Sermons

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

For some years now, there has been an unfortunate suspicion of expertise in the broader culture. Lest we think that evidence and reason have only recently given way to “vibes” in how we reach conclusions, the historian Richard Hofstadter noted the deep-seated nature of this approach sixty years ago in his important book Anti-Intellectualism in American Life. No doubt things have grown worse recently, with social media propagating bad faith claims to truth. Hofstadter was not without fault–indeed, those of political persuasions not his own could be forgiven for considering him a pompous jerk–I think he highlighted a reality about how our distrust of expertise and academic consensus has for a long time led us astray.

Well, as much as virologists and climatologists and the rest may have come in for especial scrutiny in recent years, I think those in my own line of work have experienced this reality for a bit longer. Whether it was the radical reformation which gave us the Anabaptist and Pietiest movements within Protestantism, the nineteenth century “Great Awakenings” which brought modern evangelicalism and a host of new, peculiarly American religions, or just our own seemingly primordial national inheritance of reliance on self, theological and biblical expertise have been sometimes suspect.

We may lament this, and I do, but even then, it is the reality in which we live. It does, however, make more acute the dangers posed by a tongue-unbridled, as James calls it. I think we can appreciate the many ways in which the tongue can “set the world ablaze” to use James’ evocative metaphor, whether it be through harsh words or gossip or the spreading of falsehood generally. But here the apostle speaks in particular about those who would teach the faith, the “tongue of a teacher” drawing on the image from today’s Old Testament lesson from Isaiah. While the prophet rightly celebrates the gift God has given him, the Apostle provides the needed, concomitant warning–not many should be teachers, because getting it wrong can lead many astray.

This is a responsibility I take seriously. I know many colleagues who feel the same way, but what I said about expertise at the beginning notwithstanding, just because somebody is “in the business” as it were, or had the right kind of theological education or whatever, doesn’t mean he or she is always as attentive to this as is desirable, which is why you’ll sometimes hear what I called “bad hot takes” in last week’s sermon from pulpits from time to time. I hope this isn’t the case, but you may even hear them from this pulpit, because even as hard as I try, I’m sure I get it wrong sometimes.

I think, though, that one can’t get it too wrong if he or she is led primarily by the Gospel itself. As complicated as the finer points of theological reflection and biblical criticism can be, the central message–that of God’s Grace–is pretty simple. The bit which controls the horse and the rudder which controls the ship are simple devices which control something larger and more complicated and more dangerous if out of control. So too is the central message of the Good News a simple message that should and can serve to keep the whole church moving in the right direction.

I lost a friend this week, a priest named Everett who served in Oklahoma. He was only forty-eight years old and leaves behind his wife Kristen and three children–Maggie, Cate, and Conrad–so I’d ask you, of your charity to pray for all of them. It was quite a shock to all of us, he’d been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer just sixteen days prior to his death, and while he rejoices in the nearer presence of the Lord, for which we are thankful, his absence will certainly leave a void.

Anyway, Fr. Everett got a bit of attention in both church and secular press for being the Rector of the fastest growing church in the country (Christ Church, Tulsa) which had grown from 40 to 400 in its weekly Sunday attendance. So he got interviewed by a lot of outlets, and it was always heartening to read in those interviews that while he was of course working diligently and allowing programs to pop up as the Holy Spirit led in that parish, there wasn’t anything gimicky or even particularly “creative” about what he was doing there. He was just preaching and teaching the Gospel of God’s Grace.

So he’s going to be an inspiration to me, as have been so many others who cut through all the extraneous stuff to get to the heart of the matter, knowing that operating under the direction of the Holy Spirit, being led by the heart of the Gospel instead of all the concerns we may array around it to try to complicate it, cannot lead us astray. And what’s more, as Isaiah tells us, this simple truth, when on the tongue of a teacher, can sustain the weary with just a word.

+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.

It’s sometimes hard for many twenty-first century Westerners to appreciate the taboos of other cultures past and present, and perhaps one of the most strange to some would be how we regard the creature we call “man’s best friend.” Perhaps this is less common in Findlay, but I’ve spent a fair amount of time in cities in both North America and Europe, where it is nothing to see somebody’s dog in a cafe or shop. I attended a wedding a few months ago in which the couple’s dog was present which, call me a stick-in-the-mud, I thought was a bit much, but In suspect it wouldn’t have occurred as odd to about ninety-percent of those gathered.

Conversely, I’ve also spent time in places where dog-owners were at least a bit apologetic and sometimes properly secretive about having a pet dog. These were mostly Christians in Muslim countries, which may not be surprising. Islam, as I understand it, generally holds that dogs may be necessary evils if they’re used for guarding livestock or hunting, but keeping them indoors and treating them like part of the family is largely considered illicit. So the Pakistanis and Palestinians and Turks whom I’ve known to keep dogs as pets are generally seen as being too Christianized or Westernized, hence covert canine companionship is the order of the day. This isn’t unique to Islam, though. Folks in Sub-Saharan Africa, the non-Muslim parts of the Subcontinent, and East Asia (excluding Japan) are, at least as I understand it, generally not places where normal folks would keep a dog for anything other than practical purposes.

(As a side note, I am pleased to say as a cat-person, that felines are generally more acceptable in a lot of these cultures. This is not, however, universal. I remember a few years ago I hired an Amish man down in Kenton to repair our dining room table. I was waiting outside with one of his sons when I saw a cat and asked, “Oh, what is your cat’s name?” to which the child said something like, “it doesn’t have a name, English. It’s a cat.”)

Anyway, in at least some of these cultures the primary objection to dogs as pets revolves around ideas of cleanliness and purity. Dogs can be found in junk yards and roaming around the outskirts of villages, eating whatever they come upon and lying in whatever hole they find. Who would want to introduce their filth into a home!? They are outsiders, outcasts, ritually unclean and their taint is a danger to a sort of primal human urge to see the impure as dangerous.

No doubt this was the general opinion of first-century Jews, which gives some context to the exchange that Jesus has with the Syrophoenician woman in this morning’s Gospel, in which the latter is likened to a dog. We must be circumspect in how we interpret this passage. I may have seen more bad “hot takes” on this incident in sermons and commentaries than I have in regard to any other Gospel passage. Jesus is not being a racist here. Jesus is not committing that sin and being corrected by his interlocutor. This isn’t to say that Jesus did not grow in his understanding of his mission; he is fully human as well as fully divine, and an aspect of that humanity is certainly growth through prayer and discernment. But he did not sin, and if you pull at that Christological string, the whole tapestry unravels.

Rather, I believe that in this exchange, Jesus was intentionally parroting an argument he knew would be in the minds of the bystanders in order to give the Syrophoenician woman the opportunity to say what he almost certainly already believed–namely that his grace and power were gifts for those outside the fold of the people of Israel. The prevailing wisdom would have been that like a junkyard dog, a gentile was ritually polluted and polluting, that merely being in her company was dangerous. We know from the beginning of the pericope that Jesus did not want to be seen going into her house, perhaps because he wanted to get in, cast the demon out of her daughter, and get out without causing too much fuss, his time not having yet come to reveal the entire truth of his identity and mission. Being foiled in his attempt at secrecy, though, an object lesson was at hand.

To push this a bit further, I wonder if Jesus’ audience here fully understood what I think he was trying to teach. I think the implication is a great deal more radical than saying that the ritually unclean outsider should be given some consolation. Rather, I think what Jesus might be trying to imply (particularly when we understand this episode in light of everything else he said and did), is that the Syrophoenician woman understood something about herself that others could not recognize about themselves–namely, that whatever their privileges by right of birth into God’s people, they weren’t any different.

We aren’t any different, either. Whatever pride we might take in any accident of the estate in which we find ourselves–I’m a proud American, I’m a cradle Episcopalian born to countless generations of Episcopalians, I’m a pillar of the community, whatever–we are born unclean by virtue of the stain of original sin, and even with the mystical laver of Holy Baptism, we are still in constant need of God’s grace. The only difference is that those without the benefit of being in the “in-crowd” can more easily see their need for the Savior.

It’s always dangerous to say that you wish Jesus had said or did something he didn’t, so I say the following with as much humility as I can muster. I wish Jesus had punctuated this encounter by turning around to those who had seen this exchange and said, “do you think you’re better than her, then?” In all events, I think we are best served by asking ourselves that question, and I hope we can all say, “no, not really. I need Jesus just as much. I’m just as much like the dog under the table, needing crumbs of grace and mercy to get on in life.”

To return at last to dogs, considering how I opened this sermon, isn’t it fascinating that keeping them as pets, recasting them from dangerous, dirty beasts to man’s best friend, seems almost uniquely a practice endemic to those parts of the world we would once have called Christendom. Just maybe it’s because deep down, maybe unconsciously we recognize that we were once unworthy even to gather up the crumbs under God’s table, but we have been made Jesus’ best friend. Don’t tell the rectory carts but it almost makes me want to be a dog person.

+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.

So, those of you who were here last week will remember that I left you with a teaser. I know how frustrating that can be. So, as promised, here is part the second.

But first, a reminder of the ground we covered last week. A large crowd had just been fed by Jesus and decided they wanted to make him king and would do it by force if need be. They had misunderstood the message Jesus intended to communicate by feeding them. Instead of promising to feed people with regular old bread as their earthly king, Jesus meant to communicate that as the King of Heaven he would provide heavenly food, spiritual sustenance, to all who would believe in him. The difficulty the crowd had—and that we have—is in seeing past our immediate temporal concerns in order to focus on enduring spiritual matters; and the question I left you with was about how we might attain the sort of focus and vision which permits us to see things through the lens of eternity.

So that’s where we are, and that’s obviously where the crowd remained at the beginning of today’s Gospel. “Very truly, I tell you,” Jesus addressed them, “you are looking for me not because you saw signs, but because you ate your fill of the loaves.” And then he gives them the same charge I mentioned last week: “Do not work for the food that perishes, but the food that endures for eternal life, which the Son of Man will give you.” In other words, try to see past your immediate concerns to that which will sustain you forever.

Now, when we think about someone who we might think has achieved this shift in focus, this appreciation of things eternal, we might be tempted to envision a caricature, and think that this is the ideal, an ideal we’ll never reach. I envision some old monk living as a hermit, totally detached from the world, spending twenty-four hours a day meditating on the divine mysteries. In fact, this caricature does not have a solid touchstone in the Christian tradition, because even those few who become hermits do so after spending years in a community with other monks, and they still rejoin that community regularly for Mass.

In any event, it does not seem to me that this is the proper method for focusing on enduring, heavenly things (at least for the vast majority of us) and I don’t think that this is what Jesus is getting at. The Christian worldview is not world-denying or body-denying. It does not reject the physical world as something we have to get beyond so that we can float about in a disinterested state. Rather we are saved in the world, and it is through our ordinary, physical, contingent existence that we find the sustaining savour of heavenly, spiritual, enduring things.

And there is one gift which we are given in the midst of this old world which more than anything under the sun accomplishes this shift in focus, and ultimately the transformation of our whole lives, that we might be a holy people. And it is found in ordinary, physical, contingent stuff. Bread and Wine. Nothing can be more common, more ordinary. On their own, just plain bread and wine sustain us and gladden our hearts. But when we raise them up before God the Father, when we give thanks for them and for the gift of His Son’s Crucifixion and Resurrection, they gain a whole new power to sustain and gladden in a very different way. They become the Body and Blood of Christ—not just in a manner of speaking, but truly—and they give us a taste, quite literally, of all that matters, of all that endures.

We have many gifts from God, many things for which to be thankful, some of them miraculous. The children of Israel were miraculously given manna in the wilderness, but in today’s Gospel Jesus said it gets even better than that. Later in John’s Gospel, Jesus puts it even more bluntly: “Your fathers ate the manna in the wilderness, and they died. This is the bread which comes down from heaven, that a man may eat of it and not die.” Though the children of Israel ought to have been thankful for the manna, though we must remember to be thankful for all the gifts, small and great, which we receive from the beneficent hand of our Lord, the gift for which we may be most thankful is the gift of the Eucharist, for its power to sustain is eternal.

“I am the bread of life,” Jesus said. “Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.” When I administer Communion and say “the Body of our Lord Jesus Christ keep you in everlasting life” I’m not using a complex metaphor. I think most of you know that I’m not opposed to complexity or metaphors. I’m not a literal thinker or a fundamentalist by any stretch of the imagination. But on this matter, I’m being pretty direct, because I think it’s a matter on which Jesus was being pretty direct and the Church throughout its long history has until fairly recently been pretty consistent in affirming that. And of course, you’re welcome to disagree and I’m sure we can maintain the fellowship of enjoined on us by Christ in spite of it. Anyway, when I say it’s the Body of Christ, it’s because I think it is (and, of course, because that’s what the prayerbook says to say it), and when I say “keep you in everlasting life” it’s because I live in the hope that the sustenance we gain from regular reception of the Holy Communion really does have the power to preserve us, Body and Soul, into eternity.

But in addition to its mystical power to sustain, the Eucharist, if we will receive it worthily and mindfully, does succeed in refocusing our attention to heavenly things, to things which endure. This is because in eating the Bread and drinking the Wine we are partaking in the heavenly banquet. As one friend of mine once put it, probably more verbosely than he needed to do, “at the altar, we receive a foretaste of the eschatological convivium.” For all the wordiness of that phrase, it simply means that in the midst of this life we are given a taste of the life of the world to come every time we eat this Bread and drink this Wine. If we are attentive to this fact, I strongly believe that our weekly or even more frequent reception of the Eucharist will help us to “pass through things temporal so that we lose not the things eternal” as last week’s collect put it. So, may we all be thankful for Christ’s greatest gift to the Church, the Eucharist, and may we be as eager to receive of its benefits as the crowd that day on the shore of Galilee who said “Sir, give us this bread always.”

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