Sermons

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

There is an exercise I undertake with confirmands during our session on the Creeds and Councils of the late-classical and early medieval church. It’s a sort of “straw poll” where I ask them to write down on a piece of paper whether they believe Jesus is more human than divine or vice versa. Usually the results are about fifty-fifty, though every time I’ve done this (about a dozen times now) at least one student is clever enough to realize this is a trick question. The point is really two-fold. Firstly, it is to show that while we believe Christ to be both fully human and fully divine, we seem to have a preternatural tendency to err to one side or the other. This, I hope, makes the Christological debates of the patristic era a little more understandable. Secondly, and more importantly, it is to begin to discuss why it is so incredibly important that regardless of that preternatural tendency, that we believe in Christ’s dual-nature. It has everything to do with how we appreciate the atonement, how Jesus’ death on the cross was, in fact, salutary. To put it as simply as I do to those confirmands, if Christ was not human it was no sacrifice at all (just a sort of gnostic play-acting like I suggested last week), and if he wasn’t God, then that straw-man I mentioned last week (where God could be reckoned capricious and vindictive) might not be a straw-man after all.

I’m not certain, but I suspect most of us are prone to this error for purely understandable reasons. Perhaps it has something to do with how we’re spiritually “wired”, as it were, or what issues we happen to be facing in life. Some may find it comforting to focus on Christ’s humanity to the detriment of his divinity because one is besieged by so many tragedies and temptations that they need to hold on to the image of the one who faced even worse but remained faithful to the last. Others may be prone to the converse emphasis because they need the reminder that Jesus is Lord of all and in his beneficent reign will make all things right because he has the power to do so.

I admit, I tend to fall into this latter category, so I’m grateful that our lesson from Hebrews this week focuses on Christ’s humanity. I need that reminder more than I need to be reminded of his divinity. Last week, you may recall, our lesson reminded us that Christ held “the stamp of divine nature”, that he was luminous with God’s Glory, that he upholds the universe by his word of power. This week we get the flip-side of the Christological coin:

Since then we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession. For we have not a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin.

Maybe I’m the outlier, here, but I tend not to think too much about Christ’s having been tempted, and I think this means I might be missing an important aspect of Jesus’ life. Yes, we hear the story of Satan tempting Jesus in the desert every year on the first Sunday in Lent. But beyond that, I at least don’t tend to carry that over to thinking about other times when our Lord must have been tempted as we are. We know of his agony in the garden, when he wished the cup to be taken from him, but its buried in those long passion gospels we hear during Holy Week, and we can easily skip over it.

When else must our Lord have been tempted? Perhaps his rebuke of Peter’s inability to accept Christ’s fated sacrifice was so strong, to the point of calling him Satan, because Peter was tempting him just as strongly as the devil had done in the desert. Perhaps our Lord retreated so often from the crowds who would have made him king, because he knew it would have been tempting to give into their requests. Perhaps his constant warnings to those whom he healed and exorcised about not spreading the word was because he knew he would be tempted as the miracle-workers and false messiahs before him to parlay this fame into some scheme to attain fame and wealth as they had done.

Back in 1988 there was quite a stir over the film The Last Temptation of Christ which eclipsed the controversy over its source material, a 1955 novel of the same name. Now, the movie will not be everyone’s cup of tea, particularly if you can’t get over Willem Dafoe as Jesus, Harvey Keitel as Judas, and David Bowie as Pontius Pilate (yes you heard me right). So, I’m not recommending you go out and watch it. But it seems to me that those who were offended largely missed the point. While on the cross an angel (later revealed to be Satan) tells Jesus that he has done well, but that he is not the Messiah, that he has accomplished that for which he was sent, and takes him down from the cross. We then see scenes of Jesus marrying and having a family and living in peace to an old age. Finally, it is revealed that this is not really what happened, that Jesus was simply undergoing the devil’s last temptation of him. We return to the cross, where Christ has triumphed over this temptation, shouts “it is accomplished”, dies for humanity, and triumphant bells toll as the screen flickers to white (presumably a hint of the Resurrection to come).

Again, the movie is not for everybody, and some of its imagery is disturbing, but it seems to me that the overriding message is a good one. Christ was in every way tempted as we are, yet without sin. In the end he triumphed over every power which militated against the will of God, but he is the one who can sympathize with our weakness.

This may be a great comfort to many of us. For me, it is a source of conviction more than comfort. How often do I find myself saying something like “high standards of self-sacrifice are the ideal, but I am not Jesus”, rightly recognizing Jesus’ perfection but ignoring his humanity to give myself permission not even to try to follow? How often do I read something like today’s Gospel, Christ’s warning about our relationship to money and skip ahead to “all things are possible with God”, skirting past the truth that it really would have been better for the rich man, and for me, to give it all away? How often have I read Christ’s command to be perfect as our heavenly Father is perfect, realized its impossibility, and given myself leave to not even try?

That said, and despite what I believe to be the impossibility of achieving perfection this side of heaven, the process of sanctification, of approaching the fullness of humanity Jesus displayed despite his divinity, is possible thanks to the action of Christ as the Eternal Word. We heard this promise in the first part of today’s Epistle:

For the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing to the division of soul and spirit, of joints and marrow, and discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart.

The Fathers, Chrysostom and Augustine chief among them, understood this to mean a variety of true things all at the same time. (Some of you will remember sermons or lessons I’ve given here outlining the various levels on which scripture can speak simultaneously–the literal, typological, moral, and anagogical–and I won’t rehearse all that now.) Suffice to say there is a sense in which this relates to the separation of Law and Gospel, the division between covenants.

For our purposes, though, the important distinction is between soul and spirit, that is between earthly concerns and heavenly ones. It is an intentionally violent image, the two-edged sword of Christ’s nature severing that which may distract us from our calling, because that process can be a painful one. But the perfect man has shown how iron sharpens iron; how our souls are placed in the crucible of temporal concerns to gain eternal value; how in being cleft and wounded and laid open before the eyes of God with all our imperfections we are, in a holy irony, made whole and worthy of drawing near the throne of grace with confidence.

And here we find our comfort in Jesus the human having gone before us as the pioneer and perfecter of our faith. Here we find that the Lord was not fibbing when he created us and said it was very good. Yes, we have fallen. Yes, we have inherited the stain of Adam’s sin and a debt which we cannot repay. But our having been redeemed on the Cross and our having been forgiven and sealed as Christ’s own in Baptism we have a chance to follow in faith where he has led the way. We are invited today again to approach the throne of Grace, to receive our Lord’s Body and Blood, his human soul and his divine substance. Let us come, as one of our Eucharistic Prayers puts it, not only for solace but also for strength, not only for pardon but also for renewal.

+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.

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.