6 January 1980
Gen. 1 :27-2:3
Matt. 2:1-12
“ON LEARNING TO PLAY”
3rd sermon in series “To A Workaholic” by
The Very Rev. Roger 0. Douglas
Several months ago, while preparing for this series on workaholism, I ran across a cartoon in the “New Yorker” magazine. It showed a very serious-minded, middle-aged. executive in the hallway of a very serious office building, with a serious expression on his face, and he was reading a very serious-looking sign. In big letters, the sign said: “INSTRUCTIONS IN CASE OF EMERGENCY.” And then below, in slightly smaller letters, it said: ”
Grab your coat and get your hat. (2) Leave your worries on the doorstep.
(3) Direct your feet to the sunny side of the street. ”
Thank God for the New Yorker. We -need a magazine that can show us how we look, and do it humorously.- in the back of that cartoon is the grim reminder that we are locked into our work patterns_, We have become a serious people, and it is hard — exceedingly hard — for us to grab our coats and get our hats, and leave our worries on the doorstep, and direct our feet to the sunny side of the street. It is hard because we have become a nation of workahol i cs .
Workaholism, as I have indicated in previous sermons, is the most deadly, insidious disease of the 20th century. It has the power to de, st:roy the very cycles of life. Work becomes the be-all and end-all of life. It gives us our meaning and becomes the answer to life’s riddles. And finally, as the disease takes hold, even play becomes work.
The pattern of making even play an aspect of ours starts early in life. The other day, I was at a gathering of friends, and I asked my dinner partner about his son. He answered: “My son has been playing Little League football and really getting a lot out of it. Of course, it takes a great deal of time, but we are happy, for he made the starting team and he gets a lot of recognition from the sport.”
After I went home, I began to ponder that remark. Suddenly, it came to me that behind those innocent words stood a classic expression of why we have lost the distinction between work and play.
Subtly and unconsciously, the sense of play has slipped away from us. First, we have evolved into a nation of activists. This in itself is not a bad trait, but from that we have begun to feel good about ourselves on the basis of our achievements — of what we do. This, too, seems normal and natural, but from there it has become a very short step to making productivity the final measure of the individual. In a workaholic culture that has become so very serious, it is what a person does that is a measure of his existence.
You say to yourselves that the preacher is exaggerating. You think that this is not a workaholic culture. you think the disease has not infected you. Let me ask you: What do you say when you first meet a new person? After we find out his or her name, then comes the real question: “What do you do?” We identify people in terms of their work. In a workaholic culture, people’s worth as individuals is in what they have produced in the marketplace, on the playing field, as well as in the home.
We play football in order to make the first team and gain recognition. We play tennis in order to keep trim. We play cards in order to be social and meet new people. I work at play, and have become so very serious. Yet — yet, isn’t this the very opposite of what play is all about?
The very nature of play is diametrically opposed to work. It involves us in a state of being, not doing. Play at its best gets us in touch with the child within us — the child who is not serious but spontaneous about any activity. The child who does not accomplish does not succeed, but merely enjoys. How many of us know much about that childlike quality? How many of us have been able to move from the adult virtue of work to the childlike value of play? How many of us even want to try this movement?
Let me draw your attention to my text from Genesis. In it, we read that God blessed the seventh day and hallowed it. On the seventh day God rested from work and behaved differently. And you will not; see that He blessed this of all days. God didn’t bless the day on which He made the beasts of the earth, the birds of the air, the fish of the sea, and every Creeping thing that creeps upon the earth. He didn’t even bless the day on which He made us male and female. No, He blessed the time in which He didn’t accomplish anything. Have you ever thought about that?
Sometimes our activist culture will try to explain away the seventh day as simply “rest”. Then this rest is seen as a preliminary step to working. We rest so that we can work harder later. But if we think that way we lose all sense of # learning for the seventh day. The seventh day is special, different, and takes of a quality all its own. It’s a day when God stops doing and just is. It’s a day when He enjoys His creation and doesn’t have to make anything that would appear to be “good”. It’s a day when success is an unheard-of word.
You will have to admit that it’s a dangerous theology to try to improve upon God. And so I always wonder, when we know that God Himself rested, when God took off from work, when (if we can be irreverent and say) He decided to play, if that is what God did. I often wonder: Why are there so many of us workaholics, who can only let go when we are dead from exhaustion? Isn’t there some terrible pride involved in all this? Aren’t we being blind to the example God has set before us?
But blindness can be cured, and pride can be set aside. The good news of the Gospel of Christ is that salvation is not through productivity. It is not what we do or what we have accomplished about which God cares. It is what we are — children, children of God. That is a message that has to be repeated again and again to workaholics. It is only when that message begins to penetrate into the inner recesses of our minds that we can begin to play, to enjoy, to be
A number of years ago a friend of mine enrolled in a theological seminary to do graduate work. One of his chosen professors was a man of eminence in the field of theology. My friend was amazed when, at the very first session, the professor turned to the class and said, “You all have A’s. Now let’s see what we can enjoy about our subject. ‘:
Can you imagine the feelings that those opening words touched off? Each student had their status guaranteed. They could relax with the subject and have fun. Perhaps this is the secret of play — the realization that you are free, with no need to worry about succeeding, producing, or doing. You can enjoy without concern over marks or status. You can have a moment of grace.
The title of this sermon is On LearnIng to Play and it has been one of the most difficult sermons I have ever written. It is difficult because I am a serious person, living in a serious world. It is difficult because I have always been more concerned with people acting like adults, being responsible, working at life. It is difficult because taking my own words to heart would call for me to rearrange my priorities. Somehow I will have to learn to play, to enjoy, to be, as well as find time for striving, accomplishing, and doing. Somehow, through God’s Grace, I will have to let inner child emerge and put aside that serious adult who keeps cropping up.
– One of my favorite authors is Sam Kean. In one of his books, he gives a definition of “a wise person”. According to Sam Kean, a wise person is one who knows what time it is in hIs life. A wise person has a sense of the appropriate, which enables him to do and be what he wants to be.
Kean illustrates this point by telling of a visit to relatives who lived in the Tidewater area of Virginia. In this locale, there are many little bays adjoining the Atlantic Ocean. Sam was warned about swimming, particularly when the tide was coming in or going out- Old timers advised him that if he found himself caught in either of these periods of turbulence, the thing to do was not to try to swim against the current. The only way was to float and let the tide carry him. When he got either way in or way out, the water quieted down, and it would be relatively easy to swim across to the shore. People who did not understand this strategy often tried swimming and ended up drowning. Sam learned the secret of negotiating these tricky waters; it involved three essential skills: “the ability to float, the ability to swim, and” — most appropriate of all — “the wisdom to know when to do the one and when to do the other. ”
That is the secret of being a wise man. We cannot. play all our lives, or we would become playboys and playgirls. We cannot work all our lives, or we would become workaholics. But we can learn to do the one and then the other.
And so, my New Year’s wish for all of us is to become wise. Be in touch with your “child, for you are a child of God. Be in touch with your serious side, for God also worked. And become wise, following a God who blessed the seventh day of creation — as She enjoyed Herself.
Happy New Year!
Amen
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To Those Whose Time Is Running Out
January 7, 2001
Matthew 2: 1-1
It may be the post-Christmas season blues. It may be a recognition that the old year is over. It may be an awareness that my tenure is coming to a close, or it may be the realization that the years of my life span are diminishing. But, whatever the reason, I want to speak to those of us who sometimes have the feeling that time, for them, is running out.
Did you ever see the TV commercial of some years ago? it had a man at a desk, picking up a phone and saying, “Buffalo on Monday. I can do that.” It rings again. “Dallas on Tuesday I can do that.” And again it rings, “Cleveland on Wednesday. I can do that.” Then he looks despairingly at the camera and says, “I can’t do that.” I forgot what they were selling, but there is something universal in this picture. When we stop and take a hard look at our lives, when we begin to plan for the future, make resolutions, set goals for ourselves, more often than not, we find ourselves lamenting, “I can’t do that. It doesn’t fit with my calendar.” And then we often wake up to the fact that we can’t do it by saying to ourselves, “Oh, my God, I’ve run out of time.”
The Gospel this morning, at first glance, is a story about three persons who follow a star. But there is a fourth person in the drama, and I want to introduce you to him. I don’t want you to see him as a villain. It’s too easy to demonize Herod. Particularly if we have read ahead in the Biblical account. Instead, this morning, I want you to encounter Herod as an overworked administrator, a bureaucrat doing the best he can, within the Roman system.
Suddenly, into his life marches three strangers. Three searchers appear on his doorstep and announce they are following a star, which is another way of saying they are pursuing a vision, looking for God. Now Herod could have told them to get lost, but instead, he extended the hospitality of the house. He gives the three magicians, astronomers, wanderers, a place to sleep, and some food, and even grants them an audience. The three tell Herod they are following a star, which will lead them to the Messiah.
Do you recall Herod’s response? it went something like this, “I’d like to go with you, but I’m tied up right at the moment. Let me know if you find what you’re hunting for.”
It’s not that Herod is particularly evil. It’s just that he feels he doesn’t have the time. He’s either too harried, too unimaginative, too locked into his schedule, to make room for something new. “If you and the one for whom you search,” he says, “be sure and let me know. Maybe I can fit the Messiah in between 5 and 6. I’m really overbooked this week.”
Herod is like a lot of people we know. He wants to do certain things, yet he doesn’t have a moment to spare. He wants the abridged version, so that he can work it all in – within the time allowed. He wants a relationship, but only if it can be on Wednesday at 4:00. And the tragedy is that time runs out, and he never does get to see the baby. And he ends up a frightened, anxious, angry ruler.
Have you ever defined yourself as a person who has run out of time? Have you ever become aware, sometimes painfully aware, that you’ve left a lot undone? That your time and energy level are pretty well spent, and that many things will never happen, many dreams will remain unfulfilled? if you have, this Gospel is for you. Three frivolous wanderers make it. One hard-working bureaucrat is left out in the cold. The Herods of this world run out of time.
Down at the soul level, this story is hard to accept. It’s hard to accept that we often run out of time, that the parade has passed us by, that we missed the opportunity of a lifetime, that the chance to establish relationships has come and gone. And yet, we’ve all been there. It’s part of living and part of dying. As a Spanish writer once wrote when facing a friend’s death, “It all comes down to one thing, we’ve run out of time,” run out of time to say and do all the things we wish we had done. We’ve run out of time to love, to risk, and to do something significant.
I suppose that’s why the church focuses so much time teaching about death. It’s not that it wants to be morbid. It’s just that we need to be reminded that the priorities we make for ourselves are important. It’s a paradox, isn’t it? By focusing on dying, we hope to learn to live better lives.
“Teach us to know the number of our days,” Psalm 90 says. “That we may apply our hearts to wisdom.” in other words; remember that you will die, time will run out. So live, live now in the moment. Make each second count. Experience the wonder and joy of taking the world in your arms, and learning to listen with your heart.
The secret here is that time is not our problem. We can’t make time, and time, or buy time. For time is a gift, a gift from God. All we can do is use the time we have left by relishing our relationships, loving to the fullest, and embracing each moment. That is the wisdom of the heart.
You’ve heard it said that no one on his or her deathbed wishes he had worked harder. They regret instead not taking the time to do the things that matter, searching for God, being with friends and family, and cherishing each moment.
So, to those of you who are bothered by the feeling that time is
running out, let me lift a burden from your shoulders. The truth of the matter is that it is God’s time and not your own. You can’t really control
n time, for it is not yours to control; all you can do is to make each moment
count,
I notice that my time in the pulpit is almost finished. Let me leave you with some words that I read many months ago. I was feeling depressed about ending at St. Philip’s, and happened to see these words from a poem called “When Death Comes.” I wonder if Herod had heard these words, would things have been different? Here’s a part of the poem.
When it’s over, I want to say
All my life
I was a bride, married to amazement.
I was a bridegroom taking the world into my arms.
When it’s over, I don’t want to wonder
If I have made of my life something
Particular and real.
I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of arguments.
I don’t want to end up simply
Having visited this world.
May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts always be acceptable O Lord of time and eternity, Amen.
+ Mary Oliver -
“Epiphany”
January 8, 1995
Whenever the season of Epiphany rolls around, I find myself puzzled. The story that we read seems to be out of tune with the soft melody that we have heard over Christmas – out of step with the beauty and majesty of Mary and Joseph’s tale – out of context when we are celebrating a beginning, a birth. Only in Matthew’s account of the birth do we find this story of the three wisemen. What could it possibly mean, coming so soon – 12 days after the wondrous Events of Christmas?
Recently, I learned a new concept that has helped me to understand many such stories found in Scripture. The concept in Hebrew is introduced by the word HAGGADAH, and it refers to a story that a writer might insert into a text to make a point. HAGGADAH need not be factually true. It is more of a parable or a lesson that is inserted to teach the reader an extra lesson. It is often a story that is more allegorical than real, more illustrative than authentic.
And thus we turn to the beginnings of Matthew’s Gospel and Matthew inserts this story, this HAGGADAH, of three men who are following a star. The reader is to understand that the star represents a dream or a vision, or a hope. So right at the start we learn there are three men who are following a longing, a hope that they might and God.
As the story commences, we quickly notice that they are lost. ‘Where is He?” they inquire. What a strange way b begin a story. But take heart, Matthew is telling us that in order for something or someone to be found, we must first realize that we are lost. And the beginning of any journey is to know that you haven’t arrived. We might even say that the wise men were wise because they realized that in order to find God, one had to know that he was absent.
And so in their lostness, in their search, they determine to stop by the local authority and ask directions. ‘Where can we find God? Where is this wondrous birth?” In effect, they are asking the authority figures what they know about the way God acts. And we quickly see that the authority figures are threatened by these questions. If God were to reveal Himself in other ways, what need would we have for the traditional answers? Would this new revelation not call into question all the explanations from the experts? We might even speculate that any new revelation could lead to a major shift in hierarchy. Somehow, our three principals instinctively knew this – and we read that they, being wanted in a dream, depart and don’t come back that way.
Let us dig a little deeper and raise some further questions about the three principal characters in this little drama. Who are these searchers who abruptly come onto the scene and then quietly leave – with stage left -never to be heard from again? Recent custom has it that they were kings. If we’re going to go against authority, let’s give our hero some status. We have ever given them names so that they might appear more credible. Gaspard, Balthazar, and Meklhior remember those names if you’re ever organizing a Christmas pageant or find yourself on a quiz show.
I’m not sure how these names came about. They certainly were not a part of Matthew’s story_ Matthew simply calls them wisemen. Further research shows that they were magi – which was a designation for astrologers – a fortune teller type – possibly a carnival pitchman, or a court magician kind of person.
These three certainly were not the type that we would expect to be enshrined as religious sages – or that the Gospel writer would have chosen to be the first worshippers of God.
So what is Matthew’s Haggadah telling us? I believe it is the story of some stuffy, third-world alien who, for God’s sake, can’t even speak Hebrew. And yet somehow they managed to find God. And worshipping at the manger, even though – a little late. Anybody with any manners would have shown up 12 days earlier, when all the fireworks and spectaculars were happening. But still these three outsiders made it – arrived – found God -while the religious leaders didn’t have a clue.
Right at the start, Matthew teaches us that things are not as expected. Tradition and rigid orthodoxy are not going to be good enough. Outsiders are going to have the inside track. Surprise is God’s middle name.
The Epiphany story disrupts our expectations -assaults our well-thought-out concepts of reality. Those three men were not the designated players. They are not priests or rabbis – not the bishops or the doctors of the church. They are not even the persons in the next pew. The teaching is that when you seek God, be prepared to be surprised – and be prepared to be joined by some pretty strange and diverse people.
Yes, I am puzzled by Matthew’s HAGGADAH. Coming 12 days after the aesthetically pleasing, neatly choreographed, magnificently staged Christmas celebration, it seems out of place to tell a little vignette about three scruffy Characters stumbling around the environs of Bethlehem.
I suppose it is all right now to quote from ‘The Catcher In The Rye.” I take you to that page where Holden takes his girlfriend to see the colorful Christmas extravaganza at Radio City? The lights are there, the sound of well-tuned instruments, the motion, the activity, the song, the dramatic curtain effects, and first-rate professional staging. But Holden sees through it when he says: “Old Jesus probably would have puked if He could see it – all those fancy costumes and all. The thing Jesus really would have liked would be the funny-looking guy in the back row who plays the kettle drum in the orchestra.”
Those three wisemen were funny-looking – back row characters. So Matthew begins early on, declaring that the Kingdom is found when you are lost, and the journey can only be made with some strange companions. And if one goes on the journey, be ready for the unexpected, for the goal of finding God may not happen where you have been told to look
Let me share with you another HAGGADAH, which for me is an Epiphany story. It comes from the mouth of Martin Bubu. It is about a pious rabbi of Cracow–Eisik – who, like the wisemen, was a se dreamer, a visionary. One day Eisik had a dream in which a voice told him to go to far-off Prague, and under the bridge to the royal castle, he would discover a hidden treasure. He hesitates for a long while, but finally decides to go, making the long journey on foot. On arriving in Prague, he found the bridge. But he dared not get too close as there were sentinels posted there day and night. After a while, one of the guards came up to him and asked: ‘Have you lost anything?’ The rabbi told him of his dream. The guard laughed and exclaimed: ‘You poor man! To have worn out a pair of shoes traveling all this way because of a dream. Why, I had a foolish dream once. A voice commanded me to go to Cracow and search the home of a Rabbi Eisik where I would find a great treasure buried in a dirty corner behind the stove. Imagine believing in such a drum,” and he laughed again.
Rabbi Eisik, bowing politely, bid the guard farewell. He then headed back to Cracow. There he dug under the neglected corner behind his stove and found the treasure thus putting an end to his poverty.
Buber comments that the treasure is not money, but rather the knowledge and presence of God. And the story is to remind us that although the journey may be far, we have to start }lst where we are and be prepared to be surprised at where we might end up.
HAGGADAHS are often puzzling stories. They leave us in tension between what is real and known, and what is unknown and mysterious.
The ways of God, good people, are oftentimes not known. The worship of God often leads us to unknown places – rubbing elbows with unknown people. But that’s our Epiphany message. T.S. Eliot put the Epiphany message in a few short lines of poetry:
‘We shall not cease from exploring –
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive
Where we started
And know the place for the first time.”
AMEN -
“The Roots of Violence”
January 9, 1994
Matthew 2: 1-16
On a sunny day like today, I have a feeling that it’s a glorious privilege to belong to the human race. . . at least I think it is. And it’s a glorious privilege to be a part of this community. . . at least I think it is. And it’s a glorious privilege to belong to the Body of Christ. , . at least I think it is. Lately, what I’ve been hearing on the news about random violence – and what I’ve witnessed myself about how people treat each other, in and out of the church, I’ve begun wondering. The problem for me is that being a part of the human race means that everybody is included – and rm not sure that I want to include everybody in my family tree. There used to be an old joke where one person asks another: “As an outsider, what do you think of the human race?’
It is not possible to exclude certain people – we know we are all connected. And it’s also important to understand that all of us have some characteristics that are typified in some of the more objectionable people in the human family. So this morning, I want to introduce you to one of the more objectionable violent people found in Scripture.
His name was Herod, and we run into him at the beginning of the New Testament – and later on when he imprisons and then beheads John the Baptist. We know very little about him except that he’s the ruler – the King of Judea – by order of the Roman Government.
By dint of research, we learned that Herod had a brilliant mind. He was a good administrator, a consummate politician, found favor with Rome, was loyal to the government, and had been awarded the title King of Judea even when he wasn’t of Jewish lineage. He was an Edomite and this made him suspect to the Jewish people.
But let’s not simply write him off as violent or crazy. Or simply say that here is an example of goodness on the scaffold and evil on the throne. Let’s ask ourselves what was the root of his some reason, Herod was never able to say: “By the grace of God, I am what I am.” Or: ‘For this reason, I’ve come into the world. For this I was made.” This uneasiness with his role directly led to his violent nature. Whenever something new, something different, a change was suggested, Herod reacted by being troubled, as the Scripture puts it – and then by becoming violent. (But I’m going beyond the story.)
When the Wise Men came to Herod, we read he was troubled. The introduction of something new is seen as a threat to his role. Isn’t this true of all of us – at some time or another? Whenever we feel insecure in who we are or what we are doing, we become troubled by new data. Our roles become threatened and that’s a difficult burden to carry around.
In 1944, Laurence Olivier began to act in G.B. Shaw’s “Arms and the Man.” The play wasn’t going well and his role as Sergius was one of the weakest parts. In the midst of rehearsal, Olivier threw a tantrum and the director, who happened to be Tyrone Guthrie, said to Olivier: “Do you love Sergius?’ Olivier replied: ‘No, I don’t!” And G-uthrie exclaimed: ‘Well, if you can’t love him, you’ll never be any good in him, will you?’ Not loving the role you’re in is the seedbed for a lot of violence. If I were to ask you if you loved yourself and you were to say, ‘No, I don’t,” that would be the beginning of the end for you as a person.
Learning to love the roles you are given in life – and giving up the terrible burden of trying to be somebody else – that’s the simplicity of the Gospel. Carl Jung wrote of his having to accept the little dot of earth that he was – a clod that is loved by God. We need to learn to love our roles – who we are and what we are doing. For it’s the contempt or the unease we have for our lives, our roles in life, our sense of vocation – that makes us troubled and leads to the burden of violence.
Herod’s identity problem – his self-image problem became more and more evident as he talked with the Wise Men. The Magi, or Wise Men, quickly picked insecurity and envy that Herod showed toward the Christ Child. It always amazes me how we think that we are masking our feelings and others read us so accurately. Herod says that he would like to meet this newborn person. The Wise men accurately interpret this as envy and jealousy and potential violence. Elizabeth O’Conner has rightly noted that whenever a person is envious of another, you can be sure that individual has never fully recognized and accepted himself or herself. Whenever we do not recognize our own unique goodness, we become threatured by others and some kind of violence is sure to follow.
I have heard it said that self-doubt and feelings of inferiority – in other words, low self-esteem – are at the root of all psychological illness. I’m inclined to agree. Until we come to terms with our sense of who we are, we will always remain neurotic and paranoid. In other words, violence will always be a part of our nature until we come to terms with who God made us to be.
Several years ago, Fred Buechner, the author, spoke to us in San Francisco. He shared with us some autobiographical learnings. At one point, he told us about his father’s suicide – the time that his dad did extreme violence to himself. ‘My father,” Buechner said, “committed suicide in the same year that ‘Gone with the Wind’ was published, and he left his suicide note in that book. The note was addressed to my mother: ‘I adore you, I love you,’ it said, ‘And I am no good. Give Freddy my watch. Give Jamie my pear pin. Goodbye.”‘
That/s a sad note, but it contains the clue of why it’s possible to do something violent like committing suicide. “I adore you. I love you. And I am no good!” That’s a lie, but if you believe it, you’re going to be violent. The good news is that you are special to God. The truth we celebrate Sunday by Sunday is that we are important to God. We are good. God loves us – and wants us to welcome him into our hearts.
I have a friend, some of you know him – Steve Chinland – who works in New York City in areas of extreme violence like Harlem and Bedford-Stuyvesant. He had occasion to work with a group of anti-social girls within a school situation. Every day that he met with them, he started off by having them repeat a little three-sentence creed. Each of them shouted out: “I am intelligent. I am beautiful. I am somebody.” Steve said that as they came to believe those words, the violence within them began to lessen. You see, God gives us all those gifts without our having to strive for them or earn them. This is the primal truth that Herod could never accept and therefore his story ends in violence. The slaughter of the innocents, the beheading of John the Baptist, the disintegration of his family.
Which brings me back to where I started. What went wrong with Herod? A number of things, for sure. But at the bottom, I am convinced, it was mostly one thing: Herod thought too little of himself. As I said in the beginning, the conditions that spawn violence are not only within Herod – or the crazies who shoot or maim people. It’s not only an issue for a bunch of girls in Bedford-Stuyvesant. It’s an issue within all of us today. Since I’ve just come back from three days with 2,000 Southern Baptist clergy in Houston who taught me that worshippers ought to be more participatory – and since more of you have been calling out: “Amen! Brother!”, I’m going to invite you to end this sermon by saying out loud Steve Chinland’s creed: “I am intelligent. I am beautiful. I am somebody.”
Maybe. . . maybe. . . we’ve all taken one small step towards a less violent New Year and we can all believe that it’s still a privilege to be part of God’s people, the human race. AMEN. -
To the overextended
John 11: 1-10
January 11, 1981
Not long ago on a TV show a woman was brought up from the audience. The MC asked the lady contestant what she did, and this is what she said. I am a mother of three children. I do volunteer work. I teach Sunday school. I am a den mother. I am on the auxiliary. I raise money for charity. I show for my kids to school activities and sometimes I Moonlight as a personal chef.
It is to that woman and men like her that this sermon to the overextended is directed
Several years ago in a different state, I received a phone call from a man who was the epitome of dedicated humanity. He was a leader of the community on the school board president of the United Way a committed church man. In fact he was as useful and involved a human being as I have ever known.
He called me to meet him at the local jail. His teenage son had been arrested on a serious charge when I got there the man was sitting alone his son having been locked up. He told me that just a few minutes before they’re in the jail, he and his son had their first serious talking years. When he asked his son what had gone wrong, how things had got to this point The sun said
Maybe because you were never around. You were so busy with school board meetings that you never had time to help me with my homework. You were so involved raising money for the Boy Scouts that we never went on a camping trip together. You have not done anything bad Just too much good. It is to that man and many like him that the sermon to the overextended is directed. One of the great spiritual gifts is a book which I kept on my bed in seminary, called a Testament of Devotion by Thomas Kelly. Kelly speaks of the power of life that can result from over overabundance of opportunity. The first time I read that since I thought it involved a contradiction in terms, I find myself asking how poverty can result from over abundance. When I went back and read those words, I found it is possible for a person to embrace too many possibilities. Is it possible to be in the midst of plenty like sitting down to a Rich banquet table and eating too much. When this happens, the very food that could nourish and delight winds up making you sick. Kelly suggest in the book that the same thing can happen in the case of activities. We can get too much, just as our stomachs do with food and when this happens, we become spiritually sick and physically exhausted. This sermon is directed to those of you who might be overextended.
One of the honest, insightful and active Christians is a man by the name of Charles Clancy in an article on the state of the church you said the most notable characteristic of church people is their listlessness. He wrote, we added up all the whole list of things to do people to reach causes to a spouse in the average parish and it was endless. I’ll be Frank I have known too many people far too many Christians clerical and Lehman. We’re trying to be Everything to every hurt to respond to every sense of communion whenever possible and today most of them have withdrawn from the front lines they are burned out cases. Clancy concludes that most of us are very naïve in developing the discipline to respond of being contemplative of exposing causes and seeking rest to those naïve burned out people that their sermon is directed
And so we turned to Jesus as we meet him in our gospel lesson let me set the stage. Jesus just completed admission to Jerusalem. Very confronted the religious leaders of the day. After a very difficult series of meetings, he went with his friends to a place beyond the Jordan for rest and reflection. Sometimes we get the feeling from reading scripture that everything Jesus was at break neck speed, but anyone who studies the gospel closely will soon realize that they were periods of action mingled with periods of rest.
And isn’t this true of most of our lives? At least we would hope that it was. Every so often I throw in an illustration from the world of sports. I do this to hold the attention of the women in the congregation. Here is one to try on your friends The afternoon as you watch the Sunday football.
In professional football game that we would all think of is being excessively active for at least 60 minutes of playing. How much time is the ball actually in motion. The answer is between seven and 7 1/2 minutes. The rest of the time is spent getting ready for the next play lining up or slowly walking back to the line of scrimmage.
Well, the same was of Jesus. He took time to reflect, to rest, to gather his disciples, to get to the next goal, to build a sense of community and while he was doing this, the word came to us of a friend sickness.
Who can deny that assisting a friend who is very ill is not important? In this instance, Jesus did not immediately respond. He waited a full two days before setting up for Bethany. He had a test to perform that was more crucial than sitting by the bedside of a friend.
If we are ever going to sort through the thousand and one good opportunities that wash over us all. Jesus going in the daylight in contrast is stumbling around in the dark. I believe he was referring to the capacity to say yes to things no to others, and yet still another set of demands.
And so the word of God to the extended as a simple one this morning learn the difference between rest and activity and make sure you practicing though as well as yes Jesus said, am I not there 12 hours in the day if anyone walks in the day he does not be because if anyone walks at night, he stumbles because the light is not light. Let it be Lord -
Epiphany and St. Philip’s
January 11, 1998
I’ve said it before, but it’s worth repeating. You can look at a passage of Scripture a thousand times, and the next time you revisit it, new meanings jump out at you. I had that experience while preparing for this annual meeting sermon.
The Epiphany story presents us with three strangers wandering about, following a star. And then one evening, they find themselves in Herod’s domain. Herod visits them, gives them supplies, and sends them on their way with the charge to let him know if they reach their goal.
I want to look at that story for a moment. In order to do this, let us put aside the old stereotypes and try to see the characters with new eyes. First, the three people. They were neither wise men, nor magicians, nor astrologers. Their names certainly were not, as the hymn would have us believe, Kings, called Casper, Melchoir, and Baltazar_ All we really know is that they were three strangers,
outsiders, risk-takers who were on a mission, following a
star
And then there was Herod. He’s had a bad press
through the years. Today, I want you to think of him as no different than many of us. He’s made it, climbed the success ladder, and has a strong desire to keep life going the way it has always been. Herod, simply put, is the keeper of the status quo.
We might say that Herod believes in the 10th commandment. That is the commandment that goes, “Thou shalt not Climb out on a limb.” Followers of this commandment feel that safety and security are more important than other values. It’s better to stay home, busy yourself with small projects, than to stretch your imagination and take on a really big goal. It’s better to stay in a safe harbor than venture out into deep water and possibly drown.
But back to the story. Herod and the three strangers meet. And Herod is told they are following a star (which here stands for a vision). We might say the three are on a vision quest. Herod begins to question them. He, too, would like to see the Messiah. And so, the three share their vision. Herod seems enthusiastic. He encourages them. But he doesn’t go with them. Instead, he makes what seem to us to b+a reasonable, prudent request. “If you get there, let me know.” Herod doesn’t want to venture out until there is a degree of certainty. He would rather not go out on foot or on horseback. He’ll wait for the train, thank you very much. Sounds like an Episcopal point of view, doesn’t it?
Whether Herod was to scared to dare; too comfortable to risk; too secure to follow a vision, we’re not sure. We only know that Herod opted for the lltGBPh commandment. And you know, Herod types scare the life out of me.
Herod stands for a type of mediocrity – the mediocrity of many church people. Mediocrity that settles for something less than the best. The mediocrity which brings people to think it’s all’right to do an adequate job, but no need to go beyond the bounds of safety. The mediocrity
that lacks imagination, and refuses to go into uncharted
waters.
Do you know what I fear most for St. Philip’s in the
future? I fear that we will settle for mediocrity and begin to look like the majority of parishes in the Episcopal Church. I fear that in the years ahead, we will elect leaders who will identify more with Herod than the three strangers
The great majority of parishes in the church have services on Sunday without a thought about transforming people. The great majority of parishes do good works in the community without concerning themselves about changing the good worker’s relationship to God. The great majority of parishes educate children without trying to convert them. That’s mediocrity in the dhurdh. Settling for something less than the best. Those are the kinds of parishes that would do well in Herod’s kingdom, but would have great trouble in God’s kingdom.
The difference between Herod and the three strangers was that the three had a sense of being called out, A sense that God wanted them for a special task. For the past 20 years, I have tried to convince people that God is calling each one of us out, to follow a star, a vision, a dream. It always amazes me that sincere Christians find this so hard to believe. Every Sunday they hear that God can call forth a people from dry bones, sons and daughters from the stones at their feet, babies from barren wombs, a Savior from a humble manger, new life from a tomb. Yet many still find it hard to believe that God could possibly call them. Call them to follow a star, pursue a vision.
My hope is that every single person in this parish is made aware that he/or she is called. Called out by God on a vision quest. Just like the three strangers.
Here’s how the staff articulated that vision, a few months ago. “Our vision is to build a faith community that intentionally practices Christian vocation to transform the world in which we live_”
How have we come up with this vision? Through prayer and talk and, above all, through listening to you. Let me share some of the comments we have heard.
Roger, I am a nurse or a teacher. It’s a great job, but the environment is not particularly conducive to my faith. How do I get the support I need to live out my Christian vocation?
Liz, my job is just a job. I want to develop, outside of my work hours, a ministry to those with AIDS. How do I go about getting the training I need?
Peter, I want to make my job a part of my ministry. Do I have to be ordained for that? How do I celebrate in this community what I do five days a week?
Those are the kind of comments we hear. And it is from those questions that we have built our vision. I am convinced that it is from this direction that God wants us to grow. Here it is again. “Building a faith community that intentionally practices Christian vocation to transform the world in which we live.”
Good people, this parish of ours is the hope of the church. Never forget this. We’re the hope of the church, not because we know what to do. And not because we are necessarily doing it, but because we are willing to risk, to follow a vision like the three strangers. And to share that vision with the rest of the church.
Let me end these thoughts on our parish by paraphrasing the words from Isaiah:
Arise, St. Philips and shine like a star.
The glory of the Lord is shining in you . . .
People will be drawn to your light.
Members to the dawning of a new day.
Look around you and see what is happening. Your people are gathering to come home
Your sons and daughters will come from far away. You will see them and be filled with joy , . .
You will tremble with excitement,
for look what God has done in you.
Amen -
Leaving
January 14, 2001
I don’t know if you’ve ever heard of Murphy’s Law Simply stated, Murphy’s Law is, “It is easier to get into something than to get out of it.” Examples of this law might be debt. It is easier to incur debt than to get out of it. Or marriage; it’s simpler to say, “I do,” than to get a divorce. Or smoking: It’s no trouble starting, but hard to stop. And so it is with life in a parish. It’s a lot easier to come into a church than to leave it. Murphy’s Law, all over again.
The late Henry Nouwen, who has taught me so much, once wrote, “that all of us need to cultivate the art of leaving.” But then he admits the task is probably one of the most difficult things we have to learn. Later on, he writes, “It isn’t easy to be articulate about future absences. We must work on and create ways to separate ourselves from people.”
I suppose that’s why so much of Scripture is concerned with leaving. The last two-thirds of John’s Gospel are about preparation for leaving. The disciples, who are very much like us, are constantly asking Jesus, “Where are you going? What’s going to happen to us once you leave? Give us some instructions on what to do after you leave.”
All of which brings to mind a shaggy dog story, which Manney Reid reminded me of several months ago.
Once upon a time, there was a parish whose Rector was retiring. Now, this parish had already chosen its replacement. The replacement called up the retiring Rector and requested to meet in order to get the lowdown on the parish. “No,” the Rector who was leaving said, “I think you ought to find out for yourself.” The new guy was, if anything, persistent. So just before the retiring rector left town, he tried again. Once again, the Rector refused. But, he said, “I’ll tell you what I’ll do. Here are three letters. Open them one at a time, as the occasion arises.” This wasn’t exactly what the new guy wanted, so he threw them in the back drawer of his desk and promptly forgot about them.
Six months later, as the honeymoon period ended and people began saying no, and not being very kind in the criticism, he remembered the letters. He dug through this desk and found the first crumpled letter. Much to his surprise, there were only three words printed on a scrap of paper. It said, “Hang in there.” Which he did and after a while things did improve, or at least he developed a thicker skin.
About a year later, those people emerged who were experts at playing the game,
“Roast the Rector.” He was ready to pack his bags when it occurred to him, the envelope, the envelope. Maybe number two might have something to say to this situation. So he went back to his desk and found envelope number two. This one had a little longer message. “Remember,” it said, “it’s always darkest before the dawn.” He didn’t exactly understand this cryptic message, but it did inspire him to continue. And sure enough, things did get better.
Unfortunately, in about two years, there was the somewhat predictable blow-up. All the nay-sayers came out of the woodwork. It seemed as if _ they were picking the skin right off his bones. Just as he was going down – for the third time, he thought of the last envelope. After a lot of rummaging around, he finally located envelope number three. Here was to be the answer to all the backbiting. Here was what every embattled Rector needed to know. So with shaking hands and a fast beating heart, he ripped open the envelope. And there it was, “Prepare three envelopes,”
There were times, I must admit, during the past twenty-three years, when I seriously thought of preparing three envelopes. Somehow, though, I knew it was more difficult leaving than starting over. I also knew that a parish is like a clearing in a jungle. You work hard to push back all the underbrush, weeds and assorted tangles. And then when you turn your back, the jungle seems to creep right back and overrun the clearing. Sure enough, you have to get underway again. If not, you begin to write three letters. But remember, leavings are always very difficult.
Our Gospel this morning is about leaving. Jesus tells his disciples that he is going away and will prepare a place for them. We often use this passage at funerals. Preachers use this as an introduction to talk about Heaven. (a subject they know little to nothing about). But, suppose this passage is not talking about Heaven as a destination. Suppose Jesus is teaching the disciples about leaving. Suppose he is saying that he is leaving in order to make room. Jesus leaves to give us space to grow. That’s a painful lesson that we all have to learn. Eventually, if you want a person to grow, to mature, you have to take the risk of leaving.
Think of teaching a child to walk. You can hold them by their hands, but eventually you have to let them go and risk having them fall.
Think of learning how to drive a car. You can show someone all the car instruments, explain the rules of driving, but eventually, the instructor has to surrender the steering wheel and risk an accident.
But, make no mistake, leaving is hard. It’s risky and costly. But it is also a time of tremendous growth. “I go,” Jesus says, “I go, to give you the opportunity of growth. I go so that you might come to the Father.”
And yet, Jesus tells his disciples, I will not leave you completely alone. I will not abandon you. Some part of me will remain. Isn’t this true of most leavings? When we leave, some part of us remains behind, as well as some part of the former situation is taken with us.
The Irish have a custom called Greishog. Greishog refers to keeping the warm coals from last night’s fire from going out. They do this with the knowledge that the fires that warmed us before are worthy to warm us in the future. Greishog also refers to the process of leaving. When a family moves from one house to another, they take some of the warm coals with them from their former place of abode. They also let some of them remain for the new owners. Greishog, is one way the Irish have of symbolically saying, “I will not leave you comfortless.”
Murphy’s law is true. Leaving is hard, it’s risky. It often leads to chaos. What happens if the fires go out? Can we start again? What happens if the new situation doesn’t bring growth? What happens if upsetness is all that occurs?
One of my favorite musicals was Camelot. I’m sure most of you remember the story. Camelot was that ideal kingdom where all people were happy, where love and caring, and knightly good deeds abounded. Then everything went wrong. Bliss turned to chaos. The dream turned into a nightmare. The real message of the play was that for those who kept alive the memory, Camelot still existed.
I can still hear Robert Goulet singing, “Don’t let it be forgot. Once there was a spot. For one shining moment that was known as Camelot.”
Camelot stands for those moments of Grace that you and I have had in our lives. As I prepare for my last week with you, I would simply say, leavings are hard, but they are made easy by keeping alive the memories, the visions, the dreams, of what has been, what could be, and God willing, what will be. Remember, remember those shining moments that were known as Camelot.
Amen. -
” The Unholy Power of Pessimism”
Numbers 13:25-14
January 15, 1984
Is the glass half full or half empty?
The way you answer that question says a lot about how you view life. Are you an optimist or a pessimist? In this day and age / the pessimists far outweigh the optimists. The majority opinion usually says that the glass is half empty.
Take, for example, the first time in Scripture that we hear about Joshua, the son of Nun: He and Caleb represented the minority. The pessimists of his day were in the majority.
What happened was that Moses and the Israelites had been wandering in the wilderness for years. They had left Egypt but had not yet settled down. They finally made it to the borders of the Promised Land, and then they sent out some scouts.
Can’t you just hear them ask the scouts to find out if it’s safe, to see if the natives are friendly? Can’t you just hear someone say, .I don’t see any McDonald’s arches; ” is the land of milk and honey all that God said it would be?” The scouts – or spies, as they are called – go out and soon return with a minority and a majority report.
The minority report, by Joshua and Caleb, is prophetic – – full of hope, optimistic, which we can translate as a ‘ passion for the possible. It urges the children of Israel to strain forward to that which lies ahead. ‘ By contrast, the majority report is pessimistic. I suppose the pessimists among us might call it ‘pragmatic. It counsels caution and, I would say, reflects the cowardice of those submitting it. It speaks of “giants in the land11, the “long-necked ones, and the key sentence reads : We seemed to ourselves like grasshoppers, and so we seemed to them.
The story shows that , while optimists like Joshua seek adventure, they are in the minority. Pessimists, the majority, seek safety. There is never a lack of people who line up for caution.
“We seemed to ourselves like grasshoppers Isn’t this what pessimists can do for us? They can make us feel like failures. If you listen closely to the pessimists, you are going to end up convinced that you are a grasshopper, unable to cope, without the proper resources, able only to regress to childhood, when you were small and helpless.
Pessimists distort the truth in a clever way. It is not that pessimists exaggerate the ills of the world – that would be difficult given the state the world is in.
The pessimists ‘ strategy is to underestimate our ability to deal with problems. There
may have been giants in the land, but what about the Israelites? Had they no resources?~” “We seemed to ourselves like grasshoppers. ”
So watch out; go back to Egypt.
A friend of mine once called this the protective strategy of deliberate failure, and it is the stock counsel of pessimists who seek safety.’ ” The response goes like this: You will never lose any money if you think of yourself as poor and therefore don’t invest anything. ” 0r you will never fall on your face if you consider yourself too weak to stick your neck out. ” 0r “you will never stub your toe if you act like a cripple and don’t take the first step outof-doors.
In therapy, the counselor often asks,
“What does this attitude or stance do for you? We know what pessimism does for us, don’t we? it keeps us from feeling guilty about not venturing forth.
We can feel okay about our cowardliness, and we can extol virtues like prudence and caution.
Predictably, the children of Israel accepted the report of the pessimists, and we read that all the congregation raised a loud cry, and the people wept that night, and all the people of Israel murmured against Moses and Aaron. And later we read that the people were prepared to stone Joshua and Caleb.
Can you see the impact that a pessimist has? Pessimists have a way of exerting great power in the deliberations of religious groups. Over the past few years, I have noticed that the most powerful and most feared persons are the ones who speak with the voice of pessimism
I have also noticed that we spend more time and energy trying to mollify and pacify these people than on anything else — and for some good reasons. Instinctively, we have realized that if you put one thoroughgoing pessimist in a whole crowd of optimists, he or she can switch a meeting from being open and hopeful into one characterized by hostility and deflated negativity.
Next time you are in a church meeting where something difficult is to be decided, watch how the pessimists can frighten people; watch how they can get a whole group to think defensively.
One final characteristic of pessimists is that they have a way of striking a chord within us that makes us want to go backward You will remember that the whole congregation said after the pessimists report, would that we had died in the land of Egypt! ” And they said to one another, let us choose a captain and go back to Egypt. ” I suppose we could politely call this the back to Egypt hangup. Many religious groups are completely filled with people who cherish this point of view – – tlif only we could go back to those good old days, they say, to the days when Ma Bell looked after us all, to the days when homosexuals stayed in the closet, to the days when the clergy were not so politically active, to the days when congregations were much more docile. There may have been problems in the past– Pharaoh may have been a dictator — but at least we were secure in the known.
Roberta Flack made a recording a few years ago called” Let Pharaoh Go”. Basically, what the song was about was that it is not difficult to get out of Egypt, but it is hard to get Egypt out of one’s system. Pessimists have a knack for appealing to the past and making us forget the future. We in the Church are moved by memory, but by God’s grace, we are moved even more by hope.
A few years ago, at the Harvard commencement, Cyrus Vance spoke about our country. He was one of the prophetic voices. I cut out some words from his address; let me share a few:
History may conclude that ours was a failure not of opportunity but of seeing opportunity. a failure not of resources but of wisdom to use them, a failure not of intellect but of understanding and of will. ”
And he might have ended by saying: His tory will conclude that we had a failure to listen to optimists and a readiness to go along with the pessimists.
Well, what does this have to do with -. leadership in the parish? This day of our parish meeting I would declare to you that the road is far, but the future for St Philips is bright. The promised time is ahead. The scouts are back and the Joshuas are saying, ‘t: Enough of this back-to-Egypt talk! ”
Enough of this murmuring about seeing ourselves as grasshoppers. We, too, can become giants, simply by sticking our necks out, simply by refusing to listen to the siren song of the pessimists, simply by moving ahead on the promises of God instead of pining for the good old days.
The other night I was reading an old sermon by Ernest Campbell, and at one point, I stood up and cheered. Dr Campbell was saying that, yes, life is rough, times are bad, and things are not going well. However, Ernie said, in the Hebrew-Christian view of life, history is not a series of problems that cry for answers. History is a series of opportunities that cry for Christian leadership.
The glass is half full, and with God’s help, it will soon be overflowing here at
St . Philip’s
Amen -
Final Sermon at St Philips
Deuteronomy 3 & 31
January 21, 2001
Let us pray:
It takes a while to and your way
among all the ways of work,
and I suppose a man is never sure.
Take me for example.
I might have taught grammar to freshmen,
history to the cataloging mind,
or journalism to young William Allen Whites.
I considered medicine,
thought of suturing my way across the ripped and torn pieces of humanity
who bleeds out life
on the bucket seats of our auto world.
I even thought of insurance
as a way to save whole families
of widows and orphans.
I could have bought it the world with a credit card
saved the world with green stamps,
given the world away with gift certificates.
I would have sold almost anything.
But,
You called me to be a pastor,
And here I sit among people –
pushing prayers,
swapping jokes,
trading self-esteem for longevity.
Begging for building funds,
rustling a Catholic now and then,
hawking the urban problem.
Picking pockets with cornmircee posts,
pirating among the open pulpits,
auctioning God to the lowest bidder.
Lord, just exactly what was it you had in mind
when we talked so long ago?
Would you please go over chat just one more life? Slowly.
Amen
God shows him the Promised Land, and tells him, “You are not going to @ there, for your time is done.” if Moses were anything like me, he probably would begin to argue. “After all,” he might have said, “We walked for forty/ years without our feet hurting. We found new ways of sharing leadership. We learned about you through those tablets of commandments. You brought about all those wonderful miracles. So why do I only get a glimpse, a hint of what is to come? Why not more?”
When exits and entrances appear in our lives, we often miss the small miracles that come with chosen times. We usually want to hold on tight to the familiar; we want more. But the truth is that a door shuts, and another opens, you say goodbye to some things, and find you’re saying hello to others; a baby is born,- a child becomes an adult, an old person dies, a man retires. One leaves a room, and another enters. The realism about when we say, “Yes” to God and allow ourselves to step into the future. For God is at the beginnings and endings.
Going back to the story of Moses’ final days, we recall that God makes sure that he will pass on his leadership role to a younger person. We’re not told much about that conversation, but I believe it might have gone something like this: “Moses,” God must have said, “You have led these people for a long time. You have tried as best you could to meet their demands. You have fought the good fight, but now it’s time for some new blood. I do this so that your people will not be overly dependent upon one person for their future
That’s an important conversation for all who lead and all who follow God’s way. It’s important for me to underscore this as our relationship of rea# and parish comes to a close.
It’s been a wonderful experience for the past twenty-GBPhree years to share my ministry with you. I am also very aware that you can do it very well without me. You have the gift of reaching out to God and each other on your own.
Forgive me, when I blocked your access to God, stepped in when you could have ministered on your own, encouraged dependence on a round collar. Made God seem so complicated that one needed a Seminary education to approach the source of hope and faith. Forgive me.
I suppose Moses could have voiced such a prayer. You will recall the story behind the first lesson. Moses had been wandering forty years in the wilderness. And, now that he was becoming a little long in the tooth, God tells him it is time to say goodbye. Can’t you just imagine, Moses, standing with a pained expression, saying, “God, just exactly what did you have in mind when we spoke so long ago?
These past few weeks, I’ve had that Moses feeling. I’ve thought back to the forty-plus years of wandering in the wilderness of ministry. Sometimes barely surviving, hanging on by my fingertips, listening to the murmuring of parishioners, and then, as I became long in the tooth, preparing to say Goodbye
Goodbyes are never easy. It wasn’t so for Moses, and it certainly hasn’t been for me. Letting go, losing one’s grip, and preparing to exit is hard work.
You have to be willing to say goodbye to some things in order to say hello to others. you have co look for God within the exits.
But, let us return to Moses, whom we left standing on the mountaintop_ He has led the small band of Hebrews for some forty years, through hard times and times when God seemed very close. But, there were also periods in Moses’ story where he must have pulled back and said, “This isn’t what my mother had in mind when she left me to be brought up by the Pharaoh’s daughter. I could have made a pretty good administrator back in Egypt. I’m a big-city person, not an outward-bound type.
This past year, I’ve discovered through his writings a fascinating Rabbi named Lawrence Kushner. Kushner reminded me that God has assigned each one of us a certain role, and it’s the only one we are going to get. “Sometimes we don’t like our plans,” he said. “We wish we were someone else.” I can certainly identify with those words. I, for instance, always wanted to be a professional tennis player. My mother wanted me to be a bishop.
But God said, ” Sorry those parts have already been taken by Pete Samoras and Robert Shahan. You’ve got to be a Rector in a small city in Arizona- That’s the one part we’ve got for yoy. You want it or not?”
Looking once again at Moses as he encounters God in his last days I sometimes have acted and felt like the Priest in Leonard Bernstein’s Mass, which I saw at the Lincoln Center many years ago. The priest took on more and more of the burdens of his people. He became the oracle of his community. This was symbolically acted out by the piling on of layer after layer of vestments. Finally, in the last scene, he slowly takes off his vestments, thus symbolizing that he no longer will assume the expectation, the demands, which make people so dependent on him. When all the vestments are dropped, the Priest is revealed as just a GBPlawed, vulnerable human being like the rest of us.
The ending is one of the most beautiful elements in contemporary theater. The Priest, who is now on stage as just an ordinary person, is brought to life by the singing and touch of a child. Then the child takes the hand of another adult who comes on, singing of a new day ahead. The Promised Land is glimpsed as the audience and actors join hands.
So Now I can capture the mystery of my life and yours – the miracle of ministry that comes about as we join hands. In this is the beginning and ending/fan our searching for God.
e.e. Cummings sums up Idlife, as well as Moses’, with the words,
“With you, I leave a remembrance of miracles.” I leave you with the remembrance that we have touched over the years. Sometimes our touch has been light and subtle. Sometimes gs it’s been a reaching out across a chasm of disagreements. And, sometimes, it’s been a lover’s touch that bridges the gap, for a second, between separated people.
But, the miracle is that we have touched: in deaths and births, in good times, and sad times, in tears and in laughter. We have touched.
And so, I leave you with the remembrance of small miracles. I leave you with sadness and gratitude for those moments together that we have glimpsed the Promised Land. And I leave you with the knowledge that God is not finished with us yet
” Lord, just exactly what was it you had in mind when we talked so long ago. Would you please go over that- just one more life
Amen -
State of the Parish
January 21, 1996
One of my all-time favorite movies was Dead Poets Society.
In the movie, there is an outstanding scene where Robin Williams tries to have his teenage students explore the world outside of themselves. He takes his class into the foyer of the gym, where they look at old photos of former students – now dead and gone. Standing with them, Williams tells his students one thing – one fact of life. All will die, including them. All will die.
And because of that inescapable fact, he presents them with a quick Latin lesson. He says to them, “Carpe Diem,” which he tells them means: “Seize the Day.” Then he has the students lean close to the ancient photos, and as they do, he whispers to them as if from the grave: “Carpe Diem. Carpe Diem.”
I want to use Robin Williams’ words as the focus for this sermon. I am doing this, for I believe that God is calling St. Philip’s to “seize the day;” Carpe Diem. We are in a unique position. We are at the end of one chapter and at the beginning of another – a chapter that moves us into the year 2001, where God calls us to build for future generations.
Now let me be perfectly honest. I have been here with you for 19 years… and together, we have had our good times and bad times. By and large, things are going well – very well. There’s a good spirit and a few large problems. We’ve even managed to convince ourselves that the overcrowding in the Sunday school, and lack of parking, the tight quarters for staff, and the absence of enough rooms for adult classes are really blessings in disguise. They are reminders of our popularity. So this past year, I’ve been saying to myself: ‘Why not make this last chapter, this next five years, a peaceful one? Why not be remembered as the rector who was hard-driving, making great changes at the beginning, but ending up smiling, beloved, managing with a light touch – this great person? Why not??’
Unfortunately, we’re not called to sit back and relax and slowly pass into retirement. Unfortunately, God has plans for us. Somehow, God is saying to each of us: ‘You can’t settle for the past. Those who follow me must follow me into the future. They must be willing to live in chaotic times.” The word for this next Chapter in our life together doesn’t come from Ann Landers, who might say: “Enjoy, go with the flow.” Instead, it comes from a writer like the Hispanic, Unamuno, who wrote: “Que Dios, no nos paz, y si gloria.” ‘May God deny us peace, but give us glory.”
Ah, there’s the rub. We want peace and not glory. For some, it’s peace at any price. Even if we have to ignore God’s call to us. For some, peace means settling down and enjoying what we have worked so hard to accomplish. For some, peace means letting the future take care of itself.
Several years ago I heard a talk by a European statesman. I don’t recall the topic, but there was one point he made that hit a responsive chord, and I wrote it down on the back of an envelope. He said: ‘Do you know the difference between a politician and a diplomat? A politician tries to work things out now. He asks the question: What’s in it for me?’ And then, hopefully, he concerns himself with his constituency. A diplomat builds for the future. He asks the question: What kind of a legacy am I leaving for future generations?’” I am convinced that God is looking for spiritual diplomats. There are already enough church politicians.
And yet . . . and yet . . . the arguments of the church politicians are so very tempting. “Can’t we postpone? What’s the urgency? Let’s wait until a more propitious time. Maybe we can leave the work for someone else.”
Unfortunately, our sooner or later often adds up to never. The deepest tragedies of life are not the foolish things we do. They are not even the failures we often have. The deepest tragedy is not to be willing to risk, to take a chance, to move out on God’s call.
There is a wonderful line from an old play, The Music Man, where the band director turns to the prissy, conservative spinster librarian, and says: ‘Keep putting off till tomorrow what can be done today and you’ll soon find your life has been nothing but a collection of empty yesterdays.” Seize the day, St. Philippians, seize the day.
Good people, I am asking you to listen closely to God’s call to us. To not put off till tomorrow what can and must be done today. The challenge facing us is whether we will be comfortable and simply settle for enjoying what we have, or become mature and begin to contemplate leaving a legacy.
Remember, remember, to be young is to study in schools that you did not build. To be mature is to build schools in which you will not study. To be young is to sit under trees you did. not plant. To be mature is to plant trees under which you will not sit.
To be young is to benefit from a church you did not make. To be mature is to build on to a church from which you might not benefit.
Good people, St. Philippians – God is calling us to act maturely, to leave a legacy, to begin building the next chapter.
Carpe Diem . . . Carpe Diem . . .
AMEN.
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