When Gay was out for her morning walk yesterday, she discovered this amazing mushroom growing on the base of a tree in our neighborhood. She took a series of photographs of it with her iPhone and today she took me to see it. It is a truly beautiful work of art!
I wondered what type of mushroom it is and what its purpose might be. Wikipedia tells me it is some type of Laetiporus, probably Laetiporus cincinnatus, given our location in Kentucky. Specimens have been found that weigh over 100 pounds. Some species of this “shelf” mushroom are edible and people prepare it the same way one would prepare chicken. In fact, one name for this mushroom is “chicken of the woods.” It is most commonly found on the wounds of trees and contributes to the demise of its host. The fungus is kinder to humans in that this type of mushroom has potent ability to inhibit staph bacteria and is effective in fighting certain forms of bacteria.
One thing my research did not explain is why the fungus is so beautiful. I’m fairly sure it has nothing to do with reproduction, which is an oft-encountered explanation with other living things. Gay and I talked about that and here’s what she said:
"God loves beauty for beauty’s sake. For example, that’s why we are raising money to buy a new pipe organ for The Church of the Good Shepherd. God lavishes beauty upon us and we, in turn, want to lavish beauty on God."
I’m reminded of a similar conversation years ago with my friend John. It was an epiphany for me. We were talking about churches, architecture, and liturgy. He said, “It’s called 'holy waste.' It's like the precious oil the woman poured on the feet of Jesus. Judas complained about how the oil could have been sold and the money used to care for the poor. Jesus, on the other hand, seemed to appreciate the woman’s gesture. His response to Judas was a reminder that when one has a generous heart, it doesn’t have to be an either/or situation. We can be generous in our demonstration of love for our God and our neighbor.”
When you think about how generous God is with beauty throughout creation, even in a mushroom, you have to be inspired to want to be generous in return whenever an opportunity arises to do something beautiful for God.
The Holy Trinity is a doctrine, a teaching, developed over time by the Church as an aspect of the unfolding revelation of God derived from, but not confined to the pages of sacred scripture.
Doctrine is not Truth, with a capital “T”, but rather our faithful approach to or reach for the Truth. Doctrine that really matters is more than an intellectual pursuit or a theory. The best doctrines are those that speak to deeply felt needs of those who seek God. For example…
We have a need to know who created the universe and placed us in it. In response, the Church tells us that it is the Lord God Almighty who is the Creator and Parent of all life and being. We see God’s hand at work in the world around us. It is powerful, though only a glimpse. To see God face to face is something we hope for and long for and live for.
We also need to know that we have a source of forgiveness and understanding that will not let us down. In our declaration of the divinity of Jesus Christ, we are saying that God sees us not just from the viewpoint of a loving Creator/Parent, but with redemptive concern as well. God’s reason for dealing with us in Jesus Christ is to offer us forgiveness of sin, release from guilt, to reconcile us and draw us closer to the ultimate purpose for all creation.
And, we need to know that we have a friend who is near, always able to sustain our faith, bind us together in worship, and empower us in God’s mission. So, we proclaim that God is the Holy Spirit, ever present in our midst for guidance, comfort, and strength. As St. Paul says, the Spirit of God bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God and heirs with Christ of God’s amazing grace.
The Holy Trinity: Three expressions of how One Living God relates to everything and everyone in the universe. More than a theory, it is a teaching given to us to help us better know who God is, how God loves us, and how God abides with us.
We have had two large funerals this week at our church. The church was packed on both occasions. As I have listened to members of the parish speak of the two wonderful women whose funerals they attended, I was impressed by how difficult this week has been on us as a parish. We are painfully aware of how important it is for all of us to learn to face death, both our own and that of others about whom we care.
Both of these women took time with family and friends to talk about their own mortality. They encouraged everyone around them to deal with their feelings. They discussed their burial plans. And they sorted through their own feelings about the experience before them.
In the Episcopal Church, one of our Eucharistic prayers speaks of our conviction that in death, “Life is changed, not ended.” In my conversation with one of these women, I suggested that in some ways, the transition we know as death is similar to the transition we know as birth. I shared a story that I thought might be helpful in illustrating my point. Henri Nouwen related this story or one similar to it in his book Our Greatest Gift. Following her death, her husband told me that she had appreciated the story. Here it is:
Once upon a time, twin boys were conceived in the same womb. Weeks passed and the twins developed. As their awareness grew, they laughed for joy: “Isn’t it great that we were conceived? Isn’t it great to be alive?”
Together, the twins explored their world. When they found their mother’s cord that gave them life, they sang for joy: “How great is our mother’s love, that she shares her own life with us!”
As weeks stretched into months, the twins noticed how much each was changing. “What does it mean?” asked the one, “It means that our stay in this world is drawing to an end,” said the other. “But I don’t want to go,” said the other one. “I want to stay here always.”
“We have no choice,” said the other. “But maybe there is life after birth!”
“But how can there be?” responded the one. “We will shed our life cord, and how is life possible without it? Besides, we have seen evidence that others were here before us, and none of them have returned to tell us that there is a life after birth. No, this is the end.”
And so the one fell into deep despair, saying, “If conception ends in birth, what is the purpose of life in the womb? It’s meaningless! Maybe there is no mother after all?”
“But there has to be,” protested the other. “How else did we get here? How do we remain alive?”
“Have you ever seen our mother?” said the one. “Maybe she lives only in our minds. Maybe we made her up, because the idea made us feel good?”
And so the last days in the womb were filled with deep questioning and fear. Finally, the moment of birth arrived. When the twins had passed from their world, they opened they eyes. They cried. For what they saw exceeded their fondest dreams.
St. Paul summed up the wonder of the mystery of what God has in store for us in I Corinthians 2:9, in which he quoted two passages from the Prophet Isaiah (64:4 and 52:15):
But, as it is written, ‘What no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the human heart conceived, what God has prepared for those who love him’
Like birth and death, all transitions involve mysteries of the unknown. We incorectly assume that the status quo insulates us from the necessity of change with its uncertainties. That is why we fear and resist change. Yet our inheritance as people of faith is a bountiful reservoir of wisdom that assures us that God has wonderful things in store for us just around the next corner. Let us live our lives day by day in that kind of hope. Our two parishioners did and the hopefulness of their lives in their last days and in their passing brought hope to their families and to their friends.
We are in the days leading up to the Day of Pentecost and in a period sometimes known as Ascensiontide. The Ascension (Luke 24:44-53) is probably not the best known of the feast days on the calendar, but it is one that takes on increasing depth and importance the more you think about it and experience it.
The Ascension is not about gravity, or the physical location of heaven, or any of that. It is about God. In fact, even though it comes toward the end of Eastertide, the Ascension is most closely related in meaning to Christmas. At Christmas we celebrate the Incarnation, God becoming flesh and living among us.
What was begun at Christmas is brought full circle and proclaimed again in a different way at the Ascension. In the Incarnation, what it means to be God became fully a part of what it means to be a human being. In Jesus, the human and the divine become united in the person and life of one man. In the Ascension, this human being became a part of who God is.
It was not the spirit of Jesus, or the essence of Jesus, or the divine nature of Jesus, or the invisible part of Jesus, or the idea of Jesus, or anything like that, that ascended to the Father. It was the resurrected body of Jesus: a body that the disciples had touched, a body that ate and drank with them, a real, physical, but gloriously restored body-bearing the marks of nails and a spear. This humanity has become a living, participating part of Divinity.
The Ascension tells us that it is a good and holy thing to be a human. It is so good and holy a thing that God became human. The fullness of God now includes what it means to be a human being.
So we are able to approach God with confidence and with joy. Because we are not only dealing with the Creator of the universe and the Sovereign of all time and of eternity; we are also drawing near to the One who lived our life, has shared our fate, who knows us, and cares about us.
I'll see you in Church!
P.S. You just can't beat Charles Wesley when you need a hymn for an occasion like Ascension Day! Here's the Choir of Tewkesbury Abbey singing his rousing hymn Hail the Day That Sees Him Rise. (Be patient, the audio file loads slowly.)
There have always been and perhaps always will be those who believe God uses natural disasters to punish humanity and those who try to pinpoint the end of history when God’s judgment will be rendered.
These issues have been around so long we even have terms for theological discourse concerning them. For example, Theodicy attempts to deal with how and why a benevolent God allows evil and suffering. And, Eschatology is the study of questions about the final events of history or the ultimate destiny of humanity.
Our response to human tragedy and our beliefs about God’s intentions probably say more about our own personality and outlook on life than about God. It is understandable when people are hurting and need to assign blame for the events that caused harm. And people whose experience of life involves heavy doses of righteous indignation and divine retribution naturally want God to take charge and straighten out everybody they disapprove of.
For my own part, I’m impressed with the complexity of the physical universe. The more science discovers about things like quarks, chaos, leptons, and pheromones, the more my view of the Divine Being expands. Why would God go to so much trouble just to perplex humanity and then to destroy us? Isn’t it just as likely that God created all things for good and gave human beings the resources to discover ways to cherish and protect creation and its creatures? For me, life is one big epiphany!
When I peer into suffering, I see the God of compassion not causing harm but caring for those who are hurting. When I ponder the end of history, what comes to mind is not a so-called “rapture” or celestial supreme court, but instead a cosmic “Ah-ha” experience in which “every knee shall bow and every tongue shall swear” (Isaiah 45:23, Romans 14:11, and Philippians 2:10,11.
The issues are far from settled and the discourse will continue. Those who need a wrathful God and an end of things characterized by judgment and retribution have plenty of preachers and churches to reinforce their viewpoints. But I am grateful to be a part of a tradition that believes “the universe is good, that it is the work of a single loving God who creates, sustains, and directs it” (BCP, 846). I am privileged to foster a view of the Christian hope, which is “to live with confidence in newness and fullness of life, and await the coming of Christ in glory, and the completion of God’s purpose for the world” (BCP, 861).
What then are we to say about these things? If God is for us, who is against us?… Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Will hardship, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword?… No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. (Romans 8:31, 35, 37-39)
A line from Shakespere's play As You Like It reminds us that there are “sermons in stones.” He may have had in mind the great church buildings of the ages whose magnificent towers and arches have inspired people and pointed the way to God. The Jerusalem Temple was a sermon in stone. It was the center of the life of God's people for generations until it was destroyed by the Romans in the year 72 AD. Early Christians came to think of the Church as the new temple God was building to take its place.
After his confession of faith in Jesus as the Messiah, St. Peter was called a rock. He used this metaphor in his first epistle to explain the relationship between Christ and the believers he was binding together into the Church. Peter proclaims in this message to the baptized that God is building a new temple.
Come to him, a living stone, though rejected by mortals yet chosen and precious in God’s sight, and like living stones, let yourselves be built into a spiritual house, to be a holy priesthood, to offer spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ. - I Peter 2:4,5.
In God’s new temple, Jesus Christ is the Cornerstone. Using an image from Psalm 118, Jesus describes himself as the Cornerstone. In traditional building projects, the cornerstone has to be carefully selected, cut, and set in its position because all the other stones depend upon it. When the world rejected Jesus, God raised him up and made him the determinative building block upon which his new temple is built.
Those who place their trust in the Cornerstone will be living stones in God’s new temple. A single brick is more or less useless until it is joined with other bricks and incorporated into a building. So it is with individual Christians. To realize my destiny as one of the living stones, I must be joined to the rest of you in the temple God is building.
God’s new temple is more than something to look at – it has a function. In architecture, there is an important principle that form should follow function. In designing a building, an architect first determines the function and then let the form emerge to facilitate that function. Imagine a hospital without operating rooms, a pizza parlor without an oven, or a fire station without a place to park a fire engine. The function of God’s new temple is to proclaim the mighty works of God and express God’s infinite love to others. Everything else shapes and fortifies us for the fulfillment of that function.
We do not volunteer to be the living stones in God’s Church, God chooses us. Peter says it this way, “But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God's own people, in order that you may proclaim the mighty acts of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light” (I Peter 2:9).
The Fourth Sunday of Easter is Good Shepherd Sunday every year. Our collect and readings remind us that in the Hebrew Scriptures and in the New Testament, the middle eastern shepherd is a metaphor for the divine nature.
Like the flocks they tended, the shepherds of the Bible were often dirty and woolly, enduring sun and rain for days or weeks on end. But unlike their flocks, they were vigilant and uncomplaining, watching for danger and trouble, providing pasture and allaying thirst. The shepherd knew his flock as no one else. And the sheep followed him “because they know his voice.”
Jesus speaks of himself as “the gate for the sheep.” Some scholars contend that shepherds of the period would often place their own bodies across the small opening of the sheep enclosure at night and during times of danger, risking their lives for the sake of their flock. Perhaps it is this image of the shepherd as human gate that Jesus has in mind with this metaphor, his own presence stretched out and bridging our insecurities. “I am the gate. Whoever enters by me,” he assures us, “will be saved, and will come in and go out and find pasture” (John 10:9).
Sometimes we are like lost sheep. We live in a world where it is easy to lose direction, to lose our bearings, and to lose a sense of who we are and where we are going. It is easy to go astray. It is then that we are most vulnerable to the “thieves and bandits” of the world,. We are also most vulnerable to the more destructive animal instincts that lurk in every human heart, such as hatred, anger, and violence.
Week by week, we come to the Paschal banquet ready to keep the feast, eager to partake of the Lord’s abundance, and to be nourished for the journey ahead. But the world is still a dangerous place. The human heart listens for the voice of the shepherd who brings peace and God’s reconciling love. He is the Gate through whom we pass as we come to be fed and as we go back out to feed others in his Name.
P.S. I want to share with you one of my favorite musical settings of the twenty-third psalm. It is by composer Howard Goodall and some of you will recognize it as the theme song from a BBC television production about a flock that was tended by a very interesting shepherd. The choir is that of Christ Church Cathedral, Oxford.
A couple of weeks ago on Maundy Thursday, we read the account of Jesus and his disciples in the Upper Room. In that passage, Jesus commands his disciples to love. What kind of love has to be commanded?
My reaction to execution of terrorist Osama bin Laden motivated me to search for a fresh answer to that question.
Gay and I were on a flight home from our nephew's confirmation. Within seconds after the wheels of the aircraft touched the tarmac, the man in the seat behind us said, "We've killed bin Laden!" He had turned on his smart phone and was reading the news that had been released while we were in flight.
My first response was one of relief. That seemed reasonable, given the number of innocent lives he took and the threat he represented. Then I felt a sense of joy. That didn't seem right, given what I preach. For the last week, I've struggled with the disconnect between my human feelings and my theological views. On the one hand, I found myself saying, "Good riddance! We got him!" On the other hand, the words of Jesus to his followers rang in my ears, "I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another" (Jn. 13:34, 35).
Yes, Jesus, but you were talking to your friends who had been following you around. Osama bin Laden was our enemy. He murdered thousands of people and not just Americans. He did it in the name of God. Why can't we be happy he's dead? How does one reconcile feelings of hatred and happiness for retribution with this commandment to love?
In case you think Jesus doesn't answer such questions, here's the next epiphany that came to me. In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus said, “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbour and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be children of your Father in heaven; for he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous. For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have?” (Mt. 5:43-46a).
What kind of love has to be commanded? Certainly not the feeling of love. Feelings sort of happen on their own, not because we make them happen. It is easy to love someone who is loveable and easy to hate someone who is hateful.
The love that Jesus commands is not grounded in human emotions. Love divine is grounded in the heart and mind of God. Such love has always been God's desire and God's decision about how things need to work in God's creation. It is the love that conquers human emotions, such as fear and hatred. Jesus demonstrated how this love is expressed in his dealings with both friends and enemies. His friends denied, betrayed, and deserted him. His enemies plotted against him, mocked him, and crucified him. He could have hated both his friends and his enemies. Instead, love divine became flesh and reigned from the cross. We are commanded to love like that – not because we feel like it, but so that our natural emotions will not enslave us. True freedom is found in that way of loving. It is a merger of human will with God’s will.
There is an old rabbinical story of when Moses led the people of Israel through the parted Red Sea. The armies of Pharaoh pursued them, but the water enveloped them and they died. The angels in heaven started dancing and rejoicing. But the low voice of God was mournfully heard to say: “Dare you rejoice when my children are dying?” My Israeli friend Mishi Neubach told me that this story is printed on the first page of the handbook that is issued to every person in the Israeli Army. “Its purpose,” he said, “is to teach that while you may have to kill your enemy, you may not hate him and you may not rejoice over his death.”
Just before Holy Week, Gay and I toured the National Civil Rights Museum in Memphis. These words of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. are inscribed there: “I mourn the loss of thousands of precious lives, but I will not rejoice in the death of one, not even an enemy. Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.”
Anyone can hate. After all, the actions of bin Laden and his followers were motivated by hate. Did we not see images of them dancing in the streets after 9/11? Are we any better if we engage in similar demonstrations over the death of their leader? What is a better response?
The followers of Jesus will be recognized by the love they choose to demonstrate instead of hate. That kind of love has to be commanded. It doesn’t come naturally. Feelings such as hatred emerge from the primitive reptilian part of our brains. The love that has to be commanded is the result of the exercise of higher human intelligence seeking the mind of God. It is the inspired decision to resist emotions that harm so that God can love through us.
The love that Jesus commands us to exhibit has to be smarter and more reliable than human emotion. When Jesus sends us out like sheep in the midst of wolves, this love will make us “wise as serpents and innocent as doves” (Mt. 10:16). The reason the love that has to be commanded will ultimately triumph is that the wiser decisions leading to the welfare and peace of the world depend upon it. It is the way to true freedom for all God’s children.
While searching for some commentary regarding Holy Saturday, I came across reflections posted by The Rev. Canon Patrick Comerford on his blog. Comerford is a priest in the Church of Ireland (Anglican), Director of Spiritual Formation at the Church of Ireland Theological Institute, and a Canon of Christ Church Cathedral Dublin. While Canon Comerford’s message concerns All Souls Day, a significant portion of it has to do with Christ’s descent to the dead, also known as “The Harrowing of Hell” and that is the excerpt I have chosen to share with you on this Holy Saturday.
Before you read the excerpt, I suggest reading the following passages of scripture:
In the Eastern Orthodox tradition there are several All Souls’ Days throughout the year, especially on Saturdays. Saturday is the day Christ lay in the Tomb, and so all Saturdays are days for general prayer for the departed.
The Western tradition of the Church has traditionally contemplated the cross, and then the empty tomb … and has been totally agnostic about what happened in between, between dusk that Friday afternoon and dawn that Sunday morning. The deep joys of the Resurrection have often been overshadowed in the Western Church by the Way of the Cross, as though the Cross leads only to death. We have neglected Christ’s resting place, his tomb, and given little thought to what was happening in the Holy Sepulchre that holy weekend.
The Eastern Churches, which lack a clearly defined doctrine of Purgatory, have been more comfortable with exploring in depth the theme of Christ’s Harrowing of Hell. For, while Christ’s body lays in the tomb, he is visiting those who were dead.
The icon of the Harrowing of Hell reminds us that God reaches into the deepest depths to pull forth souls into the kingdom of light. It reminds us how much we are unable to comprehend – let alone take to heart as our own – our creedal statement that Christ “descended into Hell.”
The Apostle Peter tells us that when Christ died he went and preached to the spirits in prison “who in former times did not obey … For this is the reason the Gospel was proclaimed even to the dead, so that … they might live in the spirit as God does” (I Peter 3: 15b- 4: 8).
The Early Church taught that after his death Christ descended into hell and rescued all the souls, starting with Adam and Eve, who had died under the Fall. The Harrowing of Hell is intimately bound up with the Resurrection, the Raising from the Dead, for as Christ is raised from the dead he also plummets the depths to bring up, to raise up, those who are dead, no matter where that may be in time and in space. The Harrowing of Hell carries us into the gap in time between Christ’s death and his resurrection.
In icons of the Harrowing of Hell, Christ stands on the shattered doors of Hell. Sometimes, two angels are seen in the pit binding Satan. And we see Christ pulling out of Hell Adam and Eve, imprisoned there since their deaths, imprisoned along with all humanity because of sin. Christ breaks down the doors of Hell and leads the souls of the lost into Heaven. It is the most radical reversal we can imagine. Death does not have the last word, we need not live our lives buried in fear. If Adam and Eve are forgiven, and the Sin of Adam is annulled and destroyed, who is beyond forgiveness?
In discussing the “Descent into Hell,” Hans Urs von Balthasar argues that if Christ’s mission did not result in the successful application of God’s love to every intended soul, how then can we think of it as a success? He emphasises Christ’s descent into the fullness of death, so as to be “Lord of both the dead and the living” (Romans 5).
However, in her book Light in Darkness, Alyssa Lyra Pitstick says Christ did not descend into the lowest depths of Hell, that he only stayed in the top levels. She cannot agree that Christ’s descent into Hell entails experiencing the fullness of alienation, sin and death, which he then absorbs, transfigures, and defeats through the Resurrection. Instead, she says, Christ descends only to the “limbo of the Fathers” in which the righteous, justified dead of the Old Testament waited for his coming.
And so her argument robs the Harrowing of Hell of its soteriological significance. For her, Christ does not descend into Hell and experience there the depths of alienation between God and humanity opened up by sin. She leaves us with a Christ visiting an already-redeemed and justified collection of Old Testament saints to let them know that he has defeated death – as though he is merely ringing on the doorbell for those ready to come out.
However, Archbishop Rowan Williams has written beautifully, in The Indwelling of Light, on the Harrowing of Hell. Christ is the new Adam who rescues humanity from its past, and who starts history anew. “The resurrection … is an introduction – to our buried selves, to our alienated neighbours, to our physical world.”
He says: “Adam and Eve stand for wherever it is in the human story that fear and refusal began … [This] icon declares that wherever that lost moment was or is – Christ [is] there to implant the possibility … of another future.” [Rowan Williams, The Dwelling of the Light: Praying with Icons of Christ, p. 38.]
I ask myself: what’s the difference between the top levels of Hell and the bottom levels of Hell? Is my Hell in my heart of my own creation? In my mind, in my home, where I live and I work, in my society, in this world? Is hell the nightmares from the past I cannot shake off, or the fears for the future when it looks gloomy and desolate for the planet? But is anything too hard for Lord?
The icon of the Harrowing of Hell tells us that there are no limits to God’s ability to search us out and to know us. Where are the depths of my heart and my soul, where darkness prevails, where I feel even Christ can find no welcome? Those crevices even I am afraid to think about, let alone contemplate, may be beyond my reach. I cannot produce or manufacture my own salvation from that deep, interior hell, hidden from others, and often hidden from myself.
But Christ breaks down the gates of Hell. He rips all of sinful humanity from the clutches of death. He descends into the depths of our sin and alienation from God. Plummeting the depths of Hell, he suffuses all that is lost and sinful with the radiance of divine goodness, joy and light.
Hell is where God is not; Christ is God, and his decent into Hell pushes back Hell’s boundaries. In his descent into Hell, Christ reclaims this zone for life, pushing back the gates of death, where God is not, to the farthest limits possible. Christ plummets even those deepest depths, and his love and mercy can raise us again to new life.
[Today], we think again of Christ in the grave, and ask him to take away all that denies life in us, whether it is a hell of our own making, a hell that has been forced on us, or a hell that surrounds us. Christ reaches down, and lifts us up with him in his Risen Glory.
May these thoughts from Canon Patrick Comerford be an epiphany for you on this Holy Saturday. Here's a hymn that also seems fitting for today.