Sunday, October 24, 2010

Good new for failed Pharisess

J. Barry Vaughn. October 24, 2010.

I want to tell you a story, or rather, I want to retell one of Jesus’ stories. Jesus lived in a world of villages, an agrarian, rural world, and this is reflected in most of his parables. He tells us of the sower whose seed fell among rocks and weeds, as well as nourishing soil; he tells us of the wealthy farmer who built more storehouses but was poor in the things of the spirit; and he tells us of the fishermen whose nets are bursting with fish of every kind. But the parable in today’s gospel reading concerns two persons who were both more urban and also somewhat less universal than the figures in most of Jesus’ parables. They are a Pharisee and a tax collector.

The two could not have been more different. One was a success and the other was a failure. But which was the success and which was the failure? That is the question that makes the story interesting. The Pharisee is a moral success--the Publican is a moral failure. However, although the Pharisee was a moral success, he was a religious failure, and the Publican, although a moral failure, was a religious success.

Now let’s not stereotype the Pharisees. They were a renewal movement within first century Judaism. Their goal was to make it easier to observe the commandments of the Torah. And they were no more or less likely than anyone else to be hypocritical. Frankly, hypocrisy is a temptation common to all religions. Several years ago, a Harvard professor greeted my friend Peter Gomes before Easter and said, “Well, Dr. Gomes, I expect that you’ll be celebrating Easter in Memorial Church with all those hypocrites.” Peter replied, “That’s right, Professor. Why don’t you join us? There’s always room for one more!”

So the Pharisee in Jesus’ parable stands for me, for you, for any of us who forget that it is we who need God and not God who needs us. In place of the word “Pharisee,” we might use the word “priest” or “bishop” or “theologian” . . . you fill in the blank. The Pharisee in Jesus' story reminds me of the great but less than modest Sir Winston Churchill of whom it was said: "There but for the grace of God ... goes God".

So much for the Pharisee, now who was the tax collector. He was in the employ of the Romans and collected taxes for them. In other words, he worked for the foreign rulers who occupied Palestine. He made his living by extorting money. He was a collaborator and a crook. But although the tax collector was a moral failure, he was a religious success. The tax collector in Jesus’ parable stands for the alcoholic who has finally admitted that he is an alcoholic. He stands for the unwed mother who is struggling to give her children a better life and more opportunities than she could ever hope for herself. He is the person who has come to the end of his rope and has let go -- acknowledging his failure and casting himself into the hands of a loving God.

But there is not as much difference between these two characters as may seem: the tax collector is a failed Pharisee. The tax collector is the one who has realized that he cannot climb up to God on a ladder of accomplishments. When we realize that God is not impressed by our degrees or bank accounts or impressive job titles, that we cannot draw near to God by piling success upon success, we are tempted to despair. But when in the dark nights of our soul we say, "God have mercy upon us", God draws near to us.

A useful technique of Bible study and meditation is to put ourselves in the Biblical event about which we are reading. Unfortunately I like to flatter myself. I imagine myself going to the manger with the wise men, although in reality I probably would have stayed home rather than risk the long and difficult journey. I imagine myself remaining awake with Jesus in Gethsemane, although I know that I would certainly have snoozed with the other disciples. And I like to think that I would have risen early with Mary Magdalene on Easter, although I hate etting up early, so why I think I would have behaved differently on the first Easter, I don't know.

If you were to put yourself into the reading from Luke's Gospel, which character would you be? The Pharisee or the tax collector? Where would we put ourselves? You don't have to tell me; you don't have to tell anybody.

We would like to think that we would be the penitent tax collector rather than the proud Pharisee. But would we? It's all too easy to come before God with a list of our accomplishments. It's hard, desperately hard, to come before God with a catalog of our moral failures.

I want to tell you a story about a failed Pharisee. I have a friend named Bartle. He's not a real person; he's a character in a novel, but I feel as though I know him. Bartle was a priest of the Church of England who experienced a divorce and now is carrying on an affair with a young, Jewish woman. Bartle's life is a mess. He has failed at everything he has ever attempted. Bartle's one remaining link to the church is his annual confession at Christmas.

The story begins as Bartle sits in the back of a dingy old church near London's King's Cross Station. The portion of the psalter assigned for that day includes the phrase, "'I will walk in my house with a perfect heart. I will take no wicked thing in hand; I hate the sins of unfaithfulness: there shall no such cleave unto me....", but Bartle could think of nothing but the ways he had been unfaithful to everything important to him: unfaithful to the priesthood and, above all, unfaithful to God. He hated going to confession but felt that his life would fall apart if he abandoned this last bit of spiritual discipline. What was the point of confessing his sins, Bartle wondered? God's law was "an impossible counsel of perfection". Then, as he was tempted toward the absolute sin of despair, another text occurred to him: "'My strength is made perfect in weakness.' These words, for Bartle, were the first stage of a journey leading up to the only Love who was fully good and true".

'Lord God,' said Bartle in his inmost soul, 'My priesthood is a gift which, like all your other gifts, I have wasted and squandered and spoilt. But, even now, let my very imperfection be itself priestly. I know nothing of you. My attempts to follow you have all failed, again and again and again.... [But] even now, as I promise to do better, I know that I have nothing to look forward to but failure and more failure. But it is to you that I come, dear Physician of life. I no longer dare to ask to be perfect, even as you are perfect. I dare only to kneel in your presence in all my muddle and impurity and doubt and offer these things to you. Muddle, impurity and doubt is all that I have to offer you, O holy child of Bethlehem. O friend of sinners, O helpless child, this is my offering to you.'

When he came out of the church into the dark, dewy evening... Bartle felt the world transfigured.

(from Love Unknown by A.N. Wilson, pp. 151-155.)

Note one more thing about today’s prable – its location. It takes place in a house of prayer, a temple. Like the Pharisee and the tax collector, we find ourselves in a place of prayer. The question for us is, Have we come up to the Temple to brag about our accomplishments or to acknowledge our failures?

This morning we will solemnly and corporately confess our sins: "We have sinned against God in thought, word, and deed, by what we have done, and by what we have left undone." And then I will affirm that God forgives you and forgives me.

Now Episcopalians maintain (rightly) that it is not necessary to confess our sins to a priest We usually say that the proper time and place for the confession of sins is the quiet of our own homes or in the moments before worship. But I must admit to you that my own spiritual discipline is defective. I do not do a serious moral and spiritual inventory of myself often enough. And as for the moments before worship, when I am not leading worship, I am more likely to spend that time in idle conversation than I am in self-reflection or careful consideration of my neighbors' needs. So, I believe that we need public prayers of confession on a regular basis. And we especially need them when we come up to the temple to pray so that we can remind ourselves that we are on the side of the Publican, not the Pharisee.

Here in this temple today, we are all failed Pharisees. Like the Pharisee, we offer God our success. The bad news is our success or our accomplishments are not enough. The good news is that God accepts us as we are; God wants our failures, too.

There are great talents and gifts in this congregation. Among us and our families and friends there is wealth and accomplishment beyond the dreams of most persons on the earth. But I know that I personally struggle with a sense of failure. No matter how much I accomplish, it never seems to be enough. And I don't believe that I am the only one who feels that way.

Offer thanks to God for jobs and homes, for spouses and children, for degrees and honors. But then look beyond the accomplishments at the failures, for they are there, too, and offer them to God.

Today's Gospel reading invites us to offer God our moral failures. Offer God the alienation that has come between you and your spouse. Offer God the destructive behavior that has you in its grip. Offer God the hopelessness, verging on despair that makes you wonder whether or not to get out of bed in the morning. Ultimately, each of us, like Bartle, must come to God on our knees and pray the prayer that Bartle prayed: "...dear Physician of life. I no longer dare to ask to be perfect, even as you are perfect. I dare only to kneel in your presence in all my muddle and impurity and doubt and offer these things to you. Muddle, impurity and doubt is all that I have to offer you, O holy child of Bethlehem. O friend of sinners, O helpless child, this is my offering to you."

There is muddle and impurity and doubt in my life and in the life of each person here. For to say that we are muddled and impure and doubting is simply to say that we are human. And when we recognize that that is the way things are and in this life always will be, we are tempted to despair but instead we should offer it to God, for God is in the business of taking "muddle and impurity and doubt" and replacing them with forgiveness and healing. After all, God took a Cross, the cruellest instrument of judicial murder ever devised, and turned it into the instrument of our redemption and the sign of eternal hope.

Sunday, October 17, 2010

Wrestling with God

The film The Last Station deals with the last few months of the life of Russian novelist Leo Tolstoy. Late in his life Tolstoy had a powerful religious experience. He came to believe that he should practice a form of radical obedience to the words of Jesus in the Sermon on the Mount, and so he became a pacifist. He also began to give away his wealth, and he was a very wealthy man. Tolstoy was not only a successful novelist; he was also an aristocrat who owned valuable estates. The only problem was that his wife Sofia did not share Tolstoy’s religious views. The film depicts their relationship as contentious and stormy but also deeply loving. One moment they are yelling and cursing at each other and the next they are holding each other and calling each other silly, endearing names.

I suspect that is the way it is with a lot of our most important relationships. Whether it is a parent, a sibling, a child, or a friend, our closest relationships are often the stormiest. Someone once said that it is easy for our parents to push our buttons because they installed them.

The story of Jacob in Genesis is a great example of this truth. He was a man who was involved in a series of stormy relationships, and the storms were usually of his own making. Jacob’s character was a mixture of weakness and strength. While still in the womb, Jacob struggled with his brother Esau. God explained the struggle to Rebecca by telling her that “two nations” were in her womb. “The one shall be stronger than the other and the older shall serve the younger.”

Genesis says that Jacob came into the world holding on to the heel of his brother Esau. Thus, he was given the name “Jacob” which is usually defined as the “supplanter” but another way to translate the Hebrew name Jacob is the “deceiver.” From the beginning to the end of his life, Jacob would catch the heel of others to hold them back so he could get ahead, to trip them up so he could get the advantage.

The author of Genesis compares Jacob and Esau, telling us that Jacob was a homebody and Esau was an outdoorsman and hunter. But Jacob appears to be intellectually stronger than Esau. Catching Esau at a weak moment when he is famished, Jacob drives a hard bargain, forcing Esau to relinquish his blessing in return for a bowl of food. But when Jacob disguises himself as Esau and goes into their nearly blind father Isaac, lying to him in order to receive the laying on of Isaac’s hands that actually confers the blessing, Jacob appears to be morally and spiritually weak.

The tables are turned on Jacob when he works for his uncle Laban. Jacob the deceiver becomes Jacob the deceived when Laban tricks him into marrying his older and less attractive daughter Leah, then makes him work seven more years to marry his younger and prettier daughter Rachel whom Jacob really desires.

So what are we to make of this story of Jacob wrestling with a mysterious stranger through the night until day breaks? I believe this story tells us something profoundly true about ourselves.

First, we are told that Jacob is alone. It is often when we are alone that significant people enter our lives. There is something about solitude that opens us up. When a relationship ends, whether through divorce or the death of a loved one or when someone simply walks away, we feel dead, we feel that we will never love again. And then someone new comes into our life. We live again. We love again. And we live and love in new and unexpected ways, ways we did not know we could live and love.

Alternatively, in the solitude that follows the end of a relationship we may discover ourselves anew, we may find new and undiscovered aspects of ourselves.

Secondly, note that it was dark when the stranger wrestled with Jacob. Often it is when we are in deepest darkness that new insights come to us. The darkness may be actual night when we simply cannot sleep. It may be the darkness of doubt and uncertainty. When the old certainties flee away, we may learn that we can live with uncertainty and doubt.

Thirdly, the mysterious stranger dislocates Jacob’s hip so that he is permanently marked and forever after walks with a limp. We must not think that we will be as good as new when a relationship ends, when a loved one dies, when we lose our job, when we can no longer believe in the old certainties. Things are never the way they were, the way they used to be. Things are always different. We are always different. We do not come to the end of our lives without collecting a few scars along the way, but the scars can be a source of strength. They can open us up to new love, new life. They can open us up to God, to each other, and to new parts of ourselves.

Former U.S. senator and cabinet member Max Cleland lost an arm and both legs in Vietnam. His autobiography is entitled “Strong at the broken places.” Our broken places can be our greatest sources of strength.

Novelist and playwright Thornton Wilder once wrote, “In love’s army only the wounded may serve.” Do not let your wounds make you bitter; let them open you up. Look around you at your fellow soldiers in love’s army. Each of them bears some wound as proudly as a Congressional medal of honor.

Finally, Jacob received a new name. “You shall no longer be called Jacob the Deceiver but Israel – the one who has wrestled with God and prevailed.” We are not only named at birth or at baptism, and it is not only our parents who name us. We are always being named or perhaps we are always discovering what our names are.

One of C.S. Lewis’ least known and most unusual books is Till We Have Faces. The title comes from an enigmatic quotation: “How can we see the gods until we have faces?” Each of us has a face we show to the world. The problem is that the face we show to the world may not be our real face, our real self. We may not even know what our true face is. Life is a process of discovering what our real face is, what our real name is, who we really are.

We learn our real self, our real face, our real name through struggle. We learn who we are in those solitary moments when we must fall back on our own resources, when God comes to us in both struggle and loving embrace. We learn who we are in the darkness when the familiar certainties have fled. We learn who we are when life has beaten us up and left us bruised and bloody. We learn who we are when the mysterious voice speaks out of the silence, the solitude, the darkness and tells us that we are no longer the person we thought we were, when the voice speaks the new name that we never heard before but which we immediately know to be right the first time we hear it.

I want to conclude with a story you may have heard me tell before. An eminent rabbi died and came to the gates of heaven. He walked confidently up to the angel who maintains the book of life and said, “I am Rabbi So and so, please let me enter.” The angel said, “I’m sorry but you’ll to wait until I call your name.” So the rabbi waited and waited and waited as people he knew or complete strangers entered. He waited as the great and the unknown entered ahead of him. He waited as great saints and even great sinners entered the kingdom of God. Finally, the angel stopped calling names and closed the book. Tearfully, the rabbi said, “You never called my name!” The angel replied, “Ah, but I did. The problem is, you do not know your name.” Life is a process of learning who we are, what our real name is. And we only learn our names, our identities if we struggle alone, through the darkness with the One who knows us and calls us by name.

Sunday, October 10, 2010

Seek the welfare of the city

Someone once asked humorist Will Rogers if he belonged to an organized political party, and he replied, “No, I’m a Democrat.” Think about that for a moment. Right now, I think it applies to both political parties.

I like to paraphrase Will Rogers’ joke and tell people that I don’t belong to an organized religion; I’m an Episcopalian.

We have all heard that one should never discuss politics or religion in polite company. People tend to have strong, even passionate, opinions about both subjects, and a discussion of either topic is likely to generate more heat than light.

But as a religious leader people often want to discuss religion with me. I don’t mind; I think it’s a little ridiculous not to talk about the subjects that interest us and which touch on the deepest concerns of our hearts.

People often tell me that they believe that organized religion is pernicious, and they even say that it has done and is doing more harm than any other institution. They cite the conflicts in northern Ireland, the middle east and elsewhere.

Let’s just look objectively at that idea. There’s a good deal of support for the idea that religion does more harm than good. Religion appears to be at the heart of many dangerous conflicts. Religious differences are part of the reason for the hostility and suspicion that divides Hindu India from Muslim Pakistan. There is even less reason for the differences that divide Protestant Northern Ireland from the Catholic Republic of Ireland. How can two groups that both profess the Christian faith be so bitterly divided? And then there’s the Middle East. As humorist Tom Lehrer said in his song “National Brotherhood Week,” “Oh, the Catholics hate the Protestants and the Protestants hate the Catholics and the Hindus hate the Muslims and everybody hates the Jews…”

In our own country, we seem to be in the midst of wave of anti-Islamic feeling, but if we want to encourage Muslims to reject extremism, we have to reach out to our Muslim neighbors with understanding.

Let’s take a closer look at the accusation that religion spawns hatred, misunderstanding and violence. There’s some justification for this idea. The Roman empire systematically persecuted Jews and Christians who would not offer sacrifices in the temples of the gods who were believed to uphold the Roman state. Christians, then, returned the favor when Constantine converted to the Christian faith in the 4th century. In the Middle Ages Jews cowered in their homes in fear on Good Friday because Christians often rioted through Jewish neighborhoods beating and even killing Jews on the day of Christ’s crucifixion.

Muslims conquered the Middle East and Northern Africa by force in the 7th and 8th centuries. Jews and Christians were free to practice their religion in many Muslim countries but were treated as second class citizens.

During the crusades, Christians indiscriminately slaughtered Jews, Muslims, and even eastern Orthodox Christians in their campaign to reassert Christian rule over the Holy Land. And we won’t even go into the Inquisition…

So far, so bad. Now, let’s look at the evil done by explicitly secularist and atheist regimes. If we total up those killed just in the 20th c. by the Third Reich, the Soviet Union, the People’s Republic of China, and Pol Pot’s regime in Cambodia, we reach a conservative estimate of 50 million. That greatly exceeds the number of those killed in wars of religion in the last 2000 years by a factor of 2 or even 3.

The word "religion" is derived from two Latin words that mean to "re-connect". That's the true purpose of religion: to united, not divide... to join, not to

Religion has given us schools and hospitals, teachers and doctors. Mother Teresa was motivated by her love of God to serve the poorest of the poor; Gandhi’s campaign to achieve Indian independence was profoundly spiritual; Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., never deviated from his commitment to non-violent resistance because of his deep faith in God; the Catholic teachers I met in Bangladesh provide education for hundreds of children, most of them not Catholic but Muslim; and we could go on and on.

In today’s Old Testament reading the prophet Jeremiah writes a remarkable letter to the Jewish exiles in Babylon. Jeremiah could have told the exiles to resist, to do everything in their power to sabotage the Babylonian regime. But instead Jeremiah told them to “Build houses and live in them; plant gardens and eat what they produce. Take wives and have sons and daughters; take wives for your sons, and give your daughters in marriage, that they may bear sons and daughters; multiply there, and do not decrease. But seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the LORD on its behalf, for in its welfare you will find your welfare.”

I believe that Jeremiah’s words sum up the purpose of religion. Even though we believe that this world is not permanent, that our eternal destiny is in a world to come, that in some sense we are exiles here, we, too, should bend every effort to work for the well-being of this world, to plant gardens, to build schools and hospitals, to care for the sick, lift up the fallen, nurture children, befriend the friendless, and to make this world as much like heaven as possible.


Sunday, September 12, 2010

Oh, the places you'll go!

J. Barry Vaughn. The baptism of James Gordon Brush. St. Alban’s Episcopal Church, Birmingham, AL. Sept. 12, 2010.

Today we are baptizing James Gordon Brush. I am going to explain baptism to him, but the rest of you are invited to listen, too.

Gordon, I want to begin with a quotation from one of the most important and best-known theologians of the last century:

Congratulations!

Today is your day.

You’re off to great places!

You’re off and away!

The theologian, of course, is Dr. Seuss. Somehow I doubt that his doctorate was in theology, because most theologians I know would have to write an entire book to say what he says in only four lines. But it’s hard to find a better explanation of baptism than Dr. Seuss’s book, Oh, the Places You’ll Go!

You’ll be on your way up!

You’ll be seeing great sights!

You’ll join the high fliers

Who soar to high heights.

You won’t lag behind because you’ll have speed.

You’ll pass the whole gang and you’ll soon take the lead.

Wherever you fly, you’ll be the best of the best.

Wherever you go, you will top all the rest.

Gordon, today is the day you launch out into a sea of adventure. Or (to repeat what Dr. Seuss says)

You’re off to great places!

You’re off and away!

Don’t let anyone tell you that the Christian life is safe and peaceful. In baptism your ship sets sail and you leave the safe harbor behind and sail into adventure and adversity. That may sound a little scary but remember this: you will never be alone. Look around you. Everyone here is going along with you on that adventure. Today you become part of what someone called “one family with a billion names.” Today you acquire millions of new brothers and sisters on every continent, every nationality, and every race. And especially remember that whether your ship sails into the storm or the calm, Jesus is going with you on your journey through life.

Gordon, we have several gifts for you: First, here is a baptismal certificate. I’ve made it large deliberately. I wanted it to be about the same size as the certificate priests receive when they are ordained, because the most important ordination anyone receives is the ordination all of us receive in baptism. In baptism, Gordon, you are ordained into the priesthood all Christians share. All baptized persons are ordained to proclaim the Good News; we are all ordained to reach out to the lost and lonely, the hungry and the hurt; we are ordained to lift ourselves and others into the healing and transforming presence of God through prayer.

Second, I will take some water from the baptismal font and put it in a bottle for you to keep. Remember, Gordon, that while life is always good, it is not always fun. Or as Dr. Seuss puts it

I’m sorry to say so

But sadly, it’s true

That Bang-ups

And Hang-ups

Can happen to you.

You can get all hung up

In a prickle-ly perch.

And your gang can fly on.

You’ll be left in a Lurch.

You’ll come down from the Lurch

With an unpleasant bump.

And the chances are, then,

That you’ll be in a Slump

And when you’re in a Slump,

You’re not much fun.

Un-slumping yourself

Is not easily done.

All of us go through slumps, Gordon, but baptism gives us the resources to deal with slumps. That’s why I’m giving you some of the baptismal water to take home. When you find yourself in a slump, look at this bottle of water, and remind yourself that were baptized. In baptism you are given the gift of the Holy Spirit and the Spirit can lift us out of any slump.

Third, we are giving you this t-shirt. In the early church, people who were baptized wore white garments for 50 days after their baptism. This shirt is too big for you today, although in no time at all, it will be too small for you. But remember what it says: You are a Christian, a child of God, an heir of the kingdom of Heaven; a disciple of Jesus; and a member of God’s royal priesthood. All your life, people will try to make you forget who you are. They will try to make you think you are something other than and less than the person God made you to be. Don’t let them do that. A former bishop of this diocese used to say to the people he confirmed, “Remember who you are and what you represent.” This shirt will help you do that.

Fourth, when we go back to the font, Deacon Mary will light a candle from the Paschal candle and give it to you. You’re supposed to burn it every year on the anniversary of your baptism. The candle will remind you of the light that burns brightly inside you. You may not always see that light, but it is always there. All of us go through dark places from time to time, and when you do, light your baptismal candle and remember that God’s light is burning in your heart.

Finally, we are giving you a cross. Most Christian churches have crosses inside or outside or both. There’s a large cross on the front of St. Alban’s and many crosses inside. The cross has many meanings. The most important meaning of the cross is that it tells us that God can take the worst possible thing that can happen to us and turn it into something glorious. But in a sense, the cross is a sign that shows us the way to go when we get lost.

Sometimes, Dr. Seuss says

You’ll come to a place where the streets are not marked.

Some windows are lighted. But mostly they’re darked.

A place you could sprain both your elbow and chin!

Do you dare to go out? Do you dare to go in?

How much can you lose? How much can you win?

And IF you go in, should you turn left or right…

Or right-and-three-quarters? Or, maybe, not quite?

Or go around back and sneak in from behind?

Simple it’s not, I’m afraid you will find.

For a mind-maker-upper to make up his mind .

There’s a story about a little boy who got lost in a big city. Fortunately, a policeman found him and walked around the neighborhood with him, hoping that he would see a landmark. Finally, they stopped in front of a big building with a cross on top, and the little boy’s face lit up, and he said, “It’s OK, officer, this is my church. I can find my way home from here.”

Gordon, when you come to that “place where the streets are not marked” (and all of us find ourselves there from time to time), look for the cross and look for the church. The cross will point you the way, and the church is full of people who will help you find your way home.

You’ll get mixed up, of course,

As you already know.

You’ll get mixed up

With many strange birds as you go.

So be sure when you step.

Step with care and great tact

And remember that Life’s

A Great Balancing Act.

Just never forget to be dexterous and deft.

And never mix up your right foot with your left.

And will you succeed?

Yes! You will, indeed!

(98 and ¾ percent guaranteed.)

Amen.

Oh, the places you'll go!

J. Barry Vaughn. The baptism of James Gordon Brush. St. Alban’s Episcopal Church, Birmingham, AL. Sept. 5, 2010.

Today we are baptizing James Gordon Brush. I am going to explain baptism to him, but the rest of you are invited to listen, too.

Gordon, I want to begin with a quotation from one of the most important and best-known theologians of the last century:

Congratulations!

Today is your day.

You’re off to great places!

You’re off and away!

The theologian, of course, is Dr. Seuss. Somehow I doubt that his doctorate was in theology, because most theologians I know would have to write an entire book to say what he says in only four lines. But it’s hard to find a better explanation of baptism than Dr. Seuss’s book, Oh, the Places You’ll Go!

You’ll be on your way up!

You’ll be seeing great sights!

You’ll join the high fliers

Who soar to high heights.

You won’t lag behind because you’ll have speed.

You’ll pass the whole gang and you’ll soon take the lead.

Wherever you fly, you’ll be the best of the best.

Wherever you go, you will top all the rest.

Gordon, today is the day you launch out into a sea of adventure. Or (to repeat what Dr. Seuss says)

You’re off to great places!

You’re off and away!

Don’t let anyone tell you that the Christian life is safe and peaceful. In baptism your ship sets sail and you leave the safe harbor behind and sail into adventure and adversity. That may sound a little scary but remember this: you will never be alone. Look around you. Everyone here is going along with you on that adventure. Today you become part of what someone called “one family with a billion names.” Today you acquire millions of new brothers and sisters on every continent, every nationality, and every race. And especially remember that whether your ship sails into the storm or the calm, Jesus is going with you on your journey through life.

Gordon, we have several gifts for you: First, here is a baptismal certificate. I’ve made it large deliberately. I wanted it to be about the same size as the certificate priests receive when they are ordained, because the most important ordination anyone receives is the ordination all of us receive in baptism. In baptism, Gordon, you are ordained into the priesthood all Christians share. All baptized persons are ordained to proclaim the Good News; we are all ordained to reach out to the lost and lonely, the hungry and the hurt; we are ordained to lift ourselves and others into the healing and transforming presence of God through prayer.

Second, I will take some water from the baptismal font and put it in a bottle for you to keep. Remember, Gordon, that while life is always good, it is not always fun. Or as Dr. Seuss puts it

I’m sorry to say so

But sadly, it’s true

That Bang-ups

And Hang-ups

Can happen to you.

You can get all hung up

In a prickle-ly perch.

And your gang can fly on.

You’ll be left in a Lurch.

You’ll come down from the Lurch

With an unpleasant bump.

And the chances are, then,

That you’ll be in a Slump

And when you’re in a Slump,

You’re not much fun.

Un-slumping yourself

Is not easily done.

All of us go through slumps, Gordon, but baptism gives us the resources to deal with slumps. That’s why I’m giving you some of the baptismal water to take home. When you find yourself in a slump, look at this bottle of water, and remind yourself that were baptized. In baptism you are given the gift of the Holy Spirit and the Spirit can lift us out of any slump.

Third, we are giving you this t-shirt. In the early church, people who were baptized wore white garments for 50 days after their baptism. This shirt is too big for you today, although in no time at all, it will be too small for you. But remember what it says: You are a Christian, a child of God, an heir of the kingdom of Heaven; a disciple of Jesus; and a member of God’s royal priesthood. All your life, people will try to make you forget who you are. They will try to make you think you are something other than and less than the person God made you to be. Don’t let them do that. A former bishop of this diocese used to say to the people he confirmed, “Remember who you are and what you represent.” This shirt will help you do that.

Fourth, when we go back to the font, Deacon Mary will light a candle from the Paschal candle and give it to you. You’re supposed to burn it every year on the anniversary of your baptism. The candle will remind you of the light that burns brightly inside you. You may not always see that light, but it is always there. All of us go through dark places from time to time, and when you do, light your baptismal candle and remember that God’s light is burning in your heart.

Finally, we are giving you a cross. Most Christian churches have crosses inside or outside or both. There’s a large cross on the front of St. Alban’s and many crosses inside. The cross has many meanings. The most important meaning of the cross is that it tells us that God can take the worst possible thing that can happen to us and turn it into something glorious. But in a sense, the cross is a sign that shows us the way to go when we get lost.

Sometimes, Dr. Seuss says

You’ll come to a place where the streets are not marked.

Some windows are lighted. But mostly they’re darked.

A place you could sprain both your elbow and chin!

Do you dare to go out? Do you dare to go in?

How much can you lose? How much can you win?

And IF you go in, should you turn left or right…

Or right-and-three-quarters? Or, maybe, not quite?

Or go around back and sneak in from behind?

Simple it’s not, I’m afraid you will find.

For a mind-maker-upper to make up his mind .

There’s a story about a little boy who got lost in a big city. Fortunately, a policeman found him and walked around the neighborhood with him, hoping that he would see a landmark. Finally, they stopped in front of a big building with a cross on top, and the little boy’s face lit up, and he said, “It’s OK, officer, this is my church. I can find my way home from here.”

Gordon, when you come to that “place where the streets are not marked” (and all of us find ourselves there from time to time), look for the cross and look for the church. The cross will point you the way, and the church is full of people who will help you find your way home.

You’ll get mixed up, of course,

As you already know.

You’ll get mixed up

With many strange birds as you go.

So be sure when you step.

Step with care and great tact

And remember that Life’s

A Great Balancing Act.

Just never forget to be dexterous and deft.

And never mix up your right foot with your left.

And will you succeed?

Yes! You will, indeed!

(98 and ¾ percent guaranteed.)

Amen.

Monday, September 06, 2010

Three upcoming events

Here are 3 upcoming events that you might like to know about:

Sunday, Sept. 19 and 26, at St. Luke's, Mountain Brook, at 4 pm. I'm giving 2 lectures on the Evangelical Revival of the 18th and 19th centuries and Anglicanism. Did you know that the only Episcopalians who spoke out against slavery were the evangelicals? Come to my lectures and find out why.

Thursday, Oct. 21, at the Birmingham Public Library, at 7.30 pm. I'm giving a piano recital that I'm calling "Scenes from Childhood." Here's the program:

Mozart - Variations on Ah! Vous Dirais-je maman (better known as "Twinkle, twinkle...")
Schumann- Scenes from Childhood, Op. 15
Margaret Bonds - Troubled Water
Liszt - Waldesrauschen
Shostakovich- Selections from his Preludes, Op. 34
Chopin - Ballade in A flat, Op. 47

Sunday, Oct. 24, at the Culural Arts Center, Gadsden, AL, at 4 pm. I'm repeating the recital as a benefit for Christ Episcopal Church in Albertville. Last April, a tornado virtually destroyed Christ Church. My concert in Gadsden is free but people will be asked to make a contribution of at least $25 to the Christ Church building fund.

Monday, August 23, 2010

Holy Impatience

J. Barry Vaughn. St. Alban's Episcopal Church. Aug. 22, 2010.


Patience, we are told, is a virtue. And so it is. When a slow driver gets in the fast lane on I 65 and we want to tailgate him or her, then we need to be patient; when the employee at a fast food place (who, after all, is only making minimum wage) gets our order wrong then it’s better to be patient than to yell at him or insist on seeing the manager; and we really need patience our computer malfunctions and we call support and have to press 1 for English and then choose from 1 to 5 for the next level and then between 1 and 9 for the next level and then enter our social security number and our birthday and our mother’s maiden name and the birthdates of our children and so on and so on… If you still have some patience left at the end of a process like that, then I will personally nominate you for sainthood.

I’m especially impatient. You will never convince me that elevators don’t speed up if you press the up or down button more than once. When the electronic voice at the other end of a phone call asks me to state the purpose of my call in a few words, I always ask for a real human being.

But there are times when patience is not a virtue.

In 1963 Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., led a series of demonstrations in downtown Birmingham. Today his goals seem reasonable, but in 1963 they were considered too much, too soon and too fast. They were deemed dangerous and extreme. King sought the integration of public facilities such as lunch counters, drinking fountains, and rest rooms and insisted that department stores begin to hire black sales clerks. Charles Carpenter, the bishop of the Episcopal Diocese of Alabama, and 7 other religious leaders issued a statement asking King to postpone his protest. They had a point and there was some justification for their appeal to King: Birmingham’s newly elected mayor, Albert Boutwell, was a reasonable man and there was reason to think that he would work with Birmingham’s civic leaders and with King to achieve at least some of the goals that King sought. So Carpenter and his colleagues urged King to be patient. After all, he was trying to overturn a system that had been in place for generations. Why couldn’t he wait just a little longer?

One of the things that fascinated me about my freshman year in college was the vast collection of causes that my fellow students were involved in. Now keep in mind that this was way back in 1974 when the earth was cooling. The causes then were somewhat different from the causes today. There would always be a table or two outside the freshman dining hall asking us to sign up for a fast to raise awareness of world hunger. Another would urge us to support the boycott of South African business that upheld the system of apartheid. Another would ask us to sign a petition to eliminate nuclear weapons. A few of my more conservative classmates became disgusted with the daily array of liberal causes they encountered and formed a group called “Students for a perfect world now” and from time to time they would also set up a table outside the dining hall.

But sometimes what seems like wild-eyed idealism in one generation can seem like simple decency in the next generation. We take for granted the goals that King sought in 1963, but Carpenter and Birmingham’s other religious leaders urged him to wait just a little longer. King replied to Carpenter and the other religious leaders in his famous essay, “Letter from Birmingham jail.” And King’s reply took the wind out of Carpenter’s sails.


For years now I have heard the word "Wait!" It rings in the ear of every Negro with piercing familiarity. This "Wait" has almost always meant "Never." …. “justice too long delayed is justice denied." We have waited for more than 340 years for our constitutional and God given rights.

Several years ago Rabbi Milton Graffman, who also signed the letter to King urging him to wait, came and talked to my students at Samford about why he had counseled King to be patient for a little longer. He was very persuasive. But after Rabbi Graffman left, I asked my students who had been right – King or Graffman. My students were all white, middle class kids, but they all said that King had been right and Graffman had been wrong. They said that if King had waited, things would never have changed.

In today’s gospel reading Jesus encounters a woman who had been crippled for 18 years. He is so moved by her situation that he speaks to her, lays his hands on her, and heals her without even being asked to do so. And when Jesus healed the woman, a leader of the synagogue blew up at him. Much like the religious leaders in Birmingham in 1963 the leader of the synagogue wanted Jesus to wait; he wanted the woman to be patient. After all, she had been crippled for 18 years. Why couldn’t she be patient and wait just a few hours until the end of the Sabbath?

In a way, the leader of the synagogue was correct. Surely it was not asking too much for Jesus to observe the Sabbath code and do no unnecessary work on the holy day. Was it asking too much for the unnamed woman who had suffered for 18 years to suffer for only a few more hours?

Perhaps Dr. King could also have heeded Birmingham’s religious leaders in 1963 and postponed his demonstrations. Surely black people who had waited 300 years for the end of slavery and then waited another century for basic civil rights could wait just a little longer.

But sometimes patience becomes not a virtue but a vice. There comes a time when we have been patient enough; when justice has been delayed too long. Sometimes it is right and good and perhaps even holy to be impatient with injustice, to feel a righteous anger with the evil in the world.

Jesus told the leader of the synagogue that the woman (who had been afflicted for 18 years) had suffered long enough. The end of the Sabbath was only a few hours away, but even that was too long for Jesus. God’s will is for human life to flourish; the Bible calls it abundant life. One of the church fathers said, “The glory of God is a human being fully alive.”

We need to be impatient for the sake of justice, for the sake of God. We need to be impatient with hungry and poverty and homelessness. We need to be angry with barriers to the abundant life that God desires for us.

I still smile when I remember the students who started the “Society for a perfect world now”. They had a good point. The evils and injustices of the world cannot be corrected in a single grand gesture. It takes time and hard work and even patience and today’s gains can be wiped out in a moment. We seldom move forward in a straight line and it is usually a matter of two steps forward, then one step backward.

The sorrows and ills of the world are too much for any one of us to cure. There is too much power in the wrong hands and too little in the right hands. But the Good Samaritan was not asked to care for every traveler who had been robbed and beat up and left for dead; he only had to care for the one whom he saw beside the road to Jericho. God does not ask us to feed every hungry child, house every homeless person, comfort every broken heart; God only asks us to use our resources to the best of ability, to respond generously to the needs we know about; God asks us to be faithful, not perfect.


My fellow freshman did not quite get it right. A perfect world now is never possible but a better world is always possible. Let us all commit ourselves to a holy impatience and a righteous anger when we see injustice and cruelty, and let us all re-commit ourselves to making not a perfect world because that is not in the power of humans to accomplish. Rather, let us commit ourselves to the small steps and little improvements that are in our power to do which will create a better world.

Thursday, August 19, 2010

One final post about visiting India and Bangladesh

Here are some random thoughts that I wrote down while I was in India. I hope someone finds them helpful or amusing or something. If you do, please be in touch!

Things to do, not do, or just keep in mind when you visit India and Bangladesh (well, mostly India):

1. There's a big difference between 1rst class and 2nd class train travel in terms of accommodations, cleanliness, food, comfort, etc. Always travel 1rst class. (Also, read what Mark Twain wrote about Indian trains in his "Following the Equator". Is it possible they are still using the same trains?)

2. Take Cipro every day!!

3. If you take Cipro every day, then you can eat a little more adventurously, So eat the samosas made by the vendor just outside the Sri Ramakrishnan monastery in Calcutta. They're wonderful! You can also safely drink the chai on the trains.

4. Visit Varanasi (Benares) if you want to understand Hinduism. And by all means watch the Brahmin priests offer fire to "Mother Ganga" on the banks of the Ganges.

5. But if you do go to Varanasi, be prepared for a strong shock to your sensibilities. Some of it requires a fairly strong stomach.

6. Speaking of strong stomachs, eat at Karim's in Delhi. It's close to the south gate of the Jama Masjid mosque. Try the grilled goat. It's delicious!

7. You can do one or two overnights on India trains, if you go 1rst class and don't try to do them on consecutive nights, but don't try to do four. Also, next time I'd like to try a long 1rst class day trip.

8. Pace yourself. India is huge and you can't see it all in one visit. Decide what you want to see. Also, don't do too much in any single day.

9. The Taj Mahal is gorgeous but the Red Fort is (to me, anyway) more interesting.

10. If I had it to do again, I would spend more time going to see the sites associated with the British rule of India (Lucknow, Simla, and more of Calcutta).

11. I would also like to go to south India and find out more about Indian Christianity.

12. Next time I'll plan better and actually see some of Mumbai.

13. Skip the changing of the guard at Walla Bagh. It's hot and boring (although it tells you a lot about the relationship between Pakistan and India).

14. Speaking of hot, DO NOT travel in July or August. Try to go during late fall or winter.

15. Kingfisher beer is great.

16. Jet Airways is a terrific airline.

17. Hire a local guide. There are things they know and can do for you that you cannot know about or do on your own.

18. Eat at the Crystal restaurant in Amritsar. It was by far the best restaurant we visited. Also, order their Murg Frontier.

19. Make a list of all the odd signs you see, e.g., Guru Nanak Honda, Krishna Used Vehicle Parts, etc.

20. Make a list every day of the unusual things you see, e.g., women in saris riding motorcycles, whole families sharing rickshaws, etc.

21. Finally, and most importantly, visit India. I suspect that most western visitors (esp. from the US) think about turning around and going home for the first 2 or 3 days. But if you let go of your expectations and preconceptions and don't expect India to be just like the US, it becomes fascinating.

Sunday, August 15, 2010

The words of the prophets in the age of information

J. Barry Vaughn. St. Alban's Episcopal Church, Birmingham, AL. Aug 15, 2010. Proper 15C.

It is often pointed out that we live in the “information age” or that our economy has become an “information economy”. What that means, of course, is that first, we are bombarded with vast amounts of information. This information comes in the form of the spoken and written word, but it also comes in the form of images. It is transmitted via print, radio, television, movies, and the internet. It also means that we are an information economy because more and more people make their livings creating and composing the information that we receive or in creating and maintaining the infrastructure by which the information is transmitted and received.

It seems to me that this information takes at least two primary forms: First and foremost is entertainment. We could literally spend every moment of our lives being entertained. Turn on the radio or television, put a CD on the stereo, pick up a book (yes, there are people who still read), or sign on to the internet. There are sitcoms, dramas, soap operas, comedies, and a million other forms of entertainment. Fortunately, there is still something in the human heart and mind that craves engagement with other creatures of flesh and blood; otherwise, we might starve to death in a semi-hypnotic state in front of our televisions.

The second form of information is information per se. We are also subject to a constant stream of so-called news, journalism, or current events. It seems that we’ve been hearing about the Gulf oil spill for years, not months. Television journalists have interviewed every fisherman and all the restaurant and hotel owners on the Gulf coast. Information also takes the form of emails, memos from the boss, newsletters from the neighborhood watch, your college alumni organization, or Zionist Environmentalists for Peace in Afghanistan.

Philosopher Marshall McLuhan distinguished between “hot” and “cool” forms of information transmission. “Hot” transmission leaves little or nothing to the imagination; “cool” transmission requires fairly intense engagement. I think church, then, is a “cool” form of information exchange. You have to make the effort to get out of bed, shower, dress, get in the car and drive here. You have to sit, stand, or kneel in response to the liturgy. You have to read the service leaflet; respond in the appropriate way at the appropriate time; find the right hymn in the hymnal and so on.

In other words, church is terribly anachronistic. These days most of the information we receive is “hot”; it requires little or no engagement or participation from us. And that is one of the reasons that it is so difficult to persuade people to come to church, especially an Episcopal Church. The church’s “cool” information is hard-pressed to compete with the millions of forms of “hot” information all around us.

Here’s another way to think about it: Not very many years ago the fastest growing city in the U.S. was Las Vegas. What is the principal industry in Las Vegas? Entertainment. My friend John Killinger who taught preaching at Vanderbilt for many years interpreted that fact to mean that the church was losing ground because people were putting a premium on being entertained and the rapid growth of Las Vegas was just a symptom of that phenomenon. Think about it: The local parish church cannot compete with show girls and magicians, much less with Oprah Winfrey and Taylor Lautner of the Twilight movies. And the churches that are successful have adopted a show business format for their worship services. The mega churches have orchestras or at least heavily amplified “praise bands”. They project the lyrics of the “worship songs” on screens in front of the church. (Note that music sung in such churches is never called a hymn; The word “hymn” sounds much too old fashioned.) And in some of these churches the worship leaders’ faces are visible via closed circuit television on screens in every part of the building. No wonder the Episcopal Church is losing members!

But I also have to say that even though these mega-churches have adopted an entertainment format for worship, some of them do a wonderful job of feeding the poor, housing the homeless, and helping people who have lost jobs find new ones. Some of the pastors of these churches are prophetic in the best sense of the word. For the most part, I believe Rick Warren at the Camel Back Community Church in California is one such pastor. But I also believe that many pastors preach “lowest common denominator sermons”. There is one pastor of a mega-church whose face I see multiplied dozens of times whenever I pass the book section at Walmart or Target or any such place. He urges people to live their “best life now” but I wonder what he does with texts such as “take up your cross and follow me.” His youthful, happy face makes me think that he has never suffered, never felt one moment of doubt. If that is so, how can he possibly help lonely, hurting people? But I digress..

I want to suggest that something is missing from the “hot” information all around us, and Jeremiah puts his finger squarely on the issue: “I have heard what the prophets have said who prophesy lies in my name, saying, "I have dreamed, I have dreamed!" How long? Will the hearts of the prophets ever turn back-- those who prophesy lies, and who prophesy the deceit of their own heart? They plan to make my people forget my name by their dreams that they tell one another, just as their ancestors forgot my name for Baal. Let the prophet who has a dream tell the dream, but let the one who has my word speak my word faithfully.” The information age is marvelous at transmitting entertainment and facts, but it has no place for the prophetic word. In other words, the information age tells us what we want to hear but not what we need to hear; it fills our eyes and ears with dreams but not with anything that really challenges us.

Imagine NBC or Fox or HBO announcing a new series: “The Last Prophet Standing” or “The Prophet Files” or “Meet the Prophets”. And every week Jeremiah or Ezekiel or Isaiah or someone like them would spend 30 minutes or an hour lambasting us for neglect of the poor or propping up military dictatorships or just our own personal shallow spirituality and failure to cultivate a deep relationship with God. Before you could say “Nielsen rating” it would be cancelled.

So that is part of the reason that it is so difficult to get people to go to church. Every week someone reads aloud words such as these of Jeremiah: “I have heard what the prophets have said who prophesy lies in my name….” Or these words of Jesus: “"I came to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled…. Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division!” And I make an effort to apply these words to our lives today. And the culture says, “No thanks; I think I’d rather watch re-runs of Law and Order.”

We (and I really mean all of us, myself included) would rather listen to easy words, smooth words. We don’t want to hear what the prophets have to say. We don’t want our dreams troubled. We prefer “hot” information to “cool” information.

Now, it would be easy for me to stop there. It would be easy for me to deliver a diatribe against a culture that does not have a place for the hard and challenging words of the prophets. But I think there is a word especially for St. Alban’s in today’s readings. I want to challenge you, me, and all of us to listen for the hard words that God might have to say to us.

One of the ways that you can tell the true prophets from the false ones is that the true ones always challenge us. They will invariably tell us the things that we do not want to hear. Perhaps I have not said enough about St. Alban’s and its future. Perhaps I should more frequently talk about the hard choices we need to make to be faithful. If I have failed in that, I ask God’s forgiveness and yours. St. Alban’s and just about every Episcopal Church I know faces a very rocky road. We are all going to have to work very hard to get people in the pews. We have to remember that the church has both a front door and a back door, and we have to make sure that more people are coming in the front door than are going out the back door.

If we are faithful and St. Alban’s grows and changes, here are some of the things that will happen:

  • There will be conflict
  • Households will be divided
  • Children and their parents will be alienated from one another
  • Some people will even leave the church

Of course, some of that will happen even if we do not grow and change. In other words, there is healthy conflict and unhealthy conflict. How can know the difference?

If our conflict is healthy, if it occurs because we are trying to do God’s will, here is what will also happen:

  • God will strengthen us
  • Jesus will be with us
  • Our light will shine so brightly that people will be drawn here

I am not bold enough to say that any of this is the “word of the Lord,” but I think it might be God’s word to St. Alban’s right now. However, we will only know that if we try it and find it difficult and challenging but ultimately life-giving.

Sunday, August 08, 2010

What does the Lord require?

J. Barry Vaughn. Aug 8, 2010

Someone once said that if the people of India are the most religious people in the world and Swedes are the most secular people in the world, then America is a country of Indians run by Swedes. I’m not sure whether or not that’s true, but I’m pretty sure that India is the world’s most religious country. As I’ve said, there are millions of gods and goddesses; there are probably even more temples in India than there are Baptist churches in Alabama; and every home, office, and public space has a shrine in it.

In Calcutta we visited two Hindu holy places. The first was the Sri Ramakrishnan monastery. It is a beautiful, peaceful, prayerful place. The meditation hall is set in a beautifully landscaped garden. It is well back from the street so traffic noises do not interfere with meditation. The meditation hall itself is spacious and airy. When I was there, there were perhaps 50 people meditating. People simply sat down on the floor wherever there was space. It was very appealing, and I suspect that the rest of the group felt as I did that it would be nice to stay for a while and pray or meditate.

Just down the street from the monastery was a very large temple dedicated to Kali, the mother goddess and wife of Shiva. The contrast could not have been greater. The temple was noisy, crowded, dirty, smelly. There were hundreds of people lined up, waiting to give their pujas or offerings to the priest to place before Kali. They were seeking the goddess’s help for employment or healing or whatever. After a person got to the head of the line, they handed their gift to the priest, and then exited on the other side of the temple. Except for waiting in line, the entire transaction took less than a minute.

I had a strongly negative reaction to the temple. The monastery had been serene and spiritual; the temple seemed just the opposite. And then I had an insight: I realized that what I had seen at the temple was probably much like St. Paul saw in the first century. When Paul visited Corinth or Ephesus, he would have seen people bringing offerings to the temples of Apollo or Zeus or Diana and giving them to the priests, who then would kill and sacrifice the animal or throw the incense on the altar.

This sort of religion is about a transaction. You offer the god or goddess flowers or incense or money or a sacrificial animal or some combination of these things in the hope that the god or goddess will then get you a job or heal you or your loved one or allow you to conceive and bear a child. In Paul’s world there was one additional aspect to religion: you had to keep making sacrifices to the gods to avert their anger. On almost every page of Homer’s Odyssey there are references to the importance of averting the anger of the gods; it was one of the most important parts of Greek religion.

Now, with that in mind, look again at today’s reading from Isaiah:

Hear the word of the LORD,

Listen to the teaching of our God,

What to me is the multitude of your sacrifices?

says the LORD;

I have had enough of burnt offerings of rams…

I do not delight in the blood of bulls…

…who asked this from your hand?

…bringing offerings is futile;

incense is an abomination to me.

…I cannot endure solemn assemblies with iniquity.

…even though you make many prayers,

I will not listen;

your hands are full of blood.

It is almost unimaginable that a priest of Diana or Kali would ever say, “Bringing offerings is futile; incense is an abomination to me.” Bringing offerings and burning incense is mostly what the worship of Diana was all about it and worshiping Kali is still about but it is not what the worship of Israel’s God is about. The prophets tell us that Israel’s God has a different set of priorities. The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, does not desire burnt offerings, the blood of bulls, and incense. Isaiah tells us that Israel’s God wants us to

cease to do evil

learn to do good;

seek justice,

rescue the oppressed,

defend the orphan,

plead for the widow.

It seems obvious to us: The worship of God and living an ethical life are inseparable but it was a new idea when Isaiah wrote these words in the 8th century BC. It signaled a revolution in religious understanding. Israel’s prophets called for a radical reorientation of Israel’s religion. Ritual and sacrifice were to become secondary and justice and righteousness were to become primary. Or to use Isaiah’s words again, “I cannot endure solemn assemblies with iniquity. Your new moons and your appointed festivals have become a burden to me… but cease to do evil, learn to do good; seek justice, rescue the oppressed, defend the orphan, plead for the widow… “

The Protestant Reformers sometimes used the phrase negotium cum Deo – “business with God.” All of us have business with God and God has business with us, but the kind of business we have with God is not a commercial transaction. This was the great insight of Israel’s prophets. Our business with God is the kind of business a child has with her parent, not the kind of business that a customer has with a sales clerk. Or to borrow Jewish philosopher Martin Buber’s great paradigm, we relate to God as a “Thou”, a person, not as an “It”, a thing. We do not make our offerings to God in an effort to bribe God into giving us what we want. The very idea is absurd.

Doesn’t it follow, then, that our worship of God should consist primarily of living ethical lives? Why don’t we dispense with the vestments and hymns and even communion and just help Habitat for Humanity build houses for the poor? But that’s not quite right, either.

One of my colleagues during the India trip made a striking observation when he noted that all the religions we encountered – Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists, Sikhs, and Christians – used beads in some way. He was right; the Catholic rosary is only one example of the use of beads, but Hindus, Buddhists, Muslims, and Sikhs also use beads as a way of focusing the mind and heart in prayer and meditation.

However, I think there is something more significant about the use of beads. I think their significance is that they are tangible, something that can be touched.

Unlike the angels, humans are not pure spirit. We are a compound, an alloy. We are amphibious. We are part spirit, part matter. We live in both the world of the spirit and the world of the flesh. We need something tangible to anchor our spiritual lives, and the beads that Hindus, Muslims, Buddhists, and Roman Catholics hold in their hands are signs of this.

At the heart of the Christian faith is the belief that in Jesus of Nazareth God became tangible. In Jesus, God became something we can touch and see and taste and smell and hear. And every Sunday Christ becomes tangible again as we bless and break and share the bread and wine that he gave his disciples so long ago.

Anglicans are right to “worship God in the beauty of holiness.” Isaiah does notn condemn ritual per se; he condemns ritual that is divorced from justice. He condemns our worship only if it serves to make us forget the oppressed, the widow, and the orphan. We need ritual because we are human and we need the sights and sounds of worship to awaken, encourage, and inspire us once again to “do justice and love mercy”. We need worship to remind us that the God who became tangible in Jesus of Nazareth makes common cause with the oppressed, the widow, and the orphan, and when we touch those whom the world despises, we are touching Christ himself.