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HOLIDAY JOY?

 The Rev. J. Donald Waring
Grace Church in New York
The Third Sunday of Advent
December 15, 2024

Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice.  Let your gentleness be known to everyone.  The Lord is near.  Do not worry about anything.  (Philippians 4:4-6). 

Last Friday afternoon – just two days ago – I realized that if the Waring family were ever to get our Christmas cards in the mail, I would need to purchase postage stamps.  So I made my way through the Christmas pageant rehearsal that was underway in Tuttle Hall, and across 4^th Avenue to the post office.  The line was not long, and I was quickly at the counter making my order.  I had calculated that to send a card to all of our Grace Church households I would need 300 stamps.  The postal attendant pointed to a chart in front of me offering six different holiday options. 

The first possibility was a stamp entitled “Holiday Joy,” and it depicted a hanging holiday ornament.  The second, called “Winter Whimsy,” showed an art-deco snowflake.  The third was Christmas, portrayed by a classical painting of the Madonna and Child – Mary and Jesus.  Fourth was Hanukkah with a menorah.  Fifth came a dancing family celebrating Kwanzaa.  Finally, a stamp for the Muslim holy day, Eid, that breaks the Ramadan fast.  “Which one do you want?” asked the attendant.  I was not wearing my clerical collar and black shirt, so she could not have known that of the six, only one would suit my purposes.  However, for a nanosecond my impish mind thought what fun it would be to mail our card with a completely unexpected stamp on it, and see if anyone noticed.  Of course, I chose the Christmas stamp, meaning that Mary and Jesus are coming your way. 

The attendant thoroughly counted out the appropriate number of pages with the stamps on them.  Then, to be safe, she counted them again.  As she was ringing me up, she said, “That’s the biggest order of Christmas stamps I’ve had all year.  People look at this one and say, ‘it’s too religious.’  They don’t want it because it’s too religious.”  I smiled and replied, “Well, they are missing out on all the cool stuff.”  She agreed, and wished me a merry Christmas. 

Which stamp do you think St. Paul would have chosen?  We can probably rule out Winter Whimsy, given the climate of Palestine.  Eid would be unknown to Paul, as Islam was still 600 years away from being a thing.  Kwanzaa was even further off in the future.  But what about Hanukkah?  Paul identified as Jewish to the end, and Christmas as a Christian feast didn’t appear on the calendar until the 4^th century.  Nothing Grinchy about it, but Paul was not wishing anyone a Merry Christmas.  A case could be made that he would have chosen Holiday Joy.  Toward the end of his life Paul wrote a letter to the Christians in the city of Philippi.  The letter contains some of the most familiar verses in the Bible, and the selection we heard today is all about joy: Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice.  Let your gentleness be known to everyone.  The Lord is near.  Do not worry about anything … And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. 

Rejoice in the Lord, always.  “Rejoice!  Rejoice!  Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel!”  Today is the Third Sunday of Advent, otherwise known to liturgical nerds like me as Gaudete – Latin for Rejoice.  We light the pink candle of the Advent wreath, and our challenge is to experience and express Holiday Joy.  How goes it for you?  Are you feeling joyful yet?  Are you experiencing the peace of God which surpasses all understanding?  Or are you worried about how you will do all the things you ought to do over the next nine days?  Or did you give up chasing holiday joy years ago?  My guess is that St. Paul would have given a rousing two-cheers to the Holiday Joy stamp.  Two cheers?  Why not three?  Paul would have held back on the third cheer because Holiday Joy does not rest on a firm foundation.  The joy that Paul was writing about is not a baseless thing.  It is always grounded “in the Lord.”  Rejoice in the Lord, is what he wrote.  Don’t overlook the importance of those three little words.  Rejoice in the Lord, because of what God in Christ has done for us and our salvation.  Rejoice in the Lord, because the Lord is near.  Rejoice in the Lord, because God can and will at any time make his presence known. 

Perhaps you are thinking that I am suddenly sounding too religious.  Perhaps you are thinking that it was easy for Paul to say, Rejoice in the Lord.  After all, he was a saint.  Life in Christ came easily for him.  Actually, when Paul wrote to the Philippians he was not in a place of ease and contentment.  He was confined to a Roman prison where he was awaiting trial.  The charges against him had been deliberately orchestrated in Jerusalem.  But rather than taking his chances with the corrupt court there, Paul appealed to Caesar in Rome.  He was sent off to Rome and shipwrecked on the way.  Paul was a man who cared little for creature comforts, but shipwrecks and prison had to make life difficult even for him.  Yet still he was able to say, Rejoice in the Lord.  Paul’s witness tells me that the joy in the Lord he speaks of transcends our present, outward circumstances.  It is not controlled by externals.  It doesn’t rise and fall with how well or how badly your day or your life happens to be going.  You can have the peace of God and joy in the Lord no matter what the circumstances of your life – no matter how much you have, no matter how little you have, no matter who is in your life, no matter who isn’t in your life. 

Joy in the Lord transcends not only a difficult present, but also a painful past.  People find it difficult to rejoice because they look back with regret on the sins and offenses of their youth.  Paul, too, had a past that he easily could have looked back upon with regret, and stewed over for the rest of his life.  Prior to his Damascus Road conversion, Paul was a zealous Pharisee involved in the hunting down and rooting out of Christians.  He approved of and presided over the stoning of Stephen, the first Christian martyr.  Imagine the potential for such a brutal crime to burden Paul’s conscience in his later years.  Imagine the mantle of guilt he could have carried on his shoulders.  Yet still he was able to say, Rejoice in the Lord always.  Paul’s witness tells me something else: that joy in the Lord is able to transcend the sins and the regrets and the heartaches of anyone’s past.  What a shame it is that often we continue to condemn ourselves long after God Himself has forgiven us.  God’s grace is this: no matter where you have been or what you have done, you are not exempt eternally from experiencing God’s peace and joy. 

If we are to take Paul seriously, then we must conclude something more: that joy in the Lord is able to transcend not just our present circumstances and our guilty past, but even the prospect of a bleak future.  Paul was not a young man when he wrote to the Philippians.  With his trial delayed indefinitely, he must have suspected that he would never leave his prison.  To the best of our knowledge, he never did.  Yet he was able to say, Rejoice in the Lord.  Paul’s witness tells me that joy in the Lord is available to us no matter how short, or grim, or uncertain our future is shaping up to be.  So do not worry about anything, is what Paul went on to say.  The Lord is near, he added.  Indeed, a quiet trust in the proposition of God’s near presence was the foundation of St. Paul’s joy.  An awareness of God’s close companionship was why he could rejoice in the Lord always, and urge us to do the same. 

Ah, but there’s that problem again of being too religious.  Would you rather have Holiday Joy?  If so, you don’t need to worry.  Let me offer you two words for Advent, based on today’s readings, to help you rejoice in the Lord without being overly religious.  The first word sounds religious, but turns out to be not so much in the end.  The first word is repent.  Did you hear in the Gospel reading (Luke 3:7-18) how John the Baptist angrily charged the people to bear fruit that is worthy of repentance?  Person after person came up to him and asked, “What should I do?”  Once John got past the bluster of his unquenchable fire and winnowing fork, his reply bore little resemblance to the strictly religious ideas we have of what it means to repent.  Instead of telling the people to go make groveling apologies or burn down their whole lives, John told them to make simple, concrete changes.  Those with two coats can share with those who have none.  Those who have food can do the same.  Tax collectors and soldiers can go about their business honestly.  What do you think John would have told you?  Repentance means turn – turn to a better thing.  We don’t like to hear it, but the truth is this: repentance is a prelude to rejoicing. 

The second word is one that we have a difficult time translating into English.  In Paul’s letter today it has been rendered as gentleness, as in Let your gentleness be known to everyone.  Other versions of the Bible translate the word as moderation, softness, kindness, reasonableness, and mildness.  Sad to say, moderate and gentle are not adjectives that would describe our society these days.  Instead of moderation we think joy is to be found in the uncompromising extremes.  Instead of gentleness, we seek to find joy in competitiveness, or toughness.  Instead of kindness, we think meanness will lead to rejoicing.  Guess what?  It’s not working!  These attitudes are poisonous to joy.  But imagine how our society, and how your life and mine would be different if we each sought to outdo one another in works of kindness and gentleness.  We would find ourselves walking in the footsteps of Jesus, along the pathway to God’s peace and joy.  Let your gentleness be known to all, so that by your very presence, they suspect the Lord is near. 

If St. Paul remains too remote and religious a figure for you, you might consider the words and witness of someone more contemporary.  Alexei Navalny was the Russian opposition leader who opposed Putin’s corrupt regime, gave up his freedom, and died in prison earlier this year.  Recently, Navalny’s memoirs have been published posthumously.  The book is entitled Patriot, and it consists of diary entries and reflections on his three years of imprisonment.  His notebooks had to be smuggled out of the prison or they never would have seen the light of day.  Navalny’s words are pertinent for Advent, and the anxious times in which we live.  He can help us prepare the way of the Lord, and make straight in our souls a highway for God.  He writes:

I have always thought and said openly that being a believer makes it easier to live your life and, to an even greater extent, engage in opposition politics.  Faith makes life simpler.  Ask yourself whether you are a Christian in your heart of hearts.  It is not essential for you to believe that some old guys in the desert once lived to be eight-hundred years old, or that the sea was literally parted in front of someone.  But are you a disciple of the religion whose founder sacrificed himself for others, paying the price for their sins?  Do you believe in the immortality of the soul and the rest of that cool stuff?  If you can honestly answer yes, what is there left for you to worry about?  Don’t worry about the morrow, because the morrow is perfectly capable of taking care of itself. 

 My job is to seek the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and leave it to good old Jesus and the rest of his family to deal with everything else.  They won’t let me down and will sort out all my headaches.  As they say in prison here: they will take my punches for me.[1]  

Dear People of Grace Church: good old Jesus, along with Mary, and the rest of his family are coming to you.  Over the next nine days, I do wish you Holiday Joy.  But even more, I pray that God gives you the grace to Rejoice in the Lord always, and to let your gentleness be known to everyone.  Remember, the Lord is near, so do not worry about anything.  And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. 

[1] The excerpt is found in “Prison Diaries,” The New Yorker, October 21, 2024, p. 40.

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HIGHWAY TO HELL

The Rev. J. Donald Waring
Grace Church in New York
The Second Sunday of Advent
December 8, 2024

Take off the garment of your sorrow and affliction, O Jerusalem, and put on forever the beauty of the glory from God.  (Baruch 5:1)

Last Tuesday I read a news article about an unthinkable tragedy that occurred just over a year and a half ago.  It was April 28, 2023, the wedding day of a south Carolina couple named Samantha Miller and Aric Hutchinson.  The day was supposed to be the happiest of their life, and for five hours it was.  In fact, in the midst of the celebration, the bride remarked that she wished it would never end.  When the time came for them to leave the reception, the newly married husband and wife, along with two others from the bridal party, climbed aboard a specially decorated golf cart, for the short ride to the next event. 

Suddenly, a car came careening down the road at 65 mph – 40 mph faster than the posted speed limit.  The car slammed into the back of the golf cart with deadly force, killing Samantha Miller and seriously injuring the three other riders.  The driver of the car, Jamie Lee Komoroski, was drunk, with a blood-alcohol level of more than three times the legal limit.  She was arrested, finally pled guilty, and last week sentenced to 25 years in prison.  The bride’s father, a man named Brad Warner, had this to say to Komoroski in his impact statement before the sentencing: “For the rest of my life I’m going to hate you.  And when I arrive in hell and you come there, I’m going to open the door for you.” 

I do not presume to judge Brad Warner.  The burden of his grief and pain must be intolerable.  But upon reading his words it struck me that he is quite clear about three things, at least.  First, he knows that hatred is the highway to hell.  Second, he knows that he himself is on it.  Third, he seems to confess that he will be powerless to prevent himself from arriving at the road’s inevitable, grim destination.  What can be done, what can be said to  help him off the highway to hell? 

In today’s first reading, we heard from Baruch (5:1-9), a mysterious figure in the Hebrew prophetic tradition.  Who is Baruch?  The fact is, we don’t really know.  It could be that he was a scribe of the prophet Jeremiah, who preached during the Babylonian exile.  All we can say for sure is that when the time came to close the canon of the Old Testament, and declare that certain books were in and others were out, Baruch didn’t make the cut.  We have thirty-nine books in the Old Testament, including major and minor prophets.  Then we have something called the Apocrypha.  What is the Apocrypha?  Well, if the books of the Bible were an NFL roster, you can think of the Apocrypha as the practice squad.  Players on the practice squad obviously have some skills, but also some serious flaws in their game.  You will rarely see them suited up on a Sunday.  Baruch is in the Apocrypha.  Baruch is on the practice squad.  But here he is on Sunday, not only in uniform, but on the playing field.  What does he have to say?  Baruch would say this to Brad Warner and any others full of anger and rage: Take off the garment of your sorrow and affliction, O Jerusalem, and put on forever the beauty of the glory from God.  Put on the robe of the righteousness that comes from God; put on your head the diadem of the glory of the Everlasting. 

What do you think of Baruch’s counsel?  To me, on first reading, it reminds me of the song by Bobby McFerrin: Don’t worry, be happy.  Here’s a little song I wrote.  You might want to sing it note for note.  Don’t worry, be happy.  Don’t worry.  Cheer up.  Always look on the bright side of life, is what Baruch seems to be saying.  Is that all that Baruch has to offer?  No, his words run much deeper than an admonishment to put on a happy face.  To those who were conquered, those whose daughters and sons were carried away into exile, Baruch encourages them to take the long view.  No one is lost in the kingdom of God.  God forgets no one.  What is more, God is planning a reunion: Arise, O Jerusalem, stand upon the height; look toward the east, and see your children gathered from west and east, at the word of the Holy One, rejoicing that God has remembered them.  For they went out from you on foot, led away by their enemies; but God will bring them back to you, carried in glory, as on a royal throne.  Baruch is reminding his community and us too that God’s love always wins out over the powers of evil.  For this reason we can take off the garment of our sorrow and affliction.  For this reason we can rejoice. 

Surely, we can take comfort in the promise of a future, joyful reunion with those we have loved and lost.  But in the meantime, the temptation to get on the highway to hell can be almost irresistible.  Full confession: last week I realized that I myself was taking steps along the road that leads to no good end.  This fall we’ve had a series of overnight brazen break-ins at Grace Church.  It’s been the same thing, twice, involving the exterior scaffolding.  I can’t give you any more details because the police are investigating.  After the first incident we installed an elaborate security system with a surveillance camera.  So the second time we were able to see the three perpetrators.  And one was a villain, and one was a vandal, and the third must have been a Visigoth.  A Visigoth?  What does a Visigoth look like?  Well, this one was an overstuffed guy with a bad hairdo and an ill-fitting leather jacket.  He looked like a Visigoth to me.  Fortunately, the villain, vandal, and Visigoth took nothing of value, except for my faith in the goodness of human nature.  It was a very small thing to begin with – smaller even than a mustard seed.  I don’t know how they found it, but they did. 

In addition to these old-style break-ins, I’ve glimpsed other threats we face.  A few weeks ago we invited the church’s I.T. professional to visit our staff meeting and review the latest in online security.  The consultant opened his laptop and showed us a screen that was recording the number of outside hits to our router.  These were not friendly visitors to our website, but hackers – BOTS – bombarding our firewall with hundreds of different passwords every minute.  The number stunned me.  Here we are, trying to restore what moth and rust have corrupted, and all the while thieves are trying to break in a steal.  We are trying to build up, they are trying to tear down.  I found myself growing in hatred.  I indulged in the scenario of coming face to face with these hackers and hooligans.  Every time I did, I realized I was taking another willing step along the highway to hell. 

So it was that I realized I was out of sorts with the things that are supposed to be most dear to me: the promises we all make in the Baptismal Covenant, and my ordination vows, just to name two.  I needed something more than Baruch’s future oriented promises of justice and restoration.  I needed what we hear about today in the Gospel of Luke (3:1-6) – what John called “a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.”  How does one go about obtaining a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins?  Let me tell you what I did.  Last Sunday I came to church.  You’re thinking, “Not a big deal, Don.  Of course you came to church.  You’re the rector.  You’re paid to come to church.”  Right you are.  But last Sunday, having been out on Broadway with the NYPD at 2:30 am the night before, I didn’t just come to church.  Rather, I let church come to me.  I decided to immerse my spirit in everything the church has to offer.  Fun fact: “to immerse” is the meaning of the verb, to baptize. 

I immersed myself in church to uproot the hatred that was growing in my soul.  It wasn’t long into the 9 am service before I encountered the Word.  I wasn’t preaching last week, so I could listen to the reading from the Gospel of Luke as if for the first time.  In Advent we hear the strange, apocalyptic readings about the second coming of Jesus, in power and great glory.  Luke (21:25-36) records Jesus himself urging his followers to be ready: Be alert at all times, praying that you have the strength to escape all these things that will take place, and to stand before the Son of Man.  We had begun with the majestic hymn, “Lo, he comes with clouds descending.”  Once verse of the hymn includes the warning,

Those who set at naught and sold him,
pierced and nailed him to the tree,
deeply wailing, deeply wailing, deeply wailing,
shall the true Messiah see. 

The hymn has always been my very favorite in all the Hymnal.  The funny thing is, I had always assumed it would be other people who were deeply wailing.  But the hymn and the reading put me on notice.  The wailing could be mine if I didn’t get off the highway to hell. 

Then came the Eucharist.  Thanks be to God, our redemption does not come to us by way of our own merits or effort.  It’s not just a matter of saying, “Oh, I’m walking along a bad path here.  I’d better amend my ways.”  Sometimes we are powerless to amend our ways.  It is the power of God that gives us strength to escape the road to perdition.  It is the life of Christ, given to us through bread and wine, that emboldens us to follow Jesus, rather than the devices and desires of our own hearts.  And so it was last week at the altar, reading the words of the Eucharistic prayer, the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ struck me as seldom before.  Imagine: we and all God’s whole church are made one body with Jesus, so that he may dwell in us and we in him.  Indeed, St. Paul would write that filled with the Spirit of Christ, “I can do all things through him who strengthens me (Philippians 4:13,” and also, “It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me (Galatians 2:20).” 

So the Word and the Sacrament conspired to bring about a good work in me.  Finally, it was this Christian community, gathered together in Jesus’ name, that restored me to my right perspective.  At coffee hour after the 11 am service, a number of families and individuals were working on Advent wreathes.  The Advent wreath is a lovely custom that encourages us to count the weeks till the arrival of Jesus, the true light that is coming into the world.  But an Advent wreath is also a subversive thing.  As much as it is about the advance of light, it also proclaims the demise of darkness.  The good people of Grace Church thought they were simply making Advent wreathes.  Little did they know that with every branch of evergreen wrapped about the base of a candle, they were putting the darkness on notice.  The message is, “time is running out, and soon the time will be up for evil and death.”  The urgent summons to you and me is to be alert and ready, so that we can be among those singing Alleluia, and not among those deeply wailing. 

I heard a funny little story recently, somewhat in the vein of C.S. Lewis and the Screwtape Letters.  It seems that Satan was trying to devise a plan to corrupt the people of New York City, and completely possess their souls.  Lacking just the right idea, the devil consulted with three of his demonic understudies.  The first said, “Let me go talk to them.  I will convince them that there is no heaven.  They’ll fall into despair, and cease striving after the moral life.  They’ll be all yours.”  Satan thought for a moment and then concluded, “No, that won’t work.  They know there’s a heaven.  They have too many foretastes of it already.  They live in the greatest city in the world.  They have Central Park.  They have the best pizza on earth.  They have Broadway musicals with big tap dance numbers that can go on for 15 minutes.  They know what heaven is like.” 

The second demon proposed this: “Let me go talk to them.  I’ll convince them that there is no hell.  With no fear of consequences, they’ll run wild and live immoral lives.  They’ll be all yours.”  Again, Satan thought for a moment, and then concluded, “It’s a good idea, but it won’t work.  They know there’s a hell.  They have the New York Giants.  They have the New York Jets.  They have Broadway musicals with big tap dance numbers that can go on for 15 minutes.  They know what hell is like.” 

Finally, the third demon proposed a truly novel idea.  “Let me go talk to them.  I’ll convince them there is no hurry.  The hatreds they are harboring and the grudges they are nursing – they’ll have time enough tomorrow to repent.  There is no hurry.”  Satan nodded his head approvingly and said, “Perfect.  Go and tell them that there is no hurry.” 

My friends, it is not for nothing today that we sing:

Lo! the Lamb so long expected,
comes with pardon down from heaven. 
Let us haste with tears of sorrow,
one and all to be forgiven. 

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A manuscript of Bishop Heyd’s sermon is not available.

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MY FAVORITE THINGS

 The Rev. J. Donald Waring
Grace Church in New York
The Twenty-sixth Sunday after Pentecost
November 17, 2024

Therefore, my friends, since we have confidence to enter the sanctuary by the blood of Jesus, by the new and living way that he opened for us through the curtain (that is, through his flesh) … let us approach with a true heart, in full assurance of faith.  (Hebrews 10:19ff)

 Today’s readings from the Letter to the Hebrews and the Gospel of Mark have me thinking of a song from The Sound of Music.  Why?  Well, if you hang with me for a few moments, I’ll tell you why.  As many of you know, The Sound of Music is the story of a young, aspiring nun named Maria who, instead of the cloistered life, becomes the governess in a houseful of seven children.  The show was first a Broadway musical, then in 1965 a Hollywood hit that broke all sorts of box office records.  Julie Andrews, who stars as Maria, often bursts spontaneously into song, as people in musicals are inclined to do.  In one of the songs, Maria sings about her favorite things.  The list includes raindrops on roses, whiskers on kittens, bright copper kettles, warm woolen mittens, and brown paper packages tied up in strings.  These are just a few of her favorite things. 

Lo and behold, through many years of parenthood, my two sons have compiled a list for me – not of my favorite things, but of things I have denounced as unwelcome intrusions into my otherwise happy, cheerful life.  What things?  These are a few of my least favorite things: The Los Angeles Dodgers, cilantro, the over and misused word “iconic,” going by my middle name, non-dishwasher safe kitchen ware, traffic circles, and one more – valet parking.  No matter where I am, I just never want to hand over my car keys to some teenager named Todd.  What is more, Todd is going to expect a sizable tip for doing something I didn’t want him to do in the first place.  There you have it: a few of my least favorite things.  And in case you were wondering, my sons do not have permission to reveal anything else on the list, so don’t ask them at coffee hour. 

In today’s reading from the Gospel of Mark (13:1-8), the disciples of Jesus talked about the Jerusalem temple as if it topped the list of their favorite things.  “Look, Teacher, what large stones and what large buildings!” they said.  Obviously, we don’t have any photographs of the temple, but various written sources describe it as enormous.  It sat atop Mt. Moriah, and was by far the largest building in the region, with stones measuring 40-feet long, 12-feet high, and 18-feet wide.  By the time of Jesus it had taken forty years to build and they still weren’t finished.  But the temple was not only big, it was beautiful, almost blindingly so.  The historian Josephus writes that much of the exterior was clad in gold plates so that the rays of the rising sun reflected off it with dazzling intensity.  To say that the temple had an emotional hold on the Jews would be a vast understatement.  It was the focal point of their identity, even the dwelling place of God on earth. 

Nevertheless, Jesus foresaw the worst of times ahead for the temple.  “Do you see these great buildings?  Not one stone will be left here upon another; all will be thrown down,” is what he said.  Jesus’ prediction of the temple’s impending destruction was a lament over the favorite building of all the Jews.  Why would he say it?  Perhaps he speaking politically, gauging the revolutionary foment in Jerusalem, and realizing it was headed towards a suicidal rebellion against Rome, the occupying power.  Or perhaps he was speaking theologically, understanding that the offering of himself on the cross he saw looming before him would be the perfect sacrifice for the whole world, rendering the temple sacrifices redundant.  We heard echoes of these latter thoughts in today’s reading from Hebrews (10:11-25).  Whoever it was who wrote Hebrews also had concerns about the temple’s viability.  Every priest stands day after day at his service, offering again and again the same sacrifices that can never take away sins, is what the author wrote.  In other words, the rituals of the temple were empty and futile.  The blood of bulls and goats could not atone for sins.  Only the offering of Jesus could bring peace with God. 

In either case, whether the gloomy prediction about the temple was politically or theologically motivated, Jesus’ words proved to be true.  Mark 13 is often called “the little Apocalypse” because it purports to unveil the things that were to come.  Indeed, in AD 70, approximately 40 years after Jesus spoke, the Romans sent troops with catapults and siege engines to retake and ransack the city.  Nation rose up against nation, and kingdom against kingdom, but it was never a fair fight.  Nowhere in Jerusalem was safe, but especially not the temple.  The Romans set the temple ablaze with a fire so big that Josephus compared Mt. Moriah to an erupting volcano.  Then it was all gone.  If nothing else, it was a lesson for the Jews not to put their trust in a building made with hands, but only in the true and living God. 

So here we are, two-thousand years after Jesus warned that not one stone of the temple would be left on top of another.  He warned not to put our trust in a building made with hands.  What has been a major focus of our parish life in the past year?  It has been making sure that the stones of this temple – of this church – stay on top of each other.  It is striving to prevent from happening here what happened there.  To this end we raised over $5 million last spring.  Today, I am pleased to report that we can all see progress.  In fact, with the plastic tenting down, we even have an unveiling of sorts.  You can look inside the scaffolding and see what has been our own little apocalypse: destruction, yes, but also glimmers of what is to come. 

What is coming is good news.  By next Sunday, all the interior scaffolding that you see will be gone, except for a remnant up against the south wall itself.  The south aisle will be clear for all the important Thanksgiving, Advent, and Christmas gatherings that will fill the church in the weeks to come.  Yes, at he pageant on Christmas Eve, the villagers with their torches, including the infamous Jeanette and Isabella, will hurry and run to the manger along the same route they take every year. 

Now for the challenging news about the south aisle project.  To quote Winston Churchill: “Now this is not the end.  It is not even the beginning of the end.  But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.”  Beginning in 2025, our construction team will be staging the next critical phases of the work, and filing important documents with Landmarks Preservation and the Department of Buildings.  These things take time, I’m told.  Also, we will conduct what is called a “make safe survey,” by which workers on lifts will handle every exterior stone that protrudes over public spaces to assure than none are thrown down.  Then, immediately after Easter, some iteration of the scaffolding that you see now will return.  We will remove four stained-glass windows and send them off to a studio for a complete restoration, because they and the stone tracery supporting them were a source of water infiltration.  If all goes well, the stained-glass windows will be back in place – wait for it – a year from now.  No doubt they will shine with dazzling intensity. 

Understand, the south aisle project was supposed to be finished last month, not next fall.  But when we opened this brown paper package tied up with string, what we found inside was a water-logged sponge.  You know those silver white winters that melt into spring?  Well, the water goes somewhere.  Over the past few weeks I have been absorbing the reality of how long it is going to take, and how many other projects we were hoping to do.  Believe me, I have been tempted to instruct my sons to add the south aisle to the list of my least favorite things.  If Rogers and Hammerstein were to set it to song, the lyrics might include:

 “Raindrops on marble, and windows in pieces; 
Plaster dissolving, the toll never ceases.” 

No, I will not sing it, because preachers who burst spontaneously into song in the middle of their sermons happen to be another entry on my list of least favorite things. 

Am I losing heart?  No, we have come too far over the years to sink into despair now.  Besides, Jesus implied that difficult times are the birth pangs preceding new life.  What is more, the author of Hebrews writes, Therefore, my friends, since we have confidence to enter the sanctuary by the blood of Jesus, by the new and living way that he opened for us through the curtain (that is, through his flesh) … let us approach with a true heart, in full assurance of faith.  The author turns the corner from futility to purpose, from fear to confidence, from sin to forgiveness, and invites us to come along on the new and living way.  True, the old temple and its former function are gone.  No longer do we throng the temple in order to be forgiven.  The new and living way is to gather here because God in Christ has already forgiven us.  It is accomplished.  Note the earthy components of the new way: the body and blood of Jesus, the curtain that he opens for us, a sanctuary that we can approach, and the importance of meeting together in a sacred space. 

We live in a sacramental universe, in which every common, earthy thing can open a doorway to God.  Not to belabor the song, but raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens are iconic in the true sense of the word.  They become gateways to heaven.  They open windows, they pull back the curtain, they reveal the presence and love of God, and even declare God’s glory.  Stained glass and stone, wood and plaster, fabric and flowers also sing the praises of God for those who train their ears to listen.  In The Sound of Music, Maria sings: “When the dog bites, when the bee stings, when I’m feeling sad, I simply remember my favorite things, and then I don’t feel so bad.” 

Let me tell you about a favorite thing I remember whenever the building challenges at Grace Church tempt me to feel sad.  Back in 2015 our choristers sang a concert tour in France, and one of the venues was Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris.  It was amazing.  Our choristers did more than hold their own in that ancient and holy place.  Their voices soared, and hundreds of tourists stopped their milling about and listened.  After the concert I was outside waiting for them in the plaza in front of the cathedral.  I looked up at the great west towers, the rose window, and the blue sky.  I remember thinking that someone 800 years ago, standing right where I was, would have seen exactly the same glorious sight.  The continuity with souls long dead was moving and meaningful.  Notre Dame Cathedral became one of my favorite things. 

Then four years later came the terrible fire that consumed the cathedral’s roof, brought the central spire crashing to earth, and filled the Parisian sky with smoke.  Only by the genius of medieval architects and the heroics of modern firefighters was the cathedral not entirely lost.  But it came close.  Nevertheless, the people of France and supporters around the world did not lose heart.  The President of France, Emmanuel Macron, declared that they would restore Notre Dame to its former glory within five years.  They raised $900 million.  Architects, engineers, and artists swarmed the place, and set themselves to the task.  Now the cathedral is ready to open its doors again to the public on December 7^th of this year.  Once again the stained glass and stone, the wood and the nails, the bread and the wine, the choirs and the organ, and all the common things of earth that constitute Notre Dame will become sacramental.  They will declare the glory of God, and show forth the handiwork of God’s people. 

I like to think that the same Spirit of God that brought again from the dead our Lord Jesus Christ has been stirring the hearts of the people raising Notre Dame out of the ashes.  It is the same Spirit of God at work in us, the people of Grace Church, as we seek to make new that which has grown old.  We press on because Grace Church, and all that composes it, is one of our favorite things.  A verse from the majestic hymn (360) that began our service says it well:

Hallowed this dwelling, where the Lord abideth,
This is none other than the gate of heaven;
Strangers and pilgrims, seeking homes eternal,
Pass through its portals. 

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BLESSED ARE THE GIVERS

The Rev. J. Donald Waring
Grace Church in New York
All Saints’ Sunday + November 3, 2024

Jesus said, “Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy.  Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.  Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.”  (Matthew 5:7-9) 

The official name of today on the church calendar is All Saints’ Sunday.  But here in Grace Church it is also Pledge Sunday, as you might have guessed by the tastefully arranged brochures in your pews.  Also, today is the Sunday before Election Day, a uniquely anxious time for the whole country.  Throughout this week, as I’ve been thinking and praying about what to say that might do justice to all these themes, I remembered a story I’ve told you before from one of my visits to Iceland.  Iceland, as you know, is an island nation in the north Atlantic.  It is full of natural wonders, many of them waterfalls. 

One waterfall in particular has a fascinating legend behind its name.  The year was approximately 1000 AD, and Iceland was on the brink of civil war.  Those who followed the old Norse gods had different laws and customs than those who followed the newer faith taking root in the land: Christianity.  The Law Speakers of the two factions – Hallur the Christian and Thorgeir the pagan – were both wise old men who knew that the people needed to unite, if for no other reason than to fend off Viking raids.  To make a long story short, Hallur the Christian voluntarily resigned his position and placed the decision in the hands of Thorgeir the pagan.  The question was this: should the land be Christian or continue in the ways of the Norse gods? 

Surprisingly, after a period of meditation and consulting the signs, Thorgeir decided for Christianity.  Everyone should turn to Jesus Christ, and those not already baptized should submit to the rite at their earliest opportunity.  Thorgeir also practiced the art of compromise, allowing certain pagan customs to continue, so long as their adherents did so privately.  But Thorgeir himself, who was a pagan priest, would become a Christian through and through.  He went down into the water of baptism, and arose as a follower of Jesus.  Then, Thorgeir took all the symbols of his pagan practice, including statues of the Norse gods, and threw them over the thunderous falls.  In time the falls came to be known as Godafoss, which being interpreted means, “Waterfall of the gods.” 

I don’t know if Hallur or Thorgeir ever made it onto the Icelandic calendar of saints, but if not, they should both be there.  They were saints.  Each one in his own way laid down his life for the good of others.  Who are the saints?  In today’s reading from the mysterious Book of Ecclesiasticus (44:1ff), otherwise known as Sirach, the writer encourages us to sing the praises of famous people who ruled in their kingdoms.  They gave counsel because they were intelligent.  They spoke in prophetic oracles.  They were wise in their words of instruction.  They were rich people endowed with resources.  They composed musical tunes and put verses in writing.  If you’re not overly fond of Sirach’s list of saints, take heart.  Ecclesiasticus didn’t make the cut into the Old Testament.  It’s in the intertestamental books called the Apocrypha. 

Besides, we’ve heard in the Gospel of Matthew (5:1-12) how Jesus sang the praises of another sort: the meek, the righteous, the merciful, the pure in heart, and the peacemakers.  Let’s not forget the poor in spirit, those who mourn, the persecuted, and the reviled who can rejoice and be glad because their reward in heaven is great.  Blessed are they.  Yes, but it all seems to play into the popular conception we have of saints: that they are inaccessible figures with spiritual powers and abilities far beyond the reach of mere mortals. 

Well, even though we feebly struggle, the purpose of today is to remind us that sainthood is not out of our reach.  The saints of God are just folk like you and me, proclaims the hymn.  You can meet them anywhere.  The New Testament identifies any Christian who is striving after Jesus to be a saint.  The list of names that we publish for All Saints’ is generated by all of us – the people of Grace Church.  It includes the names of those who gave of themselves for us.  They were not perfect people, but they laid down their lives – some a little bit at a time, others all at once – and the light of Christ shone through them.  For this reason we light candles in their honor today, trusting that life in Christ is eternal, and love is immortal.  Life in Christ begins with baptism, as it did long ago for Thorgeir, and today for Georgina and Mila.  What is more, when the rest of us chime in with the Baptismal Covenant, what we are saying is that we mean to continue our journey to sainthood.  We mean to be saints too, even resembling Jesus. 

Last Thursday night when the nearby Halloween parade was in full swing, I thought I would take a little walk for a glimpse of what was happening.  I did not see anyone resembling Jesus, as in wearing a Jesus costume.  But you’ll never guess who I did see.  I saw Herman Munster from the classic 1960s TV series.  That’s right, not Frankenstein, but a big guy in a Herman Munster costume.  The sight of Herman Munster got me to thinking about, well, Herman Munster, and one of my favorite scenes in all of TV history.  The Munsters decide that their niece, Marilyn, needs a car.  So Herman goes to a used car lot called Fair Deal Dan, and meets Dan.  Dan deftly guides Herman to an old convertible, but lets him know it isn’t available.  Cary Grant wants it.  To make a long story short, Herman shrewdly argues himself into the car, gives up all his money, and drives off the lot with a clunker.[1] 

Why, on All Saints’ Sunday, am I telling you about Fair Deal Dan, the used-car salesman?  Perhaps because my assignment today is to sell you on some ideas that the world might judge to be clunkers.  You might go so far as to call me Fair Deal Don.  The first clunker of an idea might be sainthood itself.  Lay down your life?  Blessed are the reviled, the persecuted, and those who mourn?  It doesn’t sound like much fun.  Indeed, Billy Joel sings, “I’d rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints, because sinners are much more fun.  You know that only the good die young.”  Life is short, and a nagging notion troubles us: that striving after sainthood may result only in missing the party before it’s lights out.  Rejoice and be glad, for your reward in heaven is great?  It sounds a bit suspicious to me. 

The second idea that may come straight from Fair Deal Dan’s used-car lot is the life of giving and sharing.  Yes, I am trying to sell you on generosity.  The fear on this front is that we live in a closed system, where one person’s gain must come at another person’s loss.  If I give something away, it simply means that someone else now has it, and I do not.  Yet every Sunday, before passing around the offering plates, we remember the words of Jesus, how he said “it is more blessed to give than to receive.”  Are the words true, or is Fair Deal Don just trying to unload a clunker on you? 

Obviously, we are making the slight pivot here from celebrating the saints to launching the 2025 Annual Campaign for Grace Church.  Have I got a deal for you: make a pledge, be a saint!  To make the pitch I could spend time talking about what your pledges pay for: the ministries of Grace Church.  I love talking about the ministries of Grace Church because, in all modesty, I think we are responding to the call of Christ.  We are living, teaching, celebrating, and sharing the Christian faith.  It happens when a small group gathers to discuss a difficult Biblical passage and awakens to the Spirit of Jesus in their midst.  It happens when a chorister learns the words and the notes of a great sacred anthem, and through it steps into a thin place in the veil between heaven and earth.  It happens when a person on the margins comes to the Red Door Place and enjoys a hot meal prepared by Grace Church parishioners.  It happens anytime anyone comes through the Broadway door and finds peace.  Our annual giving supports all this and more. 

Lest you think that the annual campaign is all about blessing the budget of Grace Church, let me be clear: it is about much, much more than the budget.  I believe that the pledge campaign first blesses you and me, the givers.  It comes as an annual opportunity to learn the counter-intuitive joy of giving.  The first parish I served after seminary is called Christ Church Cranbrook, in Bloomfield Hills, MI.  The building is a great, gothic structure that was built entirely from the gift of one man, George Booth.  Booth was a wealthy Detroit industrialist whose personal motto was:

 The only way to have is to give. 
The only way to keep is to share. 
And the only thing worth finding is opportunity. 

 Booth’s credo has always struck me as a beautiful summary of the paradox at the heart of Christian living.  It is more blessed to give than to receive.  I’ve discovered it to be true myself: the more I give, the more I seem to have, and the less anxious I am.  Conversely, the more I strive after earthly treasures and cling to possessions, the less I seem to have, the more I seem to need, and the more anxious I become.  The words of Jesus are counter-intuitive, and they are paradoxical, and they are true.  The pledge campaign is an opportunity to find out for ourselves: to have life more abundantly precisely by giving some of it away and sharing it.  It is the opportunity to be a saint. 

Let me tell you about a time when I learned a counter-intuitive lesson about giving and receiving.  Years ago my two sons, James and Luke, and I would enjoy going to the East River Fields for batting practice.  One day I noticed that a lone figure was sitting in the bleachers watching us play.  Based on the man’s disheveled appearance and shopping cart full of possessions, my guess was that he was a homeless person.  At one point he called to me.  He reached into the shopping cart, pulled out a baseball, and threw it to me.  It was clear that he wanted me to have it.  A few moments later he called to me again, and this time he held up what appeared to be a brand new ball.  He threw it out to me.  It was indeed a nearly new, Rawlings Official Major League baseball.  I thanked him warmly, but he waved me off and continued watching us play. 

When we had finished and were packing up I asked the man if he intended for us to keep the baseballs.  He waved me off again.  I must say that I felt the weight of the wallet in my pocket.  I thought that this fellow could probably use a meal.  I asked if I could give him some money for the baseballs.  Believe me when I say that the look on his face was not that of joy and gladness.  Rather, his expression showed hurt and disappointment, even resignation.  For a final time he waved me off without ever saying a word, and we parted company. 

Why was he upset?  I have thought long and hard about my encounter with the man, and what I’ve realized is that I trampled on his attempt to be a person of worth who had something to give.  He had something of value to bring to the game and freely share.  He had found an opportunity.  He wanted to be a giver, not a receiver.  But by offering to pay for his gift, I locked him into the role of perpetual receiver.  I conveyed that I saw him as just a beggar after all.  In so doing I completely disrespected him.  The man taught me a valuable lesson that day.  People yearn to be givers.  To be a giver is to resemble Jesus.  It is more blessed to give than it is to receive. 

The world needs more saints these days.  The world needs more people like Hallur and Thorgeir, who gave up power and possessions for the good of the people in their land.  The world needs more people like the man at the East River Fields, who found an opportunity to give, and wanted to bless others with what he had.  The world needs more people like you and me to risk believing and to dare living that the only way to have is to give.  The only way to keep is to share.  And the only thing worth finding is opportunity.  Blessed are the givers.  Blessed are you who follow in the way of Jesus, and shine like the saints in light. 

[1] You can watch the whole 25-minute episode here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WxUChBd7Idk&t=1392s

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FAITH THAT SEES AGAIN

The Rev. J. Donald Waring
Grace Church in New York
The Twenty-third Sunday after Pentecost
October 27, 2024

The blind man said to him, “My teacher, let me see again.”  Jesus said to him, “Go, your faith has made you well.”  Immediately he regained his sight.  (Mark 10:51-52)

Today’s reading from the Gospel of Mark reminds me of a harrowing experience my family and I had during our summer travels.  In a recent sermon, I described how we were on a driving tour of the deep south.  The first leg of the journey was a flight from New York to Memphis, TN, where we rented a 2024 Nissan Altima.  Right from the start I was enjoying all the modern features of the car, especially how stiff the suspension was compared to our 2002 roly-poly minivan.  Cars these days don’t come with keys anymore.  You get a fob that does practically everything for you at the push of a button.  Also, the side mirrors have little lights that flash when other cars pull into your blind spots.  What will they think of next? 

One feature, however, I failed to investigate: the windshield wipers.  Why would I?  Everyday was hot and sunny, with no forecast of rain.  But then, as we were zipping along Interstate 55 towards New Orleans (just keeping up with traffic, I might add, at nearly 80 mph) I noticed a few drops on the windshield.  The time to find the wipers had come.  Suddenly, it was as if I had steered the car beneath Niagara Falls.  The heavens opened with such a torrential downpour that I could not even see the hood of the car.  I started pulling levers, twisting nobs, and pushing buttons where wipers had been on dashboards of old.  Nothing worked.  We had a car behind us, so I didn’t want to come to a abrupt stop.  We had a car in front of us, so I definitely did want to stop.  I was unclear about pulling off to the side for fear of hitting a guard rail or rolling into a ditch.  We were driving blind. 

Fortunately, before ramming or being rammed by the nearby cars, I finally pulled the correct lever and turned the wipers to high.  It was enough to restore my sight, and stop before hitting the car ahead of us.  The whole experience lasted only about thirty seconds.  But what a terrifying half minute it was.  Let the language I cried be imagined rather than repeated. 

We turn now from Interstate 55 in Louisiana to the road between the ancient cities of Jericho and Jerusalem, in the province of Judea.  I note, with amusement, the way Mark describes Jesus’ visit to Jericho: He came to Jericho; and as he was leaving Jericho.  That’s it.  He came, he left – which doesn’t say much for the cultural attractions of Jericho.  No sights to see.  No local cuisine to sample.  No important people to meet.  Jesus came to Jericho, he left Jericho.  But on the way out of town he encountered a man named Bartimaeus.  We don’t know anything about Bartimaeus other than he was a blind beggar, and the son of Timaeus.  The early church theologian, Augustine of Hippo, however, thought that today’s reading from Mark provides further clues to his identity.  The first clue is the curious naming of Bartimaeus’ father.  Bar-timaeus already translates as “son of Timaeus,” so why would Mark take another step to punctuate the point?  Augustine thought it was Mark’s way of making clear that Bartimaeus was once a prosperous person, part of a prominent family.[1]  Once upon a time, he had it all.  Then he lost it all.  Life was a good ride until the storm clouds burst, leaving Bartimaeus wrecked by the side of the road. 

Bartimaeus was blind, with either no family, or a family no longer of means to take care of him.  In first century Judea, without any safety network, he could do little other than beg for a living.  To make matters worse, in those days people generally believed that bad things happened only to bad people.  The blind were blind, the sick were sick, and the orphans were orphans because someone had sinned.  Bartimaeus was blind, they figured, because he himself, his father Timaeus, or some other member of the family had grievously broken a commandment or two.  Thus, since God was punishing sin through Bartimaeus’ blindness, people would be reluctant to help.  To do so would be interfering with God’s justice. 

Nevertheless, the Lord was about to restore the fortunes of Bartimaeus.  As he sat by the roadside begging from people entering and leaving Jericho, he heard that Jesus of Nazareth would be passing by.  So he shouted, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!”  The people around Bartimaeus rebuked him.  They told him to be quiet and mind his place.  But shouted again.  Let the language he cried be repeated rather than described, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!”  Jesus heard him.  Jesus saw him.  Suddenly the townspeople did an about-face and said to Bartimaeus, “Take heart; get up, he is calling you.”  Bartimaeus threw off the only possession he had, his beggar’s cloak, and came to Jesus. 

Imagine: after a harrowing ordeal of misfortune and blindness, now Bartimaeus stood before Jesus and heard the Lord of life ask him an extraordinary question: What do you want me to do for you?  How would you respond?  When Jesus recently put the same question to his disciples, James and John asked for power and influence (Mark 10:37).  Others might say health, or true love, or perhaps even the return of a departed family member who died prematurely.  What would you say?  What is the thing that inhibits you from living fully into being the person you believe God created you to be?  Bartimaeus didn’t need to think about it at all: My teacher, let me see again. 

 Augustine implied that what Bartimaeus said provides the second clue to his identity.  “Let me see again,” means that he was once a sighted person who lost the use of his eyes.  Bartimaeus had not been born blind.  He was asking for something he’d had and lost to be restored.  The gift he was asking for was something he remembered once having.  You heard what happened next.  Jesus said, “Go, your faith has made you well.”  Immediately Bartimaeus received his sight.  “Immediately” is Mark’s favorite word.  What’s the take-away here?  It’s neither the healing itself, nor the miraculous timing of “immediately.”  Rather it’s something about Bartimaeus’ faith that Mark wants us to emulate.  Bartimaeus chose faith, and received back the precious thing he’d once had and lost. 

Today’s Old Testament reading from the Book of Job (42:1-17) tells essentially the same story.  Many of us know the saga of Job.  Job was a man who had it all: wealth, health, and a fine family.  Job’s enviable state was a clear sign that God was blessing him.  Life was a good ride.  Then the heavens opened and the rain fell, suddenly and violently.  In a rapid series of calamities Job lost all of his wealth and his children.  Soon Job grew seriously and painfully ill himself. He became like Bartimaeus: one from whom the blessings of life were denied.  Why do bad things happen to good people?  Well, reasoned the friends of Job, bad things don’t happen to good people.  Bad things happen only to bad people.  The friends counseled that God was withholding blessings and fortunes from Job because of sin.  Job had broken the Commandments of Moses and the only way he could stop the storm and regain God’s favor would be to repent of the wrongs he surely must have committed. 

Job would have none of his friends’ spiritual direction.  Indeed, throughout the forty-two chapters of the book that bears his name, we hear Job’s denouncing his friends’ anemic attempts to explain the mystery of suffering.  He had done nothing wrong to bring such misery on himself.  We even hear Job’s raging against God for the way God was running the universe.  What would Job want God to do for him if God so asked?  We can imagine the list: health, wealth, and family restored.  And one more thing: an explanation.  Job wanted to know why God was treating him unjustly.”  Job was simply not going to sit quietly along the roadway of despair.  Therefore, Job is a role model of faith for us, as is Bartimaeus.  Job chose faith, and clung to the notion that God not only should, but would restore his fortunes.  He declared (19:25): I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth; and though this body be destroyed, yet shall I see God; whom I shall see for myself and mine eyes shall behold, and not as a stranger. 

The reading we heard today is the very ending of Job’s book.  It’s a happy ending.  We hear how God restored the fortunes of this ranting, raving person of faith.  Granted, Job never received quite the explanation he demanded.  The mystery of suffering remains a mystery, and the Book of Job is an enigma in its own right.  But God came through in the end with blessing upon blessing. 

Bartimaeus and Job are figures from long ago, and far away.  What is the relevance of their stories for us today, in 21^st century Manhattan?  It is faith.  It is the faith that clings to the notion that God is good.  It is the faith that trusts God is for us, not against us.  It is the faith that allows us to see – again.  God hears our cry.  God sees us in despair.  Indeed, none of us are spared the blinding storms of life.  Some live with chronic conditions.  Others receive devastating diagnoses.  Others lose loved ones and livelihoods.  All of us grow old and eventually run out of time.  So how can we receive and sustain faith in the goodness of God?  What is the nature of such faith?  I do indeed wish that I could put faith in a bottle, so that all of us might take it down from a shelf and have a dose whenever we needed to see the miraculous intervention of God.  Sadly, I can’t put faith in a bottle, but I can offer some observations that may be spiritually helpful for us. 

When it comes to the nature of true faith that opens our eyes to the presence of God, I suspect that many of us often put the cart before the horse.  I know that I do.  We say, “show me a miracle, like the healing of Bartimaeus, in real time today, and I will have faith.”  Or we say, “explain this or that doctrine to me so that it makes rational sense.  Give me an enlightened understanding, and then I will believe.”  Essentially, what we are saying to God is “give me the gifts, and then I will pay attention to the Giver.”  None of this is faith.  Rather, it is merely a transactional relationship with the notion of God.  But the stubborn, persistent faith we find in Job and Bartimaeus puts the horse back before the cart.  Faith comes before miracle.  Belief comes before understanding.  The Giver precedes and follows the gifts.  If we seek only the gifts, we may wind up missing it all.  But when we set our sights on God, who is the giver of all good gifts, we discover that God’s good pleasure is to give us the kingdom.  Therefore, trust in the goodness of God.  As Martin Luther said of Jesus in the famous hymn we will sing today, “the right man is on our side.” 

Last summer, while speeding along Interstate 55, the rains came and I lost all sight of where we were headed.  I confess that in those harrowing moments I was not contemplating the goodness of God or the nature of faith.  But the storm ended as suddenly as it started, and the clouds parted to reveal the rays of the sun, and our journey continued.  In retrospect, I take it as a parable of our salvation.  Indeed, we trust that it is God’s will that our journey continues.  It is God’s will to restore us to the life we lost.  The rains come and obscure our sight.  But salvation is nothing short of following Jesus on the road towards God’s intention for all of humanity: to be in perfect communion with Himself, and each other, and all of creation.  It is a life we all have a primal memory of once having, and will have again.  We will see it again.  Yet shall we see God; whom we shall see for ourselves and our eyes shall behold, and not as a stranger.

Imagine the joy of Bartimaeus when he received back his sight, and beheld his Redeemer, and not as a stranger, again.  The Psalmist described the experience with the words we recited a moment ago.  Let the verses be repeated:

When the Lord restored the fortunes of Zion,
then were we like those who dream. 

Then was our mouth filled with laughter,
and our tongue with shouts of joy. 

Then they said among the nations,
“The Lord has done great things for them.” 

The Lord has done great things for us,
and we are glad indeed. 

[1] Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture, New Testament Vol II.  InterVarsity Press, 1998, p. 145.