Category: Sermons and Homilies

Outline/transcript

May 7, 2023

“Keeping Our Eyes on Jesus”

In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Our reading today from the Acts of the Apostles is beautifully depicted in the stain-glass window in the back of the sanctuary.

Stephen, the first deacon of the Church, looks to heaven as his persecutors lift stones to stone him. His gaze is steady, his expression unafraid. He sees the glory of God, and Jesus standing at the right hand of God. Usually, Jesus is spoken of us as sitting at the right hand of God, but now he stands, perhaps as a way of respecting Stephen’s courage.

And after commending his spirit to the Lord Jesus, and asking forgiveness for his killers, Stephen dies, becoming the Church’s first martyr.

This reading reminds us, now that we are deep into the Easter season, that the Resurrection of Christ was not only a message of surprising joy…

It was a message for which the followers of Jesus were willing to die.

Testimony before the authorities (Jesus is the Messiah…)

Detail in St. Luke’s account of the martyrdom of Stephen whose significance it is easy for us to miss:

“Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.”

Allusion to Psalm 31

Into your hands I commend my spirit (trust—asleep, death)

Jesus’ dying words (gives up his spirit and dies on the Cross)

Jesus commended his spirit to God, and now Stephen is commending his spirit to Jesus.

To say, “Into your hands, I commend my spirit” or “receive my spirit” is something you would only say to God.

And here is Stephen, looking into heaven, his eyes fixed on Jesus, addressing Jesus in prayer and saying, Lord Jesus, receive my spirit!

This is truly revolutionary! Addressing Jesus in the same way one would address God. Of course, for us, this is not so surprising, but we have twenty centuries of Christian history in the rear view. This is just a few years after the Resurrection of Christ.

Addressing Jesus in prayer and commending one’s spirit to him like you would commend your spirit to God

These early disciples of Jesus are addressing him as if he was God.

We already see evidence of this in the life of Christ—forgives sins, accepts worship, he refers to himself using divine titles…

Gospel reading (Last Supper) …

“I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes… If you know me, you will know my Father also. From now on, you do know him and have seen him.”

Philip said to him, “Lord, show us the Father…”

“Have I been with you so long, Philip, and you still do not know me? Whoever has seen me has seen the Father.”

Jesus speaks of himself here as the Image of God, the one in whom the glory of God is perfectly reflected, so that, if you see Jesus, you have seen God in the flesh.

Rowan Williams, the former ABC, reflects on this stunning claim in his book Tokens of Trust. He writes, “Here is a human life so shot through with the purposes of God, so transparent to the action of God, that people speak of it as God’s life ‘translated’ into another medium. Here [in the life of Jesus] God is supremely and uniquely at work…

“[And so] Christians approach Jesus now as though he were completely with God, associated with God, able to do what God does, and so correctly addressed as if he were God.” (end quote)

Jesus is saying to his disciples, I am the perfect Image of who God is. What I am doing is what God is doing. What I am about is what God is about. If you want to know God, get to know me… for I am the way to Him, and the truth about Him, and the life that He gives to the fallen world.”

It is a stunning claim for a 1^st century rabbi from a backwater town to make. But the Resurrection of Christ vindicates Jesus’ claims and life. God vindicates Jesus by raising him from the dead, triumphant over death, his enemies, and all those who would malign him.

What does this mean for us? If Jesus is indeed the one shows us the Father, if he is the way to God, the truth about God, the life of God made manifest to us, how does this affect how we live our daily lives?

I would suggest that if we know that Jesus is the way, and the truth, and the life, then that means we would be appropriately discerning about what we encounter in this world. There are indeed many ways, many “truths”, and many ways of life to choose from. Many people are consumed by politics—whether conservative or liberal doesn’t matter—politics and “being right” is the way and truth and life for them. For others, it’s entertainment, or comfort, or ideology. There are so many different things calling out to us, saying “This is the way! This is the truth! This is what life is about!”

There are so many things in this multitudinous, jostling, busy world that call out to us, vying for our attention and energy. Some of them are worthwhile. There are some things that are worth thinking about, and worth talking about, and worth doing. And there are many things that are not. And the way we know the difference is by keeping our eyes on Jesus.

He is the way and the truth and the life. And if we keep our eyes on Jesus, like St. Stephen, and look at the world in light of Jesus, then we will know what is worthwhile and what is not. If we keep our eyes and minds and hearts on Jesus, then our lives will be balanced, healthful— everything in its proper place. And after a lifetime of keeping our eyes on Jesus, we will be prepared, in the hour of our death, to commend our spirits to him, as to the faithful God. Amen.

March 12, 2023

“Thirst and the Bottomless Well”

Readings: Exodus 17:1-7, Psalm 95, John 4:5-42

Today’s Gospel reading is one of the longest in the Church Year. Like last Sunday’s Gospel, it is an extended conversation between Jesus and a minor character.

Unlike last week, I won’t go through the conversation line by line. That would be too severe an ordeal, even for Lent.

Since the reading is so long, I can only touch on a few points, so I wanted to look at the primary motif of our readings this week: Thirst.

• In our reading from Exodus, the Israelites thirst in the desert wilderness and ask Moses to give them water.

• In the Gospel, the Lord Jesus tells the Samaritan woman that those who drink the water from Jacob’s Well will be thirsty again, but those who drink of the water he gives them will never thirst.

• And in Psalm 42, which we’ll later sing at the Offertory, the Psalmist declares that he thirsts for God “like as the deer thirsts for cool streams.”

Almost every human activity, every subject under the sun, has been utilized in Holy Scripture to illustrate glorious truths about God and the life in Christ. Food, drink, clothing, music, journeying— name a subject or an activity, and it probably appears in Scripture as part of a vast interconnected web of concepts and symbols.

So if we want to understand how thirst functions in Scripture, we have to consider what it is. What does it mean to be thirsty? It means to desire water. To feel the need for hydration.

Thirst is related to hunger, obviously, but there are a few key differences. Hunger cues us that we need to eat food, which provides energy and sustenance. When we go without eating, we feel tired or faint. Water is less about providing energy and more about providing what the body needs to function. The human body is 55 to 70% water. The body needs water for the brain to function and for organs to work, which is why when people become severely dehydrated, their body systems begin to shut down. Whereas a person can go without food for several weeks, one cannot go without water for more than three days.

Have you ever thought about why God has created human beings this way? Conceivably, God could have created humans so that they never had to eat or drink. Maybe they would just have an inner process that continually refreshed and replenished them, without having to take in something external to their bodies. Why did God create us this way?

I’m not saying I have the answer, but there must be a higher reason why humans must eat and drink. The human body, with all its needs and processes, with all its functions, from eating to drinking to sex, is sacramental of something greater. The body is a site of grace; it’s where we encounter God and each other.

(This is, by the way, the main thesis of John Paul II’s Theology of the Body, which theologians are still unpacking.)

The point is, thirst is basically the desire for water, the thing that we need to survive and function properly. Without water, we can’t think straight, our body can’t function internally, and everything shuts down. If you’ve ever been really dehydrated, you know how unpleasant it is, and we can begin to see the complaining of the Israelites more sympathetically. Had we been in their shoes, we probably wouldn’t have fared much better.

So to thirst for God is to desire God, and not just in a general sort of way, but in an intense way, in a way that recognizes that without God, we cannot function. When we separate ourselves from God, our minds cannot work correctly; our bodies are estranged from their source of life; our spirits dry up. Of course, a person can never truly be totally separate from God. He is “everywhere present and filling all things”—the only way to be totally estranged from God would be to just cease to exist. But a person can refuse to drink of the life-giving Fount that is God. A person can become spiritually dehydrated by ignoring God and not seeking out communion with Him. And when that happens, the effects on our spirits are devastating.

So one of the main points that Jesus is making to the Samaritan woman is that the deep thirst that human beings feel within themselves cannot be quenched by the things of this world. “Whoever drinks of this water will be thirsty again.” He doesn’t just mean this literally, that a person who drinks water from that well will be thirsty again. He means whoever seeks to be satisfied from the wells of this world will never be satisfied. The goods of this world cannot quench our desire, our thirst, because we were not made for the goods of this world but for God.

This is a harder truth for us to grasp in the modern era, since there is so much we could use to try to fill ourselves up. Food and drink are so abundantly available. So is entertainment, news, games, books and articles to read, places to go, things to do. A person with even a middle-class income and a connection to the Internet can keep themselves occupied for months, without prayer or silence or any of the deeper life that comes from living in the Spirit. Their bodies and minds are constantly filled and constantly moving, but their spirits are dying of dehydration and slowing to a halt.

Jesus comes to give to us the Life that He draws from the Father. It is hydration not from this world but from above. He draws from a deeper well, the deepest of all wells: the fathomless depths of God. The inmost life of God, which cannot be obtained through worldly activities, no matter how noble or exalted, is conveyed to us through our Lord Jesus Christ. “The eternal life that was with the Father was made manifest to us” (1 John 1:2).

And not only does Jesus satisfy our thirsts, but he does so in a way that is re-newing and replenishing. “The water that I give him will become in him a spring welling up to eternal life.” The Samaritan woman had to trek to the well, and lower the bucket, and then take the water back into town. It was a laborious process, and they had to do it every day. But the gift that Jesus gives is self-renewing, like a spring that bubbles up of its own accord. Such is the life of the Holy Spirit in our souls.

One of the great tasks of the spiritual life, especially for us in the West, is to not lose our thirst for God. Do you desire God? Is your need for God’s presence in your life such that, without it, you feel like you’re dying of thirst? A good measure of this is how long you can go without praying. Someone who is earnest in the spiritual life can’t go days on end without praying. It feels wrong. You feel like you’re isolated from your Source of Life.

And that’s part of where fasting comes in. We eat less food, so we can feel hungry for God. We cut down on frivolous activities, so we can attend to what is truly worthwhile. We fill up less on the world so we can be filled up with God.

This week, as you go throughout your daily activities, see what it is you go to when you feel stressed or empty or restless. What is it you reach for to satisfy that inner thirst? Then consider reaching for God instead. Read Scripture. Chant some psalms. Pray with your own words, if you can find them. And if not, then pray the Jesus Prayer or some other short prayer, like “Lord, have mercy.”

God is our Fountain of life, the bottomless well that we can draw from over and over. He is our Life, and without Him, we can’t function. And despite her misunderstandings of much of what Jesus had to say, the Samaritan woman recognized this.

May we say, with her, “Sir, give me this water, that I may no longer thirst.” Amen.

June 13, 2021

St. Barnabas Episcopal Church in Denton, Texas

In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Today is the Feast of St. Barnabas, the day in which we as a congregation remember and celebrate our parish’s patron saint, from whom our church gets its name.

Barnabas is not the most well-known saint or biblical figure a church can be named after. He is not as prominent as Mary or Peter, John or Luke. And maybe this is a blessing. In thinking about Barnabas we cannot simply rely on larger-than-life caricatures or dubious legends. Separating fact from speculation in the life of the Blessed Virgin Mary, for example, has proven a perennial challenge for the Church. Because Barnabas is more obscure than say, Peter or Mary, because he has less “baggage,” so to speak, and his life is not overlaid with so many connotations and traditions, we are able to see him more clearly. To get a sense of who he was as an historical figure.

There are several references to Barnabas scattered throughout the Acts of the Apostles and in some of Paul’s letters, and if one were to arrange them chronologically, a portrait emerges. Today I’d like to give you a biography of our patron, then explore what his life and witness mean for us today.

Barnabas was born Joseph. He was a Jew and a Levite from Cyprus. At some point, he heard the Gospel and believed in the Messiah Jesus, becoming a prominent disciple in Jerusalem. He is first mentioned in the Acts of the Apostles as a disciple who sold some land that he owned and gave the proceeds to the community. For this act of kindness, the apostles gave Joseph a new name: Barnabas, which means “son of encouragement.” Already we see that one of his characteristic qualities is generosity. Acts 11:24 describes Barnabas as “a good man, and full of the Holy Spirit and of faith.”

After Paul’s conversion experience on the road to Damascus, Paul returned to Jerusalem. But the apostles and disciples there were suspicious, not convinced that the former persecutor of the Church had become a believer. It was Barnabas who introduced Paul to the apostles and vouched for the sincerity of Paul’s conversion.

The next chapter is Barnabas’ life centers on Antioch, in modern-day Turkey. Jewish believers there began preaching the Gospel, not only to fellow Jews, but to Gentile pagans as well. These Gentile believers joined the community of Jewish Christians there.

The leadership at Jerusalem was concerned about this development, so they sent Barnabas to investigate. As we read in our readings from Acts: “When Barnabas came and saw the grace of God, he rejoiced, and he exhorted them all to remain faithful to the Lord with steadfast devotion.” Rather than being suspicious, Barnabas rejoiced to see Gentiles faithful to the Lord. Barnabas was tasked with seeing the newly diversified church at Antioch. He found the work so extensive that he realized he needed a helper, so he went to Tarsus to get Paul. Paul and Barnabas labored in Antioch for a whole year, making many converts.

From this point on, Barnabas becomes known as a steadfast companion of Paul on his missionary journeys. Barnabas was among Paul’s best friends and colleagues in the ministry. And it is in this capacity as a missionary and companion of Paul that Barnabas is called an “apostle” in Acts 14:14.
Paul mentions in his first letter to the Corinthians that he and Barnabas funded their missions by working side jobs and implied that both of them chose not to marry so they could devote their time and energy to the Gospel.

Barnabas and Paul became well-known for their commitment to including Gentiles in the life of the church. Still, Barnabas was not spotless in upholding this commitment. Paul mentions in his letter to the Galatians, “When Kephas [Peter] came to Antioch, I opposed him to his face because he clearly was wrong. For, until some people came from James, he used to eat with the Gentiles; but when they came, he began to draw back and separated himself, because he was afraid of the circumcised. And the rest of the Jews also acted hypocritically along with him, with the result that even Barnabas was carried away by their hypocrisy.”

The last reference to Barnabas we get in Acts is in chapter 15:
“Some time later Paul said to Barnabas, “Let us go back and visit the believers in all the towns where we preached the word of the Lord and see how they are doing.” Barnabas wanted to take John, also called Mark, with them, but Paul did not think it wise to take him, because he had deserted them in Pamphylia and had not continued with them in the work. They had such a sharp disagreement that they parted company. Barnabas took Mark and sailed for Cyprus, but Paul chose Silas and left… he went through Syria and Cilicia, strengthening the churches” (Acts 15:36-41).

Barnabas continued his ministry in Cyprus to the end of his life. His death is not recorded in the Bible, but Tradition holds that he was martyred at Cyprus, by being tortured then stoned to death. Today, he is venerated as an apostle, a martyr, and the founder of the Church of Cyprus.

So that’s the biography. What does it mean for us today? Sure, that is interesting historical data, but what does it mean for us as Christians today, and especially as members of St. Barnabas Church?

I would like to speak about only one major insight we can glean from the life of our patron saint. And that is generosity.

Barnabas was a man who gave generously of his time, energy, and resources. He lived out the word of the Lord in our Gospel reading: “Freely you received, freely you shall give.” From the first mention of him in Acts, Barnabas is someone lauded for his liberality in giving. It’s no wonder that he and Paul were entrusted with the collection for the poor in Jerusalem.

Yet it was not only a matter of financial generosity. He settled into a community, whether Antioch or Cyprus, and got to work. Like Paul, he could say, “I am willing to spend and be spent for you.” He gave much of his time and energy to the hard work of building up a community, of encouraging its members—a ministry in which there are no shortcuts or easy fixes.

Finally, Barnabas consistently demonstrated a generosity of spirit. He was generous in his willingness to see the good in others. He vouched for Paul, even when he had been a persecutor. He rejoiced to see the conversion of the Gentiles in Antioch, despite their idolatrous past. He wanted to give John Mark a second chance, even though he had deserted them when things got rough in Pamphylia.

Barnabas was someone who wanted to see the good in others, who was willing to believe that people could change, even if they had failed spectacularly in the past. The opposite of generosity is being stingy—which is much easier for us to do. We can be stingy with our money, with our time, with our willingness to put up with others or to demonstrate charity. Or we can be generous.

When we look at St. Barnabas, we see a life touched by grace—a life lived for Jesus. On the one hand, a life of faith, hard work, and generosity. A life which the Holy Spirit set apart for itself and used mightily. On the other hand, a life that was imperfect, not exempt from sharp disagreements, occasionally carried away by the bad influence of others. A life that was incomplete in itself, but part of something much grander and lovelier.

We remember and celebrate the saints, not because they are so good in themselves, but because they reflect the goodness of Jesus. It is Jesus who is the exemplar of generosity—who multiplied the loaves and fishes so abundantly that there were twelve wicker baskets full of leftovers. The one who gave the most generous gift the world has ever known—his body and blood, his very life, for the life of the world.

May we, like Barnabas, live generously, and give thanks for the blessed generosity of his savior and ours. Amen.

Homily for the First Sunday in Lent

February 21, 2021

Year B, RCL

Collect of the Day: Almighty God, whose blessed Son was led by the Spirit to be tempted by Satan: Come quickly to help us who are assaulted by many temptations; and, as you know the weaknesses of each of us, let each one find you mighty to save; through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

Old Testament: Genesis 9:8-17

Gradual: Psalm 25:1-9

Epistle: 1 Peter 3:18-22

Gospel: Mark 1:9-15

In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.

There is a Peanuts comic strip starring Lucy and Linus that has always stuck with me, and it goes like this: Lucy is in her house, at the window, looking at the pouring rain outside. She turns to her brother Linus and says, “Boy, look at it rain. What if it floods the whole world?” Linus responds, “It will never do that. In the ninth chapter of Genesis, God promised Noah that would never happen again, and the sign of the promise is the rainbow.” Relieved, Lucy says, “You’ve taken great a load off my mind.” And Linus replies, “Sound theology has a way of doing that!”¹

Linus is right. Sound theology, or sound ways of talking about God, really does take a load off our mind. It reassures us that God is good. To be sure, God’s goodness is not an invitation to try to take advantage of Him. God is not to be challenged, mocked, or trifled with. He is capable of—for example—wiping out the known world with a destructive flood. Yet alongside the seriousness of falling into the hands of the living God, there is the relief of being in the hands of the merciful God.

Good theology assures us that God is trustworthy, that He keeps His promises. Unlike human beings, who can go back on their word, if God makes a promise, He keeps it.

But sometimes it’s difficult for us to believe that. We may know it intellectually, but we would like a little more reassurance. So God helps us out. He gives us a sign of his promise—a sign of the covenant, as it’s called in our reading from Genesis. The rainbow is one of the first times in Scripture that God gives a sign to confirm his promise.

God continues to give us signs of His promises, even now. As members of the family of God, God makes promises to us—that He will love us, be with us, and never abandon us. Then to confirm those promises, he gives us wonderful signs—like baptism. I can look at my baptism and remember, “God has washed away my sins with the blood of Christ. God has claimed me as his own and I belong to Him. Nothing will ever separate me from the love of God in Jesus Christ.”

The rainbow, baptism, the Eucharist, the life of Christ itself—all these are signs that God is trustworthy. It has been said that human history is the story of God convincing His creatures that He can be trusted.² And so the life of faith is a gradual learning to trust God more and more. All of us have room to grow in that trust—and all of us face the temptation to abandon that trust.

We speak often of temptation in Lent, and we usually mention it in reference to the temptation to commit particular sins: sexual temptation, temptation to break one’s vows, temptation to indulge in vice rather than practice self-constraint. But I think the most insidious temptation of all is the temptation to doubt the trustworthiness of God. The temptation to finally conclude, “God isn’t actually good. He won’t uphold His promises. He will abandon me eventually. In the final analysis, God can’t be trusted.”

Satan tried to tempt Jesus to think this way in the wilderness. His mission was to get Jesus to doubt his relationship with God and to doubt the validity of his mission as the Messiah. Jesus didn’t give into this temptation, or any of the other tests Satan threw his way. For Jesus too, faithfulness means trust rather than despair.

Given what we’ve endured over the past year—over the past week, even—it can be tempting to give up on the hope that there really is any coherent meaning to everything going on in the world. “Maybe the world really is as chaotic as it seems. Maybe God isn’t watching over us after all.” If there is one grand temptation we all face this Lent, it is the temptation to resign ourselves to this sort of despair—to give up hope.

My invitation for us all this Lent is to keep in mind the trustworthiness of God. Do all the things you usually would—fast, keep your Lenten discipline, pray, give alms. But behind these things and between these things, remember that God is trustworthy. Even when it doesn’t appear so, God is for us, God is with us, and God always keeps His promises. It is our faith that empowers us to trust in spite of everything, to hope against hope, as we await the Day when God finally delivers us from all temptations… and makes good on all his many promises. Amen.

Notes

1 https://www.pinterest.com/pin/540854236472479245/

2 Rowan Williams, Tokens of Trust