Author: John Drymon

+In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Let me begin with a disclaimer; I know that’s always a hopeful sign for one of my sermons. There are two terms which can get many modern theologians, biblical scholars, and clergy to “dig in” as it were, and brook no further conversation with their interlocutor. They are sorts of shibboleths, and if one disagrees with the prevailing sentiment (as I do) one must be very careful to know whether bringing it up or pushing back is even worth it.

These two terms are substitutionary atonement and supersessionism. Each of these refers to a view which probably the vast majority of “people in the pews” would find entirely non-controversial. The former simply means a view which holds that a vital way of understanding what happened on the cross is to understand Christ’s suffering as being our just reward for sin, not his as the sinless one, and he experiences that on our behalf. The latter simply means that the New Covenant instituted by Christ fulfills and in a sense supersedesthe Old Covenant, rather than standing alongside it as, you might say, “two equally valid options.”

Now, I believe both of these things because I think the scriptures make them rather unambiguously true, but this means that many of my colleagues would view me as a theological troglodyte if I pushed it too hard. This doesn’t really bother me, but it’s always wise to consider what one is able to hear and what will immediately cause one to stop listening, no matter how clear and nuanced I think I’m being. Unfortunately there are many straw-men which have been set up in these conversations; claims that one who believes in substitutionary atonement is somehow supporting child abuse or that one who holds the traditional understanding of covenant theology must therefore be an antisemite are the two most popular, and as you might be able to guess, that shuts the conversation down pretty quickly.

This is all to say two things. First, stick with me if you fall into the skeptical category here. Second, and more importantly, pay careful attention to the Epistle readings over the next month and a half. Today we start a quick jaunt through the highlights of the Epistle to the Hebrews, where these themes will come up again and again. I take some perverse pleasure in the fact that my theological “frenemies” will not only have to hear from this masterwork of covenant theology over the next several weeks, but that for today they will have had to decide whether to tackle this or divorce, which along with abortion and gay marriage probably constitutes what we could call the “third rail” of preaching. (In my defense, I’m not intentionally avoiding that one, but I did preach on it three years ago when these reading came up last, and I’m sure you remember my sermons from back then.)

So, in the first four verses of Hebrews, its prologue, we get the precis for all that follows in the letter: God spoke in various ways through the prophets of the Old Testament, calling the children of Israel back into faithfulness to that covenant, but now He has sent the fulfillment of all that came before. He had the stamp of human nature but the radiance of the divine light (which the Church Fathers quite rightly understood as referring to Christ’s dual nature- his full humanity and divinity), and having made purification for our sins, he has been raised and glorified and now rules over all creation.

You all know that my favorite book of the bible is John’s Gospel, but I have to give an honorable mention to the Epistle to the Hebrews here. John’s prologue beautifully presents the mystery of the Incarnation in its eighteen verses; but here Hebrews presents not only the Incarnation but covenant theology, the Atonement, the Resurrection and Ascension, and Christ’s eternal Kingship succinctly and arguable just as beautifully in four verses.

Unfortunately, since the lectionary assumes the faithful are unlikely to sit for too much on a Sunday morning, our reading skips eighteen verses of a helpful explanation distinguishing the angelic from the human and the divine, though those who prayed Morning Prayer on St. Michael’s day on Wednesday read most of this. We do, then, pick up at the implication of this Christian cosmology. It was fitting that God himself should stop using angelic intermediaries and become a part of his own Creation, that those made in his own image should one day participate in his own glory despite having gone astray so many ages ago.

Again, I think we are ill-served by the lesson appointed not going to the end of the chapter, for here, I think, is the whole point:

Since therefore the children share in flesh and blood, he himself likewise partook of the same nature, that through death he might destroy him who has the power of death, that is, the devil, and deliver all those who through fear of death were subject to lifelong bondage. For surely it is not with angels that he is concerned but with the descendants of Abraham. Therefore he had to be made like his brethren in every respect, so that he might become a merciful and faithful high priest in the service of God, to make expiation for the sins of the people. For because he himself has suffered and been tempted, he is able to help those who are tempted.

Christ’s life and death, you see, are not some mere morality play. It is not primarily, but only implicitly, a story about how we ought to be selfless and suffer gladly for the sake of others. That is the most important moral application of Christ’s life and death, but it is not the primary meaning.

The primary meaning is one of cosmic importance. It is not a fable, but a true story, of God’s victory over sin, death, and the devil. It is a true story about how Jesus of Nazareth was not just a great man or a prophet or a teacher, but very God himself who came to save us.

The angels do not need this; they had already seen God face-to-face, had already chosen with full knowledge and free will whether to serve the Lord of Life or the Lord of Death. And while God cares for the angels–just as he cares for the birds of the air and the flowers of the field–how much more does he care for the descendants of Abraham, for the human race, whom alone in all the universe he has created in his own image? Infinitely more. Infinitely more.

This is why, forgive the substitutionary atonement, he died to pay the debt of Adam’s sin and ours. This is why, forgive the supersessionism, God willed that all humankind, of every race and clan, should gain salvation not by their own righteousness, not by some complicated calculus applied to our moral ledger, but by his own faithfulness to the promise he once made to Abraham, by the righteousness reckoned our forerunner in the faith, for nothing more than saying “yes, Lord, I go where you send me.”

Because I am easily distracted I don’t know yet whether this is the first in a six-week-long series on Hebrews or if I’m going to bounce back and fourth between the Old Testament, Epistle, and Gospel as I normally do. I think I’ve done one sermon-series here, several years ago, when we read from the Epistle to the Romans all summer long, and Hebrews is certainly ripe for the same treatment. In any event, keep this in mind as we read from Hebrews over the next several weeks. We have one great high priest who can sympathize with us and save us, for he is the true and living God, who still makes intercession for us, who still reigns from his throne of glory in heaven, who still saves the sinner who flees to him with contrition and sincerity. Thanks be to God, that Christ Jesus, God himself, is for us for ever.

+In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

+In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

On Wednesday I celebrated twelve years as a priest, and I was reminded of how long and complex the ordination process in our church is. This is mostly to the good. While some people experience the process as inhumane, I was fortunate not to have artificial roadblocks set up against me when I was going through. That said, and this is sometimes a surprise to people, it wasn’t just a matter of going to seminary for three years. There are no fewer than three committees one has to meet with multiple times over the course of five or six years if the process is going at the most efficient clip, one has to write one’s bishop a minimum of four times a year (on the traditional ember days) throughout this period of time, there are standardized exams in the last year of seminary which one must pass (now there is the possibility of remediation if one or more fails one of the seven sections, but in my day one simply had to wait a year and retake them), and this is not to mention the battery of medical and psychiatric evaluations. I bring this up because in both the Old Testament and Gospel lessons today, we see some folks doing “the Lord’s work” without a long process or a bishop laying on hands or any other official licensing. We can understand why Moses’ men and Jesus’ disciples would have been a little less than thrilled.

First, in the passage from Numbers we learnt of Moses being overwhelmed by the demands set on him as God’s agent among the children of Israel. So, God had him appoint seventy men and He put some of the “spirit” that rested on Abraham and placed it upon those seventy, that they might share in the administration of His people. This is a foreshadowing of the priesthood which was to develop in the early church. While at first there were only Apostles and those who came to replace them, known as bishops, there came a time in which the Christian population grew so large that they could not do all the work of the Church. So, they let some of the spirit given to them—the Grace of their ministry—rest upon qualified, designated people who came to be known as presbyters, or priests.

Anyway, Moses ordained those seventy men to help him in carrying out God’s work. But then, as we heard, there were two elders of the tribe, called Eldad and Medad, who began prophesying in the camp. They were not present for the solemn ordination liturgy that day in the desert, and yet they showed signs of the same Spirit, the same Grace, which rested upon the other seventy. This made Joshua most upset. “My Lord Moses, forbid them!” he exclaimed. They had not been ordained properly! They had not signed the declaration of conformity! And yet, they were obviously given gifts to do God’s work among the people. Thus, Moses rebuffed Joshua; “Are you jealous for my sake?” he asked. “Would that all the Lord’s people were prophets, and that the Lord would put his spirit upon them.”

Perhaps Joshua had fallen victim to a certain kind of elitism, what today we would call clericalism, which holds that only those properly vetted and duly ordained can possibly be leaders of God’s people. Perhaps it was also a bit of legalism, an obsession with policy and procedure which can at times frustrate the actions of the Holy Spirit. Probably it was a little of both, and thank God Moses’ response was clear. He might as well have said, “Get over it! Your high view of your own position and your obsession with rules cannot stand in the way of God’s will.”

Jesus’ response to the apostles was very much the same. The apostles didn’t much care for this other chap who was casting out demons in Jesus’ name but who lacked the proper credentials to do so. Jesus’ response was much like Moses’ to his countryman: “Do not forbid him; for no one who does a mighty work in my name will be able soon after to speak evil of me. For he that is not against us is for us.” Perhaps the disciples also had fallen victim to that elitism, which today we would call clericalism. Perhaps it was also a bit of legalism. Probably it was a little of both. And one way of interpreting Jesus’ rebuke of the apostles is the same as how we might interpret Moses’ rebuke of Joshua: “Get over it! Your high view of your own position and your obsession with rules cannot stand in the way of God’s will.”

The message I get from these texts is that clericalism is deadly and an inordinate reliance on rules is deadly. This isn’t to say we ought not to have a high view of the priesthood. It is a gift from God to the Church. This is not to say that rules about how the life of the Church proceeds are all bad. There are certain Sacramental functions and certain areas of Church leadership in which only a priest is permitted to function for very good reasons. However, this text is a warning to me, lest I become so enamored with clerical authority that I withhold the privilege to serve and to lead from all of you, by either being an autocrat or by just doing all the work because I think I’m the only one who knows how to do it the right way. These texts should also send a message to all of you. I think the message is something like: “Don’t get complacent!”

Certainly, you can be happy, if you wish to be, that you have a priest here to do the priestly work of preaching and teaching and dispensing the sacraments and providing pastoral care and leading this parish. But, don’t let me withhold from you the ability to serve and to lead in ways which are meaningful to you. If I do, call me out on it, just like Moses did to Joshua and Jesus did to his apostles. I promise I won’t bite your head off, because I recognize how much this church means to so many of you. I realize how dangerous it is to preach a sermon like this, but take it at face value, because I really believe that any one of you might be an Eldad or a Medad, like we met in today’s Old Testmant, or an unlicensed exorcist, like we met in today’s Gospel. Step up and look around. There’s plenty of work to do.

+In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

+In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

I don’t think it speaks particularly well of human nature or our current discourse, that we seem to take such glee in seeing arrogant people hoisted with petards of their own hubris. Schadenfreude is not, as the youngsters say, a “good look.” I am not immune. I took some perverse pleasure in watching one of the recent documentaries about the Fyre Festival, the 2017 music festival “planned” (to use the word very loosely) my con-man Billy McFarland and rapper Ja Rule. It was, I confess, rather cathartic seeing shallow people with more money than sense having to go through some discomfort and knowing that McFarland was sent to prison. So, I get it. I get how people feel giddy about Michael Avenatti getting locked up or watching Theranos founder Elizabeth Holmes moving toward the same fate. This is understandable, but it is not good for our souls, I assure you. Schopenhauer thought it was the worst trait in human nature, “an infallible sign,” he said, “of a thoroughly bad heart and profound moral worthlessness.” If you’re not a fan of Nineteenth Century German philosophers, I’m not either for what it’s worth, but you should be a fan of Scripture, which says essentially the same thing in Proverbs 24:17 and 18

Rejoice not when thine enemy falleth, and let not thine heart be glad when he stumbleth, lest the Lord see it, and it displeases him, and he turn away his wrath from him.

I say all this as a way to caution us as we consider Jesus’ rebuke of the disciples for their argument about who was greatest.

When we read Scripture, I think it is important to take note of whom we are identifying with. This is one of those questions that, at least in my day, ordinands were often asked by bishops and Commissions on Ministry and Standing Committees and the like. “With whom do you particularly identify in the bible?” I suppose one is asked this question to weed out those whose God complex might be revealed by answering “Jesus, of course.” It’s worth asking ourselves, too. With whom did you identify in the Gospel lesson we just heard: Jesus, the petulant disciples, or the child whose simple faith is sufficient to inherit the Kingdom?

If our immediate response is “boy, I really loved how Jesus took those disciples down a peg!”, as it usually is for me, we’ve got to be really careful. I’ve got to be really careful, because probably most of the time I’m more like the haughty disciple than I’d like to admit. Most of the time, probably, I’m the one who needs to be taken down a peg.

We might not recognize the full force of this “take down” in today’s Gospel because of an important cultural difference between contemporary culture and that of the First Century. We tend, these days, to both romanticize and privilege childhood. We wish we could see the world through the curious eyes of our kids, and we appreciate that they need support to grow, and parents (I’ve been told) can spend a great deal of time, energy, and money curating the early years of their progeny. This is neither altogether good nor altogether bad, of course, but it is certainly very different from how a bunch of first century Palestinian Jewish dudes would have seen it. To them, and to most people until relatively recently, children would have been seen as little adults who weren’t terribly good at being efficient members of the household; they might well die, so one shouldn’t get to attached, but eventually the kid might grow into a good farmer or fisherman or whatever. I’m not making a normative claim here; that’s just how it was. If I were to make a normative claim, I might suggest that there is a happy medium somewhere between the putatively benign neglect of the ancient world and the helicopter parenting of some contemporary societies, but not having children it is very easy to get dangerously out of my own lane here.

The point is that when Jesus pulls the child into the scene, his audience, the disciples, would not have been been put in mind of some idealized view of innocence and simplicity. Instead, they would have seen a figure whose place is society was considered rather marginal and who, at best, had merely the potential of being considered useful or important. And even that’s a long shot. Jesus, I think, is saying, this kid has so little social status that it wouldn’t occur to him to be arrogant or presumptuous. That’s what a citizen of the Kingdom of Heaven is like.

You’ve all heard me say that it’s not our job to build the Kingdom of God; that presuming we can is like the hubris of the disciples or, for that matter, of Billy “Fyre festival” McFarland. Thank God, because I was promised mansions and feasts and King David leading the choir, not FEMA tents and cold cheese sandwiches and rock bands that cancel last minute. Even so, as a people set part, whose primary citizenship is in heaven, we are called to try to live a little bit like we’re already there. I think Jesus is telling us today that this means trying to live without hubris and the will to power and everything that makes us feel like we might somehow be greater or more important in the grand scheme of things than the least of our brothers or sisters. St. Gregory of Nyssa put it this way:

Let vanity be unkown among you. Let simplicity and harmony and a guileless attitude weld the community together. Let each remind himself that he is not only subordinate to the brother at his side, but to all. If he knows this, he will truly be a disciple of Christ.

+In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.