Third Sunday of Easter, Year C, April 14, 2013

John 21:1-19

Preached by Rev. Dr. Jason Haddox

 

Once again, as it has been for many years on this day…

          …the annual pilgrimage to the holy city has taken place;

Once again… within the gates of the sacred precincts,

          …the necessary rituals have been enacted with all due decorum and ceremony;

Once again…the holy pilgrims are preparing to depart and return home.

          Indeed, some have already departed.  

Peter and James and John, Nathaniel and Thomas the other disciples have left Jerusalem and returned to Galilee in the north, back home again.   

(What? You thought I was talking about a golf tournament?**)   

Once again, it has been a grand and glorious festival.

Now it is time to go home, to get back to normal. 

Except that Normal has moved. 

Normal is no longer where it was, when it was last seen.

 

Normal fled the night they walked with Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane,

          and there Judas met them with the temple authorities,

          and Jesus was arrested and led away under guard,

          and all the mechanism of the Roman imperial political system was set in motion against him.   

Normal was destroyed on Friday when Jesus hung on the cross for three hours,

          and then cried out one last time and was silent.

 

Normal was redefined at dawn on the third day,

          when Mary Magdalene stood weeping at the entrance to the empty tomb,

          and then realized in shock that the one whom she had mistaken for the Gardener

          was her beloved Rabbi and friend, risen from the dead.

          At first, she did not recognize him.

          She didn’t know who he was. 

          And then all at once, she knew.

          And that knowing changed everything.   

Peter and Andrew, James and John and the others have all been in Jerusalem, they have all been at the festival, they have all seen all of these things—and they are ready to get back to normal.  Whatever that might look like. 

“I’m going fishing,” Peter declares.  “We will go with you,” they answer.  Resurrection or no resurrection, they still have to make a living.  Fishing is what they know.  So that’s what they do.  All night and into the early morning hours.  They cast the nets, and draw them in.  Over and over.  And nothing—not one undersized lake trout, not one old shoe, not one broken piece of pottery.  Nothing. 

They are back home again in Galilee, fishing in Lake Tiberius, also known as the Sea of Galilee.   It was here that Jesus had established his reputation by walking on the water, stilling the storm, and feeding thousands of people with bread and fish.  They are back in familiar territory; they know the habits of these fish in this lake.  They are doing the best the know how to do, and yet it just doesn’t seem to be getting them anywhere.  They are tired, they are discouraged, they are wondering “What is wrong here?  I just don’t get it.” 

Perhaps you know that feeling as well.  I know I do.  When we do our best, and seem to be getting nowhere at all.  Heart and soul all in, and yet nothing—not even an old waterlogged shoe.

At dawn, the weary fishermen see someone standing on the beach.  It is hard to see anything after the long night, and they don’t know who is calling to them: “You haven’t caught anything there, have you?”  “No, nothing.”  (Peter probably appended some smart-aleck comment under his breath about the wiseacre knowing so much about fishing over there…)  “Cast the nets once more, and you will find some.” 

And they cast the nets once more.  And something begins to happen.  The ropes begin to pull, the surface of the water begins to splash and boil with tails and fins flipping and flopping, eyes and gills sparkling blue and silver, red and gold in the morning sunlight.  They seize the ropes and haul with all their strength to bring the nets into the boat, nets that groan and strain under the stress of trying to hold the abundance of fish.  They see what their eyes had longed to see; they know what their hearts had desired to know.  “Normal,” once more, was shifted from its customary place. 

All at once, they knew.

And that knowing changed everything. 

Peter is the first to speak the word: It is the Lord!  In his quick-tempered enthusiasm he jumps into the water and makes for the shore as fast as he can; the others stay in the boat and follow as quickly as they are able.   

Jesus greets them, with a fire for warmth, and a meal of fish and bread. 

A small breakfast gathering is enough; there is no need to feed five thousand hungry pilgrims today.  They do not talk much; there is no need for much talk today. 

This is “the third time” we are told, that Jesus appears to the disciples after the resurrection.

Now back at home in their ordinary circumstances,

          Jesus is present with them in their daily occupations.

The frustrations and setbacks of those daily occupations

          have been miraculously transformed by Jesus’ presence with them.

 Jesus meets them where they are, and feeds them a simple meal, in the midst of their everyday lives.   

This is now what Normal looks like. 

Jesus asks Peter: “Do you love me?”  Not once, but three times. 

Three times Peter is invited to affirm what Peter had three times denied,

          on the night of Jesus’ arrest. 

Three times he had been asked “Do you know this man?” and had said No;

Three times Jesus brings him back home to himself, asking him “Do you love me?” 

There is no rejection; there is no judgment;

          There is only welcome and warmth, and a simple meal,

          and the chance to say “Yes, I love you” for real and for ever.

Last of all, he tells them:  Follow me.  Come with me Peter, walk the way that I will show you.  Come with me, James and John.  Come with me, Nathaniel and Thomas.  You don’t know where the way will lead you, but you know who your leader is.  You don’t know all the twists and turns of the journey, but you walk in the light of the risen Christ, who goes before you and leads you deep into the life and heart of God. 

That invitation is for us as well.

Come and eat the simple meal.  Come and be welcomed and forgiven and restored.

Come walk the way of my holy pilgrims, good people of St. Augustine of Canterbury Church.   

We don’t know for sure where or when Jesus will appear—but when he appears, we will know.   

And that knowing will, and does, change everything.  

Amen.

 

** This sermon was preached on the Sunday of the 2013 Masters’ Tournament in Augusta.  

Easter Day: The Gardener. “The last enemy to be destroyed is death.”

I Corinthians 15:19-26

John 20:1-18

Preached by Rev. Dr. Jason Haddox

 

Alleluia!  Christ is risen! 

They knew that he was dead.  That much was beyond question.  Mary Magdalene, Peter, John the Beloved Disciple, Nicodemus, Mary his mother…they had seen it happen.  They had heard the screams and cries of pain, the crack of the leg bones of the crucified men being broken to hasten death, the final gasps for breath.  They had held him in their arms, washed his body and wrapped it in the strips of linen.  They had placed him in the cave, had heard the stone being rolled into place and finally the dry, dusty silence that followed.   

They had been silent all that night, and the following day and night.  It was the feast of the Passover, a great day of rejoicing and celebrating in Jerusalem, and the noise of the crowds of pilgrims was tremendous.  Mary, Peter, John, the others…they did not celebrate.  They might go through the motions, prepare the meal and set the table, but their hearts found it impossible to celebrate the day.   

I wonder if, sometimes, we find ourselves out of sequence with the calendar?  I wonder if anyone came here today knowing (or imagining) that you “ought” to feel a certain way, but don’t?  As your pastor, I know a few stories—your own Good Friday sufferings, and the struggles that many of you are facing, on your own behalf or that of loved ones.   

That sorrow and struggle and suffering continues to affect us all, that much is beyond question.  That the world itself, in every place, from Augusta, Georgia to Augusta, Maine, from Atlanta to Australia, still wrestles with the powers of sin and death; that too is beyond question or doubt.  Our garden here beside the church is a cemetery, and I frequently encounter people who come to be there, early in the morning, or late in the evening.  Their presence bears witness to this ongoing struggle.  They come to be with; they come to remember.  Not expecting anything in particular.   

When the worst thing that could happen, had happened, and the powers of death and destruction had had the final word, Mary Magdalene went to the tomb.  Not expecting anything in particular, early on that first day of the week; she just wanted to be near him.  She just wanted to “be with.” 

What she and the others find there is inexplicable.  It wasn’t merely “they couldn’t believe their eyes”; it simply wasn’t possible.  They saw him on the cross; they washed his lifeless body with their own hands, they laid him in the cave themselves.  To learn that this was not a grave robbery, not some twisted prank, left no explanation whatsoever.  They all are beyond confused; not knowing how to proceed or what to do next.  Peter and John drift off, heading home perhaps, or looking for the first-century equivalent of Starbucks before beginning the day. 

Mary remains: still confused, still bewildered, still frustrated beyond words.  Perhaps we know that feeling?  When there is nothing to be done, no real solution to the problem, and seemingly no way out.  All we can do, it appears, is remain there in the moment. 

She sees two figures in white robes—messengers, which is the primary meaning of the word “angel.”  She doesn’t recognize them as such, just at the moment.  We usually recognize angels only after the fact—but that’s another sermon altogether. 

She stands, still confused, still weeping.  Still not seeing what she doesn’t expect to see. 

The gardener—as she supposes—comes up to her. And asks her: “Whom do you seek?  Whom are you looking for?”  

We’ve heard that question before, earlier in the Gospel of John.  When Jesus was in another garden, in Gethsemane on the Mount of Olives, before he was arrested, twice he asked the authorities who came to arrest him: Whom are you looking for?  And twice they answered him: Jesus of Nazareth. 

This is the third time that question comes from Jesus’ lips.

The answer is the same, but not the same at all. 

Mary cannot see; she cannot recognize; she can barely speak. 

In her grief and confusion, she is like one close to death herself. 

Until he calls her name.

Until he calls her, by name. 

Then she hears.  Then she sees.  Then she speaks.

Then the breath of life comes into her,  as it did in another garden, in Eden, when God created life at the beginning of all things.   

Her shock and amazement and incredulity is just that—she didn’t expect to find him at all.  He was dead; he was buried; he was gone; that was it.  Game over. 

But God had something else in mind.  When the worst that could happen, did happen, and the powers of death and destruction had had the final word, God had another word after that.  And that word brought new life out of old death; breathed the breath of life into dust and ashes.  Faced with the worst that human sin and suffering could do, God did something even more wonderful.  A new creation comes to birth, by the power and mercy and love of God for all the creation.  The last enemy to be destroyed is death; the destruction of death has begun.  Christ first; in God’s good time, all the rest of us with him.   

She didn’t expect it at all.  None of them did.  Nor do we.

This week, in those places and situations where you are quite sure that it’s all over, the end has come, no way out…look for the angels.  You may not recognize them at first.  That’s okay. Look for the gardener, as you may suppose him or her to be, who comes to call you, in the midst of confusion and sadness and incomprehension.  Who comes, and calls you by name.  Who comes into all our places of death and destruction, to bring good news of God’s life and unconquerable love.   

And then, go tell the others.   For it is good news, today and tomorrow and all the days to come. 

Alleluia, Christ is risen!

 

Easter Vigil

Preached by Rev. Dr. Jason Haddox

Genesis 1:  “So Good!”

Noah, the Ark, the Rainbow: “Never Again”

Exodus: The Red Sea, remembrance and liberation, Miriam and the women dancing on the sea shore; “We Remember”

Isaiah 55: Come to the water, be washed and filled, welcomed and restored. 

“My ways are not your ways…my word goes forth and accomplishes what it intends.”   

“Come, get up, come to the waters!” the prophet cries.  Come and be refreshed; eat and drink, food and wine provided by a generous host!  We hear God’s promise to the exiles, the people of Israel in captivity, as the prophet Isaiah calls them to throw themselves into God’s abundance.  We hear an invitation to enter into this richness, this generous place.  “Not for money, not for a price.”  Not earned or deserved by our own cleverness or accomplishments or education, not bought by large bank accounts or inherited in trust funds—but offered freely to all, without condition or qualification.  The exiles have wandered far away; now they are called to turn their wanderings back to the source of Life. 

Back to the one who spoke all things—ALL THINGS—into being in the beginning, and cried out over them: It is “SO GOOD!”  (Let them echo—prompt them if they don’t)  To return and know that it is God whom they seek in their wanderings; and that it is God who has been seeking them and chasing after them and longing for them all along.  That as they walked……in the Garden with Adam and Eve and felt the warm sunshine on their shoulders and the coolness of the grass under their feet; …as they walked with Noah and his companions out of the smelly, creaky Ark and felt that thick gloppy mud between their toes; …as they walked with the children of Israel through the Red Sea on dry ground, and danced on the sand with Moses and Miriam and the mothers and sisters, …that God has walked with them all along the way.  That they were never along in that walking.   

The feet of faith carried Adam and Eve, and Noah and Isaiah, and Miriam and Moses. 

The feet of faith carried Jesus as he fed the hungry, and healed the sick, as he welcomed the outsiders and strangers, forgave sinners, ate and drank with the wrong sort of people and proclaimed God’s kingdom among those who followed him.

The feet of faith even took Jesus to the cross and death itself.    

The feet of faith carried Mary Magdalene and Peter and John, early on the morning of the third day, to the garden where Jesus was buried, to discover that the tomb was empty, the stone rolled back. 

 

And the feet of faith carried Mary Magdalene, the “apostle to the apostles” to tell the others: I have seen the Lord!” 

And those same feet carry us in the journey of faith here this morning.  We come, O so early!  We come with weary feet, aching feet, calloused and crusty and corn-covered feet; we come with young tiny feet, strong vigorous feet, joyous dancing feet.  We experience the stories of God’s mighty acts, again and again to save, to set free, to restore, to seek and find that which was lost; to make new that which had grown old; to breathe the breath of life into that which was dead and buried and almost forgotten.  We hear these stories and they are OUR stories.  We too come, gathered as the People of God, walking the journey of faith together, carried on the feet of faith (our own or someone else’s) learning again and again what that means to follow the way of Christ and how to do it. 

We come today bringing new travelers on the journey of faith.  Annaliese Raine is old enough to begin the journey by her own say-so, but not without a good deal of help in the rough places;  Liam Holder and Ehlana Orin have yet to take even a first step.  And that is all just as it should be—for none of us can walk this journey of faith by ourselves, or without help.  In baptism we begin the journey; a single event takes place, and we spend the rest of our lives figuring out what that means, and how to live as a result of that event.   

In a moment we will pray for Annaliese and Liam and Ehlana, and for ourselves as well—that the presence and gifts of the Holy Spirit will be bestowed upon us all, for renewal and refreshment, forgiveness and cleansing, nourishment and strength.  “Not for money, not for a price,” as Isaiah says, but because God loves us and will have us for God’s own.  We hear the stories—we tell them again to each other—and we remember.  We remember. We remember.  And it is SO GOOD.

 

1 Epiphany, The Baptism of Our Lord, Year C, January 13, 2013

Isaiah 43:1-7; Psalm 29; Acts 8:14-17; Luke 3:15-17, 21-22
Preached by Rev. Deacon John Warner

Are You Building Your ARK?

Epiphany arrived last week marking an end to our Christmas season. It is beginning to look a lot NOT like Christmas. No Christmas music overhead coming from the Barnes and Noble speakers. No more Christmas movies unless you are like Marsha and have saved them to the DVR. Recently, I read a list of the top twenty Christmas movies of all time. Some I would have expected to be on the list such as “A Christmas Story, which was number one.” Others, I would have never guessed, such as “Bad Santa” or…”Santa Claus Conquers the Martians.” During December, I did watch one, which wasn’t the typical Christmas movie—“Evan Almighty.” The film’s protagonist is Evan Baxter, a newscaster who runs for Congress campaigning on a promise to change the world. After winning the election, but before taking the oath of office, he prays for God’s assistance in accomplishing this task. God, in the guise of Morgan Freeman, answers his prayers by telling Evan to build an ark. Although most of the movie’s comedy revolves around Evan’s adventures in building the ark, God’s directive to build an ark was misunderstood. It was meant be an answer to Evan’s prayful question, “How does one change the world?” The answer of “ark” was actually an acronym for the phrase, “acts of random kindness.”

Although it was probably not Jesus’ intention to change the world, this is what his life and death did. Scripture doesn’t tell us much about the intervening years between his birth and his appearance today on the banks of the Jordan River. Luke tells us a little about his childhood experiences but even these recountings are sparse. The baptism of Jesus is such a seminal event in the origins of the Christian faith that all four Gospels relay similar versions of the story. In today’s Gospel, one can imagine Jesus approaching the shores of the Jordon River where John had been baptizing a number of individuals, possibly seeking a ritual purification or conversion to Judaism. Why Jesus chose this moment in his thirtieth year to be baptized, we don’t know. But Jesus, the man that John the Baptizer prophesied about, joins with the community present, kneels in front of John, and John christens Jesus with water. Then after a prayer and the receipt of the Holy Spirit, the heavens breaks and God makes a public declaration of Jesus’ identity-- his special relationship to God. “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”

The inauguration of the rite of baptism began with the baptism of Jesus. With the baptism of Jesus, John’s prophesy has been fulfilled. John baptized Jesus with water, but Jesus will baptize with water, fire and the Holy Spirit. Through him, God’s power will be made manifest. With God’s affirmation, he is the bringer of God’s kingdom.

Shortly, the Pharisees express concern that he is baptizing more than John ever did. (John 4:1). The disciples are told to continue his practice of baptizing and teaching. (Mt 28:19). And the sacrament of baptism has been performed generation to generation for the last two thousand years.

All cultures have initiation rites into the community. In the Hindu tradition, the mundan is performed between the age of one and three where the boy’s hair is shaven symbolizing a freedom from undesirable traits from past lives; therefore a cleansing of the self for the future. Our Christian life begins with the baptismal font. The rite of baptism serves as the threshold – a doorway – to the other sacraments including confirmation, Eucharist and confession.

Jesus became to associate his baptism with his death. Since the early church, baptism provided a means for us to share in the death and resurrection of Jesus. Whenever Fr. Jason blesses the water poured into the font, the congregation hears “We thank you, Father for the water of Baptism. In it we are buried with Christ in his death. Through it we are reborn by the Holy Spirit.” Our shared burial with Jesus means that we die to a life that separates us from God -- a life of self-will, self-seeking and self-serving. The more we die, the more we are reborn to a life on the other side of death. The more we die to self; the more we begin to live to God.

Our journey toward Christlikeness is not easy. After all, we are human. However, we are not alone in our baptismal life. We reach out for God’s help “to resist evil” and the courage to repent and return to God when we fall short. Baptism is imbued with a corporate spirituality as the community of believers holds us up in their prayers of support.

Baptism into the Christian life begins at the font but it doesn’t end at the font. After Jesus was baptized, he shortly thereafter, began his ministry. There was an interceding period in the wildness but this is the subject of another sermon. What does it mean to die and be reborn in Christ? Where does our baptism take us? Answers to these questions can be discerned when we rededicate our faith and service to God through the Baptismal Covenant. In a series of vows, we promise to live out the Gospel, including a promise to seek and serve Christ in all persons respecting each individual’s dignity. What struck me when I reread the Baptismal Covenant in preparing for this sermon was the inclusion of the phrase “to seek;” not just to serve. This means that we are to seek people who need our help and care rather than waiting for them to come within our proximity. This phase also requires that we occasionally leave our comfort zone in simply serving our loved ones, our families and church community, all worthwhile activity, but to extend our boundaries into unfamiliar, often uncomfortable, service opportunities.

In a moment, we will recite the Baptismal Covenant. I would ask that when you recite the words, you reflect on their meaning for you. Remember it is more than simply an affirmation of faith. It also involves a series of vows in which we promise to change the world. Evan Baxter’s question regarding how to change the world was answered by Morgan Freeman, in the guise of God, “Build an ARK” or “acts of random kindness.” Are you building an ARK? Will you?

Amen.

Christmas I, Year C, 30 Dec 2012

Isaiah 61:10-62:3; Psalm 47:13-21; Galatians 3:23-25, 4:4-7;
St. John 1:1-18
Preached by Rev. Lou Scales

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.”

It is already the first week after Christmas. After being awe-struck by the unspeakable gift of the Christ child, we haven’t much time to devote to the simplicity and profound experience of, well, continuing to be awe-struck.

The sentiment that wants Christmas “to last all year long” is, at least, to a degree, the desire to bathe ourselves in the uncommon goodness and good cheer that seems to be all around us – to relish the momentary let-down of long held irritations and resentments, - to delight in the beauty and pageantry of extravagant generosity and almost inordinate good will. “Joy to the World, the Lord is come!” The King of the Universe, by choice, has come into humanity, into this world in an absolute fit compassion and love – why shouldn’t we want this event to be a continual celebration?

And perhaps when we can see clearly, in the light of day, how to love peace and do justice, when we learn clearly the compassion that extends to all God’s people – perhaps then IT WILL BE a never-ending celebration.

But until then, we must be reminded, again and again, of the implications of the entry of God into human history, in the form of a baby – to be the light of the world – to show us the way past the darkness of sin and death, into the unspeakable presence of the Holy. “The light,” says John, “has come into the world.” So now, what do we do? How do we respond? What are we supposed to think?

It could be, that in pious gratitude, we think we should now speak of only holy things – only do holy things, or do everything we can to demonstrate to one and all that we are one of those few John’s Gospel mentions that really SAW the light. The temptation to walk down the path of doctrinal and theological purity – or to attempt it – is great, and has all the potential to be overwhelming. After all, with all the uncertainty the world can throw at us, doesn’t it make sense to enlist purity and piety in our defense? What can possibly be wrong with that?

Well, nothing, really, except that it flies in the face of most everything John’s Gospel has just told us.

Frederick Buechner gives us the stark, realistic reminder that the Word becoming flesh and dwelling among us, full of grace and truth – is really what the Incarnation means. And you’re right. This is untheological, it is unsophisticated, it is undignified. But according to Christianity, it is the way things are.

All religions and philosophies which deny the reality or the significance of the material, the fleshly, the earthbound, are themselves denied. Moses at the burning bush, was told to take off his shoes because the ground on which he stood was holy ground, and incarnation means that all ground is holy ground, because God not only made it, but walked on it, ate and slept and worked and died on it. If we become the children of God ANYWHERE, we become children of God HERE. If we are saved anywhere, we are saved here. And what is saved is not some amorphous distillation of our bodies and our earth, but our bodies and our earth themselves. Jerusalem becomes the New Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven like a bride adorned for her husband. Our bodies are sown perishable and raised imperishable.

You see, one of the blunders religious people are particularly fond of making is attempting to be more spiritual than God.

The light that has come into the world is not something we can see – we can only see what the LIGHT LIGHTS UP – like the little circle of night where the candle flickers – the images of the things around us, the images of ourselves that are so often hidden from those around us, or even those images of ourselves that we so often hide from ourselves.

The light that has come into the world allows us to see ourselves, possibly for the very first time – to see who we are, to see WHOSE we are, and maybe even get a glimpse of the pathway ahead of us.

The Word did become flesh, and the Word does dwell among us. God has taken flesh and blood, joy and sorrow, and sanctified it, made it holy, and in the process, has allowed us to stand in the Presence of the Holy One, the Creator of all Things, even and especially us. And in that light, those who have walked in darkness for so long, may, for the first time, see where they are going. And that, too, is you and me. And that, too, is all those people around us who can become the people of God.

So the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we saw his glory, such glory as befits the Father’s Only Son, full of grace and truth. And out of his store, we have received grace upon grace. It is that same grace, that as believers in this indescribable miracle of God’s power and might and love and compassion, we must give to the people of God. Especially those who hurt so deeply, who know sadness, and disappointment, who don’t know they are God’s children, until we show them. That’s what we have to do, that’s what we have to think, that’s what we have to live in response to the God who loves us enough to come here and be among us. Merry Christmas. And Happy New Year. AMEN.