What’s in a name? I was surprised some years ago when a friend asked me what my second name was. I wondered what she meant for a second and then realized that she had two names she used as a first name, Nancy Mack, and she wondered what my name really was. I had to disappoint her, my parents named me Ann. Very simple, no middle name, just Ann.
How appropriate that we read this lesson that begins the Gospel of John on the first Sunday after Christmas. This quieter time gives us a chance to reflect on the meaning of the prophecy fulfilled in Jesus’ birth. To hear these words leads us into that time of reflection.
What child is this? is a question for all of us. Our answers change as we grow older—as we see the world through eyes of wisdom and experience.
G. K. Chesterton, the famous British poet and theologian, was a brilliant man who could think deep thoughts and express them well. He was also extremely absent-minded throughout his life, so much so that he became known for getting lost. Once he even sent a telegram to his wife that said: “Honey, seems I’m lost again. Presently, I am at Market Harborough. Where ought I to be?” In a clear and precise answer, she telegraphed back a one-word reply “HOME!”
I remember a cartoon, probably from The New Yorker, that showed three men. One, rather small in stature, was standing against a wall. He had disheveled hair, a long beard, and wore a tunic with patches all over it. He was holding a sign that read: The end is at hand.
Today we hear readings that offer confronting pictures of God’s demands on those who have every reason to think that they have done what is right. Amos’ criticism of ancient injustice (5:6-7, 10-15) and Jesus more poignant encounter with the rich young man (Mark 10:17-31) both pose questions of us about what God might require of us today.
My first trip to the Holy Land came within months of my becoming a Cathedral Dean as the North American Deans traveled to the Holy Land for their annual meeting. I was excited to be going, to be meeting people who served in the type of ministry I had just joined, and to see the places I’d read about for so long.
Today we celebrate the feast of St. Matthew. Hi, I’m Matthew.
As a fledgling New Testament scholar, I do research on the Gospel according to Mark. I argue that we should think of Mark, in its original 1st century historical context, not so much as a book with an author but as textual raw material or notes. For instance, the word used to describe Mark by several of its earliest readers is the same word that you might elsewhere translate as rough draft. This also fits with Mark’s less than stellar grammar and lack of clarity and conciseness (even though Mark is the shortest Gospel, his versions of stories are often the most longwinded of the Synoptic Gospels). It also supports that idea that Mark doesn’t have the unified authorial vision holding the whole narrative together, like we might expect of a modern novel. Or, as one prominent scholar on the Gospel of Mark put it to me once, “Out of all the Gospels, I like Mark the best because he doesn’t tell me what to do.”
The first time I ever gave out the consecrated bread during a Communion service came only a short while after I came to the Episcopal Church. I had Baptist minister for a couple years, had lots of preaching experience, and was in the ordination discernment process. It was an Anglo-Catholic parish but they also had a contemporary worship style service in the chapel each week that blended Anglo-Catholic commitments and spirituality with guitar and drums music.
Consider, for a moment, that you are the owner of a large home, one with many rooms to which God could come and knock on our door, seeking a home for Christ, as a Father might look for a home for his Son. Rent is cheap, I say. But God says, I don’t want to rent. I want to buy. So, I reply, I’m not sure I want to sell, but you might come in and look around.
On this All Soul’s Day we might consider heaven--what is heaven like? I would say that it is here now, and after we die. We find heaven now—in our interactions with others. In a sense we create our heaven or hell on earth through our actions, an interpersonal heaven or hell. Jesus’ life was difficult—sometimes our lives are beyond our control. We know deep in our heart that, with rare exceptions, our responses are not.
St. Francis was the preacher who said preach always, and if you must, use words. Francis preached through his actions, he taught by the life he lived—a life characterized by incredibly joyful abandon and total dependence on God.
St. Francis was the preacher who said preach always, and if you must, use words. Francis preached through his actions, he taught by the life he lived—a life characterized by incredibly joyful abandon and total dependence on God.
His name is Bill. He has wild hair. He is wearing a T-shirt with holes in it, jeans and no shoes. That has literally been his wardrobe the entire four years of college. He is brilliant--kind of esoteric and very, very bright. He became a Christian during college.
I’ve never met an angel. Or at least I’ve never seen an angel I knew was an angel. Perhaps it is true what some people believe: that the person who suddenly appeared out of nowhere when your car broke down on a lonely country road in the middle of the night—perhaps that was an angel after all. But I don’t know what I believe about all that.
This weekend I’ve been able to watch some of the U. S. Open Tennis. I rest in awe of the athleticism and skill of these players. While I don’t play often today, tennis was part of my life for many years. My ability to return the ball with some regularity is the result of group lessons when I was a child and some years of individual lessons as an adult.
For me this has been a wonderful summer. A time of coming together in worship week after week, of strengthening the ties that join us together, and of coming to know each other better. A time of growing in faith and love and trust. Part of the joy of summer has been the presence of children. In many parishes children disappear over the summer. Here they have been a constant presence.
The year after my ordination, I was privileged to be able to spend a few days on retreat at West Malling, an abbey of cloistered Anglican sisters on the what was the pilgrimage route to Canterbury Cathedral. I still can hear their voices as they sang the same words from Psalm 34 at the beginning of each office
Oh, magnify the Lord with me
Come, let us worship together.
We come together this morning to honor Ara Moses Baltayan and to commit his soul into God’s loving care. Ara’s friends and family tell me of a man who was a loving father and devoted husband who worked hard to provide for his family. He enjoyed photography and taking his sailboat out on the Sound. He was committed to the community and to serving it through Rotary—the international service organization for business and professional leaders. And then there was his connection with this place, this parish, Christ Church.