All Saints' Sunday: A Set-Apart God, A Set-Apart People

Daniel 7:1-3, 15-18

Psalm 149

Ephesians 1:11-23

Luke 6:20-31

The word “saint” has a fascinating pedigree, both etymologically and historically.  It is most often used to translate the Hebrew kados and the Greek hagios, and their derivatives.  We actually get our English word from sanctus which is the Latin translation of both kados and hagios.  In all cases, the word is really better translated as “holy”, and its connotation is that of something or someone “set apart”, set apart by their nature, or set apart for a purpose.

In the Hebrew Bible kados is used initially exclusively for God.  God is holy, set apart; firstly different from all the other local gods and deities, but also “transcendent over everything in the created order, and…therefore uniquely worthy of awe and worship.”  At the same time, some places, people and even nations can be holy too, as they are set apart by God and stand in a special relationship with and to God.  Indeed, the act of the set-apart God calling to God’s self a set-apart people is at the center of salvation history.  In the book of Exodus God says to Israel shortly after their deliverance at the Red Sea, “Indeed, the whole earth is mine, but you shall be for me a priestly kingdom and a holy nation. (Exodus 19:4, 5b, 6a)  And later in the Book of Leviticus,  “I am the Lord who brought you up from the land of Egypt, to be your God; you shall be holy, for I am holy.” (Leviticus 11:45)  So, the Israelites understood themselves as a people set apart, and expressed this by their devotion to the set-apart God and their commitment to that God’s law.  Still, none of this was for themselves only, but rather ultimately so they might be “a light to the nations,” a light to which both peoples and kings should one day come. (cf. Isaiah 60:3)

The New Testament word hagios means exactly the same as the Hebrew kados; for the early Christians too believed that they were “set apart”, continuing in the tradition and call of Israel, to be, as the first letter of Peter describes it “a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s own people, in order that you may proclaim the mighty acts of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light. (1 Peter 2:9).  And so in various places in the New Testament the Christians are generally called hagios, the holy ones, saints.  At the same time, like the Israelites, they too are urged also to be holy: “As he who called you is holy, be holy yourselves in all your conduct; for it is written, ‘You shall be holy, for I am holy.’ ” (1 Peter 1:15-16)  There is also for Christians a path to holiness, this path is most clearly exemplified in the life of Jesus, and always resolves itself in love and mercy.  The letter of Jude expresses it this way:  “Beloved, build yourselves up on your most holy faith; pray in the Holy Spirit; keep yourselves in the love of God; look forward to the mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ that leads to eternal life.  And have mercy on some who are wavering.” (Jude 20-22)

What we have in the Tradition are two inter-related understandings of sanctity, of holiness.  In one sense there is nothing that we can do to become holy.  It is God who invites us and sets us apart to share in the divine work and purposes.  It is God’s own voice that calls us out of darkness, and God’s own spirit that leads us into his marvelous light, that forms us into a people.  Everyone of us here was called at our baptism to share in the holiness of God by being joined into the life, death and resurrection of Jesus, and through it God’s identity becomes our own.  It is God who sets us apart, makes us holy.  On the other hand, the Scriptures clearly call us to holiness, speaking about it as if it there is something we can do to become holy, or at least grow in holiness: “be holy yourselves in all your conduct; for it is written, ‘You shall be holy, for I am holy.’ ”  They continually exhort us to grow in holiness.  Someone articulated it like this: “We are ‘set apart’ or dedicated to God, yet we must also ‘set ourselves apart’ or dedicate ourselves to become closer to God.”  The fact is that while God may call, the ways in which we respond are rarely full-bodied or full-throated.  We may be called out of darkness, but are often slow to declare the truth and the works of the one who has called into his marvelous light.  So, we are saints – holy ones, set-apart ones, in so far as God has called us to share in his holiness and the extent to which by his grace we do share in it.  But, we are not yet saints in so far as we are not fully perfected in the holy life of God.  And here we come to still a further understanding of what we Christians mean by “saint” and the way in which we most commonly use the word, that is, those persons who have been completely perfected in holiness, completely perfected in God; those whose very being is totally and entirely shot through with the holiness of God.  It is something which cannot happen this side of eternity, and so eventually the Church began to use the word “saint” exclusively for those who had already passed into the nearer presence of God, having led exemplary lives of holiness; who through their actions, through their ministries, through their devotions, through their very lives had been perfected in God’s initial call, been transformed into signs of God’s real and immediate presence, and who had ultimately been taken up completely into God.  It is they who in the love of God could love their enemies, do good to those who hated them, bless those who cursed them, prayed for those who abused them, and thus proclaimed the works of the God who called them and set them apart at the start. (cf. Luke 27b, 28)  Their holiness on earth, was only and ever a reflection of God’s own holiness made manifest in the world, and in heaven they share totally, utterly, completely in that same holiness.  These saints “above” represent what we, the “saints below”, are all called to in the end – to be completely perfected in the holiness of God.

Each of us has been called by God.  At baptism each of us has been set apart by God; not set apart from the world, but set apart for the world.  And in this regard we are already saints.  This is the work of God in us, God’s initiative.  But we are also invited, exhorted, to grow in holiness, which means to grow more deeply into that call made by God at out baptism.  Growing in holiness means growing in faithfaulness to the baptismal covenant entered into at that first call.  You’ll find them on pages 304 and 305 of the Prayer Book: faithfulness in worship, resistance of evil, proclamtion of the Good News, love of neighbor, working for justice.  It is not accidental that along with Easter, All Saints’ Day was one of the days in the early Church for celebrating the sacrament of baptism and bringing new members into the Church, as God set them apart and made them holy by his call.

As we celebrate today with all the saints above and saints below, let us bear in mind not only the call made to us when we were baptized, when were set apart joined to God’s holy people, but also examine how, if at all, we are growing more deeply into that call.  As we renew our baptism covenant today, may we know that while its demands may seem beyond our power, in the power of God, and sharing in his holiness, we can live them out faithfully, gracefully, joyfully; and let as pray that by that same power we may come to share completely in God’s own holiness, which is the inheritance of the saints in light.

The Twenty-Third Sunday after Pentecost: The Bottom Line

Sirach 35:12-17

Psalm 84:1-6

2 Timothy 4:6-8, 16-18

Luke 18:9-14

It is undoubtedly expected that on one’s return from holiday, one will have stories to tell, and as I traveled through England and Wales in the last four weeks, I paid close attention to places and events, looking always for the story, the place, to share with you on my return.  So, this morning I’d like to take you to the east of England, an area known commonly as East Anglia.  It encompasses well known places like Cambridge and Norwich, less known places like Castle Acre with its ruined castle and Cluniac priory, and even lesser know places like Little Snoring and Great Snoring, two small and – appropriately so – sleepy villages near the north Norfolk coast.  More specifically I’d like to take you to the great catheral of Ely.  A fair part of East Anglia is flat land, and up until the 17^th century was full of watery marshes.  Commonly called the Fens, in the Middle Ages the area was hardly the best place to the construct large buildings or towns.  Nevertheless, it was on this shaky, marshy ground that St Etheldreda established the monastery which would eventually became Ely Catheral.  Of all the places she could have chosen, Ely made little sense.  In fact, Ely was actually an island and its name was derived from the very creatures which dwelt in its surrounding waters; it was then known as the Isle of Eels.  All this being true, why did St Etheldreda chose this spot?  She choose it because she felt she was called there by God as she wandered through the area.  Her conviction trumped any of the more “practical” considerations; and after her death, a much larger church was impractically built to house her remains and shrine.  This was built primarily of stone quarried and brought from some 50 miles away.  Of course at the time this would have a huge distance, particularly when one considers the amount of stone which the building required.  Through the years additions and repairs were made, most notably when the central tower collapsed.  To rebuild it new engineering was developed, always with an eye to further beautifying the building, and always to the glory of God.  Today the building’s total length is some 537 feet and at its highest point, the west tower, measures 215 feet.  It soars over the surrounding flat country, hence it is commonly called the “Ship of the Fens.”  However, the really amazing detail in all this, is that it is all built on a foundation of only six feet.  The marshy, watery ground forbids anything deeper.  Still, it stands.  Its building wasn’t the most logical or financially feasible course to take all those years ago, but still it was the sacredness of the spot and not the financial implications which governed the decision.

This morning we listened to the choir sing about another equally improbable place of worship, the Temple at Jerusalem: “How dear to me is your dwelling, O LORD of hosts!  My soul has a desire and longing for the courts of the LORD; my heart and my flesh rejoice in the living God.” (Psalm 84:1)  For the psalmist, the Temple is the center of the world in which all creation can find shelter, and which provides sustenance in the desert.  Yet, thinking more practically, if safety and shelter is what the early Hebrews longed for, why did they settle on Jerusalem as a principle city.  It is one of the very few, if not the only, ancient city built on a spot without a river.  It is hilly and rocky.  Again, bringing to the city the building materials for this magnificent structure – and doing so twice, since the Temple was destroyed at the time of the Babylonian Captivity – bringing the materials was not an easy task.  It was not for straightforward reasons that the place to found the city and build the Temple was chosen; rather, it was a commitment to an experience as a people, and the city’s special connection with King David, as well as the sacred history of Judaism, for example it was believed that the Temple mount was the place that Abraham almost sacrificed his son Isaac.  Lots of other places might have made more sense, and certainly been a lot cheaper, a lot less complicated.

Now, I tell you these two stories because I think they give the lie to a generally accepted premise among many people – that money is the bottom line.  Certainly, a lot of people will tell you, a lot of people tell me, that at the end of the day money is in fact the bottom line.  However, I disagree.  Money is not the bottom line. The bottom line is what you spend your money on.  Once again, because it bears repeating: Money is not the bottom line; the bottom line is what you spend your money on.  How you spend your money is more telling than  how much money you have.  Think about it for a moment, what gets the lion’s share of your resources, what gets the bulk of your income?  Whatever that is, that is your bottom line; as Jesus himself reminds his followers, “For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” (Luke 12:34)  Wherever we put most of our treasure marks out what we most value.  Be honest, what is for you?  Your home?  Your children? Your vacation? Your car? Your relationships? Your emotional well-being?  Your church?  Where do each of these fit in your schema of priorities, and what does the schema say about your own bottom line?  When we come to think about our stewardship, it is important to bear this in mind and ask what our contribution to the life and work of our church says about our own bottom line, about what we really value.  

What is true for individuals is true also for communities, and as we look to end our stewardship campaign our finance committee will soon begin to think about drawing up a budget for the coming year; and here we too we will have to think about our bottom line.  I hope that we can be honest about our bottom line, whatever that may be.  At the same time, I want to believe that our bottom line will be about more than just paying the bills – important though that may be.  I hope it will be led my a vision greater than merely getting by, that it will be guided by where God is calling us, and not just where we think we should go or want to go.  Like St Etheldreda, I hope we will be willing to a lay a foundation on the right place, the holy place, and not just the safe or convenient place. 

Built on marshy ground, but making the glory of God and obedience to God’s call the bottom line, Ely Cathedral still stands on that same marshy ground of the Fens.  Even the Temple, while destroyed, still stands in the religious consciousness as a symbol of God’s abiding presence among human beings.  Both remain in their own way, because at some point in history someone was inspired by an extraordinary bottom line, and it was to this that they devoted their resources.  There is always a bottom line.  It’s not money, but it’s what we you give your money to.  It’s whatever you give your treasure to.  That to which we give little, we value little.  It really is as simple as that.  Where your treasure is, there’s you heart, that’s your bottom line. 

                  

The Eighteenth Sunday after Pentecost: The Wise Manager

Amos 8:4-7

Psalm 113

1 Timothy 2:1-7

Luke 16:1-13

Understandably, we can all of us be left a little confused, a little disturbed by this parable of Jesus. The very fact that it is commonly known by two names, the “parable of the dishonest manager” or the “parable of the shrewd manager”,  belies our ambivalence as to its significance and our feelings towards it.  That Jesus calls the manager – or steward, as some older translations render the Greek – both dishonest and shrewd doesn’t help matters.  Moreover, that the landowner himself commends the manager’s actions equally confuses.  Isn’t the landowner, after all, losing money?  In our questions we are not alone, and from the beginning this particular parable has posed problems and presented quandaries to our ancestors in the faith.  Indeed, while most biblical scholars believe that the parable itself – verses 1-8 – finds its origin in the words of the historical Jesus,  it is generally accepted that (as one group of scholars put it) “the several sayings [the writer of] Luke has attached to it are attempts to moralize and soften it.”  That’s everything after the landowner commends the manager.  Certainly, uncomfortable with the narrative’s implications, various preachers and writers  have tried to make sense of what is going on by somehow explaining why Jesus would praise the manger’s dishonesty.  Nevertheless, while positing several guesses, none seem immediately satisfactory.  Whichever way we look at it, the manager has reduced the size of the debt – whether interest or principle – and is cheating the landowner of his due.

One of the reasons we have trouble with the parable, is the vantage point in which we place ourselves as we read or hear it.  After all, that is one of the beauties of any story, that it almost compels us to identify with at least one of its characters.  Chances are that most of us fine upstanding people identify with the landowner, the one who is cheated; and if not we certainly don’t identify ourselves with the steward.  And because we don’t, what we see in the parable is only an issue about money.  But, placing ourselves in the shoes of the manager we may come to realize – as he does – that there are other issues at play, for example issues of relationship and alliances, as well as quite possibly issues of justice and even faithfulness.  Money is not the only currency here, and the manager shrewdly uses that one currency – money – to get another one, namely relationship and security.  Upon learning that he is soon to be sacked, he says “I have decided what to do so that, when I am dismissed as manager, people may welcome me into their homes.” (Luke 16:4)  It is after saying this that he begins his program of reducing accounts in order to foster alliances.  And it is for this that Jesus specifically praises him, and encourages his hearers to do the same: “…make friends for yourselves by means of dishonest wealth so that when it is gone, they may welcome you into the eternal homes.” (Luke 16:9)  While, we may disagree with his methods, the shrewdness of the manager lies, not in his dishonesty, pers se, but in his appreciation that there are forms of currency other than money, and sometimes, in some cases, these are worth more than money itself.  The story highlights the principles that when we come short of one type of currency there are others we can draw on if we are shrewd and astute; and that, conversely, when we narrow our vision and interactions to account for only one currency, we usually sell ourselves short on the options available to us.

A few weeks ago I was fortunate enough to be at ECCO for our annual Diocesan Ministry Conference.  The speaker, Eric Law, is also the author of the book, Holy Currencies: 6 Blessings for Sustainable Missional Ministries.  He posits that there are six currencies available to any organization – time and place, gracious leadership, relationship, truth, wellness, money – and that most organizations, churches included and almost especially, use only about three; some use only one, and that is usually money.  As I listened, I immediately began to make links with our life here at the Church of the Saviour.  Take, for example the relationships which have been built up in the community because of our soup kitchen’s work?  It is because of those relationships we sometimes get a break on air conditioning repairs, or that people like our soup kitchen manager give incredible amounts of time to our community.  They are relationships on which one can’t really put a monetary value.  They are part of a currency all its own.  As you know, yesterday we launched our new outreach program, G.I.F.T.S.  In a profound way, this project honors the interplay of currencies – wellness, as we seek to enable people to live more balanced lives; relationship, as we widen our network of partnerships, and as we make contacts and friendships with local businesses; gracious leadership, as we take a lead in making real the abundance of God and of our community; truth, as we dare to say something honest about the difficult conditions under which many of our fellow citizens live.  Each of these are a currency which flow in and out of each other, and enable various kinds of wealth.  For example, enabling wellness in those around us, may quite possibly enable them to become more active and concerned members of the community, in their participation they learn important truths as to how our common life is both enriched and threatened, and so on.  Yes, we may be low on financial resources, let’s say, but what are other currencies available, and like the shrewd manager are we taking advantage of them?

As we begin our stewardship campaign this year, it is helpful – perhaps even crucial – that we think seriously of how we are taking advantage – or not, as the case may be – of the various currencies available to us beyond simply money.  Now, don’t get me wrong, we definitely do need the money, and unless we meet our costs we will certainly have to re-asses some of things we do at the Church of the Saviour, and how we do them.  Nevertheless, it is also very, very important to think beyond money as our only resource, and this is undoubtedly not easy because our society and culture tells us that money is the sole currency out there of any value – the only game in town.  But this is simply not true.  When the shrewd manager saw the possibility of running out of his source of money, he looked to other currencies which might sustain him, and interestingly enough it was a currency that widened the scope of his world as he made new friends.  At the same time, he tapped into a another currency altogether, respect, as he earned the commendation of the landowner; and we are even left wondering if he will lose his position after all.

When think about stewardship, I have often said, that we have to think creatively and we have to think holistically.  We do need money as one of the currencies to make things run smoothly and well, but money alone does not a thriving community make.  A church rich in money, but poor in relationship or truth or gracious leadership, will never be a sign of God’s kingdom.  As you spend the next few weeks thinking intentionally on stewardship, consider not only what you can contribute financially, but also consider what are the other currencies available to you, available to us, and what are ways in which these can be capitalized upon.  Perhaps, his dishonesty not withstanding, it might a good idea to think more like the manager who was able to look at his situation dead-on and in so doing discerned other possibilities.  While he found himself – to paraphrase the collect – among things that are passing away, like his job, he was able to hold fast to something that would endure, see him through the present trouble and beyond.  I believe in large part that is the challenge laid out before us.  And I have little doubt that it can be met, it will take thinking  and dedication as wise – and perhaps that’s another way to describe him – thinking and dedication as wise as that of Jesus’ ambiguously shrewd, ambiguously dishonest steward.

The Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost: Choose Life

Deuteronomy 30:15-20

Psalm 1

Philemon 1-21

Luke 14:25-33

The choice in Deuteronomy set before the Israelites – and by extension, us their descendants in faith – is pretty clear: “I have set before you life and death….Therefore choose life...” (Deuteronomy 30:19)  The problem is that choosing life, often looks so much like death: “If anyone comes to me and does not hate…even his own life, he cannot be my disciple.  Whoever does not bear his own cross and come after me cannot be my disciple.” (Luke 14:26-27)  And we are left to ponder whether life – real life – is something more than simply mere “living”.

Last weekend I was at the diocesan ministry conference at ECCO, yet this idea of choosing life kept buzzing through my head.  I am now almost to finish my fifth year in the diocese of San Joaquin, and this last ministry conference was my third.  As I looked around there were so many new faces since that first year I arrived.  There was a black bishop and more priests who were women; there were members and leaders of congregations who had already returned to their one-time alienated properties; there was genuine enthusiasm for those now training for ordained ministry – men and women – and for those who continued as lay people to minister within and without the walls of their buildings; there was a deeper connection and greater familiarity with the wider Episcopal Church.  As the program’s leader spoke about forming missional communities, there was palpable energy and excitement for the possibilities each of our communities has to go out into the world and be the kingdom.  In short, there was life!  But heavens, it took us going through something that looked and felt a lot like death.  For some of you, I know, it cut ties of friendship and even kinship.  For many congregations – take for instance our sisters and brothers in Visalia – it cost leaving the familiar, and literally becoming sojourners.  For many throughout the diocese, it meant turning away from accustomed ideas of what and who Church is, of how we define God and of what defines people, of what determines who belongs.  Nevertheless, looking into a seemingly dark tunnel, looking into the unknown, the diocese moved through something that felt a lot like dying, only to discover life more abundant, more honest, more faithful. 

Some years ago t-shirts emblazoned with the words “Choose Life” were popular.  The statement seemed simple and direct enough, but the truth is that choosing life – real life – is not all that easy.  While the text in Deuteronomy seems to pronounce the imperative clearly and succinctly, we should hardly take it to mean that choosing life is anything but straightforward.  Consider for a moment the context of the command to “choose life” in Deuteronomy.  It comes only after surviving the horrors and indignities of slavery, and the dangerous flight from Egypt.  For the Hebrew slaves choosing life meant literally going through the “valley and shadow of death”; and while the angel of death did pass over them, it still passed near to them.  Choosing life meant for them leaving the certainties of Egypt, albeit as slaves, and going into the darkness of an uncertain world.  Choosing life meant passing through the obscure waters of the Red Sea and into a new land, trusting only in an unknown, faceless God.  Without food, water or even a map, this hardly would have seemed like choosing life, but only almost certain death.  In their journey they would face hunger, thirst, faithlessness, disappointment and frustration  Yet, it was this all which forged them into a people, and brought them into life, into a living relationship with the living God.

Throughout the gospels Jesus consistently reminds those who will listen of the impoverished existence that passes for life among so many people, while at the same time pointing out that not all which is dark, difficult or dangerous need necessarily signal the end of things; after all, it is in the dark of the earth that the seed is broken open, destroyed, only to be transformed into the tree.  He reminds us that we if we want to live a life which is genuine and abundant we usually find we must go through something quite like death, and that there is simply no way around it: “Those who try to make their life secure will lose it,” he says, “but those who lose their life will keep it”. (Luke17:33)  Still, very few of us take this seriously; and so we shy away from anything which may look in any way like death.  We shy away from changing accustomed patterns of living or relating – even when absolutely crucial to our well-being, even when altering them would signal a more abundant life – we shy away from them, because making the change may take us through times of difficulty and darkness, a time when we must face the reality of our lives, and perhaps die to some cherished past or fantasy.  We cry like the Israelites to Moses upon leaving Egypt: “What have you done to us in bringing us out of Egypt?...[I]t would have been better for us to serve the Egyptians than to die in the wilderness.” We do this in our work, our national life, our relationships and even in our churches.  And the irony of it all is, that in our desperation to avoid anything uncomfortable, anything difficult or dark, anything which may feel like dying, we make compromises with death itself.  We convince ourselves that things are not as bad as they feel, or we cover up the everyday deadness of our lives with possessions or any myriad of distractions.  We live less fully, we ignore the reality of situations, we hide from the truth about ourselves and about others, we disregard the real need among our sisters and brothers, ignoring the ways in which our own compromises with death and death-dealing structures impinge on the quality of their own lives.

Choosing life means that we make no compromises with death or the forces of death, even if things are difficult, even when we feel our safety is in danger, even in the face of darkness; and we accept that living into abundant life is costly.  Choosing life means real life for everyone, not simply those who are have a safe grasp on the life’s necessities and luxuries.  Choosing life means we cease making “deals” with death in order to continue in what only seems like life.  For Christians choosing life means we pattern our life on that of Jesus, who lived life most fully, most perfectly, without fearing darkness or death, but rather confronting both honestly.

I am proud of our diocese.  I am proud of the ways we have chosen life, even when the process felt dark and risky, when it felt like we were being carried by our decisions into the frightful darkness of death.  I am proud too of our parish.  Without going into details, more than once we have made choices for life – choices which did not feel like life at the time, choices which seemed to signal a terrible end.  Nevertheless, as I look back, more abundant life has come from each of these.  Are you choosing life today and everyday, or does each day bring with it a renewed compromise, or even an ongoing accommodation with death?  Still, choosing life is not easy.  It will feel like shouldering a cross and bring with it uncertainties, the uncomfortably unpleasant, even danger.  But it will also bring you into real life, awaken you from the torpor of semi-existence which simply keeps you “going through the motions.”  Yes, choosing life may often look a lot like death, but so did that first Good Friday.  And we know the cross was not and is not the whole story, but only the path to the revelation and glorification of the life of God himself.  Choose life then – real life, and don’t look back.