rick morley | a garden path

Pentecost: thoughts and exegesis

May 12, 2010

As someone who views the Scriptures as unified Grand Story, rather than a collection of mini-stories that may-or-may-not-be related to another, I am grateful to the compilers of the Revised Common Lectionary this week who give us not only the Pentecost narrative, but also the story of the tower of Babel. Of course, it’s been noted over and over again that the Pentecost event is a reversal of Babel. As God confounded communication in Babel, God opens the channels of communication with the coming of the Holy Spirit.

On the Day of Pentecost speech wasn’t a barrier to the spreading of the Gospel. Doors that were once shut, were open wide again.

There are, of course, other links back to the Primeval History in Genesis, with the Holy Spirit coming into the room as a the “rush of a violent wind.” A well-worn homiletical path has also tied that wind back to the wind/ spirit that hovered over the waters at the beginning of creation, and the breath/ spirit that God infused a hunk of clay with that he had recently formed – giving us the gift of life. In Hebrew the word for breath, wind, and spirit are the same word. The scriptures play with that word and those overlapping concepts with rich regularity. Pentecost is a beautiful expression of that: a new creation, and a new gift of Life for the pilgrim church.

And so, at the dawn of a new era for God’s People with the coming of the Holy Spirit: what was once broken in Babel is now restored, and the cosmic Wind Breathes Life once more.

All is right in the cosmos, and all is right for followers of Jesus living in the wake of Resurrection.

This year though, what’s got me thinking is the verse: All were amazed and perplexed, saying to one another, “What does this
mean?” But others sneered and said, “They are filled with new wine.”

Two very different reactions to this holy event. Like the miracles of Jesus which often inspired [a word which literally means breathe into or to breathe with] people to be amazed or begin to wonder, the coming of the Holy Spirit upon the disciples took some people aback. They were living in the moment. They were talking about the deeds of God done with great power without reserve.

Remember these are the same guys who were huddled in the upper room with the door locked and the windows closed a few days earlier. Most of them weren’t naturally confident. They were predisposed to look out for their best interests and acted often out of fear and self-preservation or self-exaltation.

A lot like me. And probably like you.

But now they’re footloose and fancy-free.

A new creation indeed.

And, I can understand looking in on this group of men and being amazed and perplexed. When I’ve watched people of great faith do and say great things, I too am often amazed and perplexed. And, such feelings inspire [there’s that word again] me to live similarly.

When received with wonder, such action is contagious. People catch it.

It can go viral.

But others sneered.

Ah, yes. Not everyone was amazed.

They were so loose, so fancy-free – that they could have been drunk.

Some thought they were.

A few months ago I got caught up in the Winter Olympic frenzy. It was so much fun watching sports that I only ever watch once every four years. Curling, ice hockey, snowboarding – it was all so much fun.

I don’t remember who the athlete was, or even what country he was from – but I was watching mens downhill slalom skiing. The competition was heating up and there was one dude who was on his way down the mountain, and on his way to greatness. The announcer who was giving the ‘play-by-play’ said that he was ‘riding the edge between control and being out-of-control.’

And, it was a good thing.

If he stuck too closely to control he’d lose speed. If he lost too much control he could have planted his face squarely in a drift.

He was on the edge of losing control, but was in enough control to stay upright.

It was beautiful. It was thrilling.

The disciples are riding that exact edge here on the Day of Pentecost. They are slightly in control (speaking actual languages) and they are simultaneously slightly out of control.

They are on the edge, and it could go either way.

So much so that some thought they were amazing, and some thought they were loaded.

It’s the same edge that Moses rode when he went back to Egypt to confront the most powerful man on the planet. It’s the same edge that King David rode when he danced with all his might before the Lord and when he went to battle with a giant. It’s the edge that Jacob rode when he went back to meet his brother Esau. It’s the edge that the Israelites rode when they took the Ark of the Covenant into battle with them. It’s the edge that the people in Babel rode when they decided to get closer to God by building a great tower. It’s the edge that Mary rode when she accepted God’s invitation to bear His Son into the world, even when she was a little girl who was not even married yet.

Sometimes it ended up good. Sometimes it ended up badly.

And that’s the nature of riding the edge of control/ out-of-control.

The question I’m left with is this: How is the Church today on the edge? When’s the last time you left church, or a Bible Study, or an outreach project – and some people were amazed and other people thought you were drunk? When the last time your vestry/ session/ board published the minutes of their last meeting and people questioned their sanity? (OK. . .no comment.)

Are we riding that edge? The edge of Pentecost?

Cause if we just sink into the mire of Christian blandness we might as well just climb back into the upper room.

And lock the door. I heard it’s safe in there.

But when the Spirit of God moved on the waters, and Light shined forth, and the morning stars sang together with all the heavenly host – when that hunk of clay took its first breath direct from the lungs of God – when the white-hot fire of God swooped down from Heaven and set a bush on fire/ blazed a trail in the wilderness/ filled the Temple with God’s Presence/ brought forth the Holy Spirit and set the disciples’ heads literally on fire. . . there was nothing bland about any of it.

How can you/ your parish/ and the Universal Church ride that edge – and live Pentecost once more?

To ponder that question would make for the beginnings of a pretty amazing sermon.

Or they’ll just think you’ve been drinking.

Easter 7C: thoughts and exegesis

May 6, 2010

by Fr. Rick Morley

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Acts / Lectionary / Paul

You know that overpowering-intoxicating feeling when you’re annoyed?

And I don’t mean righteous indignation or anger over injustice. I mean being annoyed.

Quite frankly, I’m annoyed right now. Not for any good reason mind you. And certainly not for any righteous
reason.

I’m just plain annoyed.

The fact that my state of annoyance can serve a homiletical/ exegetical purpose tickles me. Not enough to lift my annoyance mind you.

But, I’m amused. Or, at least, I amuse myself.

Anyway. . . in the first paragraph of the lesson from Acts this week Paul is “very much annoyed.”

Now, from my personal and recent experience – annoyance comes in different flavors.

There’s being annoyed with someone you know well and love (spouse, child, co-worker, pet. . .). There’s being annoyed with circumstances that you can’t do much about (your train is late, your computer is slow, your overpriced iPhone keeps dropping calls…). And then there’s being annoyed with random people in your
immediate vicinity.

I don’t know about you, but I get this a lot. Parents who don’t watch their kids in public spaces while they wreak
havoc on the peace of others. Loud people on the subway. Slow drivers in the passing lane. People who so obviously think and act like the world revolves around them. (I mean, don’t they know it revolves around me?!)

You know what I’m sayin’?

You’ve experienced this?

Ok, welcome to Paul’s world.

Paul and Silas are in Macedonia and they’re on their way to a ‘house of prayer.’ So, automatically you know that Paul’s looking for some peace and quiet. He’s yearning for some deep communion with God and some fellowship with some of his spiritual brothers and sisters.

And then there’s the loud woman screaming at the top of her lungs following Paul and Silas wherever they go.

And with that, Paul is “very much annoyed.”

And honestly, I can relate. I’m empathetic with Paul. At first glance this is where the scriptures intersect with my life.

So, stop for a moment and think: if you were Paul what would you do? Would you turn around and yell at this woman? Would you tell her to get away from you in a threatening-disgusted tone? Would you go find her owners (she was a slave) and tell them to better control her? Would you go to the authorities and complain that she’s disturbing the peace? Or would you just grit your teeth and bear it, all the while trying to slip out of her presence?

I could see myself doing any of the above, though honestly, in the end I’d probably just grit my teeth.

But, Paul does none of it. He turns, and with a word of prayer and spiritual authority he commands the spirit/ demon in her to leave.

When Paul is deeply disturbed he prays.

But, this passage isn’t finished with people being annoyed.

Because this woman who Paul exorcised. . . was a cash-cow for her owners. When the annoyed Paul cast the demon out of her they lost an income stream.

So, now they’re annoyed.

And they grab Paul and Silas and take them to the authorities and complain that they are “disturbing our city.”

People are annoyed. Heck, people are disturbed. And Paul and Silas end up in jail.

But, I don’t think that we’re done with the ‘annoyed’ experience in this text.

Because no sooner than night falls while Paul and Silas are in jail and there’s a major earthquake which shakes the foundations of the jail and opens every door.

Dare I say it?

It looks like God is annoyed.

We’ve had a pattern of emotion leading to dramatic response going on here up until now.

Paul is annoyed -> he exorcises a demon.

The slave girl’s owners are annoyed -> they take them to the authorities.

The town is disturbed -> Paul and Silas go to Jail.

Now we only have a dramatic action performed by God: violent earthquake. One would think that there would be a precipitating emotion. Is God annoyed? Annoyed that his apostles/ emissaries are thrown in jail for no good reason? Annoyed that they can’t continue their work?

The fascinating thing here is that the result of Paul’s annoyance is a woman who is delivered of the presence of evil in her life. And the result of Paul’s annoyance, the slave’s owner’s annoyance, the town being disturbed, and God being annoyed is a guard who is brought to a life of faith.

Annoyance here has incontrovertible positive results.

Now, maybe I see this because I want some positive reinforcement of my current state of annoyance. ‘Holiness’ would be a fabulous justification for my holding onto this grudge of mine.

But, of course, that’s not what this passage is about.

And, maybe it’s not the central meaning of this passage from the Book of Acts, but what this perspective at least demonstrates is that ministry, and blessing, and prayer all happen in the midst of the messiness of human emotion. There’s that awful preconceived notion that the Christian life is supposed to be one of calm serenity, if not outright blandness. There’s an unspoken (though maybe in some circles it IS spoken) platitude that if we’re close to the heart of God we just smile all the time and put up with anything and anyone without bother.

Bologna.

Living life with God is messy. Incarnation is messy. Ministry is messy. And, it’s anything but bland.

I think a sermon on this text which points out the human-ness of Paul, the impossible nature of the position he was put in, and the tabula rasa which is the impetus behind the dramatic action of God (was God annoyed?) would be a sermon worth preaching. You’d have to put the stained-glass-voice away, though.

And maybe find ways this week to be annoyed, if not be outright annoying others.

For exegetical/ homiletical purposes, of course.

Easter 6C: Litany for Mother’s Day

May 4, 2010

by Fr. Rick Morley

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Prayers of the People

On this day when we remember our mothers, let us offer our prayers to Jesus, the son of Mary.

Because on this earth we are all sons and daughters of Eve, let us pray for the whole world and the church universal, that we might behold each other as brothers and sisters. Lord in your mercy.

Hear our
Prayer.

As Rebecca gave birth to Jacob, and in so doing she gave birth to a whole nation, let us pray for our own nation, and for all in authority. Lord in your mercy.

Hear our
Prayer.

As Rachel’s son Joseph was mistreated, beaten, and wrongly jailed, we pray for all in this world who are in trouble of any kind. We pray for the poor, the hungry, the imprisoned, and the victims of war and all who live in terror’s wake. Lord in your mercy.

Hear our
Prayer.

As Hannah, the mother of Samuel, went to the House of the Lord to pray with earnest integrity, we earnestly pray for those in this community, and especially those celebrating their birthdays this week . . . Lord in your mercy.

Hear our
Prayer.

As Naomi took Ruth into her home, we pray for those who act as surrogate, spiritual mothers. We pray with gratitude for all those who give the gift of love and nurturing. Lord in your mercy.

Hear our
Prayer.

As Elizabeth gave birth in old age, and as she saw her son John the Baptist carried off to persecution, we pray for all those who are sick, those who are suffering, and those with any need, especially. . . Lord in your mercy.

Hear our
Prayer.

And, as the Blessed Virgin Mary stood by the cross and watched her son die, we pray for the dead and the dying. Lord in your mercy.

Hear our
Prayer.

Lord Jesus, who wishes to gather your people as a mother hen gathers together her brood, we offer to you our prayers. Accept our gratitude for all who mother, bless all who mother, and give all mothers your comfort and strength. And help all of us, brothers and sisters, to be your family on earth, as we shall be in Heaven. Amen.

no temple in the city: Easter 6C

April 26, 2010

by Fr. Rick Morley

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Creation / Eschatology / New Testament / Old Testament / Temple

The Holy City of Jerusalem came down out of heaven from God.

Note that we’re not ‘beamed up’ somewhere, but that God’s reality comes here. Day by day, and week by week we pray, “thy kingdom come,” and in the twenty-first chapter of Revelation that prayer becomes a reality.

The kingdom comes.

When God says, “behold I make all things new,” this is what he means. This is what that looks like.

Like Jesus risen from the tomb – he is the same, and he is wholly different – so is heaven and earth the same and different.

The astute reader will recognize in this reading, from the second to last chapter in the Bible, imagery from the second chapter of Genesis, and the Garden of Eden: the Tree of Life and the River flowing on either side of it. Here, in this phase of John’s Apocalypse, we return to the cool of the garden – that wonderful time when humanity walked with God in the cool of the day. That time when we spoke to God as casually as we might speak to one another. That time when all was right in the universe, and all was right in our relationship with God. Paul would call this righteousness.

But, it’s not that the ‘unpleasantness’ of the fall never happened. Or the unpleasantness of Cain killing Abel. Or the unpleasantness of drunkenness, sordidness, the golden calf, David and Bathsheba, war, strife, hatred, idolatry, unfaithfulness blah, blah, blah – it’s not that all that didn’t happen. It’s that it’s all taken care of. The tab has been paid.

The tomb is empty. Jesus is made new. And now the full ramifications of the Resurrection of Jesus can be seen: Eden is made new. Eden has returned – but! It’s also remade. It’s new.

Now Eden is in a City. There are streets. There’ s a throne. And there’s not just two people there. We’re all there.

And the spiritual-religious landscape is so altered by this Resurrection that the Temple is no longer there. It’s interesting because Temple imagery saturates the Book of Revelation. And yet explicitly in Revelation there is no Temple – because the Presence of God IS the Temple.

Understanding the place of the Jerusalem Temple in Old Testament theology is so very important to understanding this. The Temple wasn’t just some big church – and it especially wasn’t just another-big-church-sitting-on-the-corner-of-another-big-city-intersection. In our religious context churches are everywhere. With a slingshot I could literally hit three churches from where I’m sitting right now.

But, the Jerusalem Temple was the ONLY sacred place in all of Israel where the ritual worship of God was allowed to happen. Period. It was it. After the Babylonian captivity synagogues became a secondary source of religious focus – but they were only places of religious instruction and prayer. No sacrifice was ever allowed there. That took place only in the Temple.

And, it was the place where God dwelt with His people. Our God’s house was on Mt. Zion in Jerusalem. In Temple theology, the Temple was THE spiritual focal point of the world. It was the one place where God’s Presence specifically resided.

So, in the vision of John – there is no Temple. There is no longer one specific place where God would dwell with His people.

That place is everywhere. Heaven, earth, Jerusalem, and all reality has been altered and made totally new by the saturating Presence of God. Because all things have been made new. Because the tomb is empty.

God’s Presence is available to all, and God’s life (manifest in the Tree of Life) is also once again available to all. The gates to Eden that were once closed are once again thrown open. And it’s all there – and it’s all different.

Over the past few days I’ve been conversing with some people in various ways about the emerging younger generations and the emerging ‘new media.’ What we’re finding is that people in Generation X and the Millenial generations have an insatiable desire to be connected. Connected to each other. Connected to the causes that they believe in. Connected to the world. Suddenly, when tragedy strikes a Caribbean island people on the ground – and those literally under the rubble – are connected via tweets. People in the US are tweeting with people in Haiti and then the US Airforce tweets back and clears airspace.

Wow.

What a point of intersection to serve as evangelism to those who have experienced ‘religion’ as a series of walls to keep some people in and other people out. The word ‘religion’ comes from the Latin word ‘religare‘ which means ‘to bind, or constrict.’ And, while there’s something to be said for binding oneself to God the Creator of the Universe – the imagery of binding doesn’t always carry with it the best connotations.

And, what we find in the 21st chapter of Revelation is that in this penultimate vision of John, and in the wake of the Resurrection of Jesus, God and the Life that God offers will be offered to all without boundry – without walls. There will no longer be a place where we can say that ‘God is HERE’ and then point to another place and say ‘God isn’t THERE.’

We will all be connected – each to God, and each to one another, and each to all Creation. Forever. And ever.

And, honestly, that’s what it was supposed to look like from the beginning. When we walked with God in the Garden. And we talked with him. And we knew His voice, and he knew ours. When we were naked, and it didn’t matter – in fact we didn’t even notice.

And that’s what it means for this Kingdom to ‘come on earth as it is in Heaven.’ It looks like a Garden. It looks like a City. It looks like a Temple without walls.

And – dare I say it? – it looks like a tweet.

a new Heaven and a new Earth: Easter 5C

April 14, 2010

by Fr. Rick Morley

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Acts / Eschatology / New Testament / Old Testament

If you’ve been following this blog for a few weeks, you may have noticed a theme. . . I think the juxtaposition of the quasi-continuous readings of the Book of Revelation this Eastertide is a great reminder that the Resurrection of Jesus has personal and cosmic ramifications: everything gets made new. Everything. Even us. Even the whole wide world.

Peter catches a glimpse of that in the lesson from Acts. His personal struggle with the friction between Jewish Christianity (which, honestly, was all he knew) and the budding Christian movement among gentiles caused him, and the newborn church, much anxiety. I’m fond of saying that unless you grapple with the painful arguments in the New Testament concerning these two strands of Christianity then you can’t really get at the heart of what the New Testament is talking about.

The Christian faith was born amidst conflict. No sooner was Jesus Resurrected and ascended into Heaven than Peter, James, and the rest had to figure out what to do with gentiles who were drawn to Christ. Did they need to keep kosher? Did they need to be circumcised? Did they need to be JEWISH? Could they eat food that had been used in pagan ceremonies, even if they knew the pagan ceremonies were a sham?

We see this primal conflict play out in the pages of Acts and the writings of Paul (especially Romans and Galatians).

At first, Peter took a hard line. The Bible (Jewish Scriptures) said that everyone had to be circumcised. The Bible commanded all people to keep kosher, observe a certain dress code, and follow the Torah/ Law. So when gentiles started coming to the faith, Peter assumed the rest of it was necessary too.

And then, in a great vision, he hears that God is doing something new. The dietary laws of the Old Testament were over. What God had made wasn’t to be called unclean. Everything was different.

Of course it was. The tomb was empty. All things were being made new.

In the lesson from the Revelation to John we find the new heaven and a new earth. The first things have passed away.

There’s some really great work being done around these verses lately, especially by Bishop Tom Wright (aka N. T. Wright, the Anglican Bishop of Durham). He, and others, point out quite correctly that the new earth isn’t somewhere else, but is right here. Life eternal in this new heaven and earth doesn’t have a new address, what’s here is made new.

In a time when there’s so much ‘evacuation’ talk (“Warning in case of rapture this blog will be unmanned”) – and when such evacuation talk lays the groundwork for lackadaisical environmental attitudes and policies (I mean, who cares, it’s not like we’re going to be here much longer anyway!) – good theology is so desperately needed.

Let’s get this straight: in the Book of Revelation there is NO rapture. I dare you to find it. It isn’t there. We don’t get beamed up. We stay right where we are, and where we are is made new.

When Jesus was raised from the dead he wasn’t a different Jesus, with a different body. That wouldn’t be resurrection. We believe in the Resurrection of the body. Jesus’ corpse was Resurrected. He was made new. So new in fact that people had a hard time recognizing him. But, he still had his wounds.

It was still Jesus, but things about him were different.

And that’s the model for the Resurrection of All Things. Same world, same heaven, same God, same Lamb – but all things are made new. We’ll have a hard time recognizing things, but when our eyes are opened (and we break bread? – and Jesus calls us by our name?) we will see where we are.

And what will this world look like? God will be here, dwelling with us. There will be no crying, no death, no mourning, no pain.

And the one who was seated on the throne said, “See I am making all things new.”

Falling on your face for Jesus: Easter 4

April 14, 2010

by Fr. Rick Morley

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Eschatology / Lectionary / New Testament

I have to say, I detest the practice of giving sermons a ‘title.’ And, even more so, the catholic bones in my body shake when I see such titles branded on church signs – like the advertisement for the next blockbuster movie. And, I go into total apoplectic shock when I see ridiculous attempts by some pastor or another try and be real ‘cute’ or “cutting edge” with their sermon title.

Really, honestly. . . passersby don’t give a hoot.

But, having said all that – preaching a sermon on the 7th chapter of Revelation this week entitled “Falling on Your Face” is just too good. Even I could let it slip.

Not that you’ll see it on my church sign, mind you – but I won’t pass unrelenting judgment on another if you were to try it.

You’re welcome.

‘Falling on your face’ (as the elders do in the heavenly worship scene in Revelation) as a ‘good’ thing is as paradoxical as the major theme of the day: Jesus the shepherd juxtaposed with Jesus the Lamb.

In the well-known 23rd Psalm it is the Lord who is our shepherd. He leads us, he tends to our needs. In the Gospel lesson from John, Jesus is our shepherd and the relationship between sheep and shepherd is so intimate that we know each other’s voice. And we are eternally protected.

But, in the Revelation to John (which we have with us for the whole of the Easter season) the shepherd who leads us, tends to us, and comforts us with abiding protection – is also the Lamb.

The lamb at the center of the throne we be their shepherd.

The vulnerability of that imagery: a young seemingly powerless sacrificial lamb – makes for great homiletical fodder.

But, I think the heart of this passage – and maybe the heart of the lessons today – is what’s going on around the Lamb.

Of course, the Lamb is Christ – and in the wake of the Resurrection, where Christ is made new, and where death is turned upside-down – the place of the lamb has been turned upside-down. All of a sudden the helpless victim becomes the Victor.

And the ramification of the Resurrection are witnessed to by a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages.

And they have palm branches.

Which might lead someone to think about Palm Sunday – and the triumphal entry into Jerusalem. However, really you have to go back much further than that.

Palm branches were used long before Jesus’ entry on many occasions but especially during the festival of Tabernacles. This is the festival that God told the Israelites to observe to remind them of their sojourn through the wilderness. All Israel was to journey to Jerusalem and erect three walled little huts (tabernacles) and remember the time when they didn’t have homes, or even a land to call their own. They streamed to Jerusalem, built their huts, and waved branches of palm in the air.

Some have commented that this festival was near the end of the dry season and so this waving of palm was a physically enacted prayer request for rain for the new planting season. Because blowing palm branches sound like rain. Interesting. . .

They also prayed Psalms with the word ‘Hosanna’ in them – which means ‘save us.’ (Maybe, in a fragile agrarian society, ‘save us from the doom of famine by sending rain.’)

This festival was celebrated many times, but two key times: it was the festival which kicked off the consecration of the Temple by Solomon, and it was the festival celebrated as a rededication of the Temple after the the Selucids and Antiochus Epiphanes IV were kicked out of Israel by Judas Maccabeus (later celebrated as Hanukah). Because Tabernacles became so intertwined with the Temple it became intimately associated with the Festival of Dedication – which Jesus is in Jerusalem for in our Gospel lesson!! (OOOoooohhh. . . the compliers of the lectionary DO know what they’re doing!)

But, even more interesting is the great multitude who are gathered before the throne and before the Lamb in Revelation. Because they have palm branches. And the first word of their song is “salvation” – or ‘save us’ . . . or Hosanna.

See what’s going on here?

The whole earth – all nations, all peoples – have come together around the Heavenly throne for a new dedication. Reminded that at one time they had no home, but now in God’s Kingdom they do. Reminded that God has always saved them. And together they dedicate a new Kingdom – with no Temple, because in this new (Resurrected) world, there’s no need for one special place where God dwelt. Because now God reigns everywhere.

And what does this new world (cosmos) look like? No hunger, no thirst, no scorching heat, no tears in our eyes. And the Lamb wins and reigns from a throne.

All because on the morning of the third day, the first day of the week, the tomb was empty.

Fall on your face for that.

Resurrection for All Things: Easter 3 and Beyond

April 7, 2010

by Fr. Rick Morley

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Eschatology / Lectionary / New Testament

This Easter season an interesting possibility is upon us: lessons from the Apocalypse of John occupy our epistle lessons each Sunday.

Commentary on Biblical-illiteracy among western Christians is well-stated/ over-stated by the professionally religious – but even if there is only a modicum of truth to that (and I think there is) it is absolutely true when it comes to the Book of Revelation.

Many people completely misunderstand it, overlay it with abiblical theology, and then hang on every misconstrued verse. Many others find it to be scary, unintelligible, and crazy-weird, and so they avoid it altogether. Most are confused by the two polar-extreme exegeses and just give up.

But, this book is so, so very important – and utterly important when it comes to the Great Fifty Day Festival of Resurrection. Because it’s in John’s vision that the implications of Jesus’ Resurrection are allowed to bear themselves out. It’s in this book that we see that all things are made new because of the Lamb’s death and rising. It’s in Revelation that we see the full effect of the empty tomb – because when we look in this tomb we find that all of creation isn’t there – for we have risen.

It’s in the Revelation to John that the ramifications of Jesus’ Resurrection are shown to be cosmic in scale. And, it’s beautiful. And, sometimes it’s grotesque. But, whatever it is, it isn’t shades of grey. It’s bold, its scale is epic, and it’s Life.

The vision which John narrates is chock full of poetry, imagery, and obvious references back to the Garden of Eden and the beginning of all things. And, it’s not just that they make a reprise, but they are made new: the Garden has become a City, the Tree of Life is feasted on, God’s people walk with God again. God’s people sing a new song.

In the Gospel lesson there are nascent seeds of things new, but totally unconceived of. The disciples meet the Risen Lord, but they don’t know it’s him until they pull in the mother-load of fish. Like Mary mistaking Jesus for the gardener and like the disicples on the road to Emmaus – there is something so very different about Jesus that people don’t know when he walks up to them and starts talking. And yet, there is some quality of Jesus that is the same – and upon further looking his identity is revealed.

Jesus asks Peter, in a perfectly excruciating scene, if he loves him. Three times. Peter answers innocently at first, and then indignantly that, of course, he loves him. But, what Jesus is talking about is so much more than idle feeling or attachment to another. Jesus has been transformed so radically that he is hardly discernable as the same person. And the love that he demands of his disciples – and Peter in particular – is also to be a radically transformed love that transcends any kind of love that Peter ever felt before. It was to be a love that nourished Jesus’ lambs. It’s a full-bodied love – a Resurrected love.

I think it took Peter years to work out exactly what Jesus was saying here. I would have loved to have seen the expression on Peter’s old weathered face when it finally struck him – the enormity of love that Jesus was talking about.

I like to think that that moment came sometime close to Peter’s realization that he too would be crucified.

The stories of Jesus’ Resurrection appearances are mini-apocalypses – because they are revealing. (apocalypse means ‘to reveal’) They reveal who Jesus is, what he is, and who we are in the wake of his Rising.

The fifth chapter of Revelation is one of the Christological highlights in the Apocalypse of John (maybe the whole Bible) where Jesus is hailed by angels, heavenly beings, and thousands of the faithful departed as the One who is worthy of power, wealth, wisdom, and might. Two weeks ago we read the Christ Hymn in Philippians where we were told that in the aftermath of Jesus’ death (even death on a cross) that he was highly exalted by God and every creature on the earth and above the earth would praise his Name.

In the fifth chapter of Revelation we see the fulfillment of just that. Jesus’ identity and stature is revealed. The Lamb has been revealed as the victor. The slave who died a slave’s death has been revealed as worthy.

And as we move on in the lessons from Revelation this Easter season we will see how the spotlight of revealing moves from demonstrating who this Jesus is now that he’s Risen towards who we are – what creation is – now that he’s risen.

And when the Heavenly City of Zion descends from above and there’s a new heaven and a new earth – the party will be out of this aeon.

The Sunday of the Resurrection: Easter Day

March 27, 2010

by Fr. Rick Morley

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Creation / Exodus / Gospels / Lectionary / New Testament / Old Testament / Temple

The Resurrection of Jesus from the dead changed the world forever.

It was a ‘one time event.’ In that singular event death and sin were conquered. Jesus on the cross and Jesus’ empty tomb contained the victory of Life that we, and the whole world, needed.

And yet, Jesus’ triumph over death wasn’t inconsistent with the rest of the story of God.

In the Garden of Eden all was good – and then all wasn’t so good. Humanity fell, and yet the story didn’t end there. That setback just meant that life was then lived East of Eden, not that life forever ended.

When humanity’s fall became too much for God to bear, he sent a flood to claim the life of all the breathed. But, again – it wasn’t the end. There was a boat. There was a man with a family. And there were animals of every sort there to re-seed the population of the earth.

When God’s people were slaves in Egypt, again, that could have been the end of a sad story. God’s chosen – who God had claimed over and over again in his conversations with Abraham, Isaac and Jacob – making bricks for a pagan people? But, God delivered his people with mighty acts, he spread open the waters, and the people walked through dry ground towards a land that would be their own.

When The Ark of the Covenant – the vessel upon which the Presence of the Lord rested – was captured in battle and taken and set within the pagan temple of Dagon, it looked as if Dagon had brought his people victory over God’s people and God himself. But, God would break the statue of Dagon – and break the will of the Philistine people, and God’s Ark would return to Israel.

When Jerusalem was destroyed by the Babylonians, God’s Temple desecrated and thrown down, and men, women, children, and the elderly were killed in the street – it looked like it was the end for God’s people. Those who survived were taken off to Babylon to serve as slaves. Once again God’s people were slaves to a pagan people in a foreign land. They thought it was the end. And who wouldn’t? But, God restored his people to their land and Jerusalem and the Temple were rebuilt.

This is the overarching story of the scriptures. Over and over and over again God looks like he’s been defeated. Over and over again it looks like the story is over. It appears that God had a good run, but the Cindarella story has to come to an end.

And each time, God prevails.

Seeming defeat turns into amazing victory.

That is the story of God.

And so when God’s Son – God Incarnate – dies on a cross; when his bloody corpse is hastily laid in a tomb – it looks like defeat has come. Again. And yet, to those who know the Story of God. . . you only have to wait for how God wins this time.

Because you know he does. God always does. It’s how God works.

And, if you see the pattern – and know this patter – then you also can see the ways that it works in our life. Those moments in our lives where we feel defeated, depressed, and ready to throw in the towel – that’s when we should know that God will move.

In unexpected ways – and in unexpected timing – But, God will move.

And that’s how Resurrection looks in our life. Because the Story of God isn’t just something that happened a long time ago. It happens today. It happens when we wake, and when we go to sleep. When we win and when we lose. When we die, and when we – in Christ – rise again.

Palm Sunday/ Sunday of the Passion

March 22, 2010

by Fr. Rick Morley

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Gospels / Lectionary / New Testament

This year I’m doing something a little different. I usually roll my eyes hard when I hear about most “sermon series.'” My thought is that unless you’re doing some strong reinforcing things through the week, a series from Sunday-to-Sunday just isn’t enough to catch anyone’s attention. Goodness gracious, sometimes even I forget what I preached about last week.

But, Holy Week is one of those perfect times when a series of sermons on a theme can work. Especially if your community really marks the week with regular attendance of Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and the Easter Vigil. It’s a great opportunity reinforce one scriptural/ theological concept or theme over the course of a week. And, if done well, it can really begin to ‘set in’ late in the week.

This year, I’m doing a series using the several uses of the word “Passion.”

Passion = the events leading up to Jesus’ crucifixion and resurrection.

Passion = strong emotions, feelings

Passion = what gets people off the couch to do something that has meaning to them

Passion = intense love

What I want is for people to see the motivations which led Jesus to the cross (his passionate love), the motivation for the Father to raise him to new life (his passionate love), AND what should be the underpinning of our love for God and neighbor (a similar passionate love).

I want people to reach Easter Sunday morning wanting to get off the couch for Jesus. By Easter Sunday morning I want a parish that is taking on the passionate love of God, and finding outlets to spread that love.

Palm Sunday’s epistle lesson is the perfect launching pad for that. It’s the same epistle lesson that we have every year (in the Revised Common Lectionary and BCP Lectionary) on this day.

The Christ Hymn from the 2nd chapter of Paul’s letter to the Philippians is a perfect text to kick off a series such as this. Scholars have gone back and forth over the years trying to decide whether Paul 1) composed the hymn himself for the purpose of this letter, or 2) it was a well-known and established hymn that Paul inserted into this letter because of its content and familiarity.

Apparently modern scholarship is leaning towards option #1 this decade. Personally, I like to think it’s option #2. I think it’s a simpler explanation for many reasons (which I won’t go into here).

Regardless it’s content is all about the passion of Jesus: who died on a cross and was then highly exalted. The hymn takes the sacrificial nature of Christ’s passion and winds the clock backwards to include the incarnation. In other words, it wasn’t just Jesus’ death that illustrates his self-sacrificing love for us, but even his willingness to come among us as a human (in human form, as a “slave“) was a sacrifice.

The kicker though, is the first phrase: Have the same mind in you that was in Christ Jesus.

In other words, whatever it was that motivated Jesus to lower himself for the incarnation and crucifixion should motivate us. So, the passion of Jesus is meant to be a model – a paradigm – for our passion.

If Jesus was a passionate Messiah, we’re to be passionate people. And, if we want know what that looks like we don’t have to go much further beyond Bethlehem or Golgotha.

A sermon that sticks to just highlighting that exchange is more than sufficient. You don’t have to go overboard because 1) it’s already a long Sunday with the Liturgy of the Palms and the full reading of the Passion in the Gospel of St. Mark, and 2) because we have the rest of the week to flesh that out.

The Fifth Sunday of Lent, Year C: A New Thing

March 20, 2010

by Fr. Rick Morley

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Lectionary / Major Prophets / Old Testament

Looking at the Old Testament lesson from Isaiah 43

Do not remember the former things,: or consider the things of old.
I am about to do a new thing;: now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?

A new thing? God does new things?

This is dangerous. For at least two reasons:

1) We have no control over God, and quite frankly a Being that powerful doing something ‘new’ and unpredictable is just scary.

2) People can do ‘new’ things willy-nilly and just claim that it’s God doing it. A concept of inverse theology: God does new things = new things are done by God.

Both problems are real, and each could be a stand-alone sermon.

The first problem uncovers the universal condition of humankind: we aren’t really in charge of anything. 99.9% of what goes on in the world is totally out of our realm of control. A snownami drops several feet of snow. An earthquake ravages. A pulmonary embolism lashes out.

All completely out of our control.

The second problem uncovers that other universal condition of humankind: deep down we really wish we were God (in control), and so we like to speak for Him every once in a while. And so we do something new. We start a new denomination or theological position. We rig a financial system for maximum profit. . . oh, and and maximum potential for collapse. We get a ‘great idea.’ And so, we claim boldly, “it’s God doing it.” “This new thing (which, by the by, will benefit me greatly) is an act of God.”

And yet, no. Not always.

As pointed out in John Oswalt’s article “The God of Newness: A Sermon on Isaiah 43:14-21” (in the Calvin Theological
Journal, 2004 – and referenced in TextWeek.com) the ancients were thoroughly repulsed by the idea that the gods could do something new. Of course they couldn’t. They were merely extensions of the physical world where the rules and laws of physics come into play. The god of the sun launched his chariot into the sky every day and rode in a straight line from one horizon to the next. In the spring his journey took longer and longer, until June 21st, when the journey became slightly longer every day.

The god of the sun couldn’t do a new thing. What was he going to do? Start out earlier? Take a coffee break? Go in loopty-loops?

No. The gods didn’t do anything new. The only thing useful about them was that they were totally consistent. Like the law of thermodynamics. Like gravity.

But, Israel’s God – oh, He’s a bit different. He isn’t bound by laws and theorems. In God’s world the Red Sea can draw back. The sun can stop dead in the sky. Virgins can give birth to bouncing baby boys. A Christian-hating Pharisee like Paul can become an apostle.

Our God can do new things.

And yes, that’s scary.

Except when you 1) put away the silly notion that we’re in charge of anything at all, and 2) come to the realization that this means that God can do a new thing in our lives. When we’re stuck in patterns of sin, death, bondage, and destruction – God can do a new thing. We aren’t bound to the same-‘ole-same-‘ole. Like the prodigal who can turn around from his dissolute living and come home and be greeted, God can do a new thing in our lives. No matter how lost or down-and-out we feel we are never so far gone that we can’t become a new creation.

And yet there’s always that pesky temptation to do something new and claim it for God. Which maybe is where the “do you not perceive it?” comes from. God can do a new thing, and we can miss it. Or we can do something new and attribute it to the mysteries of God, when it’s anything but.

Our lives need to be attuned to God so that we know when he’s moving in creation, in the world, in our lives. And so we know when someone (sometimes us) is just makin’ stuff up.

Our God can do new things. And our God does do new things. Slaves are freed. Tabernacles and Temples are filled with the Presence of God. God says “let there be Light,” and there it is. And lives (sometimes ours) are changed, moved, rebooted.

Stay awake. Listen. Watch. Pray. So we know when it’s God, and something new is coming down the pike.