A Homily for Lent II

March 8, 2020

All Saints Anglican Church, Prescott, AZ

 

Text: Matthew 5:27-37

 

Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of our hearts be always acceptable in thy sight, O Lord our strength and our redeemer. Amen.

 

            Every Lent I set up for myself these incredibly high standards – “this Lent, I think to myself, I’m going to do a million things and become super awesome,” and on the surface I tell myself that it is for the sake of my soul, for the stripping away of all that is not of God. But I think deep down inside I want to be what St. Paul calls a super-apostle. A mocking term for those who added to the gospel of Jesus Christ at the church in Corinth.

            This year was really no different

And with some of my Lenten disciplines – I lasted 48 hours.

            Then I had a revelation – for me – this year – I think Lent is as much about mortification of the flesh through abstaining from certain pleasures, especially those which lead me into sin – as it is of learning the habitual act of repentance. Relearning repentance as a central part of the Christian life – learning to recognize when we’ve sinned, learning to flee from that sin when it comes at us, but not simply to flee from it, but flee into the arms of a loving God, flee into the grace of Christ who died on the cross for all our sins. For each of us – Lent ends up being different – some must abstain from something – others must add a new discipline, while others may simply need to relearn the old habit of repenting regularly.

            I recently stumbled across an article on Biblical manhood. The author lamented that one of the things that we tend to do as the church is tell people, men in particularly what not to do – and these admonitions are good – but we rarely tell them what to do. One of his exhortations was that men of God do “not merely avoids habitual sin, but cultivates habitual repentance.”

            Lent is a season of habitual repentance, habitually turning away from our sin, and turning back to God. Daily dying to ourselves and daily coming alive in Christ. It is our opportunity to recapture that calling to habitual repentance.

            This morning’s lesson is hard – I would be lying if when I read it on Monday as I started to prepare, that I thought “good! I get to preach on lust, adultery, divorce, and lying!”

            Perhaps my attitude was not as good as it should have been because we are privileged to have a lectionary that guides and directs us so that ultimately, we submit ourselves to the whole teaching of Christ, submit ourselves even to those parts that make us uncomfortable and this is an uncomfortable subject because chances are – lust – divorce – or a lack of truthfulness has affect each and every one of us – if not all three, at least one or two, for we are sinners who are broken, who struggle to allow God to fill every inch of our hearts and chase after every fleeting thing – and so, by the grace of God, we must wade through difficult passages such as these. For it is ultimately our calling to fill our hearts with the grace that we find in Christ. We are called to be endued with the spirit, to the glory of God in all things.

            Before we go any further – I want to say these two things – first – I speak as one who has a log in my eye – I do not presume to preach to you as one who is morally perfect – but as one like all of us has sinned, has fallen short of the glory of God, who has missed the mark. I have struggled with all kinds of sins, and seen my own darkness in my heart. So, do not hear me as one who is mightier than you – but as one who has sinned, who has repented, who is saved not by my own works but by the grace of God found in Christ Jesus. Hear one who finds Christ’s strength in his own weakness.  

            Secondly – you may very well feel yourself being uncomfortable with this subject matter, your conscience might arise within you and tell you – “r

A Homily for Lent 1

March 1, 2020

All Saints Anglican Church, Prescott, AZ

 

Text: Matthew 4:1-11

 

Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of our hearts be always acceptable in thy sight, O Lord our strength and our redeemer. Amen.

            It was a perfect day, like any other day, and they were tending to the garden, pruning branches, fertilizing the roots, and assuring all the plants had enough water when the serpent walked up, beautiful and perfect in every way. She liked the serpent, she always found him to be pretty, and he was delightfully clever. But that day he looked into her eyes and said something that changed the world forever.

            It wasn’t that he said a lot, or even made any sort of pervasive arguments, and she wished she’d known better how to respond. No, all that the serpent said was: “did God really say?” It was just a tiny seed of doubt, a tiny nudge away from the truth. They had hoped not to fail God, they had hoped not to disappoint him. He was their friend, and how they liked those walks in the garden in the cool of the day. How they liked to be with him, he loved them so, he loved them, better than she loved her children.

            But that question – how it haunted her every day – how it haunted her, why did she fall for such a silly little thing – why didn’t she answer better when he asked: “did God really say?”

            We have two accounts of Satan tempting people, two accounts of the devil seeking to trip up people – he first goes after Adam and Eve – he goes after the first people, our first parents and tempts them into disbelief – even if its just momentary disbelief – “are you certain?” He asks and it’s this little question that is enough to lead them into sin. Then, when, instead of telling the devil what God actually, instead of telling the devil to go away for what he was suggesting was evil, they add to what God said, the devil sees his opportunity. He tempts Eve further – he tempts her by calling God a liar, and promising her power, and she and Adam take and eat, and sin entered the world. Sin infected them, and it has infected everyone ever since. Sin has lead to death, sickness, disease, pain, anger, disbelief, war, famine, and natural disaster. Sin is deadly, sin is the dreadful infection.

            But Satan also tempted the second Adam, Satan came to him in the wilderness and asked him to prove himself. But Christ owed no one proof – but rather – set for us a model of rebuke, a model of putting off the devil, a model of total dependence upon God.

            The wilderness – spiritual or literal is an interesting place – because in wilderness there are deep dark dangers – there are pitfalls, there are demons, there is dread and terribleness – but too in the wilderness is the opportunity to depend totally upon God.

            One of three things can happen when we enter into a wilderness season – whether it be that of the intentional abstinence of Lent – the intentional mortification of the flesh – or that of the seasons when disappointment, disaster, and darkness besets us.

            First we can be tempted into hardening our hearts – tempted into death – tempted into saying God is not God – God does not love and care for us, and so in our despondency we cast him aside for this present trial seems too dark, too hard.

            Second – we can be tempted into self-reliance – tempted into saying we do not need God or anyone else, but we can handle this on our own. We can find within ourselves all the answers that we need – we can find happiness in the wilderness of the world, and so we kick God out, and strive to be our own gods.

            We live in a time – where everyone has their own truths, where everyone is encouraged “to be true to themselves.” We are told to find happiness within ourselves – but such advice leads to spiritual disaster. No – I think that ancient definition of happiness is far better – Christian happiness is that feeling th

A Homily for Quinquagesima

February 23, 2020

All Saints Anglican Church, Prescott, AZ

 

Text: John 15:1-17

 

Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of our heart be always acceptable in thy sight, O Lord our strength and our redeemer. Amen.

 

            It’s late at night now and twelve men walk through the normally crowded streets of Jerusalem. They whisper together, and suddenly the teacher speaks “I am the true vine,” he says and their mumbling is hushed. Somehow they know that the night air is pregnant with suspense, this trip to Jerusalem had been weird, or at least weirder than some of their others. Their teacher had come into the city with songs of praise from the people, but he had spared no time in criticizing the elite, he had spared no time in upsetting those who lived as hypocrites or abused their of power.

            Then tonight, one of their numbers had run out of their Passover feast, and John was saying that their leader had said this one would betray him. They may have wondered why they weren’t hiding, they may have wondered what that even meant. Some thought, maybe Judas had stolen money from their small treasury.

But none the less, now they walked to the garden where the teacher liked to go to pray, spending late night hours there talking to the Father, talking to God.

            Little did they know in less than 24 hours He would be hung upon a cross, naked and full of shame, little did they know in just moments a crowd of religious leaders would meet them in that peaceful garden and arrest him. Little did they know that he would be lead away like a sheep to the slaughter, and they would scatter. Little did they know that their hearts would faint, while their world was turned upside down.

            They thought they were strong, they thought they were ready for everything, and looking back, surely they saw then, what they couldn’t have seen in that moment. He had warned us, he had prepared us for what was coming, how could our hearts have been so hard? They must have pondered.

 

            We need this backdrop to understand the staggering thing that is happening in our gospel lesson this morning – we find ourselves dab-smack in the middle of what is commonly called the Upper Room discourse, but I think that’s a misnomer. In Chapters 13 and 14, we get a description of the Last Supper, or the first, which we recall on Maundy Thursday, and then Jesus starts to teach.

            Then at the end of chapter 14 Jesus says “Rise, let us go from here.”

And we see a transition, it seems Jesus and his disciples then leave and make their way to the garden where he is betrayed in chapter 18. Ultimately, whether they are walking through the city streets of Jerusalem with purpose, or still in the upper room, talking, does not matter as much as understanding, that in less than 24 hours Jesus will be dead, and the disciples would be scared and scattered.

 

            And he proclaims “I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinedresser. Every branch in me that does not bear fruit he takes away, and every branch that does bear fruit he prunes, that it may bear more fruit.”

            This past week a politician was found out to have made a strange remark about farming. He claimed “I could teach anybody… to be a farmer. It’s a process: you dig a hole, you put a seed in, you put dirt on top, add water, and up comes corn.” You may have heard about this and know what I’m talking about. It was simplistic and rather condescending and untrue statement, as anyone who has tried to keep even houseplants alive knows. It takes effort and intentionality.

            Last week we talked about the simple act of sowing seeds – and if we live our lives with congruency to the gospel of Jesus Christ which we claim to believe, we will naturally go about our lives sowing seeds – sowing seeds with friends, sowing seeds with neighbors, and co-workers and family members but even that takes work, even that is not so simp

A Homily for Sexagesima

February 16, 2020

All Saints Anglican Church, Prescott, AZ

 

Text: Luke 8:4-15

 

Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of our hearts be always acceptable in thy sight, O Lord our Strength and our redeemer. Amen.

 

            This morning I want to tell you the story of how I became a Christian, because once, almost twenty years ago, someone tossed some seeds, and one landed in my heart. This seed changed my heart, turned me away from a worldly life, and redirected me towards Christ. I want to tell you this story in part because I think we can live a faithful life, we can continually cast the seeds of the gospel, and we can feel as though nothing we have done makes a difference, but we may never know where a seed has landed and how the Holy Spirit has used it to foster in someone a new life.

            I also want to tell you it so you understand my heart as a pastor better, my heart as your pastor and priest. When I first became a deacon or perhaps shortly before that I spent the weekend with a friend and mentor of mine. We sat on his porch in Waldoboro, Maine chatting about life and hopes and dreams. During that weekend, he asked me “Ian, why do you want to be a priest?” there are few questions I have known the answer to more intuitively than I knew in that moment, and I what responded with is what I hope my life has been shaped around, I desire to be a priest in order “to make and grow Christians.” It is my desire because I know the difference Christ has made in my life – I hope I can point those who I’m called to serve towards him, towards knowing Him more intimately, towards a deeper relationship with the one who came and died for our sins, and set us free from the dreadful death of the world.

            But back to how I met Jesus – there are two things you should know about me – first I have struggled with depression my whole life – I remember one day when I was seven, wondering and thinking, perhaps 8 will be better. Like other things – this isn’t something I talk a lot about, but it has been something that has propelled me into the arms of Christ – over and over again.

            Secondly, I grew up nominally Roman Catholic. What this meant was when we were home my mom and I went to church, I remember being jealous of my cousins who were taught the Lord’s prayer. I remember my devout Roman Catholic grandfather being upset that I didn’t know the sign of the cross. Religion was something we did when it was convenient, but not something that was discussed freely at home.

But now to meeting Jesus: my freshman year of high school my family and I spent a year traveling – we visited Nova Scotia, the eastern seaboard of the United States, and the Bahamas. It was an incredible gift that my parents gave me, to see the world slowly, to experience cultures outside of Maine, and to experience a different life than the vast majority of Americans get to experience. It was good.

            But, as it turns out people change a lot freshman year of high school.

            My two closest friends from middle school changed while I was gone – one discovered doing drugs was fun, and the other discovered that being mean to the dorky kid was a cathartic experience for him, perhaps, if it’s not clear – I should mention here that I was the dorky kid in question.

            That year was a year of aloneness, wandering, sorrow, and of course deep, dark, depression. But something else happened – I applied for a leadership conference. All the sophomores had to apply, so it wasn’t anything special or to be honest, something I would have done on my own. I did my best to highlight all my qualities as a leader, and there weren’t many. I dutifully turned the assignment in and didn’t think of it again.

            Until one day – I was called to the principal’s office with a popular, overachieving, somewhat meanspirited girl.

            As I contemplated my story this past week, I couldn’t help but think

A Homily for Septuagesima

February 9, 2020

All Saints Anglican Church, Prescott, AZ

 

Text: Matthew 5:1-12

 

Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of our hearts be always acceptable in thy sight, O Lord our strength and our redeemer. Amen.

 

            When you think of humanity what comes to mind? Perhaps the great love stories, or the noble war stories, or perhaps the terror of the cruelty of man as we’ve seen in the modern age? Or perhaps you think of flesh and blood and sinew, or the beauty of your first love, or the distinct smell of you care deeply for who has now gone to their rest.

But what about of statues? As westerners this could be a rather foreign concept to us, but if we lived in the ancient Near East this description might peek our interest.

            Let me explain, perhaps you might remember the fall of Sadam Hussain about twenty years ago. I still have this vivid image of liberated Iraqis pulling down the statues that Sadam has erected in towns throughout his country. This act of ripping down the statues wasn’t just an act of rebellion, it wasn’t just an act of anger at Sadam, though those were undoubtedly a part of the motive, the action of destruction said something very poignant. It said – this man no longer rules us, this country no longer belongs to this dictator, we are removing his image from our land.

            Statues in the ancient, and not so ancient Near East act as symbols of who is in charge, symbols of who the lands belong to.

            And so when I say, do you think of humanity as being statues? This is no mistake – for when we read the wording of the creation of mankind we hear that “male and female are created in the image and likeness of God.” The early readers of Genesis 1 would have known – humanity was placed on earth as a visual and outward reminder that the earth is the Lord’s. Humanity, male and female are visual reminders, statues in the center of town, if you will, that the earth belongs to God.

            This basic fact may help us to worship God better – and to love even our enemies better. How would your perspective change if when you saw a your best friend and recalled the creative power of our Lord?

            Or what about when you saw your spouse or your child?

            Or your annoying co-work or neighbor?

            Or someone who has hurt you deeply or someone who hates you?

            How does recognizing that God created the person sitting next to you change how you approach them?

(pause)

            But then returning to creation – something terrible happened. Perhaps it was an hour or ten years – we do not know, and it does not matter, but the first statues, the first people, did what they were forbidden to do. They ate of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil and rebelled against God, they rejected their ruler, they rejected the one whom they were created in the image of and in this act the image was not lost, but became tarnished.

            Sin entered into the world and it’s horrible grime covered and marred that image.

            And immediately God, the creator enacted his plan for the restoration of those image bearers, He enacted His plan for our restoration his plan for the salvation of humanity.

First came the Law. Moses went up into the mountain – and he was given the law from God, there he communed with God and God spelled out what he expected from His chosen people, God spelled out a pathway to restoration for them.

            But even this pathway did not free them from sin, did not free them from the dreadful and deadly tarnishing that entered with the first image bearers’ rebellion.

            But then another took on the image – took on the image, became the perfect image of God and He too went into the mountain but He did not communion with God on that mountain, but rather He was God, and He taught as one with authority, He taught as one who had the right to say what He said. And this teaching is where we p