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It is finished

Posted on by Fr. Peter / 0 Comment

In May of 2021, Nicky and I were touring through Hull for the Annual Stem to Stern Yard Sale. We are collectors and sometimes sellers of vintage and antique items, and we thought a town-wide yard sale was an excellent opportunity to stock up on some of our favorites. We stopped in front of this little white Church in the Village to check the map for our next location, and I remember thinking, this is Methodist appointment season; I wonder if the Church is available.

That past March, I completed an interim pastorate in Beverly, and I decided to take some time away from the pulpit to reflect on the future. I started there on March 15, 2020, which, if you recall your history, was the first Sunday we were not allowed to gather for worship. We would spend the next year ministering to that congregation via this new-fangled thing called Zoom. We had only met the congregation once, and apart from one or two parking lot services that summer, everything was either virtual or pre-recorded. Needless to say, it took a lot out of us.

Later that same day in May, I sent a couple of emails to a few minister friends in the UMC, asking what one would need to do to be appointed. It all begins, they told me, with a letter to the District Superintendent. So, I fired off an email, and before long, I was sitting in Gould Hall meeting some of the folx from what was going to become my new congregation. That was August of 2021.

As I mentioned, I arrived at a time of extreme burnout from COVID-19 ministry. While I was at the Church in Beverly, I was also called to active duty with the Army to support the COVID mission here in Massachusetts. I would spend most of April and May 2020 traveling to Boston, the Holyoke Soldiers Home, the Tewksbury State Hospital, as well as other sites around the Commonwealth, supporting our soldiers and airmen as best as we could. Sometimes, we would hold four services on Sunday, and I would also pre-record my regular church service. O, and we had a newborn who joined our family in April 2020!

I became your pastor at a time of great upheaval in my life. I was unsure if I wanted to be a pastor anymore, but I felt God calling me to this place, a beacon of hope in the Village. I was unsure of myself and uncertain about the Methodist way of doing things, but you took me in and gave me a home.

Our time together began as most pastorates began rocky. I was trying to get to know you, and you were trying to get to know me. I have learned, through nearly 21 years of experience, that you cannot have many, if any, expectations of a congregation, and this was especially true after the COVID pandemic. The Church rebuilt itself during the COVID-19 pandemic, which I think is a good thing. We realized we did not need buildings and all the trappings of the institutional Church to minister to people in need. We became nimble, we thought quickly on our feet, and we adapted to all sorts of things. We figured it all out with very little support from anyone higher up in the food chain.

However, ministry is now different, and we must once again learn to adapt.

On my first Sunday here, I did not preach. Because your previous minister had abruptly left, you had to adapt and think on your feet. You established a Rota of lay folk who would preach, and on that first Sunday in August of 2021, someone else was scheduled. That Sunday, I provided for you what only an ordained minister of Word and Sacrament can provide; I stood behind that small table, I asked the Holy Spirit to bless the bread and the cup, and I offered the spiritual food that we all need. We brought our broken and weary bodies to this table laid out before us, and here, we found rest.

I recall how I trembled, as I do each time I take those sacred elements in my hands and raise them before you and proclaim, “the gifts of God for the people of God. Take them in remembrance that Christ died for you, and feed on him in your hearts with faith and with love.”

To me, this is no mere reenactment or symbol; this is the body of Christ. We ask the Holy Spirit to come and change not only these elements but us. We invite Jesus into our lives and ask that he change our hearts of stone to hearts of flesh. We come forward willingly and take and eat. We do not do this because we are worthy or as some reward for being good. No, we come because we are broken; we are bone weary from everything the world throws at us, and we come to find rest and nourishment. My friends, this is no mere symbol; this is life.

As many of you are aware, I was not ordained into the Methodist tradition; instead, I was ordained in the Eastern Orthodox Tradition. One of the reasons I walked away from the Church that called me to ordained ministry was because communion was not available to everyone. You had to belong to the club, you had to have your membership card, and you had to perform certain rituals to be found worthy to take and eat. But one day, while meditating on this idea of communion, I recalled the events of the Last Supper. You know the story. They were all gathered in that Upper Room, all conveniently sitting on one side of the table so DaVinci could capture the moment on canvas. But there were all there, all but one; John would abandon him when he needed them the most. Peter was there, the one who would deny him not once but three times. And Judas, poor Judas, he was right there, sitting with the rest. And this is what did it for me: Jesus, knowing what Judas was going to do, looked him in the eyes and said, ‘Take, this is my body given for you.’ Jesus provided communion, the bread of life, to the very man who was about to betray him. If Jesus can do that, who are we to tell anyone they cannot come?

All of you here today are welcome to join us at this table, whether you are saint or sinner. Those who are certain and those who are not. Those with questions and those with answers. My friends, Jesus does not judge you, and neither do I. And if you cannot come, let one of the ushers know, and I will bring it to you. This table is open to all.

My preaching ministry began that next Sunday, and I preached about love. Well, I guess I have preached about love in every sermon, but that Sunday, I recall preaching about love. In my mind, love is central to the message of the Gospel; love is the Gospel. Love is the only thing that matters because if we do not love, as Paul tells us today in his letter to the Galatians if we do not “love our neighbor as ourselves, the rest of this is worthless.

So, let’s get into it.

Paul says For the whole law is summed up in a single commandment, “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” Now, as brilliant as Paul was, he did not come up on this by himself. Jesus started it all when He said, ‘I am the fulfillment of all the law and the prophets.’ He also said A new commandment I give to you: love God and Love your neighbor.

And your neighbor is everyone: your white neighbor, your black neighbor, your brown neighbor, your Hispanic neighbor, your Asian neighbor, your old neighbor,  your young neighbor, your neighbor who washes his car during a water ban, your neighbor who puts his little green back in your trash bin, your neighbor who does not use the little green bag but instead leaves a present for you, well on second thought, maybe not that neighbor. No, that one too. Your neighbor who aggravates you, as well as your neighbor who brings you chicken soup when you are not feeling well. Your neighbor who loves differently than you, your neighbor whose legal status or citizenship may not be what it is supposed to be, and yes, even your neighbor who votes against everything you believe in, those are the very people we are commanded to love.

However, the good news is that we do not have to like them. We do not have to agree with them on anything. Our blood can still boil when we see them, but we have to love them why because God loves them just like God loves you. God forgives them just like God forgives you. God accepts them just like God accepts you. My friends, we have no choice; we are commanded to do this.

If I can get a little political for a moment, I know it is very uncharacteristic of me to get political. It is my last Sunday, and they say you can do anything on your last Sunday.

Anyway, I think it is safe to say we have some rather significant issues in our Church, our country, and our world, and one of those, one of the biggest of those, is the lack of love. We no longer just disagree; we hate. We no longer just disagree with another person; we hate the person. I know it is difficult to love someone who stands in direct opposition to everything you hold dear, but we cannot hope ever to begin to heal the wounds of our nation and our world, and I am talking to everyone here because we did not get here alone. We cannot begin to heal the wounds that need healing until we can look each other in the eye, vehemently disagree with one another, yet still see the divine spark in the other.

In the Book of Genesis, we read about the creation of the world. The Creator created everything by speaking it into existence. Separated day from night, divided the dry land from water, created the birds of the air, the fish in the sea, and everything with just a word. But, when it came to humanity, the Creator got their hands dirty.

Genesis tells us that the Creator took the dust of the earth and formed humanity with the very hands of creation. And the Creator animated this new creation with the very breath of creation. God breathed God’s breath into creation. God filled us with Ruah, the very essence of the Creator, and this is what we call our soul —the very essence of our being. The very essence of our being was breathed into us, and we come alive when we take our first breath. Every human being was and is created in the same way; we all have the Ruah of God, the breath of God, the divine inherent in each of us. I know it’s hard to see sometimes, but it’s there.

If there is but one thing you take from me over the last few years, it is that love is the only answer to what is wrong in the world—the love of God for each of us and the love that we show to others. Again, we don’t have to like or agree, but we do have to love.

Love is central to the Gospel, and love is the only thing that will heal the wounds of this broken world.

Amen.

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Now that Faith has Come

Posted on by Fr. Peter / 0 Comment

I believe I can safely make the statement that the world is in Chaos. I will not use the term “unprecedented” mainly because I think the media hype surrounding that word has caused it to lose its meaning and because I am not sure we are living in truly unprecedented times. We have been here before, on the brink of something, some calamity that is about to happen. It has become common, since January at least, to wake up in the morning and quietly say, “What fresh hell awaits us today.”

Last night, I had the honor of being the Chaplain for the National Lances 188th Anniversary Dinner. The National Lancers are one of the oldest, continuously functioning military units in Massachusetts. They are the mounted ceremonial unit of the Commonwealth and the military escort for the Governor. Last night, we gathered to celebrate 188 years of service.

I am their chaplain, as I am for many organizations, and it fell to me to open the evening in prayer. Among the other things one prays for at events such as this, I prayed for the safety of those deployed at home or overseas. I sat down, and the phone dinged. I looked down at the notification, “US bombs three nuclear sites in Iran.”

I will be honest and say that my first thought was to shoot; now, I will have to rewrite my sermon for today.  This is not the first time I have had to do this, and unfortunately, it will not be the last. My continuing prayers will be for the safety of all involved in whatever comes next.

However, with that said, today’s readings are all about the power of faith and why it is necessary to have faith.

Paul tells us that before Jesus, we had the law, and it was the thing we relied on. Now, I like rules; rules guide us and keep us between the lines. Jewish law covered everything from dietary restrictions, how to raise children, how to plant crops, what to wear, when to worship, how to worship, etc. Almost all one’s life was controlled by the law.

Again, I like rules. I like not having to think about certain things; what does the rule book say about that? We are a people born out of chaos, now living under the rule of law.

But Paul tells us that since we now have faith, that is Paul’s way of talking about Jesus. We are no longer under the law, but we are guided by faith.

Faith is defined as “complete trust or confidence in someone or something.” Complete trust. Confidence. What are some things you have complete trust in?

There is an old exercise where a group of people, usually colleagues, gather, and the leader stands above them with their back to the crowd. At an unannounced time, the leader falls backward, sure in the knowledge that their colleagues will catch them before they hit the ground. Shall we try it?

But faith has another meaning. “Strong belief in God or in the doctrines of a religion, based on spiritual apprehension rather than proof.” Strong belief, not certain belief, not unconditional belief, not absolute belief. In other words, it is okay to have doubts.

I have a strong belief that if we were to try that exercise, I just mentioned, y’all would catch me. I have a strong belief, although it’s not absolute. Some of you look rather dubious this morning.

But faith is essential.

Luke tells the story of a man possessed by demons. This story has it all and has been sensationalized over the years. Some have used this story to show that demons exist and how they need to be dealt with. The modern attempt at explaining it all is to talk about mental illness, which is real and, I am sure, has some part to play in all of this, but we need to push past the sensationalized headline and look to what is really going on.

As I have mentioned before, I am not a scriptural literalist. I believe there is a lot of good in this book, and I also think there is a lot of nonsense. It is neither a history book nor a science book. It is a collection of stories assembled by a group of people hundreds of years after the events in the stories took place. It is confusing and has been used by everyone to twist a simple story into something much more difficult.

It is a complex book that requires knowledge of literature, theology, history, sociology, psychology, and yes, faith. For the most part, the people in these stories were real people. Jesus and Paul were real people. The bloke with demons, I cannot vouch for, but I am sure the pigs were real.

Allegory has been and remains a standard literary tool for telling a story. Allegory is challenging to understand because you need to drill down to find the hidden meaning. So, let’s look at this story with a different lens.

We do not know what is causing the problems the man in the story is having, but there is no doubt about its intensity. His life is essentially out of control. When Jesus asks, “What is your name?” The response is, “We are Legion.” This suggests that the man has a lot going on in his life.

Rather than looking at the supernatural, maybe look at day-to-day life. Perhaps he has lost his job and is unsure if he will find another one. He worried about the bills piling up and that he might lose his home. If he is married, he is likely watching his wife struggle to make ends meet. Perhaps his child is experiencing some difficulties, which is wearing on him as they try to navigate the school system and find the right fit.

Perhaps he is a combat veteran who has witnessed some things in his career that he cannot discuss with anyone. So, he holds it all in. There may be some things that trigger him and his thoughts, so when he sees things on the news, like bombs dropping, he starts to relive what he went through.

Maybe he is being crushed by economic uncertainty, tariffs, the political situation, troops on the street in his hometown, and masked men coming to take his relatives away. Perhaps he is married to the person he loves, but the ruling class does not accept that marriage, and he fears that his love will once again be deemed unnatural.

Perhaps he has an illness, but he cannot go to the doctor because, even with health insurance, he cannot afford the cost. Maybe he is retired and is on a fixed income, but the costs keep going up, and some months, he has to decide between eating and taking the medication that is going to keep him alive.

You see, this situation this man finds himself in is way more complex than he has a demon. And to reduce it to that does an injustice to the man in the story and it does an injustice to life.

We live with this idea that we are in control of our lives or that, somehow, God is miraculously in control. God gets blamed for an awful lot, and God gets praised for things that are not god-like, like dropping bombs in the middle of the night.

The point is that the weight of the world is crushing us, and into that storm comes Jesus, and if we let him, he will calm the waves. He is not going to solve your problems; he is not going to find you a job or pay your light bill, and you still have to do the heavy lifting.

Many years ago, I had a friend who was a firm believer in the power of prayer. I am a firm believer in the power of prayer, but not for the same reason as my friend. People would always ask him to pray for this and that, and he would gladly pray. Sometimes, people would come back and say, well, that prayer did not work, and the response was, you did not have enough faith. This is common practice in the evangelical world: you did not have enough faith.

My faith tells me that God exists and that God loves us. However, my faith also tells me that we have choices in life, and sometimes we don’t always make the right ones; those choices have consequences. My faith tells me that when I pray, I get a sense of calm. I cannot explain it, but it does.

After I broke my ankle, I was going to be moved to rehab, and that involved moving me by ambulance from one facility to another. The first move did not go well, causing a great deal of pain, so I was not looking forward to the next one. Just before the move, the nurse asked me to look her in the eyes. She had me take a few deep breaths to calm myself down and reduce my tension. She then said to me, “When you are ready, slide over onto the bed.”

I sat there for what must have been hours, very conscious of my breathing and praying. When I felt I was ready, I slid over, and although it was painful, it was not as painful as it was before. God did not move me; Jesus did not take my hand and lead me over. My prayer brought about a sense of calm that allowed me to loosen up, and when I moved, I was relaxed; that state of relaxation helped alleviate the pain. God did God’s bit, and I did mine. That’s how it works.

If you are waiting for God to come and solve all your problems, you are going to be waiting a long time. If someone told you that if you give your life to Jesus, your life would be fine, they lied to you. Life takes work. Faith takes work. God will do God’s part, but we still have to do ours.

If you are overwhelmed and feel like you’re being crushed by life, there is an answer. There is a calm that is waiting, and there is a community here to help you weather the storm. We cannot solve your problems; you have to do that, but we can guide you through the first step.

We need to have faith. You have survived 100% of your worst days, and you will survive this one too.

We are collectively going through a lot right now, but we will get through it. We have to do our part and have faith that God will do God’s part.

Amen.

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Opened Minds

Posted on by Fr. Peter

We are coming close to the end of the Easter Season. This past Thursday, the Church celebrated the day Jesus ascended to Heaven, and next week is the great feast of Pentecost. But this week, we are in this liminal space, the space in between, and John gives us the High Priestly Prayer of Jesus and his desire that all of us may be one.

Being one is essential, but does being one, united in a single thought or purpose, mean we cannot be individuals?  I don’t think so, and I don’t believe Jesus thought so either.

Last week, I talked about the spectrum of belief and practice amongst the 12 Apostles. Matthew, the Tax Collector and representative of the Roman government stood in direct opposition to everything that Simon the Zealot represented. Then there was Judas, who I believe was a pawn and did what he had to do to fulfill the mission. And Ole Peter, the denier. And who can forget our friend Thomas?

All of them were specifically chosen because they were not perfect. Listen, if you think your minister, bishop, rabbi, or other religious leader is going to be perfect, I have news for you. Ordination does change some things, but it does not alter the fact that we are human and, like the rest of you, we will make mistakes and disappoint people. I say this to you as much as to myself: stop looking for perfection from the clergy.

Although they were all Jewish and came from a similar general area, there were as many opinions on various matters as there were people, and that remains the case. Unity does not mean uniformity. Psalm 133 says in part, “How good and pleasant it is when God’s people live together in unity!” It’s certainly nice when we can all agree, but sometimes, a minor disagreement can lead to essential changes.

Today is the 7th Sunday after Easter, but it is also the Commemoration of the Bishops who gathered 1700 years ago in a small town called Nicaea. Nicaea is located in what is now Turkey and was the site where approximately 318 bishops gathered from May to July 325 CE to address a heresy that was emerging within the Church.

 This was not the first time a council had been called. In Acts, we see James, the Bishop of Jerusalem, calling the others together to discuss an issue that had arisen between Peter and Paul. But this was the first time that almost all the bishops of the world gathered in one place. It is called the 1st Ecumenical Council, not because people of different faiths were present, but because they were all present.

The issue at hand was the nature and divinity of Jesus. Until this Council met, there was no established doctrine or single belief about much of anything other than that Jesus was born; he did certain things: he was crucified, died, rose again, ascended to Heaven, and sent the Holy Spirit. There was agreement because there had been eyewitness testimony. But the nature and divinity of Jesus?  How do we figure that out?

Without going into too much detail, the issue arose over Jesus’ divinity and his relationship to God. Was Jesus a created being? Was Jesus divine from birth, or did his divinity attach itself to him at some point? What is the nature and essence of Jesus about God? Although a decision and doctrine were made at the Council, I am not sure there is agreement on any of these questions even today.

At this time, there were two schools of thought, one in Alexandria and one led by a bloke called Aruis who, you have heard me mention before, was punched in the face by our very own Saint Nicholas.

Anyway, the Alexandrian school stated that Jesus was not created. Jesus was with God since the beginning. They point toward Genesis and God, saying, “Let us make them in our image.” Although Jesus was born a human, He was also divine from the beginning, and there was no time when Jesus was not. This is where the Trinitarian nature of the Church came about. Although God, the creator, was a separate entity, the essence was shared in equal parts with God the Redeemer, Jesus, and God the Sustainer, the Holy Spirit.

Okay, you all have the same look on your faces that I had when we discussed this over and over in seminary, so I will quickly move to Aruis, who believed none of it. Jesus was created at birth. His divinity was attached to him at his baptism. Etc.

I have been in church council meetings when there has been a knockdown, drag-out fight over the color of tablecloths for a church banquet; I cannot imagine what this must have been like. But they debated, discussed, fought, I am sure they laughed and cried, and, in the end, they had a statement, and part of the Church had been excommunicated and branded heretics so much for being one.

What came out of this Council is a creed, or the first part of a creed anyway. The creed lays out fundamental beliefs; these are the things we agree with. We don’t have to understand them fully, but we can all agree that this is a good starting point.

But what the creed hoped to do was to bring people together, which it did, but, at the same time, it divided people. Previously, people were doing their own thing. Churches had been founded all over the place, from Jerusalem to southern Africa, to India, and as far-flung as what we now call England.

The Church was local, governed locally by its bishop, who was usually, but not always, one of its members. The point is the Church existed at the regional level. Sure, there was a Bishop of Rome and a Patriarch in Constantinople and other places, but their jurisdiction did not extend beyond the boundaries of their cities.

The basics were present, but worship looked very different. The Church often adopted the local culture, incorporating the dress and heritage of the place where it existed. Many of the “saints” we have today were borrowed from the culture of the time and place. One example of this is Brigit, who was and is a significant influence on Celtic culture. There is a belief that Bridgit was one of the gods that the Church adopted, Christianized, if you will, to make the Church more palatable to the locals. Do not destroy the culture; adapt to it.

For me, there are certain fundamental beliefs one must have if one is going to call oneself a Christian. That makes us one. But at the same time, there are many, many ways to express that oneness and live it out. The greatest challenge for the Church is to make this 1700-year-old document relevant for today. Belief is not stagnant; it is organic and must adapt to the times. Belief might not change, but the language we use to express that belief does need to change.

I have often spoken of my Chaplaincy work. For me, Chaplaincy is the best expression of this idea of unity but not uniformity. The greatest gift Chaplaincy has given me is getting to work with people of different expressions of faith. I don’t just mean different expressions of Christian faith for which there are legions, but working with Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, and those who have no faith or a faith so radically different from mine. I have learned a great deal from these dedicated men and women.

One of the duties of a military chaplain is to occasionally advocate with command of what we call religious accommodation. This might involve ensuring that there are kosher or halal meals available. I once had to advocate for a soldier who identified as a Norse Pagan, and he wanted permission to wear a gold bracelet, the symbol of his faith. Army regulations specify that when wearing a camouflage uniform, nothing shiny can be part of it: no gold rings or other jewelry.

My job was to sit with this soldier and not judge his faith but to get a sense of the seriousness of his faith and then write a letter that would eventually end up on the desk of the Secretary of the Army for a determination. I never thought I would be sitting with someone who identified as a Norse Pagan, but I learned a great deal from him, and we discovered that we shared many commonalities. We used different terms to describe things, but we found common ground. I did not judge him, and he did not judge me.

Several years ago, a scandal came about because a Roman Catholic deacon baptized someone in the name of the Creator, Redeemer, and Sanctifier. The “rules” say that baptisms are to be in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. It was revealed that this deacon had committed this act not once but on numerous occasions, and it now invalidated all those baptisms. I’m all about the rules, but…

John, in the Gospel we heard today, relates Jesus’ prayer that just as he and God are one, we are one with each other. Although they share the same essence, Jesus and God are different. Just as you and I share the same belief, we express that belief differently. Even within denominations, there are other expressions of faith. Our worship service looks different than the worship service in Scituate, but the essence is the same.

Do we always have to agree? No. Martin Luther did not disagree with any part of the Church’s belief, nor did Zwingli, Calvin, or any of the other reformers. John Wesley agreed with the theology and doctrine of the Anglican Church; he just expressed that belief differently.

The Council that met in Nicaea provided us with a roadmap, a starting point for discussion. Unfortunately, it has become a litmus test for who is and who is not part of the club. So fine does this become that entire churches excommunicated the other over three words, “and the Son.” This is ridiculous.

As a Chaplain, I am part of a group of very diverse religious individuals who work together to further the mission. We share the essence of ministry with one another and serve a diverse population, but we are also individuals who practice our faith differently; for the most part, we respect those differences. My faith works for me, but that does not mean it will work for you.

Jesus prayed, “I ask not only on behalf of these, but also on behalf of those who will believe in me through their word, that they may all be one. As you, Father, are in me and I am in you, may they also be in us, so that the world may believe that you have sent me. The glory that you have given me I have given them, so that they may be one, as we are one, I in them and you in me, that they may become completely one, so that the world may know that you have sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me.”

Jesus prayed that the world would know that God loves them, and that is my prayer, and that is my ministry.

Amen.

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Do you love me?

Posted on by Fr. Peter

John 21:15-19

Peter and the others had just finished a long night of fishing. It looked like it would be a bust, but Jesus told them to drop their net on the other side of the boat. When they did, they could hardly bring in the net because there were so many fish.

Exhausted, they return to shore and gather with Jesus around a fire for something to eat. Peter is still unsure of his place with Jesus after his denial. Peter might be feeling apprehensive about sitting with his friend. Maybe Peter looks down at the ground, unwilling to make eye contact with Jesus. Peter is uneasy at this moment.

Jesus takes the lead in the conversation and asks, “Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these?” Jesus calls him by his formal name, sort of like when your mother used to call you by all your names after you had done something you were not supposed to do. Simon answers Jesus with a resounding yes, and Jesus looks him in the eye and says, “Feed my lambs.”

After Simon testified that Jesus was the Son of God, Jesus changed his name to Peter. Simon had become a new creation, born again, if you will, and because of that, Jesus gave him a new name. But things changed. Peter denied Jesus, and Jesus calling him by his former name signals that Simon has somehow returned to his former state.

Jesus asks Simon again, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” Now, Simon is confused because his friend is asking him this question again. Peter responds, “Yes, you know I love you.” To this, Jesus says, “Tend my sheep.”

There is no indication of how fast this conversation is taking place. Is there time for Peter to ponder all this while having breakfast? Peter and the others have been working all night. They are at the end of their physical stamina, so this might not be the best time for Jesus to engage Peter in philosophical discussion.

But Jesus presses the question and asks a third time, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” Now Peter is hurt and maybe a little angry. I can almost see it; Peter stands up, looks down at Jesus, and proclaims, “Lord you know everything, and you know I love you.” Jesus gently touches Peter as if signaling him to sit back down and responds, “Feed my sheep.”

Like the other New Testament writings, the Gospel of John was written in Greek. Language is important, so we sometimes miss the subtleties of situations by not reading the Scripture in its original language. There is a nuance going on here that we miss in English.

English has one word for love. We use the same word to say we love pizza and to express our love for our parents or our spouse. However, in Greek, there are several different words for the English word love, and Jesus is using them in his questions to Peter.

The first time, Jesus asks Peter, “Do you love me?” Jesus is using the agape form of love, which is deep, unselfish, and sacrificial. Peter responds not with agape but with phileo. Phileo is not insignificant; it is the love that one has for a brother or a friend.

Again, Jesus asks Peter if he loves him using agape, and Peter once again responds with phileo. Surely, this conversation did not take place in Greek, so the author is trying to make a point. Peter is confused about the question and the answers. “Tend my sheep.”

As I said, Peter is now unsure of his relationship with Jesus. Peter denied Jesus three times, each time more emphatically than the first. Jesus has forgiven Peter for his denial, just as we are forgiven for our wrongdoings, but in this moment, Jesus wants to make sure Peter understands that he is forgiven.

David Montieth, the Dean of Canterbury, suggested in a recent sermon that Jesus used Simon when asking these questions because Peter could not be Peter if he did not love Jesus. Jesus is testing Peter just as candidates for ordination are tested. Jesus knows the answer to the question; Peter was right in saying that Jesus knows everything. But Jesus wants Peter to say the words, “Yes, Lord, I love you.”

The last time Jesus asks Peter the question, “Simon son of John, do you love me?” Jesus uses phileo, the brotherly love expressed between friends. Jesus’ use of phileo is important for several reasons. One is that Jesus is asking Peter if he really loves him as a brother and a dear friend. In this moment of questioning, Peter realizes what he has done, that he does truly love Jesus, and that Jesus has forgiven him. Peter might be feeling a little unworthy now.

Jesus is not questioning Peter to cause Peter to doubt his love for Jesus but rather the opposite. Jesus questions Peter to give Peter the confidence he needs for the task ahead. In this moment, Jesus is reassuring Peter that he is, in fact, the person Jesus told him he was, and his faith is that faith that Jesus said he would build upon.

Next, we will look at the imagery used in this passage.

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Sermon: Cast the Net

Posted on by Fr. Peter

John 21:1-19

“Simon Peter said to them, “I am going fishing.” They said to him, “We will go with you.” They went out and got into the boat.”

For most of us, these last few months have seen us on overload. Things are coming at us from all directions. We don’t know what will happen from one minute to the next. At this moment, two wars are being fought that do not seem to be ending any time soon. Our political and social situation in the country is constantly on the move, and the things we thought were secure are no longer secure. Even our life in the Church has been disrupted.

Times of peace and quiet have become much less frequent, and the stress that many people feel at work, home, and in daily life is matched only by the insanity of life that swirls all around us. One might wonder if much of what’s going on in our daily lives has contributed to the numbing of the human spirit, so we require loud or shocking experiences to get our attention.

This is, for many, what daily life is like now, but for some, the experience of emotional overload might finally come when they suddenly receive a medical diagnosis they were not expecting or some other news that comes out of the blue.

Experiences like these can overwhelm the human spirit, and many will seek comfort in a variety of familiar activities. Some will take refuge in the solitary labor of gardening, and others will reach for chocolate or go shopping. Some escape by losing themselves in a good book or a television program, while others may turn to drugs or alcohol.

For the disciples, these last few weeks have been overwhelming. Palm Sunday’s tension-filled, emotional high was followed by some rather unusual events, with Jesus flipping over tables in the Temple. The Passover meal, which usually brings a sense of familiarity and comfort, stood on its ear with accusations of betrayal and denial. The stillness of the garden was disrupted by armed soldiers and an arrest, a mock trial, a crazed mod out for blood, and finally, the execution of their friend.

In the hours following all these events, the disciples were huddled together in the upper room, crushed and numb. The human spirit can only take so much.

But then things shifted, and the emotional roller coaster took another unexpected turn. Mary brings back news of the empty tomb; they cannot fathom what is taking place. Jesus appears; Thomas doubts; Jesus comes again; it is hard to believe. These events would not only overwhelm the disciples, but they would also change the world forever.

Keep in mind that all the events we have discussed have taken place in the last two weeks. From the Last Supper to today, on the banks of the Sea of Tiberius, they have all happened in the last 14 or so days. I can only imagine the emotions they must be feeling at this moment.

I am, by nature, an introvert. It’s funny, but most ministers are introverts. It takes tremendous physical and emotional energy to do what we do. In addition, I am an empath, and I sense emotions. When I am in a room of people, such as I am right now, all your emotions are coming at me. I have to sort through them, compartmentalize them, and then strategize how I will deal with them. Over the years, I have learned that I cannot take all of this on board, and I have developed a process to maintain my sanity.

But at the end of the day, I am exhausted physically and emotionally. I need time to be alone, to process all that has happened and all that I have experienced. Before moving to town, I would accomplish this on the ride home, but now I have to process it quickly as I live just down the street.

We all need time to process; we all need the familiar routines of life to get back on track. Alongside my ministry with all of you, I am a grief counselor. I spend my days speaking with people about their loss and helping them discover the power within themselves to begin to heal. Sometimes, well, actually, most times, it gets very overwhelming, and I need to take a break. For just a few moments, I might walk outside, get a drink of water, or just sit and breathe. It is amazing how being attentive to your own breathing can calm you.

So, I am not at all surprised when Peter stands up amid all that has been going on and announces, “I am going fishing.” Going fishing is the most normal thing that Peter can do. One of the grief strategies I teach is getting back to life, getting back to the humdrum of your daily life as soon as possible. There is healing in routine, healing in the familiar.

For the grieving person, and the disciples are grieving, getting lost in one’s own thoughts can be dangerous. It’s not that you want to forget the person or thing you have lost, but healing begins when you accept the loss and begin the arduous task of moving forward. Peter decides to go fishing.

But we cannot retreat from life forever.

In the story of the Transfiguration of Jesus, which we heard a few weeks ago, Peter tells Jesus that he wants to stay in this moment forever. Peter is happy; he feels warm and fuzzy in the presence of a transfigured Jesus.  He does not want that to change all is right in Peter’s world. But Jesus points out that the work is not on the mountaintop; the work is in the valley.

Perhaps we would all like to stay right here, in the presence of God and in fellowship with one another, but the work we are called to is just outside that door, and it is important, holy, and sacred work.

The disciples had been fishing all night and caught nothing, but someone from the shore called them at daybreak. Their reality is smashed when one of them recognizes it is Jesus. All of them see Jesus, but only one of them, John, the Beloved Disciple who reclined with Jesus at the Last Supper, recognizes him. The one who placed his ear on Jesus’ chest and heard the very heartbeat of God recognized Jesus.

Could it be that “reclining with Jesus, ” spending tender time with the Lord in prayer, resting our mind at his heart, such quiet immersions of ourselves in the presence of God are the key to recognizing God in our daily lives?

Could it be that our desire to remain on the mountain, go fishing, or just keep busy keeps us from recognizing God’s presence in our lives, in the world, and in those we encounter along our journey? Could it be that our desire to remain busy and productive instead of “wasting time with God” in prayer often keeps us from recognizing God’s presence in our lives, the world, and those we encounter along our journey?

Resting and taking time away is good, but Jesus is standing on the shore calling and saying, “It is time to feed my lambs.”

Jesus is offering Peter and us a way to recognize and encounter the Divine in the day-to-day, as he tells Peter three times to feed his sheep. It is as if our denials are somehow redeemed by our loving encounters with God in the hungry and the poor.

But there are also clues about what we can do when we start to feel overwhelmed by life. Reclining with Jesus in prayer, resting in the Lord’s heart, sharpens our spiritual vision and helps us recognize the nurturing presence of the Lord, even in the most ordinary experiences of our lives.

Feeding the sheep and tending to the lambs is a tangible way of staying in relationship with the Lord and the best way to express the love we have for God, “not only with our lips but in our lives.”

Amen

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Speaking Truth to Power

Posted on by Fr. Peter

Micha 6:1-8, 1 Corinthians 13, Matthew 25:31-46

On July 4, 2004, I knelt at the consecrated altar at St. Constantine and Helen Cathedral in Chicago, Illinois, and ordained a priest forever according to the order of Melchizedek. As my hands rested on the altar, a Book of the Gospels was placed on my back, symbolic of the weight of the office I had just been given. After the communion prayers of consecration, a small piece of the now-blessed bread was given to me with the words, “Take this and guard it until I come for it.” The bread was symbolic of the church and the people that were entrusted to my care.

My theological understanding of ministerial priesthood is that it is not a job; it is a calling and one that cannot be reversed, no matter the circumstances. When given the care of souls, the relationship is such that on the day of judgment; I will be held responsible for every soul in my care that has been lost. This is not some 9-to-5 job that one can clock in and clock out from. You are a priest forever, according to the order of Melchizedek.

I was on retreat with other ministers some twelve or thirteen years later. It was a time away for refreshment and renewal for what they called “mid-career” ministers. I was in a different role than I had been. I had left the Orthodox Christian Church of my ordination and found refuge in the United Church of Christ. In many ways, I was burnt out and just going through the motions.

One evening was set aside as part of the retreat for a renewal of the promises we made at ordination. My ordination was different. In the Orthodox Church, the person being ordained does make promises out loud. There are vows, but they are assumed and private, so this would be the first time I said them out loud.

The vows clergy make differ depending on the denomination, but the essence is the same. One of the vows stood out to me, really stood out to me, and is one I think about daily.

“Will you seek to regard all people with equal love and concern and undertake to minister impartially to the needs of all?” To which I replied, “I will, relying on God’s grace.”

The key phrase there is “all people.” Not some people or the members of your church, but all people.

On May 17, 2024, I once again knelt and was consecrated a Bishop in God’s One, Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic Church. Once again, the Book of the Gospels was placed on my back, symbolizing the weight of the office I was about to enter. I made vows on that day, the same vows all bishops make on the day of their consecration. Again, one of them stands out, and it is first in my thoughts each day.

“Will you boldly proclaim and interpret the Gospel of Christ, enlightening the minds and stirring up the conscious of your people?” My answer: “I will, in the power of the Spirit.”

The symbols of that officer were presented: a ring to remind me of my fidelity to the Church and her teaching. A cross reminds us of the pains we go through in ministry to foster love for all. The crozier or shepherd’s staff to lead God’s people and, if necessary, draw them back. The Miter, the most visible of the symbols of the bishop, was placed on my head with the words, “Receive the helmet of salvation to wear in the war with evil.”

My vows are to minister to everyone impartially and boldly proclaim and interpret the Gospel of Christ.

This past Tuesday, we saw an example of the boldness we need from the pulpit at the Washington National Cathedral. The scene was the Annual Prayer Service for our Country, and in the audience, right in the front row, were the newly inaugurated President and Vice President of the United States.

The preacher was the Episcopal Bishop of Washington, DC, Mariann Edgar Budde. She was in her cathedral, preaching from her pulpit. The President and his group were invited guests. The theme of the bishop’s sermon was unity, but what came in the last few minutes would send shockwaves around the globe.

In the few hours after the inauguration on Monday, we saw a flurry of executive orders being signed to take away or restrict the rights of thousands of people. In a few moments, years of history and precedent were reversed or changed in ways we are still unsure of. One thousand five hundred criminals convicted of crimes against the people of the United States for their role in the attempted coup of January 6 were released. And the list goes on. Many, if not all, of these executive actions, were applauded by mostly white Evangelical Christians who are partly responsible for electing this President.

It should come as no surprise to you, but I believe love is central to the message of the Gospel. Everything Jesus preached and everything Jesus did was done out of love. The Gospel writer of John tells us that God loved the world so much that he sent his Son to show us a different way of love. We are commanded to love everyone, including those who do not love us back—commanded, not asked. They will know we are Christians. How? By our love. Not by our legislation or how many people we round up, by our love.

If we are to be true Christians and true to the command to love all, then that love must permeate all walks of our lives. We cannot come to Church today and sing songs and praise a God who loves everyone without exception and then on Monday support policies and politicians that want to harm those very same people we are supposed to love.

We are to have a preferential option for the poor. In other words, we are to care for and advocate for those vulnerable and on the margins. We are not to take advantage of them; we are to welcome them and care for them.

So how do we know if the policies and politicians we support profess to love? Well, I have provided a few Scripture passages today that we can use as our gauge.

We began with the Prophet Micha. Prophets come to warn the people that they are going off the rails and attempt to bring them back. We have some modern examples of prophets;

Roman Catholic Priest Maximilian Kolbe advocated for those on the margins and lost his life in the German Concentration Camp of Auschwitz in 1941.

Russian Orthodox Nun Mother Maria of Paris also advocated for those on the margins and lost her life at Ravensbrück Concentration Camp in 1945 when she was 53.

German Lutheran Pastor Dietrich Bonhoeffer, who not only advocated for those on the margins but quite literally tried to stop Hitler by being part of a plot to assassinate him, lost his life in April of 1939 at the age of 39.

Rev. Dr Martin Luther King needs no introduction but was cut down by an assassin’s bullet in 1968.

The Roman Catholic Archbishop of San Salvador, Oscar Romero, who constantly and consistently advocated for those on the margins and often tried to speak truth to power, was assassinated in his cathedral during Mass on March 24, 1980.

All these people and those known only to God lived out the Gospel call to love everyone and advocate and serve those less fortunate. For God so loved the world that he sent Maximilian, Maria, Dietrich, Martin, and Oscar to show us a different way.

Micha tells us, “He has shown you, O mortal, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.” Justice, mercy, love, and humility the hallmarks of a true Christian.

Next, we heard from Paul. In Paul’s First Letter to the Church in Corinth, Paul teaches about the kind of love we should have. Paul, like Jesus, advocated for unconditional love—a love that is patient and kind, a love that does not boast or envy. This love does not dishonor others, it keeps no record of wrongs, it does not delight in evil, but it always rejoices in the truth. This love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, and always perseveres.

This is the love we must practice and show, and if those we support and those we support do not do this, then it is antithetical to Christian practice and belief.

Then, we come to the most direct, in-your-face scripture about how we treat others. Matthew, in the 25th Chapter of his Gospel, shares a story about the second coming of Jesus. Matthew pulls no punches, and there is no ambiguity in his words.

“Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry, and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’

“Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’

“The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’

When we see the homeless person, the drug addict, the farm worker, and the teenager trying to figure out their sexuality and their place in life when we see the black person, the Asian person, the Muslim, the Jew, the Greek, or anyone, when we see them and do not see the face of God and the divine spark, they we miss the entire message of the gospel. We reduce Jesus to just a guy hanging on a cross.

Matthew continues:

“Then he will say to those on his left, ‘Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. For I was hungry, and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty, and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me.’” ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.’

Yesterday, Bishop Thomas Bickerton of our New England Annual Conference sent a Pastoral letter to the Conference. I am not sure you are on the email list for the Conference but if you are not, there is no better time then today to get on it.

Bishop Bickerton said this:

In 1738, after a long practice of preaching TO people from a high steeple Anglican Church, John Wesley, the founder of Methodism, took a radical step to preach WITH people who had gathered in a field near Bristol, England. On that day, John Wesley wrote these words in his journal:

 “At four in the afternoon, I submitted to become more vile and proclaimed in the highways the glad tidings of salvation …”

 For Wesley, to become more vile meant that he had to move beyond his comfort zone and enter the world of the poor, the oppressed, the imprisoned, and, in fact, anyone who was in need. The struggle to take the words of faith we embrace and literally use them as the foundation for courageous acts of faithfulness, forged what we know today as our United Methodist theology. It is what we believe, and it is what we do.

Bishop Bickerton went on:

Today, I call upon all United Methodists in New England and New York to embrace a posture of radical welcome and hospitality. I call upon all churches to provide a safe space of welcome to immigrants and the marginalized who are afraid, intimidated, and threatened. I call upon all leaders, both lay and clergy, to take bold steps to lead our people into the gospel and into the very communities where our churches reside. As Romans 15:7 says so clearly, “Welcome one another, therefore, just as Christ has welcomed you, for the glory of God.”  This is our time and our moment to become more “vile.”

Brothers and sisters, it’s time to get vile!

Some of you sitting here today are lifelong Methodists, and many of us are not. Whatever denomination you come from, when you were baptized, you made vows, or those vows were made on your behalf. Some of you confirmed those vows later in life at your confirmation. One of those vows, in a United Methodist context, is:

“Do you accept the freedom and power God gives you to resist evil, injustice, and oppression in whatever forms they present themselves?”

We are not playing around here.

Bishop Mariann Edger Budde is an unassuming Bishop you have probably never heard of. She has quietly gone about her ministry since her ordination in 1988. She has been a bishop in Washington, DC, since 2011 and, if you recall, called out the President for the stunt he pulled with the upside-down bible in Lafayette Square on June 1, 2020, during the protests around the George Floyd murder.

But on Tuesday, January 21, 2025, she was catapulted into the world spotlight for her words at the end of the National Prayer Service in her Cathedral in Washington, DC. This event was in stark contrast to the funeral of James Earl Carter, which took place just days before.

Toward the end of her sermon, she paused, drew in a deep breath, looked the President of the United States in the eye, and said,

“Let me make one final plea, Mr. President. Millions have put their trust in you. And as you told the nation yesterday, you have felt the providential hand of a loving God. In the name of our God, I ask you to have mercy upon the people in our country who are scared now. There are gay, lesbian and transgender children in Democratic, Republican, and independent families, some who fear for their lives. The people who pick our crops and clean our office buildings; who labor in poultry farms and meat packing plants; who wash the dishes after we eat in restaurants and work the night shifts in hospitals, they – they may not be citizens or have the proper documentation. But the vast majority of immigrants are not criminals. They pay taxes and are good neighbors. I ask you to have mercy, Mr. President, on those in our communities whose children fear that their parents will be taken away. And that you help those who are fleeing war zones and persecution in their own lands to find compassion and welcome here. Our God teaches us that we are to be merciful to the stranger, for we were all once strangers in this land.”

If you watch the video of the sermon, and I hope you do, you will see the reaction of the President and Vice President, smirking and laughing while she pleads with them. Bishop Budde was not rude or nasty but spoke in a hushed pastoral tone in her plea.

In some quarters, her words were met with praise, but at the White House and on the floor of the House of Representatives, they were met with contempt. The president called her nasty and a radical left hardline hater. He said she was nasty in tone and not compelling or smart, and he demanded an apology.

The following day, a Republican Congressman from Oklahoma introduced a bill in the United States House of Representatives condemning her words. I am sure this resolution will go a long way in lowering egg prices across the country.

It has been widely reported that Bishop Budde has received death threats, and when in public, she is now wearing a Kevlar vest. The worshippers of empire wish to see her dead for preaching the words of Jesus Christ and upsetting our dear leader. These are the same fine folk who want the 10 Commandments in every classroom but get triggered by the words of Jesus Christ. Hypocrites! Brood of Vipers!

Friends, I agonized over this sermon today; I was awake most of the night thinking about it. There are times when we must take a stand, and today is one of those days. I have no illusion that my words will travel any further than these walls, but I feel that if I did not speak, I would be betraying my vows and everything that I stand for as a Christian and human being.

For most of us, these changes and policies will mean very little. Sure, prices will go up, and that will be hard, but I want us to think of those who now wonder about the legitimacy of their marriage. Those who worry about their health care. For the farm workers, hotel workers, kitchen staff, lawn people, and all the rest who have now gone into hiding for fear for their very lives. Staying silent is not an option; ask the Germans of the 1930s how staying silent worked out for them.

If we are not ready to advocate for those on the margins, then I have no idea what we are doing here. Jesus’s message is simple: ” Whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.”

Friends, to quote Bishop Bickerton, “it’s time to get vile.”

Amen.

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Navigating the Labyrinth: A metaphor for walking life’s path

Posted on by Fr. Peter

Editor: The following essay appeared in the January 16, 2025 edition of the Hull Times

One of my favorite local places to walk is Glastonbury Abbey in Hingham. No matter what time of day you visit, it is always quiet, and the paved paths make walking easy.

On a recent visit, I walked the labyrinth in the woods for the first time. As I was walking and trying very hard not to fall, I realized that walking this labyrinth was a metaphor for life, and as we embarked on the new year, it was a time of reflection.

Labyrinths date as far back as the Bronze Age, but at that time, they were a series of caves that were often used to house prisoners or other items one did not wish to be discovered. Later, labyrinths began to appear on the floors of cathedrals, and although their actual purpose is unclear, they were sometimes used for walking and saying prayers, which is the modern usage today.

Modern times have seen a resurgence in labyrinths and their construction. The World Labyrinth Locator—yes, there is such a thing—lists approximately 6,000 labyrinths around the world in private properties, libraries, schools, gardens, and recreational areas, as well as famous temples and cathedrals. In addition to the Glastonbury Labyrinth, the Located lists the Veterans Affairs Campus in Brockton, Boston College, and an indoor Labyrinth at the Old Ship Church in Hingham Center.

The Glastonbury Labyrinth is fascinating. Constructed of stones and formed in the classical four-axis pattern, one enters and then follows the paths around the circle. I am not sure if it is by design, but the narrow construction of the paths forces the walker to pay very close attention to every step to not stumble. The path is so narrow in several places that it is almost impossible to pass.

This is where the connection to life comes in. When things in our lives are going well, life provides wide paths for us to walk on, and we do not have to be concerned about stumbling. But then there are those times when the path closes in because of difficulties we might be having. These are the times when we must pay closer attention to each step or even reach out to someone who can guide us.

In my experience, those times on the narrow path also force me to focus my attention on my spiritual life, and I turn to prayer. The contemplative action of paying closer attention to what is around us, where my feet are, what I am looking at, and where my thoughts are becoming increasingly more important. But should these times of deep contemplative thought only be for those times when things might not be going as planned?

When the path is wide and free of obstruction, we tend to walk upright with our gaze upward. Maybe we have a smile on our faces, and we might greet those we encounter on our path. But when the path begins to narrow, and obstacles are placed in our way, our gaze naturally turns downward, and we might furrow our brow as we spend more time concentrating on where our feet are falling.

The start of a new year allows us to hit the reset button, end something, and begin something new. If the last few years have taught me anything, it’s that we need to slow down and take time, pay closer attention to what is around us, smile more at the others we encounter, and spend more time in contemplation.

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The all Gather Together

Posted on by Fr. Peter

Matthew 2:1-12

“On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh.”

There is an Italian legend of an old woman who travels the night sky on Epiphany Eve, bringing sweets and toys to the good children and coal to the bad ones. She is often depicted as a witch with a black scarf on her head, carrying a sack or a basket, and riding on a broom. The legend of La Bafana has an unknown origin but has meaning for us today.

Like most legends, hers has become complicated. There is a belief that she is of pre-Christian origin, but today, we will stick to how La Befana and the Wise Men come together.

La Befana is said to live in a mountain cave outside a city. One day, three strange men came to visit her. They were from a far-off land and were following a star searching for a child who had been born. They told her they had brought gifts for the child and asked if she knew where this child might be. La Befana was very busy cleaning, and she told them she did not know and ran them off.

Later, she regretted her decision and decided to find these men from the East. She packed gifts for the child, mounted her broom, and flew off searching for the visitors. She did not see them or the child they sought, but she had all these gifts. La Befana decided to stop off at other places with the children and leave the gifts for them.

Our Scripture lesson from Matthew, which we heard this morning, tells us what happened to these men from the East. They found what they were looking for and more.

We know very little about these men from the biblical account. Their story only appears in Matthew’s Gospel and is vague. Matthew calls them “wise men from the East” and never mentions their occupation or number. Traditional Western Christians set their number at three, corresponding to the number of gifts they bring. Still, Eastern Christianity, specifically the Syriac tradition, has 12, corresponding to the 12 days of Christmas.

They are essential to the story regardless of who or what they are.

We also do not know when they will arrive. Again, Matthew only says this event took place in the time of King Herod, roughly 72 BCE to 4 BCE. Some scholars believe the Wise Men came many years after the birth event and visited him in a house that was not stable. Scripture tells us that upon hearing the news of the child’s birth, Herod orders the slaughter of all male children under two years of age, which would point to the idea that this even took place up to two years after Jesus’ birth. Still, the exact time and place do not matter; they came, which is essential.

The research will suggest that these men did come from the East. By the 3rd century, they had been identified as Kings, which would conform with Christian interpretations of prophecies in the Hebrew Scriptures that Kings would worship the Messiah.

Matthew calls them Magos in Greek, from which we derive the Latin term Magi. Mago comes from Old Persian magus, which refers to the Iranian priestly class of Zoroastrianism. They were known for their ability to read the stars and gained an international reputation for astrology. By the way, the word Magi is where we get the English word Magic.

Again, there is no evidence that they were Kings, and the first English reference to such was the interpretation of the word “Magi” in the King James Bible, probably to lessen the idea that these men were astrologers. The Reformer John Calvin thought that these men were not kings and that the term was invented to sanitize the story and make it more acceptable in society.

Although Matthew does not provide their names, several legends give their names, as Melchior, Caspar, and Balthazar. The most notable of these legends come from an 8th-century Latin text and the apocryphal text, The Acts of Saint Thomas.

Matthew gives only the evidence of their place of origin from the “East,” but using the name Magi points to the Parthian Empire centered in Iran. This is an integral part of the story because the Parthian Empire was known for tolerating other religions and religious practices. It is also important to note that these men are usually depicted as being of various ages and races, which will become important later.

Matthew tells us that when they found Jesus, they entered the house and knelt down to worship him. This is where the practice of kneeling in worship comes from. Jewish worship, where most of our Christian practice comes from, did not include kneeling or prostrating; all those Christian practices came from the Magi worshipping Jesus. One might argue that kneeling in worship is as old as Christianity itself.

The gifts are significant as well. All three were ordinary, and the usual gifts were offered when one paid homage to a king. These men knew this child was not some ordinary child and brought the appropriate gifts.

These gifts also have spiritual significance: gold symbolizes earthly kingship, frankincense, in the form of incense, symbolizes deity, and myrrh, an oil used for anointing, symbolizes death. This is where we get another of our Christian traditions. Incense is used in worship, signifying our prayers being lifted to God, and myrrh is often an essential ingredient in the oil used for anointing the sick and other rituals.

In my message on Christmas Eve, I pointed out that all of creation was present at the birth of Jesus. Animals and shepherds were there to worship this tiny baby that would transform the world. The men from the East signify another aspect of it all, that the message of Christ was to transcend not only geography but also culture, time, place, race, and religion.

These men were on pilgrimage; they had searched the sky for a sign and found it. They were seekers like many of us are or have been. It is interesting to note that these men practiced a religion that the Christian Church would later condemn as witchcraft, yet they were among the first to not only pay homage but bring gifts and humble themselves by kneeling to worship. This may be why La Befana is often depicted as a witch.

Later in Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus preaches to a gathering of people on a hillside. This is often called the sermon on the mount, where the beatitudes come from. These beatitudes are central Christian teachings, and it is essential to note that people of multiple races, ages, genders, and even religions were on that hillside. Jerusalem was a crossroads for trade, and people from all over the world would come and pass through it. The message of Jesus is for everyone, not just those we think fit into a specific mold or way of life.

Each person present that night and in the days after was a seeker of a sort. Something drew them in and brought them to the place where they found Jesus. Many came with nothing, only an openness to what was possible, and others came with precious gifts. Regardless of what they brought, they all came and worshipped and, no doubt, left changed.

Everyone is invited to God’s party, even those who have been traveling radically different paths. Those who have made this journey many times in their lives are invited to take a new look at Jesus and his message of love and acceptance of all, not just some. It is important to remember Jesus’ saying, “The last shall be first, and the first will be last.”

It is important to remember that this was not an ordinary birth, and by that, I do not suggest anything to do with the supernatural circumstances of how they found themselves where they were. The birth story reminds us that the creator became part of creation to show us a different way to live. But it is also a story that invites everyone to come; whether you are a shepherd or king, young or old, astrologer or believer, there is a place for you at the table.

The story of the Magi reminds us that God initiates the call to come and find, to knock, and to seek. Our job is to come with an open mind to find a story that might challenge our traditional beliefs about many things. The Magi’s journey to seek the child exposes God’s intention to welcome everyone “into the joy of God’s hoe not made with hands, but eternal in the heavens” and, remarkably, on earth as well. Amen.

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First Sunday of Advent: Preparation

Posted on by Fr. Peter

Jeremiah 33:14-16, Luke 21:25-36

“In those days and at that time I will cause a righteous Branch to spring up for David; and he shall execute justice and righteousness in the land.”

Let us Pray

God of our salvation, here is wisdom, peace, and joy for those who keep your Word. By the power of your Holy Spirit, lead us in your truth and teach us to do your will; for the sake of Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Our daughter Oonagh is learning how to swing on a swing set. Until very recently, she would sit on the swing, and either her mother or I would have to push her. She loves the swing, and she shouts higher and higher with every push. But recently, she learned how to pump her legs and swing herself.

The other day, we were across the street on the playground, and Oonagh wanted to show me how she learned to swing. She climbed up and sat down. I started her off with a little push, but she was soon pumping and swinging alone.

As I stood there and watched, as a proud father, I noticed that at the apex of the swing, she was neither moving forward nor backward; she would just hang there, suspended between moving forward and falling backward. The season of Advent is a lot like that.

During Advent, we are in that liminal space between what was and what is yet to come. It is not quite Christmas, but it is not the days after Pentecost either. Although there are certain similarities between Lent and Advent, Advent is that odd time of the year when the world wants us to speed up, but the church wants us to slow down.

Advent is a season all its own, but we still need to remember the importance of this time of year. This is the season of preparation.

I like history. I like reading about it and watching documentaries about historical events. Ruth Goodman is a British historian who specializes in the social and domestic history of Britain and the British Isles. She likes to immerse herself in a time, use the tools of the time, and basically live as if she were living in that time. Ruth likes to say that we can never truly understand or appreciate history unless we have tried to live it.

Ruth and a few others have made a couple of television series about living in a forgotten time. I just finished watching one she made several years ago about living on a farm in Victorian England. During the Victorian age, many of the “traditions” started around the celebration of Christmas. I will remind you that from 1659 until 1681, Christmas was banned and punishable by a steep fine here in New England.

The Victorian age saw the first time homes were decorated for Christmas, and it became a tradition to decorate one’s house with a tree on Christmas Eve. Although Hallmark and Target want us to believe Christmas starts shortly after the 4th of July, the Christmas season starts on December 24th.

Advent was a time of strict preparation, including fasting and abstinence, as well as confession. While we like to head to parties, shop, and sit on Santa’s lap, our ancestors fasted from all meat and dairy during the four-week run-up to the birth of Christ.

Now, one would keep one’s home decorated until Candlemas, which falls on the Second of February when Christmas ends. By then, we are already purchasing stuff for our summer holidays, but we tend to lose something special when we rush the season and pack it all up the day after.

Now, there is nothing wrong with decorating early. In fact, if decorating your house for Christmas makes you happy, do it whenever you want, but make some time for Advent as well.

The Scripture readings we heard this morning speak of a time to come, not of Jesus being born in a manger, but a time when Jesus will bring justice and righteousness for all. Jeremiah and Luke remind us to be prepared and not to worry about what is coming, for we are people of hope.

Jeremiah begins with God’s promise that one is coming who will “execute justice and righteousness in the land.” Jeremiah is writing at a time of immense political turmoil in the land, and a vast number of people are being persecuted.

Jeremiah writes of a time when justice and righteousness will rule not in a juridical way of punishment but in a loving way of mercy and equality. The people clammer for justice against those who we are told are our enemies, the ones taking our jobs and causing our taxes to rise. Jeremiah writes of a justice of love and generosity with room for everyone.

Theologian Rachel Mann writes, “At the start of this Advent journey of faith and hope, let’s remind ourselves of the unconditional generosity and abundance of God’s love.” We need to remind ourselves, but we also need to remind the world that God’s unconditional love is so vast that there is room for everyone.

Jeremiah reminds us that we are to have hope, but we cannot just sit around and wait. We have to get busy bringing about justice and mercy and also showing God’s unconditional love.

We also heard from Luke this morning. We will be spending a lot of time in Luke during this Advent season, and Luke, like Jeremiah, writes of not Jesus’ first coming but his second. Luke reminds us that we need to take time to prepare. This is not physical preparation but rather spiritual.

Our ancestors in faith practiced this time of preparation very harshly and strictly. Fasting, abstinence, and confession prepared the spiritual body as well as the physical. But it is also a reminder that this time of the year needs to be different. We need to set aside time in the business of our lives to prepare for the birth of the one who is the reason for the season.

We will light one of the candles on the wreath as we begin worship during the next four weeks. This morning, we lit the candle representing hope. On this first Sunday of Advent, we are reminded that we are people who need to live in hope, for we are not alone on this journey.

Each week, we light another candle but also the one from the previous Sunday, and in the end, we light a candle in the middle representing Jesus Christ. But I want you to pay special attention to the candle we lit this morning, as this candle burns throughout the entire journey and will be the smallest at the end.

The candle of hope burns the longest and reminds us that we will never be without hope. Hope anchors us in our faith and drives us to spread God’s unconditional love to all those around us.

I know this is a busy season, and there is a lot to get accomplished in a few short weeks, but I ask you to take a few moments each day to slow down, spiritually prepare for what is coming, and remember to be the light of hope in the world.

Amen.

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Advent Word: Humility

Posted on by Fr. Peter

Humility is one of the most misunderstood words in the English language. Most of the time, we equate humility with humiliation and the idea that we must become a doormat for everyone and everything. But spiritual humility is anything but being a doormat; rather, it is a sense of being that transcends what the world wants of us.

Humility is not the sense that we are worthless and will never amount to anything; humility is the sense that there is something larger than ourselves and that we need that to help us through. The story of the Publican and Pharisee from the Gospel of St. Luke is a contrast in humility.

The story has two men, one a publican (tax collector) and the other a Pharisee, going up to the Temple to pray.  The Pharisee wears his best clothes and walks in when most people would be in the Temple to pray.  He walks down to the center of the Temple and begins his prayer, which sounds fine at the start, but then his focus shifts from God to himself.  He prays, “God, I thank you that I am not like other men.”  His prayer lacks humility because the focus shifts from his thanks to God to being about him.  His prayer was done for effect, publicity, and for admiration.  His thoughts were not on others but on what others thought of him.  He prayed with himself and not for himself.

The Publican, standing alone, a few feet away in the shadows so as not to be seen, had his head down and was so weighed down and ashamed by the enormity of his sin that he could not even raise his gaze to heaven.  He whispered, “Lord have mercy,” as the only prayer he could form on his lips.  He stood there in the shadow of the Pharisee, softly repeating the same prayer over and over again, never daring to look up.  He had come to the realization that he needed to change his life and repent for all that he had done to others in the past.  He had the necessary humility to come and ask God for forgiveness.

Admitting we were wrong is a challenging thing for us to do.  No one wants to look as if we do not know what we are doing or talking about.  And the admission that we have done wrong is never easy.  Admitting we are wrong is related in some sense to forgiveness.  Withholding forgiveness affects us on a spiritual level, and not admitting when we are wrong does the same thing.  As I have written previously, the spiritual and the physical are connected, so if our spiritual life is not where it should be, it will have an effect on our physical life.

Being able to admit that we are wrong and ask for forgiveness shows a level of humility that we all need to strive for. We should not wait until we are like the Publican in the story, so weighed down that we cannot even bring ourselves to form the words on our lips. Take care of those situations where we need to admit that we are wrong as soon as we can, and that will aid in our spiritual healing.

The end of the Gospel story has Jesus telling His disciples that the Publican will be justified rather than the Pharisee. The Publican focused on his prayer and his wrongs and not those of others. He focused on what he had to do to get his life right and did not compare himself to anyone. He held his head down in humility and simply asked that God forgive him and send His mercy and His grace to help him move forward in his life.

Our spiritual life comprises both the Publican and the Pharisee, and we have to decide which one we will be most like in our lives.  If we wish to be like the Publican, we need to find humility, admit that we are wrong, and accept that we need to change our lives.  We need the humility to admit that we cannot do it alone and that we need the grace of God to get us over the humps and bumps in our lives.  If we are willing to do that, we will get on the right road, but we will have to recommit ourselves to the daily journey.

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