Sermon for Sunday, December 9, 2007

“Shall We Gather At the River?”
Advent II, Year A, RCL. Isaiah 11:1-10, Psalm 72:1-7, 18-19 , Romans 15:4-13 Matthew 3:1-12.

What was truly shocking, the view that took their breath away, were the sheer numbers.

It looked like hundreds, maybe thousands, of people clustered all along the rocky riverbank, waiting for their turn to go into that unsavory water. They looked hungry for it, these people, who had come not only from the city, from Jerusalem, but from the four corners of Judea. Their faces spoke of need, of a desire for cleanliness, of a wanting of washing in this water that seemed so unlikely to clean anyone.

And then there was the man himself. He had first been spotted wandering around the wilderness, crying out “Repent!” Word had gotten out about his message, one that resonated with people. What did this mean, “The kingdom of heaven is coming near?” Was he saying that the Messiah was coming? He certainly didn’t look like a herald of a king. He was wearing animal hides, strapped around him with a thong of leather. His skin was as leathery and brown as the thong, bespeaking a man who lived rough, in the outdoors. His hair and beard were matted into dreadlocks. He smelled bad. There were rumors that he just ate whatever he could grab, insects, wild honey, weeds, whatever was available to one living in the wild. Would they be rendered unclean by moving closer to him?

It was a risk, but perhaps worth it. His words were compelling. They had to find out what this was all about, this washing in the river. The people who were coming out of the river now were almost glowing. Hard to imagine anyone coming out of that silty water looking refreshed, but there it was. They looked clean. How could it be?

And yet this seemed contrary to the Law, whether you believed the rules of the Pharisees or the rules of the Sadducees. No, no stepping into the water for them.

Ah, but the temptation was there. The curiosity, what this might feel like, besides just being wet and muddy. And they were there, right at the edge, with the water lapping at their toes. It would only take a step…

But then he spotted them. This brown and wild-eyed man who played a prophet, or was a prophet. Who knew?

And he was ripping into these men, these Pharisees and Sadducees, calling them vipers, calling them pompous, evil fools, calling them barren and useless. What was this? A life spent in dedication to the law, and this is how they were treated, and by this madman?

But what was he saying now? Something about another who was to come, one even more powerful than he? Oh, there’s a thought, someone even more crazy than this one. This new one sounded like he might be violent. Winnowing forks…fire…

Advocating overthrow of the law? Of the government? Such talk was dangerous.

No, they wouldn’t stand there and be insulted by this madman. They would step back from the river’s edge, step back from whatever strange thing was happening here. This was too dangerous.

The old hymn we sang this morning tells it all: Shall we gather at the river, where bright angel feet have trod? Shall we respond to that invitation to come to the water and be washed clean?
So much of our story as the people of God is about water. The water of baptism, the water of the Flood, the water out of the side of the crucified Jesus. This story, too, is about water, but it is also about that brief moment before we touch the water. We are at a decision-making point. Do we step in? Do we step back? We can only guess at what might happen if we do step in, and that’s a frightening proposition. It reminds me of the game my children and I used to play at the little beach near our house.

It was a cove, a lovely little protected beach. The waves were gentle, just right for three children and their overworked mom. We’d run down to the water’s edge, where the water turned the sand from shifting softness to cool hardness. As the leading edge of the little waves would run up the beach, we’d run backward, then as the wave ebbed, we’d run forward, teasing our toes with the bubbly water. Eventually, of course, we’d get our feet wet, and then our ankles, and then our legs, until we were wet all over, and laughing madly as we swam in the cove. Our fear of the cold water washed away as we moved from the edge deeper and deeper. It didn’t seem so cold any more.

Our Pharisees and Sadducees couldn’t bring themselves to get over their fear. They stepped back from the water’s edge; they didn’t even test the waters. And with that decision, they lost their great chance.

But can you imagine what it might have been like if they had not been afraid, if they had taken that risk? Let’s put ourselves back in the scene again, gathered at the river. Let’s go back there again:

What is truly shocking, the view that takes our breath away, are the sheer numbers. It looks like hundreds, maybe thousands, of people clustered all along the rocky riverbank, waiting for their turn to go into that unsavory water. They look hungry for it. Their faces speak of need, of a desire for cleanliness, and we too have that hunger. We know something is missing from our lives. Our curiosity has drawn us to this place.

And now we see the man himself. He had first been spotted wandering around the wilderness, crying out “Repent!” Word had gotten out about his message, one that resonated with people. It resonated with us, even as we struggled to grasp its meaning. So we came here, hoping to learn more. What does this mean, “The kingdom of heaven is coming near?” Is he saying that the Messiah was coming? We have been waiting so very long, and things are getting worse, not better. Could it be? Could the Messiah be coming, heralded by this dirty crazy man? If we step closer to him, will we be rendered unclean? Somehow, it no longer matters.

It is a risk, but perhaps worth it. His words are compelling. We have to find out what this is all about, this washing in the river. The people coming out of the river now are almost glowing. Hard to imagine anyone coming out of that silty water looking refreshed, but there it is. They look clean. We long for that glow, that inner cleanliness. It has been so long since we have felt the Law was clean, that we were clean.

And yet this is frightening. It seems contrary to the Law. What if this is all fakery? What if we step in and nothing happens? We’d look like fools. No, no stepping into the water for us.

Ah, but the temptation is there. The curiosity, what this might feel like, besides just being wet and muddy. And we are right there, right at the edge, with the water lapping at our toes. It would only take a step…

But then he spots us. This brown and wild-eyed man, this erstwhile prophet.

And he rips into us, calling us vipers, calling us pompous, evil fools, calling us barren and useless. What is this? A life spent in dedication to the law, and this is how we are treated? The realization washes over us. We are convicted by his words.

And now he speaks of another who is to come, one even more powerful than he, using words that frighten us. Is this Messiah a God of violence? Winnowing forks…fire…

Advocating overthrow of the law? Of the government? Such talk is dangerous.

But despite this dangerous talk, we cannot bring ourselves to step back from the river’s edge, step back from whatever strange and wondrous thing is happening here. Yes, this is dangerous, but there is something irresistible, a pull toward the water. We know that whatever happens, it will be good. We will be transformed. We must step off the riverbank, into the water, into a new way of being.

And you? Is it too dangerous for you? Can you feel the pull? Will you gather with me at the river? Are you willing to take my hand, and step into the murky water, and be washed clean, in preparation for the One who is to come?

Amen.

Is there anything

...quite as delicious as the smell of a Christmas tree? PH picked our tree and wreath up at our old parish - they bring up a truckload from South Carolina as a fundraiser for the church every year and these trees are fresh and wonderful - and we set it up this evening.

Oh, that smell is Christmas for me!

Yes, I know they shed needles as the weeks go on, and the cats think they are jungle gyms, but it's worth it for that sweet aroma whenever I open the front door and walk in. Those pre-lit plastic trees aren't for me. I need the real deal.

I went shopping briefly this evening at the Mall of Many Ethnicities. Big Old Seminary is doing one of those gift things for poor and homeless families. I got some "church" dresses for a three year old girl - a fun thing, although many of the dresses in the modestly priced store for these little girls look more like Bratz and Baby Ho's than sweet little three year olds. What are these manufacturers thinking? I also got a nice purse for a mom. Moments like this, I count my blessings in a major way.

I also looked at the polar fleece PJs, and was sorely tempted but did not buy. I was wondering if I should regret that when I came home and the house was freezing. The pilot had gone out in the furnace. Thank goodness PH is handy about such things. Thank goodness a match was all that was required to fix it. Thank goodness we have a roof over our heads...

Let's say a prayer for all those who don't, like the folks for whom I got a few meager presents, and like all the homeless who sleep on steam grates over in Your Nation's Capital on frigid, 15 degree nights like this.

Status Report

The Pastoral Theology paper is done and turned in.

The Church History paper is done and printed out and will be turned in tomorrow morning.

The study guides for Aquinas and Barth are done and distributed to my study group.

The short sermon for Homiletics was very well received (probably better than it deserved, but I'll take it).

The Advent Lessons and Carols (I sang a solo and also sang with two different choirs) went well. Incense! At Big Old Seminary (historically a bastion of low-church Episcopalians)! Will wonders never cease? The evening was made even more lovely by our first snowfall of the season. Driving home afterwards was a bit slippery, but there was very little traffic, so I just drove gently with all the trees and bushes and streets and houses glazed with snow. Good to be home, though.

More work tomorrow, but it seems like it's slowly getting done. I've got to wrap up the Church History Christian Ed project (maybe I'll get that done tomorrow) and then hunker down to finish the Systematics paper. The dear prof sent around sample questions for her final. Scared the bejabbers out of me. Ah, well, come Holy Spirit come and all that.

It will get done.

The Revised List

Still to do:
the bibliography of the ten-page Pastoral Theology paper - yes, I got it in under 11 pages!
the second half of the Church History/Christian Ed project lecture
the outline of the second lecture
the five-page Church History paper
the ten page Systematics paper.

I have one of two study guides I am responsible for in Systematics done (Aquinas) - the other is Barth and it's 95% done.

The good news is that several major things are behind me. Tomorrow is the five-minute sermon#5 for Homiletics (written and ready to go) and Sunday is the Advent II sermon (written and ready to go).

Other things on the agenda:
Tomorrow is Lessons and Carols at Big Old Seminary, and I've got a solo - not overly stressful
Friday night is dress rehearsal for the new contemporary Saturday Night service at Saint Middle School - it will launch on 12/15
Saturday night is a party at our new neighbors' house
Sunday is Messiah sing-a-long - once again I will sing "Rejoice Greatly" and I haven't had time to practice at all. Drat.
The sing-a-long is preceded by two different parties at which I must make an appearance. Double drat.

Somehow it will get done - not sure how, but it will.

A prayer please for StrongOpinions, who had to visit the ER this morning after being sick all night with the flu. She's back in her apartment, but still feeling pretty bad. It is not fun to try to care for one's daughter 2000 miles away.

Too cute!

The B-man and Princess...I love being a grandmother!

Sundays are not necessarily a time for Sabbath Rest

A great Advent I at Saint Middle School, with an all-time high number of attendees, 126! New families, some of whom have already pledged. This is real progress for us. We'd need to be over 200 per week to be able to build -we already have the land - maybe someday soon! The Alternative Gift Fair is going very well. People make donations to local charities in honor of a family member or friend and get gift cards they can give the honored person. Already well over $10K and we may make it to $40K when we're done.

It was one of those mornings when the junior acolytes were antsy, the senior acolyte seemed of the verge of total meltdown because she didn't know when to ring the bells, I messed up one of the page turns in the altar book, but somehow we got through it all. The Vicar's sermon was lovely, and a nice set-up for my sermon next week (thanks, Vicar!) and people were talking at coffee hour. I had a several minute pastoral conversation with someone I hadn't yet talked to - feels like they do see me as a pastor-type.

Then we had my Lay Committee meeting - this is my support team who talk about things like how things are going, how they can support me, what they think about my sermon, ideas and suggestions for the teen sunday school class...lovely people, and interesting conversation.

Got home at 3:15 pm, in time to clean up and cook. The third load of wash is in right now. A classmate, a dear young man who is interested in doing further work in pastoral counseling, is coming for dinner. I wanted to get him together with PH, who is of course a pastoral counselor, to talk about programs and particular interests and such. I should be writing my papers, but it feels like this is more important, for him, and especially for me, since I need to feel like a human and not a student, and do something I know how to do well, like cooking and drinking wine.

The menu is roast pork stuffed with dried fruit, red cabbage, sauteed zucchini, hasselback potatoes (shout-out to Nigella Lawson!), French bread, homemade apple pie with vanilla ice cream. Wine. life is good, if not very restful right now.

Papers can wait.

Various Updates

The icon of Saint Matthew is finally finished. My teacher has taken it home with her to varnish it. Saint Gabriel is next. Next in the queue after that is either a Sophia or a Saint Paul, then Christ Pantokrator. Assuming, of course, that I can find the time to continue the icon-writing class. I'll post a picture of the Saint Matthew when it comes back to me.

The presentation for Pastoral Theology is ready to go, and the accompanying ten page paper is about 2/3s done. It probably will go slightly over ten pages, and I hope the prof doesn't ding me for that, but it's a big subject (pastoral care and suicide).

The Church History paper is still an utter mystery. It's only five pages, but a thesis statement hasn't jumped out at me yet. On the other hand, I pretty much know what I want to do for the Christian Ed project for Church History - it's just a matter of sitting down and actually churning the thing out. I'm really trying to clear the decks so I can concentrate solely on the Systematics paper...maybe in a few days, I hope.

Five minute sermon for Homiletics class (Advent IV) is done.

Sermon for Saint Middle School for Advent II is done.

Oh, and some of the Christmas shopping is done. Not enough, but some.

I could use a few more hours of consciousness in each day...

Espanol

In a fit of bravery or stupidity, I spent my lunchtime at the Mesa En Espanol. On Thursdays, the Spanish speakers all sit together at this table and speak only Spanish. So I - with all of six classes in Spanish under my belt - decided to try it.

I warned everyone at the table upfront that I was a new student and was there to listen more than to speak. Everyone was kind and spoke reasonably slowly and encouraged me to at least try to speak some. I managed to hang in there for 30 minutes and didn't offend anyone, so that's progress. I may even try it again next week!

I do love the Spanish class and the language is infinitely easier than French (my first modern language), I just wish I had more time to practice. It seems if one is going to go to the effort of taking the class, one should try to actually speak it regularly. And here near Your Nation's Capital, many folks speak only Spanish.

In other news, I had a good meeting with the dean about several topics, including the proposed honors thesis. He helped me shape it a bit and had some good ideas for me to chew on. I think I'm getting close to writing up the proposal and taking it to the prof who would be the logical advisor for me. I mentioned it to a friend who said, "But she's a real hard-a**.") Very true words.

But it's like the Spanish. If I'm going to do this thing, why would I want to just dip my toe in? Shouldn't I want to dive right in?

Feeling Very...

...swamped. And blocked. I hate writer's block, particularly when I've got several papers due. Blech!

To do list:
Church History Paper (5 pages)
Pastoral Theology paper (10 pages) plus class presentation
Church History education project
Final paper for Systematics (got the draft back with some great ideas from the prof - now all I need is time to do it)
Sermon for Homiletics
Expanded Homiletics class sermon for Field Ed.

I'm sure there's something I can't remember to add to this list, but this seems like enough for the next three weeks.

Yes, I know.
Stop blogging and start writing.

Sermon for Sunday, November 25, 2007: You Never Know

Proper 29, Year C. Jer. 23:1-6, Ps. 46, Col.1:11-20, Luke 23:35-43.


“You never know”

Here we are on the last Sunday in Ordinary Time, the feast of Christ the King. In the past weeks, we’ve read through much of the Gospel of Luke. We are on the verge of Advent. But before we can get to all our favorite Advent stories, here we are with this story of Christ on the Cross. It seems a surprising story so far from Passiontide. It’s unexpected, somehow, to be hearing about this in late November. So how do we bridge the gap from the crucified Christ to the soon-to-be-born infant Jesus?
We’ll start in a place far from Jerusalem, far from the hill called “Skull”.

I.
My husband and I were standing in line in front of the Accademia in Florence. It had been his dream to see Michelangelo’s David, and now here we were, on a crisp autumn morning, with all the other tourists in comfortable walking shoes, waiting for our turn to go into the museum to see the statue. Suddenly a gaggle of scruffy pre-teens came rushing up to us. They didn’t really look Italian; gypsies, most likely. Dirty faces, torn clothes, old shoes. They formed a scrum around us and shoved big pieces of cardboard at us on which were written their stories – I am poor! I have nothing to eat! Please give me money! Even as we were reading the cardboard signs, they were reaching underneath them --- and trying to pick our pockets. One of us in line noticed what was happening and shouted an alarm. We grabbed our respective purses and wallets and yelled at the street urchins. They ran off , cursing us in Italian and Romany. Shaken, we double-checked our pockets and thanked those who had figured out what was happening.

II.
I hadn’t thought of that story for many years, until I saw a newspaper article in the Washington Post a few weeks ago. It told the story of Mario Capecchi, who survived as just such a street urchin in WWII Italy after his mother, an anti-Fascist intellectual, had been hauled off to the Dachau concentration camp. Before she was taken, she had given some money to a neighbor to care for her son Mario, who was then just three years old. The neighbor cared for him until the money ran out, and then turned him out onto the streets. He went from town to town, occasionally living in orphanages, but mostly begged and stole and survived on his wits. He nearly died of malnutrition and was in a hospital in Bologna when his mother, liberated from Dachau, finally found him in 1946. A year later, an uncle in America sent money for them to emigrate, and Mario began a new life, one that included degrees from Antioch and Harvard and a fellowship under the discoverer of the structure of DNA, James Watson. Capecchi did groundbreaking work in gene targeting. And so, last month, he was awarded the Nobel Prize in Medicine. A street urchin to a Nobel Laureate. Not what one would expect.

III.
This gospel passage is another case of unexpected people doing unexpected things. We shouldn’t be surprised by this; it has been the case all the way through the Gospel of Luke. In Luke’s world, the outsider is usually the hero of the tale, and the folks who are the in-crowd usually get it wrong.
What’s going on in this passage, one that is so very familiar to us?
Jesus hangs on the cross. He’s been up there so long that gravity has taken its toll. The wounds on his head and hands no longer freely bleed. The bloodstains on his face and palms have dried to a dark-wine crust. His shoulders creak with pain. The crowd, who had called for his execution, is watching silently now, but the soldiers and the leaders mock him. The sign on the cross mocks him: “Jesus, King of the Jews.” Even one of the criminals hanging beside him mocks him, daring him to save himself and the criminal, too. In their eyes, this is no king. This is just another broken troublemaker who got what he deserved.
But the criminal on Jesus’ other side sees something more in him than a loser, a failed religious leader. This criminal chastises the first one: “We are being justly punished, but this man doesn’t deserve this. He did nothing wrong.”
That would be remarkable enough coming from the mouth of a dying criminal, but the moment takes an even more surprising turn: “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” This is more than a personal request. It is an acknowledgment of Jesus as King of a kingdom not of this world.
And then Jesus does what he usually does when a person opens his heart to the Anointed One and asks for help.
Even in the pain of the moment, with the taste of blood and sour vinegar in His mouth, Jesus speaks words of comfort and of promise: “Truly I say to you, today you shall be with me in paradise.”
Jesus turns the eyes of the repentant criminal forward in hope, to a place of salvation.
All those people, watching and mocking, and there is only one who truly sees this broken rabbi on the Cross for the King He is. Only one, an unexpected one, seeing an unexpected King.
Time and again in the Gospel of Luke, throughout these weeks of Ordinary Time, we’ve seen the same surprising story. The conventional religious people just don’t understand Jesus’ message. It is the outsiders, the ones we least expect, who open their eyes and their hearts and recognize the kingship of Jesus, and what that kingship entails. It is not a kingship of this world, and what we are expected to do to pay homage to this King is very different than what the expectations of a worldly king might be.

IV.
So we hear this story on this last Sunday of Ordinary Time, on the Feast of Christ the King, before we enter the cold, pre-dawn winter hours of Advent. In the dark, it may be easy to miss who we’re really seeing on that cross.
It isn’t a broken man, a failed teacher. If we truly understand His message, we see Christ the King, whom the Greek Christians called Christ Pantokrator, Christ all powerful, looking forward in hope that we all might be with Him in the kingdom.
Christ opens our eyes and hearts and souls to see unexpected people in unexpected ways, as He too was the ultimate unexpected One. He bids us to see who He is, and how we might see Him in the most unlikely people.
You never know. A street urchin might turn out to be a Nobel Prize winner. A crucified teacher might turn out to be King. And a baby born in a rude stable on a cold winter night might turn out to be the Son of God.

Amen.

Post Thanksgiving Friday 5

From the RGBPs:
1. Did you go elsewhere for the day, or did you have visitors at your place instead? How was it?
We were right here, PH and I and the three kids, Litigator, StoneMason, and StrongOpinions. It was wonderful! We haven't had Thanksgiving with the kids in a couple of years - they'd gone to their father's house in New England, but they insisted that this year they wanted to be with us. Can't say I wasn't pleased that they pressed the point with their dad who is sometimes a wee bit insistent on getting his own way.

2. Main course: If it was the turkey, the whole turkey, and nothing but the turkey, was it prepared in an unusual way? Or did you throw tradition to the winds and do something different?
Since StrongOpinions is vegetarian, we had two main courses: the turkey(actually a roasted turkey breast, since we were a small group) and a whole roasted pumpkin filled with a vegetable stew with seitan, which is a wheat gluten protein. Mashed potatoes, stuffing, gravy, brussels sprouts, broccoli, cranberry sauce. homemade cranberry chutney, soft whole wheat rolls, pumpkin pie, apple pie. It is a sign that they're growing up that they really didn't eat much of the canned cranberry sauce, and adored the chutney.

3. Other than the meal, do you have any Thanksgiving customs that you observe every year?
Nope, just eating until we're immobile. The teasing that her two brothers usually dish out to StrongOpinions has really faded in intensity this year. Another sign of growing up.

4. The day after Thanksgiving is considered a major Christmas shopping day by most US retailers. Do you go out bargain hunting and shop ‘till you drop, or do you stay indoors with the blinds closed? Or something in between?
We usually stay home and avoid the shopping craziness, but we had to replace StrongOpinions' eyeglasses, so we ventured out to the SlightlyRundownMall of the Ethnicities (it's like the UN there - Africans, Latinos, Asians plus some of us poorer Caucasians). PH took StoneMason to Sears to buy a new pair of workboots and I took StrongOpinions to Lenscrafters. Because it isn't one of the ridiculously upscale malls,
the crowds weren't overwhelming and we were able to get in and out quite expeditiously.

5. Let the HOLIDAY SEASON commence! When will your Christmas decorations go up?
In the past, I've put the Santa collection up on Thanksgiving weekend, and the tree goes up on Advent II, along with the creche. I just don't know if I have the energy to do it this weekend, but we shall see. It will not be the end of the world if it doesn't get put up until Advent actually starts.

So how was YOUR Thanksgiving?

So when you're planning a party...

...in the Windy City, where it's pretty chilly, and you run out of storage space in the frig, because you're making many kinds of hors d'oeuvres for 70+ people, this is what you do.

You put them in the garage, on top of the car.

Sweet!

Thankful...

I presided over Sung Evensong this evening. It's one of my favorite services, and it's such a privilege to be able to do this. The intimidation factor was high because the retired Bishop of Oxford was in attendance, but i got through it with only one or two bobbles, and Lord Harries was most gracious and complimentary after it was through. So I'm thankful that I didn't embarrass the school or myself.

All of the food shopping is done in anticipation of the Thanksgiving feast (or Accion de Gracias, as my Spanish teacher reminded us today). Tomorrow starts the cooking extravaganza. I'm making something really labor-intensive: Pumpkin Stuffed with Vegetable Stew. It's a treat that may or may not be edible, for StrongOpinions, the house vegetarian. It being a Gourmet Magazine recipe, there are many ingredients and even more steps to make it, but it will be fun for a experiment. All the other stuff on the menu is te regular Thanksgiving odds and ends. Tomorrow will be prep day for the aforementioned veggie dish, plus baking the pies (pumpkin, apple, pecan). Thankful to have a day off before Thanksgiving to do this, and even more thankful that we can afford to fly the kids in and buy all this food. Many others won't be so fortunate.

The aching hip is doing much better, and I'm thankful for that as well as no MS relapses lately. I think one of the reasons I've signed up for such an intense schedule is that there is a piece of me that is afraid I'll lose my vision again, and I want to get as many credits out of the way as possible just in case. So I'm thankful that my health is holding up and that I can afford to see the doctors and get the very expensive medicines that help keep me well.

PH is his usual wonderful self. We went to a party at the home of a parishioner in my field ed church - several other parishioners were there as well. Delightful people, and he was so good with them. He is a blessing on so many levels. Life is good being married to him. Every day, not just at Thanksgiving, I am thankful for him.

The list could go on and on: my wonderful kids and grandbabies, music, icon-writing class, some amazing professors, the freedom to go back to school at this stage of my life, ...

...but you understand.

Back Again

The trip to Chicago was a whirlwind. The party for my dear MIL was wonderful - 70 or so folks, vast quantities of food, a concert by professionals and family, many lovely stories. My back and hip are complaining after a day and a half standing and doing food prep and cooking, but it was worth it. The littlest grandkids sang "If I Were a Butterfly," complete with the hand motions - I accompanied them. They were precious.

This morning I did a short homily for Homiletics class - needs some serious reworking for the actual preaching at Saint Middle School, but it was a good start. Nothing like taking a little risk in the style of sermon-writing.

I just finished the event account (like a verbatim, for you seminary geeks out there) for our Field Ed Colloquy. It will be interesting to do this...I'm hoping being the first student to present will mean our conveners will be more willing to give me the benefit of the doubt.

It is cold and raw here. Time to get out the winter coat, I fear. Many of the students have already left for Thanksgiving at home, since several of the profs are out in San Diego at the SBL/AAR conference. No such luck for me - I've got classes until 2 pm tomorrow afternoon. I did a pretty intense food-shopping expedition this evening, in anticipation of the kids coming for Thanksgiving, but I'll need to go to the over-priced Hol(y) Fuds for some special stuff for StrongOpinions, who is a vegetarian. No, I'm not getting Tofurkey. There are some depths to which I will not sink.

Herewith, the rawther unusual homily from this morning:

“Shall We Gather At the River?”
Advent II, Year A, RCL. Isaiah 11:1-10, Psalm 72:1-7, 18-19 , Romans 15:4-13Matthew 3:1-12.

What was truly shocking, the view that took their breath away, were the sheer numbers. It looked like hundreds, maybe thousands, of people clustered all along the rocky riverbank, waiting for their turn to go into that unsavory water. They looked hungry for it, these people, who had come not only from the city, from Jerusalem, but from the four corners of Judea. Their faces spoke of need, of a desire for cleanliness, of a wanting of washing in this water that seemed so unlikely to clean anyone.

And then there was the man himself. He had first been spotted wandering around the wilderness, crying out “Repent!” Word had gotten out about his message, one that resonated with people. What did this mean, “The kingdom of heaven is coming near?” Was he saying that the Messiah was coming? He certainly didn’t look like a herald of a king. He was wearing animal hides, strapped around him with a thong of leather. His skin was as leathery and brown as the thong, bespeaking a man who lived rough, in the outdoors. His hair and beard were matted into dreadlocks. He smelled bad. There were rumors that he just ate whatever he could grab, insects, wild honey, weeds, whatever was available to one living in the wild. Would they be rendered unclean by moving closer to him?

It was a risk, but perhaps worth it. His words were compelling. They had to find out what this was all about, this washing in the river. The people who were coming out of the river now were almost glowing. Hard to imagine anyone coming out of that silty water looking refreshed, but there it was. They looked clean. How could it be?

And yet this seemed contrary to the Law, whether you believed the rules of the Pharisees or the rules of the Sadducees. No, no stepping into the water for them.

Ah, but the temptation was there. The curiosity, what this might feel like, besides just being wet and muddy. And they were there, right at the edge, with the water lapping at their toes. It would only take a step…

But then he spotted them. This brown and wild-eyed man who played a prophet, or was a prophet. Who knew?

And he was ripping into these men, these Pharisees and Sadducees, calling them vipers, calling them pompous, evil fools, calling them barren and useless. What was this? A life spent in dedication to the law, and this is how they were treated, and by this madman?

But what was he saying now? Something about another who was to come, one even more powerful than he? Oh, there’s a thought, someone even more crazy than this one. This new one sounded like he might be violent. Winnowing forks…fire…

Advocating overthrow of the law? Of the government? Such talk was dangerous.
No, they wouldn’t stand there and be insulted by this madman. They would step back from the river’s edge, step back from whatever strange thing was happening here. This was too dangerous.

And you? Is it too dangerous for you? Are you willing to take my hand, and step into the murky water, and be washed clean, in preparation for the One who is to come?

Yes, I'm still here...

...just a lot of work and not much time.



In the queue:

• Church History paper (five pages, probably on Saint Francis)

• Church History Christian Ed Project (five sessions worth of material done by a team of three of us on the sometimes contentious, sometimes uncomfortably friendly relationship between church and state)

• Suicide presentation (ten page paper and twenty minute classroom presentation for Pastoral Theology)

• Final Systematics paper (ten pages is what is asked for, but given my topic it will probably run a bit longer, once I get the prof's comments on the rough draft)

• Sermon for Advent II (I've already written the 5-minute version of this for Homiletics but need to expand it to 10-13 minutes for my parish)

• Another five-minute sermon for Advent IV.

Believe it or not, this feels somewhat manageable. I would guess this shows how far I've come on this journey .



It's been a busy week. We had the installation of our new Dean at Big Old Seminary.

It was a lovely service. When various members of the community brought various significant gifts up to New Dean, his administrative assistant brought him a calendar, who got a great laugh out of the assembled congregation of students, faculty, bishops, alums, local clergy, and various guests. I sang the "Panis Angelicus," with the Seminary Choir as my back-up group (no, they didn't go "doo-wop"). It was well-received, although I am never satisfied with my performances - this one was no different.



Last night, we went to the opera to see William Bolcom's "A View from the Bridge" - yes, it's a setting of the wonderful Arthur Miller play. Not hummable, but accessible music with references to jazz and other musical forms from the period. My voice teacher was in the cast in a supporting role, so we got to go downstairs to the dressing room area and see some of the performers, then onto the stage, which was great fun. I was so in need of something not seminary - it was great to have a night away from the work.

IPod Stuff

I hadn't realized how much I had become addicted to my IPod (B-day gift this past summer from PH) until I was getting ready to drive home from evening meeting at Saint Middle School (40 miles from home). The IPod had frozen up (no, not cold-type frozen, non-functioning type frozen).

Oh, no! I listen to Bible readings, podcasts from NPR, Spanish lessons, music of all types, and audiobooks on it, and since radio reception is sketchy the further I get from home, it makes my commute twice a week to and from Saint Middle School much more tolerable.

I no longer carry CDs in the car, so I had to listen to scratchy radio all the way home.

Yes, I know you REALLY pity me.

Seriously, though, this was a very pricey gift, and the thought that it had died after only three months' use seriously disturbed me.

I got home, where PH was patiently waiting for me to get dinner on the table (he would have done it, but I told him I would do it when I got home). Instead of starting on supper, I immediately got on the computer for guidance on how to fix the problem. Ten minutes later, I had found what I needed and resolved it.

Bless PH, he quietly sipped his gin and tonic while I got it done.

Just count me grateful for things that are simple to fix.

I believe I'll have an order of Ritalin with that...

My advisor once again pressed me to do an honors thesis next year. "You might be able to publish it!" she said with great glee.

Is it wrong of me to be intrigued by the thought of publishing?

All shall be well...

Dame Julian is kindly requested to perch herself on my shoulder and whisper her famous words in my ear when I get a little frazzled.

The Systematics draft is done - 10 pages plus a page of endnotes and a page of bibliography - and safely in the hands of the prof. Hallelujah!

I'm hip-deep in the next sermon for Homiletics, plus memorizing the text I will preach on - we are expected to say it from memory and try to "embody" it, or perform it, or whatever you want to call it. Memorization is not my forte, so this part of it will be a challenge, but the sermon, for Advent II (John the Baptist telling off the Phraisees and Sadducees after baptizing everybody in the surrounding five counties) is coming along, sort of.

I've got another sermon to write, along with a theological reflection on a particular pastoral situation, for my Pastoral Care class. That's due in a week, so I'd better get cracking on it.

I should also get going on the next Church History paper. Not that it's due really soon, but I've got several other things that will be due later in the quarter, and I hate getting jammed up.

Somewhere in this I've got to do some work on Spanish. I watched "El Gordo y La Flaca" while I was on the elliptical machine today. Still getting no more than every fourth word, and not enough context to figure out what the heck is going on. Oh, well, language study takes time.

We got our forms to register for classes for spring. Third quarter (the first half of spring semester) will be brutal, but fourth quarter should be lovely. The line-up includes wrapping up Church History, Systematics and Homiletics, plus more Field Ed, The Sung Service (that's my treat to myself), Theology of Mission, The Revelation to John, and (gulp!) Christian Ethics. sixteen and a half credits. Not too over the top. All my core requirements will be done, and that will clear the decks for senior year if I decide to do an honors thesis. And if I don't, I can take a few of the courses Pass-Fail and focus on passing GOE's and getting a job.

If that doesn't make me long for Dame Julian's wisdom and calm, I don't know what will.

Tired

Not enough hours in the day.
Too many pages to read.
Too many pages to write.
Not adjusted to Daylight Savings Time yet.

Agita around Big Old Seminary about blogospheric nonsense. A purported conservative seminarian posted on one of the very anti-ECUSA blogs about a gay student forum and how conservative students are kept muzzled at Big Old Seminary. The initial post was sad, but the response threads that followed bordered on the pathological. Ah, well, it was emblematic of the difficulties we face these days.

I find myself wondering which of my fellow students (if indeed it was a BOS student) posted it. Even more, I find myself wondering how I can respond to someone who couldn't gather the courage to speak out to his or her fellow students.

Naive me.

Henri Nouwen is Up in Heaven Smiling

I can recall reading of the great priest and writer Henri Nouwen dressing up in faux vestments playing priest as a five year old. The photo at left is of Henri doing just that, courtesy of the henrinouwen.org website.

The image came to mind this morning at Saint Middle School. There we were, standing around the altar, the Vicar, me, a senior acolyte, and two junior acolytes. As the Vicar was reading the words of the Eucharistic liturgy, and doing certain actions with her hands (term of art is "manual acts") such as raising the bread, or raising the cup or the paten, or making the Sign of the Cross over the elements, one of the junior acolytes, a little boy of 8 or so, was doing all the manual acts right after her. Not making fun, mind you, but doing it with great seriousness, as if by doing this it would help him understand what was happening, and make him more like the Vicar, who is his great buddy.

I told PH this story over dinner tonight, and he smiled and said, "Big Old Seminary Class of 2025, eh?"

Perhaps. But even if that is not so, what a lovely thing to see a little child so entranced with the power and beauty of the liturgy that he wants to imitate it.

It worked for Henri. May it work for this little guy as well.