With Robert Burns night coming up next Friday it's worth a listen to Paolo Nutini singing A Man's A Man For a' That
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wOBcFt5tevY&feature=related
Lyrics at http://www.robertburns.org/works/496.shtml
Another rendition at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gjr5boTgis4&feature=related
and to Kent McNair's sermon for the Kirkin' o' th' Tartan at Trinity last November 25th
http://www.trinitycathedral.org/Sermons/20071125km.mp3
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Sunday, January 6, 2008
by the leading of a star
The season of Epiphany lasts from the Twelfth Day of Christmas until just before Lent. At the beginning of the season is the feast of Epiphany, or Little Christmas, also known as Three Kings Day; the feast of the Presentation, or Candlemas (Candelaria), February 2nd, marks its end.
On the feast of Epiphany, in some places, a lucky person will find a little clay (or plastic) baby Jesus – or a bean or a coin – in their piece of festival cake; that means they’re king or queen for the day, and it’s their turn to provide the refreshments at the next feast, on Candelaria DayCandlemas.
In between is the season of Epiphany, of ‘appearance’ or ‘manifestation’, celebrating the ‘shining forth’—or revelation—of God becoming present to humankind in the person of Jesus.
And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth. (John 1:14)
The whole event of the Incarnation, including the Birth of the Messiah, the visit of the ‘Magi’ – the Wise Men or ‘astrologers’ – to the Holy Family at Bethlehem, all of Jesus’ growing up, his Baptism in the Jordan River, the Presentation in the Temple, the Wedding-feast at Cana, can becelebrated illuminates at this season; we pay particular attention to his Baptism on January 13th.
This continuing celebration of the mystery of the Incarnation, of ‘God in Man made manifest’,—in Christ— shows forth to the whole of creation the love of God.
The star in the east, the pilgrim kings bearing royal and mysterious gifts, the night flight of the holy family, the descent of the dove as Jesus emerges from the river water, Cana — all these portents point to the question, “Who is Jesus?” Who is he now, here, in our lives and our world? Who will he be for us? How will God be present to us in our lives?
And how will we make God present to others? Epiphany is the season to explore that…
On the feast of Epiphany, in some places, a lucky person will find a little clay (or plastic) baby Jesus – or a bean or a coin – in their piece of festival cake; that means they’re king or queen for the day, and it’s their turn to provide the refreshments at the next feast, on Candelaria DayCandlemas.
In between is the season of Epiphany, of ‘appearance’ or ‘manifestation’, celebrating the ‘shining forth’—or revelation—of God becoming present to humankind in the person of Jesus.
And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth. (John 1:14)
The whole event of the Incarnation, including the Birth of the Messiah, the visit of the ‘Magi’ – the Wise Men or ‘astrologers’ – to the Holy Family at Bethlehem, all of Jesus’ growing up, his Baptism in the Jordan River, the Presentation in the Temple, the Wedding-feast at Cana, can becelebrated illuminates at this season; we pay particular attention to his Baptism on January 13th.
This continuing celebration of the mystery of the Incarnation, of ‘God in Man made manifest’,—in Christ— shows forth to the whole of creation the love of God.
The star in the east, the pilgrim kings bearing royal and mysterious gifts, the night flight of the holy family, the descent of the dove as Jesus emerges from the river water, Cana — all these portents point to the question, “Who is Jesus?” Who is he now, here, in our lives and our world? Who will he be for us? How will God be present to us in our lives?
And how will we make God present to others? Epiphany is the season to explore that…
Saturday, January 5, 2008
the wise still seek him
The wise still seek him – and they still come bearing gifts. They bring to the Christ Child the symbols of his glory: gifts for royalty, for priesthood, for martyrdom. “Gold for the King, frankincense for the priest, myrrh for the sacrifice.” And what they bring is still less than what they receive, and being wise, they know it.
That is why they come: because here at the feet of the Christ Child they are in the presence of a mystery greater than any king, any priest, any martyr, any prophet. They are in the presence of the living God.
In Jesus the fullness of God is pleased to dwell.
In Christ we are ourselves invited to dwell: to live in his kingdom as he has come to live among us, as one of us.
Today we are invited to kneel with the wise at the feet of the Christ. We bear our gifts: our selves. We stand like them in the presence of the living One.
Isaiah 9:2,6
The people that walked in darkness have seen a great light: they that dwell in the land of the shadow of death, upon them hath the light shined.
For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace.
Shown to us by the leading of a star, or some less likely light, we too travel from afar to be at this manger side. We too have been chosen to receive the gift of his Light, and to reveal to the World his Word.
Matthew concludes his gospel:
[And] Jesus came and said to them, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you. And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.” (28: 18-20)
Each of us is called to witness, each of us is called to serve; but first, each of us is called to worship: to adore, at the side of this little bed, in the smallest of miracles, that quietest of triumphs, the living God present among us in the form of a human being like ourselves.
With no trappings of glory other than those he receives from us – and from us he is more likely to receive, inevitably, a crown of thorns – he yet comes to us, bringing to us Light and Life and Hope.
Seeing the star in the east, the wise ones sought the holy One of Israel: and they followed the star. And they found him. We can do no less. And no less will we receive, in word and sacrament and through his Spirit, the gifts of him whom they sought.
Epiphany • 2008 January 6 • Isaiah 60:1-6 • Psalm 72:1-7,10-14 • Ephesians 3:1-12 • Matthew 2:1-12
That is why they come: because here at the feet of the Christ Child they are in the presence of a mystery greater than any king, any priest, any martyr, any prophet. They are in the presence of the living God.
In Jesus the fullness of God is pleased to dwell.
In Christ we are ourselves invited to dwell: to live in his kingdom as he has come to live among us, as one of us.
Today we are invited to kneel with the wise at the feet of the Christ. We bear our gifts: our selves. We stand like them in the presence of the living One.
Isaiah 9:2,6
The people that walked in darkness have seen a great light: they that dwell in the land of the shadow of death, upon them hath the light shined.
For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace.
Shown to us by the leading of a star, or some less likely light, we too travel from afar to be at this manger side. We too have been chosen to receive the gift of his Light, and to reveal to the World his Word.
Matthew concludes his gospel:
[And] Jesus came and said to them, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you. And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.” (28: 18-20)
Each of us is called to witness, each of us is called to serve; but first, each of us is called to worship: to adore, at the side of this little bed, in the smallest of miracles, that quietest of triumphs, the living God present among us in the form of a human being like ourselves.
With no trappings of glory other than those he receives from us – and from us he is more likely to receive, inevitably, a crown of thorns – he yet comes to us, bringing to us Light and Life and Hope.
Seeing the star in the east, the wise ones sought the holy One of Israel: and they followed the star. And they found him. We can do no less. And no less will we receive, in word and sacrament and through his Spirit, the gifts of him whom they sought.
Epiphany • 2008 January 6 • Isaiah 60:1-6 • Psalm 72:1-7,10-14 • Ephesians 3:1-12 • Matthew 2:1-12
Monday, December 24, 2007
unto you a child is born
We were just ordinary men trying to make a living - out in the fields all night, guarding the flock, keeping watch. We had seen a lot of strange things, at night, out in the fields. We had our share of bear stories, wolf stories; we'd fought lions.
But we had never seen anything like this. Right in the middle of an ordinary night, right in the middle of an ordinary job, something broke through from a realm beyond our sight.
A choir of heavenly messengers filled our eyes. Unto you, they sang - unto you! Salvation comes, the king is born, God has fulfilled his promise. Go and see: go into the town and look for a baby, an ordinary baby, all wrapped up and ready for bed, but sleeping in a manger -- that's him.
That BABY is God incarnate: a baby lying in a manger, gently breathing, his folks standing by. This is the sign of God that everyone has been waiting for. This is the Messiah, the King of Kings, the Son of David, Christ Almighty -- don't you want to tell somebody about it?
We're no angels. We're just shepherds, working the night shift on a far hillside. The mother herself saw no angels tonight, only us -- bringing the message, confirming what she knew in her heart, that today, in the City of David, is born a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.
How then on an ordinary day are you to recognize the Christ Child? How is he born in your life -- in your town?
You go about your business in your ordinary way -- and yet: something extraordinary is happening even now, in your heart, in your life, in your will. Christ is being born. God has sent his Redeemer to you, to establish the way of peace, to bring righteousness and peace to the world he has made, to the person he has made, to you.
JRL+
Christmas, Christmas Eve, Luke 1:1-20, John 1:1-14 (15-18), Isaiah 9:2-7, Titus 2:11-14,Isaiah 62:6-7, Psalm 96, Psalm 97, Psalm 98, Titus 3:4-7, Hebrews 1:1-4
Herbert O'Driscoll, The Word Today (Anglican Book Centre)
Fred B. Craddock et al., Preaching through the Christian Year (Trinity Press International)
St Alban's Episcopal Church
Edmonds, Washington
But we had never seen anything like this. Right in the middle of an ordinary night, right in the middle of an ordinary job, something broke through from a realm beyond our sight.
A choir of heavenly messengers filled our eyes. Unto you, they sang - unto you! Salvation comes, the king is born, God has fulfilled his promise. Go and see: go into the town and look for a baby, an ordinary baby, all wrapped up and ready for bed, but sleeping in a manger -- that's him.
That BABY is God incarnate: a baby lying in a manger, gently breathing, his folks standing by. This is the sign of God that everyone has been waiting for. This is the Messiah, the King of Kings, the Son of David, Christ Almighty -- don't you want to tell somebody about it?
We're no angels. We're just shepherds, working the night shift on a far hillside. The mother herself saw no angels tonight, only us -- bringing the message, confirming what she knew in her heart, that today, in the City of David, is born a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.
How then on an ordinary day are you to recognize the Christ Child? How is he born in your life -- in your town?
You go about your business in your ordinary way -- and yet: something extraordinary is happening even now, in your heart, in your life, in your will. Christ is being born. God has sent his Redeemer to you, to establish the way of peace, to bring righteousness and peace to the world he has made, to the person he has made, to you.
JRL+
Christmas, Christmas Eve, Luke 1:1-20, John 1:1-14 (15-18), Isaiah 9:2-7, Titus 2:11-14,Isaiah 62:6-7, Psalm 96, Psalm 97, Psalm 98, Titus 3:4-7, Hebrews 1:1-4
Herbert O'Driscoll, The Word Today (Anglican Book Centre)
Fred B. Craddock et al., Preaching through the Christian Year (Trinity Press International)
St Alban's Episcopal Church
Edmonds, Washington
Sunday, December 23, 2007
in the waiting room
Last Tuesday I made a mistake: I went to Urgent Care without my copy of War and Peace. I had a long wait. I am not sure I used it as well as I could.
Waiting for the Christ to come may feel a bit like waiting to be treated in Urgent Care. You get a few promises up front, and are told to wait.
Hours go by. What is going on? When will I be seen? Have I been forgotten? When will I be treated? When will I be whole again?
But that’s not it. There is more to the story.
Waiting for the Christ to come may feel even more like reading War and Peace. While you are in it, it is totally absorbing. Then eventually you finish the book.
All those characters, all those people you have met, even friends you have made among them, now disappear into a past memory, only a haze. You are no longer in the world of the novel: now you are in the “real world.”
Of course characters in a novel are merely shadows in a play. But we might feel like that ourselves, sometimes. This world may seem a brief and transitory place. Real life lies ahead, as well as all around us (though hidden), in the mystery of Christ and of the Resurrection.
And this is like Paul’s comment, “now we see as through a glass darkly: then we shall see face to face.” Imagine what it will be like to see Christ in person.
Every week when we take communion, and at holiday times like Christmas when we remember loved ones, we put ourselves in touch with not only those who like us see through a glass darkly, those who are living, but also with those who have gone on before us to see God face to face. We ourselves are not ready, we protest, for such a blessing. Just a little bit more time, please.
In his mercy God is preparing us so that when we do meet him face to face, in the life to come, we will be able to stand it. That “glass darkly” is a little like the smoked glass you used to watch an eclipse through; it kept you from being dazzled by too much light.
These eyes, that dazzled now and weak,
At glancing motes in sunshine wink,
Shall see the King’s full glory break,
Nor from the blissful vision shrink:
In fearless love and hope uncloyed
For ever on that ocean bright
Empowered to gaze; and undestroyed
Deeper and deeper plunge in light.
(John Keble, “Fourth Sunday in Advent”, The Christian Year)
We need to be prepared, so that—not on our own merits but by the grace of Christ—when we see God face to face we will be able to stand it.
A foretaste of that glory is ours today, in the mystery of the coming of Christ. And a foretaste of that mercy is ours as well, for God came to us not in the form of a ruler or a man of power (much as we might have hoped for that) but in the form of a helpless baby. He comes as prince of peace.
As Luther said, “Divinity may terrify us. Inexpressible mystery will crush us. That is why Christ took on our humanity, save for sin, that he should not terrify us but rather that with love and favor he should console and confirm. …he is come, not to judge you, but to save.”
(Roland H. Bainton, ed., The Martin Luther Christmas Book, Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1948, p. 40)
Salvation, however, does not wait. The message of Jesus, and the joy of life with him, is not postponed until some later time, after death or the second coming. It is present with us here and now, brought forth for us first in the tiny manger-dweller we meet on Christmas morning.
In this humble and innocent form comes to us the majesty of God. In other words, we find God not in inaccessible realms of glory but in day-to-day, even humble, form.
And we continue to find him, in practical terms, in loving God in our neighbor.
“You have Christ in your neighbor. You ought to serve him, for what you do to your neighbor in need you do to the Lord Christ himself.” (Luther, p. 38)
Even as we place our neighbor in the place of Christ, serving God in our neighbor, we begin to take on the characteristics Christ showed for us on Christmas morning.
He, the Son of God, being above all angels, did not take equality with God as a thing to be grasped onto, but allowed himself to be emptied into the form of a child, a helpless human infant. And then he began to serve.
“For unto you is born this day—that is, unto us. For our sakes he has taken flesh and blood from a woman, [so] that his birth might become our birth. I too may boast that I am a son of Mary. This is the way to observe this feast—that Christ be formed in us.” (Luther, p. 44)
And this is the secret: Christ in you, the hope of Glory. This is the season of a new birth—not only the birth of the Messiah 2000 years ago but also his emergence within our lives, as we become formed into the people God has called us to be.
JRL+
December 23, 2007
Saint Alban’s Episcopal Church
Edmonds, Washington
Waiting for the Christ to come may feel a bit like waiting to be treated in Urgent Care. You get a few promises up front, and are told to wait.
Hours go by. What is going on? When will I be seen? Have I been forgotten? When will I be treated? When will I be whole again?
But that’s not it. There is more to the story.
Waiting for the Christ to come may feel even more like reading War and Peace. While you are in it, it is totally absorbing. Then eventually you finish the book.
All those characters, all those people you have met, even friends you have made among them, now disappear into a past memory, only a haze. You are no longer in the world of the novel: now you are in the “real world.”
Of course characters in a novel are merely shadows in a play. But we might feel like that ourselves, sometimes. This world may seem a brief and transitory place. Real life lies ahead, as well as all around us (though hidden), in the mystery of Christ and of the Resurrection.
And this is like Paul’s comment, “now we see as through a glass darkly: then we shall see face to face.” Imagine what it will be like to see Christ in person.
Every week when we take communion, and at holiday times like Christmas when we remember loved ones, we put ourselves in touch with not only those who like us see through a glass darkly, those who are living, but also with those who have gone on before us to see God face to face. We ourselves are not ready, we protest, for such a blessing. Just a little bit more time, please.
In his mercy God is preparing us so that when we do meet him face to face, in the life to come, we will be able to stand it. That “glass darkly” is a little like the smoked glass you used to watch an eclipse through; it kept you from being dazzled by too much light.
These eyes, that dazzled now and weak,
At glancing motes in sunshine wink,
Shall see the King’s full glory break,
Nor from the blissful vision shrink:
In fearless love and hope uncloyed
For ever on that ocean bright
Empowered to gaze; and undestroyed
Deeper and deeper plunge in light.
(John Keble, “Fourth Sunday in Advent”, The Christian Year)
We need to be prepared, so that—not on our own merits but by the grace of Christ—when we see God face to face we will be able to stand it.
A foretaste of that glory is ours today, in the mystery of the coming of Christ. And a foretaste of that mercy is ours as well, for God came to us not in the form of a ruler or a man of power (much as we might have hoped for that) but in the form of a helpless baby. He comes as prince of peace.
As Luther said, “Divinity may terrify us. Inexpressible mystery will crush us. That is why Christ took on our humanity, save for sin, that he should not terrify us but rather that with love and favor he should console and confirm. …he is come, not to judge you, but to save.”
(Roland H. Bainton, ed., The Martin Luther Christmas Book, Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1948, p. 40)
Salvation, however, does not wait. The message of Jesus, and the joy of life with him, is not postponed until some later time, after death or the second coming. It is present with us here and now, brought forth for us first in the tiny manger-dweller we meet on Christmas morning.
In this humble and innocent form comes to us the majesty of God. In other words, we find God not in inaccessible realms of glory but in day-to-day, even humble, form.
And we continue to find him, in practical terms, in loving God in our neighbor.
“You have Christ in your neighbor. You ought to serve him, for what you do to your neighbor in need you do to the Lord Christ himself.” (Luther, p. 38)
Even as we place our neighbor in the place of Christ, serving God in our neighbor, we begin to take on the characteristics Christ showed for us on Christmas morning.
He, the Son of God, being above all angels, did not take equality with God as a thing to be grasped onto, but allowed himself to be emptied into the form of a child, a helpless human infant. And then he began to serve.
“For unto you is born this day—that is, unto us. For our sakes he has taken flesh and blood from a woman, [so] that his birth might become our birth. I too may boast that I am a son of Mary. This is the way to observe this feast—that Christ be formed in us.” (Luther, p. 44)
And this is the secret: Christ in you, the hope of Glory. This is the season of a new birth—not only the birth of the Messiah 2000 years ago but also his emergence within our lives, as we become formed into the people God has called us to be.
JRL+
December 23, 2007
Saint Alban’s Episcopal Church
Edmonds, Washington
Friday, December 21, 2007
Jed Smith Christmas
Today we delivered Christmas gift bags to children at Jed Smith Elementary School. The kids were thrilled to see Santa. One young boy was so excited to get a small box of crayons. I heard others excited about their new socks. It was touching and great fun.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Santa (Randy Cheek) with a student from the school.
You can see all the pictures here.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Katharine Jefferts Schori for President
Here's an excerpt from a remarkable article written by Teresa Morrison for The Advocate.
I firmly believe that within a generation the antigay hate speech Bishop Schofield so freely espouses will receive as little tolerance as we do today, and I look forward to a time when men like him will wish they had quietly harbored hatred rather than staking their reputations on it. Meanwhile, Bishop Jefferts Schori and other proponents of inclusion will be credited with having furthered the integrity of their faith institutions as dynamic, relevant forces in the 21st century.
Non-Episcopalian gays and lesbians might not think we have a dog in this fight, but we all have a vested interest in the outcome. We find ourselves in a very rare position here, one so unfamiliar to LGBT people we can scarcely grasp its significance: In the determination of the U.S. Episcopal Church to take a stand for our equality and inclusion, we have everything to gain and nothing to lose, while the folks fighting for us risk their political and financial footing in the Anglican Communion, the third-largest Christian body in the world, which is far more sympathetic toward your Bishops Schofield than to the progressive platform embraced by Bishop Jefferts Schori and the majority of her church’s 2.5 million members.
We never asked Episcopalians to take up our fight. Rather, it seems, their spiritual path has led them to believe that we aren’t any less deserving of ministry or recognition or even consecration simply because we happen to be unpopular sexual minorities. I wish that weren’t an extraordinary concept in 2007, but it is. And Bishop Jefferts Schori has hardly blinked in a year of denominational strife that has seen her character and her commitment to her religious office questioned, challenged, dismissed, and maligned.
In this age of gay bashing from all sides, it isn’t often we encounter a religious leader—or any leader—willing to bulldog for our rights, especially when faced with such a potentially high cost to herself and the institution she represents. What I wouldn’t give for such genuine representation in our elected officials.
When I consider the trail of broken promises left by those we helped to elect, Bishop Jefferts Schori's position becomes that much more remarkable. Reacting to the secession vote in San Joaquin, she not only refused to retreat from her position, she reiterated it: “We deeply regret their unwillingness or inability to live within the historical Anglican understanding of comprehensiveness. We wish them to know of our prayers for them and their journey. The Episcopal Church will continue in the diocese of San Joaquin, albeit with new leadership.”
I keep meaning to bake that woman a cake.
In my fruitless search for a presidential candidate who not only believes in my essential equality but is willing to say it out loud and stand by his or her position when the inevitable attacks come down, I wonder if any money I may have set aside to donate to that elusive candidate’s campaign might not be better spent tithing to the Episcopal Church. At least there I know my support will go toward furthering my rights, not sending them to the back of the bus—or throwing them under it.
Like others who have read this article, it makes me proud of my Church. You can read the whole article here.
I firmly believe that within a generation the antigay hate speech Bishop Schofield so freely espouses will receive as little tolerance as we do today, and I look forward to a time when men like him will wish they had quietly harbored hatred rather than staking their reputations on it. Meanwhile, Bishop Jefferts Schori and other proponents of inclusion will be credited with having furthered the integrity of their faith institutions as dynamic, relevant forces in the 21st century.
Non-Episcopalian gays and lesbians might not think we have a dog in this fight, but we all have a vested interest in the outcome. We find ourselves in a very rare position here, one so unfamiliar to LGBT people we can scarcely grasp its significance: In the determination of the U.S. Episcopal Church to take a stand for our equality and inclusion, we have everything to gain and nothing to lose, while the folks fighting for us risk their political and financial footing in the Anglican Communion, the third-largest Christian body in the world, which is far more sympathetic toward your Bishops Schofield than to the progressive platform embraced by Bishop Jefferts Schori and the majority of her church’s 2.5 million members.
We never asked Episcopalians to take up our fight. Rather, it seems, their spiritual path has led them to believe that we aren’t any less deserving of ministry or recognition or even consecration simply because we happen to be unpopular sexual minorities. I wish that weren’t an extraordinary concept in 2007, but it is. And Bishop Jefferts Schori has hardly blinked in a year of denominational strife that has seen her character and her commitment to her religious office questioned, challenged, dismissed, and maligned.
In this age of gay bashing from all sides, it isn’t often we encounter a religious leader—or any leader—willing to bulldog for our rights, especially when faced with such a potentially high cost to herself and the institution she represents. What I wouldn’t give for such genuine representation in our elected officials.
When I consider the trail of broken promises left by those we helped to elect, Bishop Jefferts Schori's position becomes that much more remarkable. Reacting to the secession vote in San Joaquin, she not only refused to retreat from her position, she reiterated it: “We deeply regret their unwillingness or inability to live within the historical Anglican understanding of comprehensiveness. We wish them to know of our prayers for them and their journey. The Episcopal Church will continue in the diocese of San Joaquin, albeit with new leadership.”
I keep meaning to bake that woman a cake.
In my fruitless search for a presidential candidate who not only believes in my essential equality but is willing to say it out loud and stand by his or her position when the inevitable attacks come down, I wonder if any money I may have set aside to donate to that elusive candidate’s campaign might not be better spent tithing to the Episcopal Church. At least there I know my support will go toward furthering my rights, not sending them to the back of the bus—or throwing them under it.
Like others who have read this article, it makes me proud of my Church. You can read the whole article here.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)