we would need for our journey. Instead, the landscape of spiritual wilderness often overtakes us uninvited, and catches us off guard- making us profoundly aware of how much we must rely upon God for our survival and well-being.
Yet even though we can’t always know when the spiritual wilderness will overtake us, the Church, in her wisdom, has set aside these forty days each year as practice for when the going get really tough. If we take its disciplines and challenges seriously, Lent helps us get spiritually in shape for the trials that may be yet to come. For Jesus, his forty days in the wilderness prepared him to better face the challenges of ministry, and eventually, the cross. And for us, these 40 days of Lent provide the opportunity to develop spiritual disciplines that can sustain us for the long haul.
As we enter Lent this year, consider how God might be calling you to use these forty days as you travel the landscape that lies between us now and Easter. What intentional practice of prayer, Scripture reading, study and service might you take on? What habits, temptations, and parts of you might best be let go?
In the words of our Ash Wednesday service, “I invite you therefore, in the name of the Church, to the observance of a holy Lent, by self-examination and repentance; by prayer, fasting, and self-denial; and by reading and meditating on God’s holy Word.”
We pursue these disciplines not because we have to, but because they can be life-giving. Like the water in the desert, and the sun-splashed rainbows on a rainy day, they can sustain our spirit and make us ever mindful of the need we all have for a deepened relationship with God.
May yours be a holy and life-giving Lent. Amen.
The Rev. Canon Martha Hubbard
The Rev. Canon Martha Hubbard thanks The Rev. Melissa Buono for her service as Interim Priest.
Sermon and Postscript for Morning Prayer on Sunday, October 11, 2020
recorded via Zoom by
The Rev Canon Martha L. Hubbard
Canon for the Northern & Western Region
The Episcopal Diocese of Massachusetts