Author: John Drymon

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

We celebrate today a great feast of the Church, and I refer neither to Groundhog Day nor to Super Bowl Sunday, though the former actually has its origins in Pennsylvania German celebrations of the religious feast. The holiday which we’re observing in church today is the Feast of the Presentation of our Lord in the Temple, commonly referred to as Candlemas, as it is traditionally the day on which the candles to be used in church during the coming year were blessed by the parish priest. Another bit of trivia is that at least until the Seventeenth Century Christmas greenery was left up until Candlemas instead of being taken down on Epiphany, which is why we’ve opted to do the same this year!

Trivia aside, this is an improtant feast day as it observes a critical shift in salvation history. Much of what we celebrate at Christmas and Epiphanytide – the miracle of the Incarnation, the expansion of the Covenant to the Gentiles as implied by the visit of the Magi, the transformation of religious norms suggested by our Lord’s Baptism at the Jordan – is rendered tangible (“made manifest” to use more religious language) in the events described by St. Luke in this morning’s Gospel. Specifically, we see here the transformation of Judaism from a tribal, relatively exclusive religion into a universal, radically inclusive religion.

Now, we’ve heard time and time again how the New Covenant replaces the Old in its sacrificial requirements. Whereas offering of livestock were required by God to expiate sin or acknowledge gratitude, Christ’s sacrifice on the Cross made such offerings unecessary. This is like the basic Sunday School lesson about the difference between the Old and New Testaments and it’s absolutely correct. But I don’t want to belabor this point since it’s so familiar. Rather, I want to focus on three aspects of the New Covenant which this morning’s Gospel seems to me to highlight and which we 21^st Century people still have a long way to go in addressing – namely that in Christ barriers are broken between groups which have long been divided, especially along the lines of race, gender, and class.

Firstly, let’s consider race, because it’s the most obvious in the text. I mentioned earlier that the Old Covenant presented a tribal, relatively exclusive religious system. It was a religion given for the children of Abraham, and it did not (at least in the ancient world) claim universal applicability. The radical monotheism which would later define the three great Abrahamic Religions which claims that there is but one God over all the earth and available to all people regardless of their heritage was the result of a slow process of evolution. It always strikes me when reading something in some of the older books of the Old Testament, particularly the psalms, when God is described as being “in the council of the gods” or as “greater than the gods of the nations.” In fact, ancient Israelite religion (before the more-or-less modern, rabbinical Judaism which developed from the return from exile and into the beginning of the Common Era) was what religious scholars would call henotheistic rather than monotheistic. The God of Israel, Yahweh, was no doubt the best of all gods but not the only god out there. Other tribes had their own gods, but the God of Israel was the most powerful and thus the Children of Israel were a special people, set apart from other nations and races and their puny gods.

Now by the time of the Old Testament prophets (and certainly by Jesus’ time) this had changed, either by means of natural philosophical progress or by the activity of the Holy Spirit; I, by the way, think it was probably both. In any event, God was reckoned to be the only god who actually existed. Even so, some of the trappings of the belief in a tribal God persisted despite this development. The prophets, particularly Isaiah, had certainly envisioned a future in which all nations would look to Israel and her God for redemption, but First Century Judaism remained for the most part a religion for a particular nation- Israel.

When the Holy Family goes into the temple to do what had been commanded by the Law for their people, the Jewish people, another devout Jew, Simeon, changes the tone of the proceedings. He proclaims that the child, the Messiah, was not only “the Glory of [God’s] people, Israel,” but “[God’s] salvation… for all people, a light to enlighten the Gentiles.” As I mentioned earlier, this is implied by the worship of the Wise Men from the East, but Simeon made it explicit.

This might not be news to any of us, but its implications have been ignored far too often. While the spread of Christianity to people of many nations and tongues is, I’d maintain, a good thing, the rationale for and methods of evangelization through the centuries have left much to be desired. Too often, Christianity has been seen as a so-called “civilizing force” among people whom Westerners viewed as something less than fully human. The same ships which sent missionaries around the world in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries were transporting slaves to the West Indies and North America. In other places, notably India in the Nineteenth Century, missionaries with more sympathetic worldviews had to travel overseas as chaplains to trading companies before breaking the rules by sneaking out of port cities and telling the “natives” that God already considered them just as lovable and worthy of Grace as white folk.

Secondly, let’s look at gender dynamics in the story. The Gospel tells us that Jesus, Mary, and Joseph went to the temple for their purification as demanded by the Law of Moses. In fact there were two seperate rituals that were to take place on this visit – namely the Purification of Mary and the Presentation of Jesus. The former was required because women were considered ritually unclean and thus unable to take part in temple worship after having given birth. This requirement, I have to say, suggests a somewhat backward view of women which unfortunately carried over into Christianity. Our own Church included the rite for the “Churching of Women” up until the 1979 Book of Common Prayer excised it and replaced it with the “Thanksgiving for the Birth or Adoption of a Child.”

Now note that after the most unequivocal note of joyful affirmation in this story comes neither from a temple priest (who doesn’t even figure directly into the story as Luke tells it) nor Simeon (whose declaration of Jesus was tempered by a foreboding message about “the falling… of many in Israel” and a sword piercing the heart of the Blessed Virgin) but from the Prophet Anna, who recognized the Christ Child as the redeemer of Jerusalem.

I think Luke meant to include a female prophet in his telling of this story as a counterpoint to the (let’s face it) apparently mysoginistic practice of purifying women from their supposedly unclean biological processes. I’m not implying that the authors of the books of the New Testament would pass muster with modern feminist literary criticism; there is still a great deal of husk surrounding the radically inclusive kernel of the Gospel. Even so, just as St. Paul (by no means the most “woke” thinker by modern standards) proclaimed that in Christ there is neither male nor female, I think Luke presents a sort of feminist dyptich in this story to drive home the point that gender has nothing to do with how worthy one is of God’s Grace or how potentially competent one can be as a minister of that Grace. How long it’s taken us to start to come to terms with that. Indeed, just about a week ago was the anniversary of the ordination of Florence Li Tim-Oi, the first female Anglican priest, who was ordained to minister to the Christians of Hong Kong and Macau during the Japanese invasion of China. How wonderful that we recognize her now, but how terrible that it took 1900 years for anybody in the Church to get the message which seems so clear, at least to me, in the Gospel.

Thirdly, while it may not be obvious to us, to a First Century Jewish readership economic class would have been an obvious theme in this morning’s Gospel. We are told that the Holy Family brought “a pair of turtledoves or two young pigeons” to make the required sacrifice. What Luke does not make explicit, but what any good Jew would have known, is that the Book of Leviticus required a lamb for such a sacrifice, but made an exception for the poorest of the poor who were only required to bring two pigeons.

To get a sense of just how poor someone had to be for such a sacrifice to be acceptable we need only look to Matthew’s Gospel, in which Jesus asks “are not two sparrows sold for a farthing?” Looking at all the biblical and extrabiblical references sparrows and doves were, for sacrifical purposes, considered the same, though of course they are completely different types of birds. It is likely that the Holy Family bought and sacrificed these inexpensive birds on their visit to the temple.

Now, what is the worth of a farthing (or a “penny” as more modern translations put it)? Well, it was a tenth of a denarius, and a denarius was a common laborer’s daily wage. It doesn’t make much sense to translate this into modern currency, as economic circumstances in First Century Palestine were so different, but it will suffice to say that it’s a very small amount of money, and if people as faithful as Mary and Joseph opted to give a sacrifice of this value they must have been destitute.

Consider also, once again, the prophet Anna. We are told that she was a widow and that she more-or-less lived in the temple. She was of great age, too old to work, and likely lived off of whatever scraps those who came to make sacrifice would give her. It was this impoverished woman who recognized the great hope the Christ Child would bring to the Children of Israel, because it was this sort of person He came especially to save.

This is more a continuation of a concern of the Old Convenant into the New rather than a shift, though the focus we see on it in the New Testament is sharpened and expanded. Throughout Scripture, special preference is given to the concerns of the poor. Not only are Old Testament sacrificial obligations responsive to the poor, but those with means are required to share them. Farmers were required to leave part of their crop unharvested for the sake of the sojourner. Interest on debts held by the poor were outlawed, such debts were to be forgiven every seven years, and special assistance from tithes were to be given every three years.

Jesus expanded these obligations. Not only were we to support the poor; he told us to identify with them, to become poor for the sake of the Kingdom. As I’ve said before from this pulpit, the test by which our Lord promised to hold us accountable on the day of judgment found in St. Matthew’s Gospel was not whether we had some kind of religious experience or said some particular prayer, but whether we cared for the poor and the orphan and the widow. In caring for them, we care for him who became poor and an outcast for our sake.

Perhaps our greatest sin as a society has been ignoring this call, failing to love those whose lives most reflect the life our Lord led. Even those who give of their time and their wealth to alleviate the suffering of the poor can sometimes harbor a sense of superiority to them- believing them to be lazy or stupid or simply not somebody worthy or genuine friendship. My friends, we cannot simply view the poor as objects of our charity, but as fellow children of God, just as lovable as those with whom we more easily identify, because in the final analysis, they are more like the God we claim to serve than any of us is.

This Candlemas, let us endeavor not only to recognize the universality and radical inclusivity of the Gospel but to live as if we believe it. Just as it is for God, may it be for us – there is no Jew or Greek, slave or free, male or female, black or white, poor or rich. We’re all one in Christ Jesus, so let’s start acting like it.

+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 consider myself fortunate not to have cable television. I promise I’m not engaging in virtue signaling here; many of us know people who say that with a certain air of superiority (“Oh, television! What a plebeian pastime!”) I mean, I like tv, and I’d probably watch too much of it if I had it, and that is why I’m grateful I don’t have the temptation. I know this especially well because whenever I’m in a hotel room for some reason I love turning on the tv and finding something less than edifying, like cartoons … or cable news.

The only time I’m regularly confronted with cable television options is at the gym we go to, which has multiple large screens across the back wall, so you can plug your headphones into your treadmill or bicycle or elliptical trainer (which is what I use) and listen to any of the multiple options in front of you. Because of this I am frequently reminded of just how polarized we are as a society. You see, two competing cable news stations with very different target audiences are on that wall and the juxtaposition is often quite striking. Friday I noticed one channel was showing coverage of the impeachment trial while the other was showing the president give an address at the march for life in Washington. So whatever your political persuasion, you could probably look at one or the other and get your heart-rate elevated quite quickly, which I suppose is what you’re supposed to be doing on cardiovascular equipment, but I’m not sure that is necessarily the intention of Planet Fitness’ management.

I’m always reminded during moments like this of both the church’s unique potential (indeed, our unique responsibility) to bring about unity in the face of such stark division as well as our historic inability to do so, at least considering just how many varieties of Christians and churches there are. I suppose one could say that’s a good thing (let a thousand flowers bloom, and all that), but I remain convinced that unity should always be the goal for Christian bodies. It’s because keeping the people of God apart from each other, as Bishop Hollingsworth likes to say, is the only way the power of evil wins. Thus, creating and encouraging division is quite literally diabolical.

Consider our current reality in light of the situation we see outlined in today’s epistle reading. The Apostle Paul writes to the Christians in Corinth, whose congregation is fraught with controversy and division. The Corinthians were choosing up sides, demanding that their spiritual leader and their ethos be made the norm. “I belong to Paul!” “I belong to Apollos!” “I belong to Cephas!” Why all of this division? If God speaks to us, as we are promised, in a clear, distinct, discernible voice shouldn’t we be able to avoid such divisions in the Church? Should not the same Lord who spoke so clearly to those first disciples beside the Syrian sea, call to us, too, and bring us together. Were these early Christians in Corinth deaf to the voice of God by their own volition? Are we still?

Well, let’s take a step back, and remember how we got here; first let’s recognize the difference between disagreement and division. It is perfectly normal and acceptable that once I have devoted a great deal of careful thought and sincere prayer in the working out of some belief, I have every right to claim that I believe my opinion to be correct. Yet, perhaps, this belief of mine which I now go round purporting as truth may be diametrically opposed to your belief. You have spent just as much time analyzing the ins and outs of the matter, you have spent just as much time in prayer, and you believe your opinion to be more correct than mine (indeed, you, too, believe that your opinion is quite properly “true”). So far none of this is very controversial.

Sometimes these differences, however, lead to fractures in the church like what we read about in the epistle. For us, though, these fractures are often more insidious. There are certainly arguments that have taken place in the church throughout its history which posed the threat of literal schism (and, indeed, sometimes did result in that), but what I mean to discuss is more the growth of a particular mindset.

There is sometimes a tendency, and this is a tendency to which I am personally disposed, to define our position in the church, first along sectarian and ideological lines, and secondly, and sometimes then only with a great deal of prodding, in terms of our baptism and our shared life with all people through Christ. In other words, we get how we prioritize our connection to Christ’s Church backwards.

That is, we are often quite ready to proclaim that we are active members of Trinity Parish in the Diocese of Ohio, in the Episcopal Church, USA (or that we are progressive Christians or traditional Christians or high-church or low-church). That’s how we define our Christianity, but we fail to first and foremost allow our Christianity to define everything else because we’re uncomfortable with whose company it puts us into. Don’t get me wrong- it is good and proper for one to strongly identify with his or her (lower case ‘c’) church or party within the church; the trick is to do so without falling victim to an ugly form of sectarianism which would claim that a part is greater than the whole (that is, the capital ‘C’ Church).

All of this is to say that our situation is much more like that of the Corinthians than we might like. We cannot, in fact, always expect God to speak to us in easily discernible ways, and this will necessarily lead to some difference among us Christians. We must, nonetheless, struggle to hear the still, small voice of God in our hearts, realizing that others will hear or interpret or act on the same voice in very different ways. Once we think we’ve heard this voice, that is once we believe we have discerned the will of God in our lives, we must also be very careful not to speak as though we know for absolute certain that we have the authority of Almighty God on our side unless we’re willing to stake our lives on it, remembering that these differences exist.

That, my friends, is a sin each of us can fall into and which I sometimes fall into myself. The need to be right or the need to sound smart, which is to say, the sin of pride, can very quickly lead us to deny the Christianity (even the humanity) of the one with whom we disagree. But this is the power of the evil one saying, you don’t need that member, tear it off. He was baptized by Apollos while I belong to Cephas. And the worst thing about it, is that even when I start to pray about it, even when I set out to make the most self-abnegating sorts of prayers about it, I keep coming back to what I want out of it. Lord change his heart. No, Lord, change my heart, so I can put up with such foolishness. Is that second one any better?

It seems to me that the best thing we can do when we see the seeds of division have been sewn between ourselves and a brother or sister – whether it’s because of a different view of some religious claim or politics or just conflicting personalities – is to maintain a holy silence, to listen for what God might be saying to us in the quietness of our hearts. This is important, because it has nothing to do with me trying to change God’s mind or make somebody else more like me or even my trying to understand somebody else (which itself has just a twinge of selfishness, because it assumes that I need to be able to understand them). Maybe whatever needs to happen in that relationship is better known to God than it is to me, and I just need to be quiet.

There’s a story I like about a Fourth Century church leader named Theophilus. Theophilus was an Archbishop in Alexandria when he had a dispute in his Diocese and traveled to the desert to seek the sage advice of the hermit Abba Pambo. Upon reaching Abba Pambo’s hermitage, the Archbishop was greeted warmly by the brethren, yet Abba Pambo said nothing. The other monks left, leaving Theophilus and Pambo alone, and still Abba Pambo said nothing. After a long while, the Archbishop broke the silence: “Father, say something to me that I might be edified.” Abba Pambo replied “If you are not edified by my silence, you will not be edified by my speech.” Theophilus needed more than sage advice. He needed to quiet down and open himself up to what God was trying to tell him.

And, if we glean nothing else from such prayer, even if we are not yet ready or able to hear the still, small voice of God, we can at least find a greater comfort. We can take comfort that despite our inability to comprehend the mind of God, God still knows us completely. And then, even when we cannot understand why our divisions remain unhealed, we can rest in the heart of the one who knows no division and find in that place the perfect Communion which for all our pettiness and petulance and peevishness cannot permit the dividing walls we’ve constructed to stand. May that spiritual communion then become manifest in our words, in our actions, in our relationships that all our divisions may cease and that Christ may be all in all.

+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.

In light of the New Revised Standard Version‘s translation of ίδού not as “behold” (as in “behold, the lamb of God”) but “here is”, a friend of mine shared a blog post in which ίδού or its Hebrew equivalent הן are given equally pedestrian translations. Some of my favorites are “Listen, pal, I make a covenant with you,” “Look, buddy, the virgin shall be with child,” and “the Lord said to Satan, ‘listen, guy, all that [Job] has is in your power.’” Another friend responded to this blog by pointing out, quite correctly, that these overly casual translations at least retain the imperative mood of the Greek and Hebrew originals, unlike the NRSV‘s “here is.”

Perhaps I am too easily amused, but I find this almost as hilarious as the fact that there still exist screen-shots from the early days of Google Translator, when if you entered the phrase “Κύριε έλέησον” it would render it in English not as “Lord, have mercy” but as “Sir, take it easy.” Nobody mention this to those who support liturgical revision; I’d not be surprised if some might take this as a possibility for the next prayerbook.

Now when I mentioned to Annie the other day that I was going to be opening my sermon complaining about the NRSV, she gave me a look as if to say “no? Really?” I realize this is a pattern for me, but I don’t think I’m just being pedantic. In this instance, I think it’s important that John the Baptist is speaking in the imperative mood, because he is making more than a statement of fact (“here is the lamb of God”) but is calling on his audience and, indeed, on us to pay attention- “Behold!”

I say this as a preacher who occasionally (okay… regularly) errs on the side of teaching rather than preaching in my sermons, for saying here is this or that exegetical issue or theological argument rather then behold!, look!, Jesus! I think both are necessary, but sometimes we all need the latter. Sometimes instead of “here is” we need “look, buddy.”

John the Baptist gives us an example not only of what the prophet or the preacher should be about, though, but what each of us is called to do. Perhaps not all of us are trained and educated to carefully exegete scripture, keeping context and original languages and two thousand years of biblical studies in mind. Perhaps not all of us can present a reasoned, logically consistent theological argument. But we can all of us Christians point away from ourselves and to the Savior, just as John the Baptist did, and say “behold, the lamb of God.”

We find ourselves this week between the feasts of the Confession of Saint Peter and the Conversion of Saint Paul, in what has become designated the week of prayer for Christian unity. I am thus reminded of a line from that old hymn which is one of our own presiding bishop’s favorites: “If you cannot preach like Peter, if you cannot pray like Paul, you can tell the love of Jesus and say ‘he died for all.’”

Inherent in this act is getting out of the way and letting that gracious proclamation bear whatever fruit it will. John did not stop his two disciples and say “let’s consider the implications of what I just said.” He let them go, because he knew his mission was always to point away from himself and toward the one coming after him. This enabled on of those disciples, Andrew, to proclaim the same good word, the same “behold” to his brother Peter, who was to become the leader of the Apostles. John the Baptists did not say “Look, Andrew, don’t get ahead of yourself. Come back to Jordan River Seminary for three years before you go off proclaiming the Messiah has come.” He let him go, because he knew this was a message all should hear and all should likewise proclaim.

None of us is unqualified for this task and none of us is exempt from it either. May God give us the conviction to bear witness just as John the Baptist and Andrew and Peter and all those saints who have gone before us in faith and made the good confession that Jesus is Lord of all.

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