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Homily – Isaiah 25.6-9, Cemetery Memorial Service, December 20, 2014

14 Wednesday Jan 2015

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Our Cemetery Memorial Service has become one of my favorite services of the year.  That may sound a little strange to you, but what I like about this service is the service’s honesty.  This time of year, there is a lot of dishonesty floating around:  the notion that buying things can make you happy, the assumption that everyone has abundant food this time of year, and even the idea that there is such a thing as the perfect family, the perfect Christmas, or the perfect life.  We see glossy ads, hear songs about loving, joyful Christmases, and watch movies that package Christmas with a pretty bow.  Though most of us know in the depths of our hearts that there is no such thing as a perfect Christmas experience, no one wants to talk about that reality.  We prefer that everyone stay in their lane, and put on a happy face.  Perhaps we have even convinced ourselves that we can “fake it ‘til we make it.”  In other words, if we say we are happy and that everything is perfect at Christmas, perhaps we and Christmas will become so.

But instead of buying into the Christmas hype, the Church tells another story today.  Simply by gathering us together as mourners, the Church acknowledges the pain and sadness that is often right below the surface at this time of year.  While others are decking the halls, rocking around the Christmas Tree, and having a holly, jolly Christmas, the Church invites us in, and encourages us to acknowledge the other part of Christmas – the part that is hard, sad, or empty.  We make space for grief, for honoring a loved one, and for acknowledging a sense of absence.  I have especially been grateful for that gift this year.  About a month ago, our family lost a grandfather.  He had lived a full, long life, and we know that he is at peace with the Lord.  But his absence is more obvious in the small parts of life.  Upon flying out for the funeral, my husband realized this would be the first time his grandfather would not meet him at the airport.  As we have prepared for holiday treats, we realized that our annual box of chocolates would not be arriving from him this year.  As we send out Christmas cards, I realized I would need one less card this year.  And those are just the things related to our family.  St. Margaret’s also lost a long-time parishioner this month – one who had been a major presence in our ministry here, whose bed I sat next to as we said prayers in his last days.  In addition to the grief of his family, our entire community is mourning the hole that he left.  Add into that grief the grief felt all over the world from violence, war, and hunger, and we come here today with much to offer up to God.

Of course, that is what I bring into this place today.  And each of you has your own story:  of wives, fathers, and daughters lost; of patriarchs in your family and of children whose lives were ended too soon; of lives well-lived and of lives barely lived at all.  To each of us, the Church says today that our mourning and our sadness are okay.  The Church creates this window of time where we can stop, be still, and know that God is with us.  The Church acknowledges the imperfect nature of this holiday, and celebrates anyway.

That is why I love the words we heard from the prophet Isaiah today.  The text says, “On this mountain the LORD of hosts will make for all peoples a feast of rich food, a feast of well-aged wines, of rich food filled with marrow, of well-aged wines strained clear.  And he will destroy on this mountain the shroud that is cast over all peoples, the sheet that is spread over all nations; he will swallow up death forever.  Then the Lord GOD will wipe away the tears from all faces, and the disgrace of his people he will take away from all the earth, for the LORD has spoken.”  What is so inviting about the words from Isaiah today is that they put our experiences in perspective.  Yes, our Christmas meals may not be utter perfection.  But God is preparing a feast for us that is more perfect than anything we could ever prepare ourselves.  Any darkness we feel now will be swallowed up by God.  Any tears we shed will be wiped away by our Lord.  Any sadness we feel at the dinner table will be eclipsed by the pure and holy joy we will find at God’s feast of rich food and well-aged wines.  Our loved ones are already enjoying that feast ahead of us.  Our joy is that we too are promised the opportunity to join them at the heavenly banquet when our time comes.

So this Christmas, give yourself permission to experience Christmas imperfectly.  Give yourself permission to be both joyful and sad.  Give yourself permission to lean into God when you need the strength to carry on.  And know, that maybe, just maybe, if you allow yourself to focus on the much grander feast that is to come and that already is for our loved ones, maybe you will find smiling a little easier.  Maybe you will find moments of joy that shine light into the darkness.  Maybe you will even find the ability to let yourself laugh and sing and to celebrate this imperfect holiday.  That is my wish for each of you.  That the blessing of this night will create a small, steady flame that warms and encourages you in the days and weeks to come.  Amen.

Homily – II Cor. 9.6-15, Thanksgiving Day, YA, November 27, 2014

03 Wednesday Dec 2014

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One of the funny things about being a priest is the way that everyday people interact with me.  The funniest experiences occur when people first find out I am a priest.  I love seeing the raised eyebrows or hearing the stammers as someone panics about any inappropriate things they might have said in the first ten minutes of our conversation.  Parties with strangers or our children’s school gatherings are always fun as people try to figure out how they should modify their behavior in front of me.  In fact, many of my single and dating priest friends have avoided the conversation altogether about what they do for a living, hoping that the other person will get to know them for who they are, not just what they do.  There really is a sort of cultural divide that I forget about until I get in one of these situations and then have work with someone to create a sense of comfort and commonality.

That cultural divide is no more obvious than on a holiday like Thanksgiving Day.  Today we gather to celebrate what is mostly a secular holiday.  This day has become a day about an abundance of food, watching parades and football, enjoying fellowship with friends and family, and post-turkey naps.  This is a day of giving thanks for the good things of life, but often in a secular way.  I know many people who have a tradition of going around the table and saying something for which they are thankful.  But those things are usually listed without a mention of God.  In fact, the non-specific nature of gratitude this day is what makes it a perfect day for interfaith groups, like our own Plainview-Old Bethpage Interfaith Group, to celebrate – because we can all recognize in our own different ways our gratitude and thanks.

But for us Christians, this day is a little different.  We may do all the same activities: feast, fellowship, and fun; but we also root those activities in gratitude toward God – the source of all our blessings.  For us, today is not just a day to be grateful for the good things in life, but to be thankful to God for our blessings.  That may sound like semantics, but I think that, especially today, our language matters.  So we can still go around the table listing our blessing, but we also acknowledge that God is the source of those blessings.  We can still enjoy a feast, but we begin our meal in a prayer that thanks God for the bounty of the earth, the hands that touch our meal in its many stages, and for the privilege and pleasure of good food.  We can still watch the game or the parade, but we are grateful to God for the blessing of shelter and the disposable income to afford that television and cable service.  And we can still enjoy the company of friends and family because we know that God blesses us with companions on our journey.

So why does our naming God today matter?  What difference does our calling this a sacred day have to do with anything?  The difference is that when we name God in the midst of blessing, there is a “so what?” attached.  Our epistle lesson says today, “God is able to provide you with every blessing in abundance, so that by always having enough of everything, you may share abundantly in every good work.”  In other words, when we give thanks today, that is not the end of the story.  When we give thanks today, God is well pleased.  And God also expects us to share that abundance with others.  As the epistle says, our blessing is not strictly for us.  Our blessing is given to us so that our blessing might be a blessing to others.

And that is why we mark this day as a sacred day.  Because if Thanksgiving Day is simply a secular day of being grateful, the day begins and ends with us – our experiences, our gratefulness, our happiness.  But if we celebrate Thanksgiving Day as a sacred day, then the day may begin with us, but the day ends with others – our blessings overflowing to bless others.  That is the true abundance of Thanksgiving Day.  The abundance cannot be contained.  In fact, our epistle lesson says that the more we pass along our abundance, the more that abundance grows, “The one who sows sparingly will also reap sparingly, and the one who sows bountifully will also reap bountifully.”  So, go home and enjoy all the blessings of this day – and then share those blessings bountifully.  Amen.

Homily – Hebrews 4.12–16, John Wyclif, October 30, 2014

05 Wednesday Nov 2014

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Today we honor John Wyclif.  Born around 1330, John was educated at Oxford.  He served as a parish priest, but spent most of his vocation teaching theology and philosophy at Oxford and was celebrated for his academic achievements.  In 1374, Wyclif defended the Crown during a dispute with the papacy about finances.  This stance gained him a group of powerful patrons who were able to protect Wyclif.  This protected status gave him the freedom to try out his theological views, many of which were at odds with the medieval church.  Many of Wyclif’s ideas became the fodder for the reform movement in the following centuries.  In fact, later reformers like John Hus and Martin Luther acknowledged a debt to Wyclif.

Wyclif’s ideas may not seem radical now, but that is because they are a part of our Anglican identity.  Wyclif believed believers could have a direct, unmediated relationship with God, not needing intervention from the church or a priest.  He believed the national church should be free from papal authority.  He believed scripture should be available in the language of the people – and he translated the Vulgate into English.  He even questioned transubstantiation, which eventually gained him some enemies.

What I love about this feast day for Wyclif is that we get this lovely passage from Hebrews.  The lesson opens up with this line: “The word of God is something alive and active.”  So often we think about Holy Scripture as a static collection of books.  We might try to understand a passage, but often forget that Holy Scripture is alive and active.  Or perhaps we do not forget, but we long for scripture to be static and still, because if Holy Scripture stays the same, we can be comfortable and avoid change.

Once, when I was visiting a friend at Trinity Wall Street, she told me that the clergy have a lot of freedom there.  Because their funding comes from their huge investments, they are not dependent upon pledges for support.  And because they are not dependent upon pledges, they never have to worry about someone becoming upset and taking their pledge away.  I imagine that the clergy are much like Wyclif in his day – free to explore new concepts and ideas, and to challenge the status quo.  We know that when Wyclif did that, the church was transformed – it became alive and active like the Holy Scriptures.  That is our invitation today, too: to consider how our own faith life might become more alive and active, how the Holy Spirit might be working in us in new ways and to jump into the unknown.  Amen.

Homily – Acts 20.28-32, Robert Grosseteste, October 9, 2014

23 Thursday Oct 2014

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Today we honor Robert Grosseteste.  Robert was one of the outstanding English bishops from the 13th century.  Though he had humble beginnings in Suffolk, he rose to preeminence in the Church, distinguishing himself as a scholar in all branches of study:  law, medicine, languages, sciences, and theology.  He was appointed master of the Oxford School.  He was a theology professor and translated Aristotle’s works from the Greek, wrote commentaries on them, and sought to refute the philosopher’s views by developing a scientific method based on Augustine’s theories.  Because of Robert, Oxford began to emphasize the study of sciences – and many of his pupils became leaders.  In 1235, Robert was consecrated Bishop of Lincoln.  He was a very hands-on bishop, making a point to tend to the pastoral needs of his clergy and laity.  Those under his care really saw him as the shepherd of the Diocese.

In many ways, I think Bishop Grosseteste took to heart the instructions from Acts today.  “Keep watch over yourselves and over all the flock, of which the Holy Spirit has made you overseers, to shepherd the church of God …” says the lesson.  Robert was the consummate shepherd tending to his flock.  His regular visits to rural deaneries were not only to tend to pastoral needs, but also to questions of doctrine.  He knew, as Acts says, that “savage wolves” would come among his flock, and he tended and protected them as much as he could.

In some ways, we hear about bishops or those called to tend flocks, and we start to tune out.  The work from Acts sounds like the work of the clergy.  What we forget is that through our baptism, we are all given work to do.  We are all tenders of this community.  We take care of each other, we pray for one another, we visit the hurting in our community.  That is the work of the baptized. But Acts also says, “Keep watch over yourselves.”  What we sometimes forget is that we also need to confess when we need pastoral care ourselves; we need to remember that our own formation is ongoing – meaning we need to make sure we are consistently finding ways to grow in our faith.  If we do not care for our own spiritual well-being, we will find it much more difficult to tend to others’ spiritual well-being.

Luckily, as Robert knew and Acts affirms, God and the message of God’s grace is able to build us up.  This is the final reminder from Acts – that God will strengthen us through grace.  We can all be the pastors, the ministers that we become through our baptism – because God and God’ grace enables and continually invites us in to watch over ourselves and all the flock.  Amen.

Homily – 1 Peter 2.19-23, Edward Bouverie Pusey, September 18, 2014

19 Friday Sep 2014

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Today we honor Edward Bouverie Pusey.  Pusey was the leader of the Oxford Movement – a movement that sought to revive High Church teachings and practices in the Anglican Communion.  Born in 1800, Pusey spent his scholarly life in Oxford, England.  In 1833 he teamed up with others to produce tracts for the Oxford Movement.  But his most influential work was his preaching – which was both catholic in content and evangelical in his zeal for souls, but many of his contemporaries felt that he was dangerously innovative.  In fact, Pusey was once suspended from preaching for two years for preaching about the doctrine of the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist.  He was also responsible for helping revive private confession in the Anglican Communion.  He established churches for the poor and helped establish sisterhoods, including the first Anglican sisterhood since the Reformation.

A lot of Pusey’s work seems non-controversial to us now.  We are used to talking of Christ’s “Real Presence” in communion.  We are familiar with private confession and Anglican sisterhoods.  But Pusey was controversial in his day and faced much persecution.  I imagine he may have read our Epistle lesson several times in those days: “ … if you endure when you do right and suffer for it, you have God’s approval. For to this you have been called, because Christ also suffered for you, leaving you an example, so that you should follow in his steps.”  Our lesson reminds us that what is earthly suffering now can lead to powerful change later.  Pusey’s work and witness changed the entire Anglican experience and identity.  But he saw little of that fruition.

What Pusey and First Peter tell us today is that the work God has given us to do will not always be easy, but when we authentically live into our call, the reward goes beyond just us.  We bless people all the time through our call.  Living into our call takes courage and conviction.  But when we do, we can be encouraged that we are walking the path that many saints before us have walked, and one in which many saints will follow.  Amen

Homily – Isaiah 42.10–12, Harry Thacker Burleigh, September 11, 2014

19 Friday Sep 2014

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Today is a unique day.  Since 2001, we are unable to hear the words “September 11th” without associating the date with the events of that fateful day 13 years ago.  We remember where we were, what we saw, and how we felt.  We remember those who died – family members, friends, co-workers, and acquaintances.  September 11th is a day associated with pain – on both personal and national levels.  For many of us, we had never experienced a sense of such vulnerability to terror and devastation in our home country.  And though we do not live in an active war zone, the events of that day changed life here forever.  In fact, there is a whole generation now that has grown up in a post-9/11 world.

Harry Thacker Burleigh knew a little about what growing up in the shadow of darkness meant.  Born in 1866 in Erie, Pennsylvania, right after the Civil War, Harry’s grandfather, a former slave who had been blinded by a savage beating, passed along old spirituals to Harry.  That music was a gateway for Harry.  With some difficulty, Harry won admission to the National Conservatory of Music.  Meanwhile, he became a soloist at St. George’s Episcopal Church in New York City.  He faced resistance at St. George’s as a black man in the choir, but over time he became a beloved part of the congregation.  In time, Harry became a respected composer, arranger, and music editor.  He also played a key part in making old spirituals widely accessible.

Despite living in the shadow of slavery, Harry seemed to have embraced the words from Isaiah: “Sing to the LORD a new song.”  Harry could have easily kept his head down and simply survived in a post-slavery world.  Instead, he pushed for a new life – for the freedom to express himself.  He literally and figuratively sang a new song to the LORD, making music that reinterpreted the old spirituals, but also making a new life through music.  His making a new song made light shine into the darkness all around him – and he transformed the world around him.

God invites us to sing a new song in a post-9/11 world.  The invitation for us is to figure out what our new song will be.  We cannot erase what happened to us and to our country on that fateful day.  But we can change how we shine light into the shadows left over from that day.  So sing to the LORD a new song – in only the ways that you can.  Amen.

Homily – John 8.31-32, Paul Jones, September 4, 2014

19 Friday Sep 2014

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I have struggled with the issue of war and peace.  In my heart, I am anti-war and pro-peace.  I cannot condone killing others because others have killed.  War does terrible things to everyone involved.  And arguments for “just wars” just seem like cop-outs – ways of avoiding the call to be a peaceful people.  That is the argument of my heart.  But when faced with issues of genocide and oppression, my head tends to get in the way.  The recent movement by ISIS in Iraq has me in angst over why we are not doing something to stop the genocide.  And yet that “something” is often assumed to involve more violence or war – certainly not peace.

I wonder what Bishop Jones would have to say about this ethical debate.  Born in 1880, Paul Jones, who we honor today, was born and raised in the Episcopal Church.  He became a priest, serving in Utah as a missionary.  In 1914 he became archdeacon and later Bishop of the Missionary District of Utah.  Bishop Jones did much to expand the church’s mission stations.  But as WWI began, Bishop Jones openly opposed the war.  When he declared war to be “unchristian,” the press went wild.  The House of Bishops investigated and declared that Bishop Jones should resign because of his antiwar sentiments.  Though Bishop Jones finally caved in and resigned, he spent the next 23 years advocating for peace until he died in 1941.

I think Bishop Jones must have embraced Jesus Christ’s words from John’s gospel lesson today.  Jesus Christ says, “If you continue in my word, you are truly my disciples; and you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free.”  For Bishop Jones, he knew Jesus to be a man of peace and love.  For Bishop Jones, his pursuit of peace felt like the “truth” – and in some way resigning as bishop freed him to truly follow the gospel.

For us, I think discerning an ethic of peace verses war is not simple.  Issues of peace are complicated and unsettling – who can really define “truth”?  The good news is – no matter what we believe about war, we know our God is a God of love.  Love is a truth we can comfortably claim.  Once we meditate on love, we can often find a bit more clarity.  We can even come to some clarity about this contested issue of peace.  Today we thank Bishop Jones, Jesus, and all those who encourage us to struggle with injustice in the world – for in the struggle, we find truth – and the truth will set us free.  Amen.

Homily – Ecclesiasticus 39.1-10, Bernard of Clairvaux, August 21, 2014

05 Friday Sep 2014

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Today we honor Bernard of Clairvaux.  Born in 1090, Bernard was given a secular education.  In 1113, he entered a Benedictine Abbey.  His family was not pleased with his choice of a monastic life, but Bernard convinced four of his brothers and about 26 of his friends to join him in establishing a monastery at Clairvaux, France, in 1115.  Bernard had a real power for persuasion – his preaching and letters were so persuasive that sixty new Cistercian abbeys were founded through him.  His writings have made him one of the most influential figures in Christendom.  A fiery defender of the Church, he was known for his passion and message about the abundant love of God.

We can almost hear a description of Bernard’s passion and commitment in our lesson from Ecclesiasticus.  The reading says, “He seeks out the wisdom of all the ancients … he seeks out the hidden meanings of proverbs … He sets his heart to rise early to seek the Lord who made him …”  You can almost imagine Bernard rising early, studying scripture, meditating on the Lord.  In fact, Bernard was known to forego sleep and even his health because he was so absorbed in the Church.

The truth is, I am not sure Bernard’s life pattern is exactly what our lesson or even God has in mind for us.  Though most monastics have time to absorb themselves in prayer, study and meditation, we do not expect to maintain the same pace and stamina.  Most of our reaction to Bernard or Ecclesiasticus is, “Oh, that’s lovely, but not for me,” or we dismiss both as irrelevant to our lives.

Where we find grounding is in the rest of the story.  Bernard did all that he did because he was alive with the love of God.  The love of God was so overwhelming that he just wanted more.  Though we may not be able to immerse ourselves as fully as Bernard, we can take a cue from Jesus Christ.  Jesus says in the gospel, “Abide in my love,” “Keep my commandments … abide in my love.”  Jesus says this because, as he says, he wants his joy to be in us, so that our joy might be complete.  Living into God’s love, keeping God’s commandments, seeking God in the ways that we can are not overwhelming tasks – and when we know that they are for our complete joy, the invitation feels much lighter.  So abide in God’s love – so that your joy might be complete.  Amen.

Homily – 2 Chronicles 20.20-21, Psalm 106.1-5, John Mason Neale, August 7, 2014

21 Thursday Aug 2014

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Today we honor John Mason Neale, a priest of many talents.  He was a hymn writer, supplying our current hymnal with several original hymns and over 30 translations of Latin and Greek hymns.  His more familiar works include, “All glory, laud and honor,” and “Sing my tongue, the glorious battle,” from Palm Sunday and Good Friday, respectively.  He was a priest who actively supported the Oxford Movement, which sought to revive medieval liturgical forms.  He was also a humanitarian.  He founded the Sisterhood of St. Margaret for the relief of suffering women and girls.  Born in 1818, he died at the age of 46.  Though his life was short, it was full.  He took the gift of his years and gifted the church with beautiful liturgies, song, and service to the poor.

John seemed to embody in his life our Old Testament lessons today.  Second Chronicles says, “Give thanks to the Lord, for his steadfast love endures forever.”  Our Psalm says, “Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good, for his mercy endures forever.”  Our lessons encourage being rooted in thankfulness because the authors know how generous, loving and merciful God is.  Once one realizes that goodness, the only possible response is one of gratitude.  The things John did: revising liturgies, writing beautiful music, serving the poor – all bubbled up from a place of gratitude toward the Lord.

But how do we get to that place of gratitude?  The psalm says, “Happy are those who act with justice and always do what is right.”  Think back to the last time you made sandwiches with the interfaith group, helped grow produce for the poor, or simply gave money to the church in support of its ministry.  Do you remember how those experiences felt?  There is a happiness that comes when we love God’s people.  That kind of happiness helps us to better see goodness – to better see God.  And when we see God, our hearts are overwhelmed with gratitude.

John Mason Neale showed us what a heart filled with gratitude can accomplish.  Out of his gratitude flowed music, worship and service.  John invites us to enliven our lives with gratitude and enjoy the beauty that will flow from us.  So give thanks to the Lord, for his steadfast love endures forever.  Amen.

Homily – 1 Corinthians 10.31-11.1, St. Ignatius of Loyola, July 31, 2014

21 Thursday Aug 2014

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Today we honor St. Ignatius of Loyola.  Ignatius was born into a noble Basque family in 1491.  An enthusiastic soldier, he was seriously wounded in 1521.  During his convalescence, he experienced a profound spiritual awakening.  Ignatius began to share his experience with others, eventually writing the “Spiritual Exercises,” which continues to be an influential work.  Ignatius went to school in Paris to become a priest, and eventually gathered with others to form the Society of Jesus – known today as the Jesuits. Theirs was a strict vow of poverty and service to the needs of the poor.  Ignatius died in 1556, having sought to find God in all things and to do all things for God’s greater glory.

Ignatius certainly was living the life that Paul commanded to the Corinthians in our Epistle lesson today.  Paul says, “Whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do everything for the glory of God …”  Now I don’t know about you, but having everything in one’s life be for the glory of God is not that easy.  I am pretty sure my frustrations and occasional foul language while driving does not glorify God.  I am pretty sure my impatience at the doctor’s office does not glorify God.  I am pretty sure my actively ignoring a homeless person does not glorify God.

One of the great blessings of having young children in my life is the ways in which they are always watching me.  My older daughter regularly asks why I say and do certain things.  I often find myself either apologizing for setting a bad example or censoring myself before she can catch me.  But just because we might not have a 4-year-old in the back seat does not mean that others are not watching us – and making judgments about what living as a Christian means.

What I like about St. Ignatius of Loyola is that he does not try to do all things for God’s greater glory alone.  He gathers a community and they hold each other accountable.  Though we do not always invite that same accountability into our lives, the opportunity is there.  Whether it is in public or private confession, soliciting communal prayers or finding a private prayer partner – the church is here to help us follow Jesus.  Together we can glorify God better than any of us can on our own.  Amen.