A Sermon for Ash Wednesday, March 6, 2019

St. Dunstan’s Anglican Church, Largo, FL

The Very Rev. J. Michael Strachan

Isaiah 58:1-12

Ash Wednesday confronts us with our

mortality and sinfulness. It’s interesting liturgically because this is not a

Principal Feast of the Christian church. It is a Principal Holy Day on which we

celebrate communion. And the reason this is interesting is that celebrations of Holy Communion are,

generally speaking, always feasts. That’s why we don’t fast on Sundays during

Lent, because we celebrate Holy Communion on Sunday, and you don’t typically fast when you celebrate Holy

Communion. So, this day is an oddity. This day is a celebration of Holy

Communion that is not a feast, but a day of fasting.

So, this celebration has to be

different. That’s why we strip out the service music and hymns from this

service. That’s why there is less joy and

celebration and more confession and a greater focus on our sinfulness. In many ways, Ash Wednesday deconstructs the Eucharist.

The symbols of life come to us today surrounded with reminders not of life and

vitality and the spirit, but with reminders of sin and our mortality. We come

forward twice today, once to be reminded that we are dust and that to dust we shall return. We are commanded to turn

away from sin and be faithful to Christ, and then we come forward again to do

the very thing that Christ commanded us to do, which is to share the meal that

he gives his church.

The church makes Lent into its own thing. Some people give up chocolates.

Some people give up soda. Some people give up Facebook or all social media. I’m

not here to critique you or judge how you choose to fast this Lent. However, I

am here to remind you that even the readings for Ash Wednesday begin to

deconstruct or dissemble that idea of fasting. And again this fits well with our mission as a church, and this is

why most of our Lenten initiatives are outward focused. Whether that’s 40 Days

and 40 Items, which is collecting clothing for our trailer park ministries,

Seek God for the City which seeks to bathe our local city in prayer, and

Saturate USA, which will help us bring

the Gospel to the front door of many who are quite literally our neighbors.

You see, when we think about our

Lenten fasting in terms of what we are giving up, we’re still focusing on us.

And when we fast and focus on ourselves, we might wonder why we don’t feel the profound spiritual moments that we might expect

to feel as we fast and seek God in prayer. Judah experienced something similar.

They said to their God, “Why have we fasted, and you see it not? Why have we

humbled ourselves, and you take no knowledge of it.” The Lord’s answer comes a few verses later.

“Is such the fast that I choose, a

day for a person to humble himself? Is it to bow down his head like a reed, and

to spread sackcloth and ashes under him? Will you call this a fast, and a day

acceptable to the LORD?

“Is not this the fast that I

choose: to loose the bonds of wickedness, to undo the straps of the yoke, to

let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke? Is it not to share your

bread with the hungry and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see

the naked, to cover him, and not to hide yourself

from your own flesh? Then shall your

light break forth like the dawn, and your healing shall spring up speedily;

your righteousness shall go before you; the glory of the LORD shall be your

rear guard. Then you shall call, and the LORD will answer; you shall cry, and

he will say, ‘Here I am.’ If you take away the yoke from your midst, the

pointing of the finger, and speaking wickedness, if you pour yourself out for

the hungry and satisfy the desire of the afflicted, then shall your light rise

in the darkness and your gloom be as the noonday. And the LORD will guide you

continually and satisfy your desire in scorched places and make your bones

strong; and you shall be like a watered garden, like a spring of water, whos

A Sermon for Ash Wednesday, March 6, 2019

St. Dunstan’s Anglican Church, Largo, FL

The Very Rev. J. Michael Strachan

Isaiah 58:1-12

Ash Wednesday confronts us with our

mortality and sinfulness. It’s interesting liturgically because this is not a

Principal Feast of the Christian church. It is a Principal Holy Day on which we

celebrate communion. And the reason this is interesting is that celebrations of Holy Communion are,

generally speaking, always feasts. That’s why we don’t fast on Sundays during

Lent, because we celebrate Holy Communion on Sunday, and you don’t typically fast when you celebrate Holy

Communion. So, this day is an oddity. This day is a celebration of Holy

Communion that is not a feast, but a day of fasting.

So, this celebration has to be

different. That’s why we strip out the service music and hymns from this

service. That’s why there is less joy and

celebration and more confession and a greater focus on our sinfulness. In many ways, Ash Wednesday deconstructs the Eucharist.

The symbols of life come to us today surrounded with reminders not of life and

vitality and the spirit, but with reminders of sin and our mortality. We come

forward twice today, once to be reminded that we are dust and that to dust we shall return. We are commanded to turn

away from sin and be faithful to Christ, and then we come forward again to do

the very thing that Christ commanded us to do, which is to share the meal that

he gives his church.

The church makes Lent into its own thing. Some people give up chocolates.

Some people give up soda. Some people give up Facebook or all social media. I’m

not here to critique you or judge how you choose to fast this Lent. However, I

am here to remind you that even the readings for Ash Wednesday begin to

deconstruct or dissemble that idea of fasting. And again this fits well with our mission as a church, and this is

why most of our Lenten initiatives are outward focused. Whether that’s 40 Days

and 40 Items, which is collecting clothing for our trailer park ministries,

Seek God for the City which seeks to bathe our local city in prayer, and

Saturate USA, which will help us bring

the Gospel to the front door of many who are quite literally our neighbors.

You see, when we think about our

Lenten fasting in terms of what we are giving up, we’re still focusing on us.

And when we fast and focus on ourselves, we might wonder why we don’t feel the profound spiritual moments that we might expect

to feel as we fast and seek God in prayer. Judah experienced something similar.

They said to their God, “Why have we fasted, and you see it not? Why have we

humbled ourselves, and you take no knowledge of it.” The Lord’s answer comes a few verses later.

“Is such the fast that I choose, a

day for a person to humble himself? Is it to bow down his head like a reed, and

to spread sackcloth and ashes under him? Will you call this a fast, and a day

acceptable to the LORD?

“Is not this the fast that I

choose: to loose the bonds of wickedness, to undo the straps of the yoke, to

let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke? Is it not to share your

bread with the hungry and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see

the naked, to cover him, and not to hide yourself

from your own flesh? Then shall your

light break forth like the dawn, and your healing shall spring up speedily;

your righteousness shall go before you; the glory of the LORD shall be your

rear guard. Then you shall call, and the LORD will answer; you shall cry, and

he will say, ‘Here I am.’ If you take away the yoke from your midst, the

pointing of the finger, and speaking wickedness, if you pour yourself out for

the hungry and satisfy the desire of the afflicted, then shall your light rise

in the darkness and your gloom be as the noonday. And the LORD will guide you

continually and satisfy your desire in scorched places and make your bones

strong; and you shall be like a watered garden, like a spring of water, whos

A Sermon for the Sunday next before Lent, March 3, 2019

St. Dunstan’s Anglican Church, Largo, FL

The Very Rev. J. Michael Strachan

Luke 9:28-36

The 1662 Book of Common Prayer

refers to this Sunday not as the Sunday next before Lent, but as Quinquagesima

Sunday. This word comes from the Latin quinquagesimus meaning “fifty,” and, if you

count inclusively, meaning you count both Sundays, today is fifty days from

Easter. Since the season of Lent is forty-seven days, with forty days of

fasting and seven Sunday of feasting, when you

come to Quinquagesima Sunday, you know

that you are standing on the doorstep of

Lent.

We are three days away from walking

with Jesus in the wilderness, three days away from our fasts, three days away

from preparing ourselves for the sorrow of Good Friday. We are three days away

from having the ashes from the burned palm branches of our Palm Sunday

celebration placed on our heads with these words: Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return; turn away from sin and be

faithful to Christ. We are three days away from publicly and corporately

remembering and confessing our mortality, sinfulness, and need for a savior.

Before we get there though, before we come to Ash Wednesday and the

beginning of Lent, we have this Sunday, Quinquagesima Sunday, the Sunday next

before Lent. And one of the interesting

facts about our lectionary is that the Gospel reading for this Sunday regardless

of whether you’re in Year A, B, or C is always the Transfiguration. I think the logic is, and I’ve shared this before, that we need this

vision in our minds of the stunning glory of Jesus to sustain us through the

hardships to come in Lent and Holy Week. I

understand this logic, but I don’t know that I

like it. Or at least I want to qualify it because Jesus himself turns away from this glory and sets his face

towards the cross.

Peter says in the midst of this glorious moment, “Master, it is good that we

are here. Let us make three tents, one for you

and one for Moses and one for Elijah” (Luke 9:33) And Luke, the narrator,

immediately remarks of Peter’s comment that Peter didn’t know what he was saying. This statement by Peter is

notoriously difficult to understand. Because of the reference to tents, some think that Peter is referencing keeping

the Feast of Tabernacles with Jesus, Moses, and Elijah. Whatever the case, it

seems that Peter wants to stay here in this moment. He wants to set up shop. He

wants to build tents. He wants to stay here. He wants to dwell in this moment. But

Luke understands that that is not how this story works. Peter doesn’t understand what he just said.

And

I think we can all understand Peter’s reaction. What’s waiting for us down the mountain, what’s waiting for us in three days, isn’t pretty. It’s ugly,

dirty, messy, painful, violent, and even deadly. Why don’t we stay here? Why

don’t we just set up shop in ordinary time, build our tents, and wait it out

for Easter Sunday? We’ll go from glory to

glory, from the Transfiguration to Easter Sunday, and avoid the mess and the

pain of Ash Wednesday, Lent, and Good Friday. Doesn’t

that sound better?

Let me

give you two reasons why we need these

forty days of Lent, why we need Ash Wednesday and Good Friday. The first is one

that I know I’ve made before, so I won’t

belabor the point, but it is near and dear to my

heart and central to our mission as a church. The Gospels didn’t come into existence because the

Evangelists sat down and, starting from scratch, wrote their accounts of the

life of Jesus. One of the ways we can tell this is that stories seem to get

stuck together in the Gospels. Some stories appear in random places in different Gospels, and some always appear

together. In all three of the Synoptic Gospels, the narrative directly connects

the account of the Transfiguration to the

healing of a demon-possessed boy.

Luke makes the connection clear, saying, “On the next day, when they had

come down from the mounta

A Sermon for the Sunday next before Lent, March 3, 2019

St. Dunstan’s Anglican Church, Largo, FL

The Very Rev. J. Michael Strachan

Luke 9:28-36

The 1662 Book of Common Prayer

refers to this Sunday not as the Sunday next before Lent, but as Quinquagesima

Sunday. This word comes from the Latin quinquagesimus meaning “fifty,” and, if you

count inclusively, meaning you count both Sundays, today is fifty days from

Easter. Since the season of Lent is forty-seven days, with forty days of

fasting and seven Sunday of feasting, when you

come to Quinquagesima Sunday, you know

that you are standing on the doorstep of

Lent.

We are three days away from walking

with Jesus in the wilderness, three days away from our fasts, three days away

from preparing ourselves for the sorrow of Good Friday. We are three days away

from having the ashes from the burned palm branches of our Palm Sunday

celebration placed on our heads with these words: Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return; turn away from sin and be

faithful to Christ. We are three days away from publicly and corporately

remembering and confessing our mortality, sinfulness, and need for a savior.

Before we get there though, before we come to Ash Wednesday and the

beginning of Lent, we have this Sunday, Quinquagesima Sunday, the Sunday next

before Lent. And one of the interesting

facts about our lectionary is that the Gospel reading for this Sunday regardless

of whether you’re in Year A, B, or C is always the Transfiguration. I think the logic is, and I’ve shared this before, that we need this

vision in our minds of the stunning glory of Jesus to sustain us through the

hardships to come in Lent and Holy Week. I

understand this logic, but I don’t know that I

like it. Or at least I want to qualify it because Jesus himself turns away from this glory and sets his face

towards the cross.

Peter says in the midst of this glorious moment, “Master, it is good that we

are here. Let us make three tents, one for you

and one for Moses and one for Elijah” (Luke 9:33) And Luke, the narrator,

immediately remarks of Peter’s comment that Peter didn’t know what he was saying. This statement by Peter is

notoriously difficult to understand. Because of the reference to tents, some think that Peter is referencing keeping

the Feast of Tabernacles with Jesus, Moses, and Elijah. Whatever the case, it

seems that Peter wants to stay here in this moment. He wants to set up shop. He

wants to build tents. He wants to stay here. He wants to dwell in this moment. But

Luke understands that that is not how this story works. Peter doesn’t understand what he just said.

And

I think we can all understand Peter’s reaction. What’s waiting for us down the mountain, what’s waiting for us in three days, isn’t pretty. It’s ugly,

dirty, messy, painful, violent, and even deadly. Why don’t we stay here? Why

don’t we just set up shop in ordinary time, build our tents, and wait it out

for Easter Sunday? We’ll go from glory to

glory, from the Transfiguration to Easter Sunday, and avoid the mess and the

pain of Ash Wednesday, Lent, and Good Friday. Doesn’t

that sound better?

Let me

give you two reasons why we need these

forty days of Lent, why we need Ash Wednesday and Good Friday. The first is one

that I know I’ve made before, so I won’t

belabor the point, but it is near and dear to my

heart and central to our mission as a church. The Gospels didn’t come into existence because the

Evangelists sat down and, starting from scratch, wrote their accounts of the

life of Jesus. One of the ways we can tell this is that stories seem to get

stuck together in the Gospels. Some stories appear in random places in different Gospels, and some always appear

together. In all three of the Synoptic Gospels, the narrative directly connects

the account of the Transfiguration to the

healing of a demon-possessed boy.

Luke makes the connection clear, saying, “On the next day, when they had

come down from the mounta

A Sermon for the Third Sunday before Lent, February 17, 2019

St. Dunstan’s Anglican Church, Largo, FL

The Very Rev. J. Michael Strachan

Luke 6:17-26

We are St. Dunstan’s Anglican

Church, a Church on the Way. The metaphor at play in that motto or slogan is a

combination of different biblical themes. Of course, Jesus is the Way, so we

are a church who follows him. John the Baptist came proclaiming the Way of the

Lord, and the Gospels tell us that the Way of the Lord is the way of the

cross.  We are a church who takes Jesus

seriously when he says, “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself

and take up his cross and follow me” (Mark 8:34). The earliest name for the

church recorded in the book of Acts is “the Way,” and we recognize that what we

do when we gather together for to worship

is something ancient and something rooted in the Bible. We are a Church on the

Way within this complex metaphor of biblical

allusions and theology. Of course, speaking about “the way” isn’t particularly new. The Didache, the earliest Christian document that doesn’t make it into the canon, begins like this. “There are two ways, one of life and one of death, and there is a great difference between these two ways” (Didache 1:1). The author of the Didache structures the book using this concept that there are two ways. The next verse begins “Now this is the way of life” (Did 1:2), and then a few chapters later we read “But the way of death is this” (Did 5:1).       

This theme that there are two ways is not distinctly Jewish or Christian. It was commonplace in ancient moral philosophy, and there are parallels in the Islamic and Buddhist traditions. Nevertheless, even though this idea isn’t distinctly Jewish or Christian, it is a common theme throughout sacred Scripture. It is used explicitly in the very first Psalm, which we said together this morning. Psalm 1 speaks of “the way of the sinner” or “the way of the wicked” in contrast to “the way of the righteous.” Proverbs also speaks of “the way of the righteous” and “the way of the wicked.”

It could be that Psalms and Proverbs are merely using this common literary theme, but more likely they are expanding the concept of blessing and curse that we find in Deuteronomy. As Moses prepares for his departure, he says, “See, I have set before you today life and good, death and evil. If you obey the commandments of the LORD your God that I command you today, by loving the LORD your God, by walking in his ways, and by keeping his commandments and his statutes and his rules, then you shall live and multiply, and the LORD your God will bless you in the land that you are entering to take possession of it. But if your heart turns away, and you will not hear, but are drawn away to worship other gods and serve them, I declare to you today, that you shall surely perish. You shall not live long in the land that you are going over the Jordan to enter and possess. I call heaven and earth to witness against you today, that I have set before you life and death, blessing and curse. Therefore choose life, that you and your offspring may live, loving the LORD your God, obeying his voice and holding fast to him, for he is your life and length of days, that you may dwell in the land that the LORD swore to your fathers, to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob, to give them” (Deut 30:15–20).

Jeremiah is picking up this same theme in our Old Testament reading today. He says, “Cursed is the person who trusts in humanity and makes flesh his strength, whose heart turns away from the LORD. … Blessed is the man who trusts in the LORD, whose trust is the LORD” (Jer 17:5, 7). A bit later he’ll say to the people explicitly referring back the passage from Deuteronomy, “Behold, I set before you the way of life and the way of death” (Jer 21:8).

It’s within that context, the context of God’s covenantal faithfulness and our responsibility as covenant members, that we need to hear our Gospel reading this morning. Tod

A Sermon for the Third Sunday before Lent, February 17, 2019

St. Dunstan’s Anglican Church, Largo, FL

The Very Rev. J. Michael Strachan

Luke 6:17-26

We are St. Dunstan’s Anglican

Church, a Church on the Way. The metaphor at play in that motto or slogan is a

combination of different biblical themes. Of course, Jesus is the Way, so we

are a church who follows him. John the Baptist came proclaiming the Way of the

Lord, and the Gospels tell us that the Way of the Lord is the way of the

cross.  We are a church who takes Jesus

seriously when he says, “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself

and take up his cross and follow me” (Mark 8:34). The earliest name for the

church recorded in the book of Acts is “the Way,” and we recognize that what we

do when we gather together for to worship

is something ancient and something rooted in the Bible. We are a Church on the

Way within this complex metaphor of biblical

allusions and theology. Of course, speaking about “the way” isn’t particularly new. The Didache, the earliest Christian document that doesn’t make it into the canon, begins like this. “There are two ways, one of life and one of death, and there is a great difference between these two ways” (Didache 1:1). The author of the Didache structures the book using this concept that there are two ways. The next verse begins “Now this is the way of life” (Did 1:2), and then a few chapters later we read “But the way of death is this” (Did 5:1).       

This theme that there are two ways is not distinctly Jewish or Christian. It was commonplace in ancient moral philosophy, and there are parallels in the Islamic and Buddhist traditions. Nevertheless, even though this idea isn’t distinctly Jewish or Christian, it is a common theme throughout sacred Scripture. It is used explicitly in the very first Psalm, which we said together this morning. Psalm 1 speaks of “the way of the sinner” or “the way of the wicked” in contrast to “the way of the righteous.” Proverbs also speaks of “the way of the righteous” and “the way of the wicked.”

It could be that Psalms and Proverbs are merely using this common literary theme, but more likely they are expanding the concept of blessing and curse that we find in Deuteronomy. As Moses prepares for his departure, he says, “See, I have set before you today life and good, death and evil. If you obey the commandments of the LORD your God that I command you today, by loving the LORD your God, by walking in his ways, and by keeping his commandments and his statutes and his rules, then you shall live and multiply, and the LORD your God will bless you in the land that you are entering to take possession of it. But if your heart turns away, and you will not hear, but are drawn away to worship other gods and serve them, I declare to you today, that you shall surely perish. You shall not live long in the land that you are going over the Jordan to enter and possess. I call heaven and earth to witness against you today, that I have set before you life and death, blessing and curse. Therefore choose life, that you and your offspring may live, loving the LORD your God, obeying his voice and holding fast to him, for he is your life and length of days, that you may dwell in the land that the LORD swore to your fathers, to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob, to give them” (Deut 30:15–20).

Jeremiah is picking up this same theme in our Old Testament reading today. He says, “Cursed is the person who trusts in humanity and makes flesh his strength, whose heart turns away from the LORD. … Blessed is the man who trusts in the LORD, whose trust is the LORD” (Jer 17:5, 7). A bit later he’ll say to the people explicitly referring back the passage from Deuteronomy, “Behold, I set before you the way of life and the way of death” (Jer 21:8).

It’s within that context, the context of God’s covenantal faithfulness and our responsibility as covenant members, that we need to hear our Gospel reading this morning. Tod

A Sermon for the Fourth Sunday before Lent, February 10, 2019

St. Dunstan’s Anglican Church, Largo, FL

The Very Rev. J. Michael Strachan

Luke 5:1-11

Without Jesus, we can do nothing.

With Jesus, we can do more than we ever dreamed. If I was to summarize this

morning’s Gospel reading into two sentences, that would be it: Without Jesus,

we can do nothing. With Jesus, we can do more than we ever dreamed. Whether we

apply this truth to the church or to ourselves or our family, the truth is the

same.

Imagine the scene.

You’re a professional fisherman. You’ve done everything right, especially

finishing at night. In the Lake of Gennesaret even to this day the fish mainly

come up at night, and for most of the day they stay far below the surface of

the water. You come in from a long night of fishing and there’s Jesus on the

shore, talking to the people, and he’s being crowded and almost pushed back

into he water. Interestingly, it doesn’t say Jesus asked if he could get into

the boat. The text simply says that he got into the boat.

So, you get into the boat with

Jesus and you push out into the water so he can talk to the people without

being crowded. This might seem a little strange to us, but the geography of the

place forms a small amphitheater, and some scholars say it’s easier even to

this day to talk to a large crowd from the water than it would be from the edge

of the lake. When Jesus finishes speaking, and remember that you’ve worked all

through the night, he says the strangest thing to you: “Put out into the deep

and let down your nets for a catch.”

You’re a

professional fisherman. You know what you’re doing. You don’t fish during the

day, you fish at night when you have the best chance of catching fish, and you

fished all night and caught nothing. You just want to go home. You’re done.

You’re tired. And here’s Jesus telling you to go fishing again. Perhaps even

stranger than Jesus’ suggestion, or perhaps it’s a command, is that Simon Peter

says yes. This is a situation that isn’t foreign to any of us. We know the

thing Jesus says to do, but we also know, or we think we know, what’s the most

practical way to accomplish what it is we want to accomplish, maybe even in his

name. Or perhaps we’re just tired, and we know the thing we should do, and the

Spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak. It’s been a long day, Jesus. I don’t

want to lower the nets again. I’ve been fishing all night, Jesus, and we didn’t

catch anything. Let’s come back and try again tomorrow.

But Peter says

yes, and of course, we know what happened. Peter and the other fisherman caught

so many fish that the nets starts breaking, and Peter had to call to the other

boat for help. Peter seems to suddenly stop being involved with bringing in the

fish, and instead he turns to Jesus, falls at his knees, and says, “Depart from

me, for I am a sinful man, O Lord.” Peter recognizes that there is more to

Jesus than meets the eye. Peter recognizes that there is holiness to Jesus, and

power, and that Jesus was more than just a wise teacher. Peter seems to learn

the lesson quick. Without Jesus, he could do nothing. With Jesus, he could do

more than he ever dreamed. And in the light of this, he doesn’t celebrate as if

he had just a genie in a bottle buried in the sand around the lake. He doesn’t

shout about how he’s going to be the world’s most successful fisherman now that

he has Jesus. No, in light of this incredible success he experiences by

listening to Jesus, instead of celebrating, he recognizes his own sinfulness.

The allusion to Isaiah’s vision of

the heavenly throne room is obvious, and Luke wants his readers to thing

through these two texts together. In one Isaiah sees the Lord of Hosts upon his

throne, and he cries out, “Woe is me! For I am lost; for I am a man of unclean

lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips; for my eyes have

seen the King, the LORD of hosts!” (Isa 6:5). Likewise, Peter sees Jesus’

glory, not the

A Sermon for the Fourth Sunday before Lent, February 10, 2019

St. Dunstan’s Anglican Church, Largo, FL

The Very Rev. J. Michael Strachan

Luke 5:1-11

Without Jesus, we can do nothing.

With Jesus, we can do more than we ever dreamed. If I was to summarize this

morning’s Gospel reading into two sentences, that would be it: Without Jesus,

we can do nothing. With Jesus, we can do more than we ever dreamed. Whether we

apply this truth to the church or to ourselves or our family, the truth is the

same.

Imagine the scene.

You’re a professional fisherman. You’ve done everything right, especially

finishing at night. In the Lake of Gennesaret even to this day the fish mainly

come up at night, and for most of the day they stay far below the surface of

the water. You come in from a long night of fishing and there’s Jesus on the

shore, talking to the people, and he’s being crowded and almost pushed back

into he water. Interestingly, it doesn’t say Jesus asked if he could get into

the boat. The text simply says that he got into the boat.

So, you get into the boat with

Jesus and you push out into the water so he can talk to the people without

being crowded. This might seem a little strange to us, but the geography of the

place forms a small amphitheater, and some scholars say it’s easier even to

this day to talk to a large crowd from the water than it would be from the edge

of the lake. When Jesus finishes speaking, and remember that you’ve worked all

through the night, he says the strangest thing to you: “Put out into the deep

and let down your nets for a catch.”

You’re a

professional fisherman. You know what you’re doing. You don’t fish during the

day, you fish at night when you have the best chance of catching fish, and you

fished all night and caught nothing. You just want to go home. You’re done.

You’re tired. And here’s Jesus telling you to go fishing again. Perhaps even

stranger than Jesus’ suggestion, or perhaps it’s a command, is that Simon Peter

says yes. This is a situation that isn’t foreign to any of us. We know the

thing Jesus says to do, but we also know, or we think we know, what’s the most

practical way to accomplish what it is we want to accomplish, maybe even in his

name. Or perhaps we’re just tired, and we know the thing we should do, and the

Spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak. It’s been a long day, Jesus. I don’t

want to lower the nets again. I’ve been fishing all night, Jesus, and we didn’t

catch anything. Let’s come back and try again tomorrow.

But Peter says

yes, and of course, we know what happened. Peter and the other fisherman caught

so many fish that the nets starts breaking, and Peter had to call to the other

boat for help. Peter seems to suddenly stop being involved with bringing in the

fish, and instead he turns to Jesus, falls at his knees, and says, “Depart from

me, for I am a sinful man, O Lord.” Peter recognizes that there is more to

Jesus than meets the eye. Peter recognizes that there is holiness to Jesus, and

power, and that Jesus was more than just a wise teacher. Peter seems to learn

the lesson quick. Without Jesus, he could do nothing. With Jesus, he could do

more than he ever dreamed. And in the light of this, he doesn’t celebrate as if

he had just a genie in a bottle buried in the sand around the lake. He doesn’t

shout about how he’s going to be the world’s most successful fisherman now that

he has Jesus. No, in light of this incredible success he experiences by

listening to Jesus, instead of celebrating, he recognizes his own sinfulness.

The allusion to Isaiah’s vision of

the heavenly throne room is obvious, and Luke wants his readers to thing

through these two texts together. In one Isaiah sees the Lord of Hosts upon his

throne, and he cries out, “Woe is me! For I am lost; for I am a man of unclean

lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips; for my eyes have

seen the King, the LORD of hosts!” (Isa 6:5). Likewise, Peter sees Jesus’

glory, not the

A Sermon for the Feast of the Presentation, February 3, 2019

St. Dunstan’s Anglican

Church, Largo, FL

The Very Reverend J.

Michael Strachan

Luke 2:22-40

One

often reads in scholarly writing on the book

of the prophet Isaiah terms like First Isaiah, Second Isaiah, and Third Isaiah.

Critical scholarship tends to look for multiple authorship within a single

book, and more conservative scholarship tends to freak out every time someone

implies or outright states that there was more than one author or editor

involved in bringing one of the books of sacred scripture into the form that we

have it today. One of the reasons critical scholars almost universally consider

Isaiah to contain multiple authors is because, at

certain points in the book, the tone, vocabulary, subject matter, time, and

intended audience seem to shift drastically from one chapter to the next. One

of those places is the switch from Isaiah 39 to Isaiah 40. Isaiah 40 begins

so-called Second Isaiah, although I promise you, I won’t be spending the rest

of this sermon talking about the authorship of Isaiah.

I

mention this because that shift from Isaiah 39 to Isaiah 40, the change from

Isaiah’s earlier chapters about judgment coming upon the people of God to a

sudden announcement that the time of her renewal had come is part of our Gospel

reading this morning. However, it’s so subtle that unless someone pointed  out to you what you were reading or hearing,

you probably missed it. When you turn from Isaiah 39 to Isaiah 40,

Isaiah proclaims the long-awaited announcement that the time of the people’s

judgment is over, that the pardon for her sins had come. Isaiah says, “Comfort,

comfort my people, says your God. Speak tenderly to Jerusalem, and cry to her

that her warfare is ended, that her

iniquity is pardoned, that she has received from the LORD’s hand double for all

her sins. [And this part should sound very familiar.] A voice cries: “In the

wilderness prepare the way of the LORD; make straight in the desert a highway

for our God. Every valley shall be lifted up,

and every mountain and hill be made low; the uneven ground shall become level,

and the rough places a plain. And the glory of the LORD shall be revealed, and

all flesh shall see it together, for the mouth of the LORD has spoken” (Isa

40:1–5).

“Comfort, comfort, my people.” These words are the announcement of Isaiah the

prophet, and it is a translation travesty that when we come to our reading this

morning in the Gospel of Luke, the ESV

says that Simeon was waiting for the “consolation of Israel.” The Greek in

Isaiah 40 is the verb παρακαλέω; the

Greek word in Luke 2 is the noun form of that same verb. It’s παράκλησις. This allusion couldn’t be more obvious. In the

same way that Mark begins his Gospel quoting this same section from Isaiah,

Luke wants his audience to have this same Old Testament narrative in mind as we

see Jesus being brought to the Temple and hear the words of Simeon and Anna.

The words Simeon speaks are part of

our Anglican prayer life. We say the Benedictus during Morning Prayer, the

Magnificat during Evening Prayer, and the Nunc Dimittis, the Song of Simeon, at

Compline. So when we say in our prayers at night, “Now you are letting your

servant depart according to your word; for my eyes have seen your salvation,”

we are invoking with Simeon this grand

narrative of God’s promise through the prophets of redemption for Israel and

glory for the whole world. And we are saying with Simeon and with the church throughout the ages that Jesus, even as the

infant child, is the fulfillment of God’s plan for God’s glory to be revealed

to all the world.

As the holy family brings Jesus to

the Temple to present him to the Lord, Israel’s story is coming to an end, to

its fulfillment, to its climax. The comfort of Israel has come. The one who would bring her exile to an end, who would bring pardon for her

iniquity, God himself has returned to his people and comes to his Temple for

the f

A Sermon for the Feast of the Presentation, February 3, 2019

St. Dunstan’s Anglican

Church, Largo, FL

The Very Reverend J.

Michael Strachan

Luke 2:22-40

One

often reads in scholarly writing on the book

of the prophet Isaiah terms like First Isaiah, Second Isaiah, and Third Isaiah.

Critical scholarship tends to look for multiple authorship within a single

book, and more conservative scholarship tends to freak out every time someone

implies or outright states that there was more than one author or editor

involved in bringing one of the books of sacred scripture into the form that we

have it today. One of the reasons critical scholars almost universally consider

Isaiah to contain multiple authors is because, at

certain points in the book, the tone, vocabulary, subject matter, time, and

intended audience seem to shift drastically from one chapter to the next. One

of those places is the switch from Isaiah 39 to Isaiah 40. Isaiah 40 begins

so-called Second Isaiah, although I promise you, I won’t be spending the rest

of this sermon talking about the authorship of Isaiah.

I

mention this because that shift from Isaiah 39 to Isaiah 40, the change from

Isaiah’s earlier chapters about judgment coming upon the people of God to a

sudden announcement that the time of her renewal had come is part of our Gospel

reading this morning. However, it’s so subtle that unless someone pointed  out to you what you were reading or hearing,

you probably missed it. When you turn from Isaiah 39 to Isaiah 40,

Isaiah proclaims the long-awaited announcement that the time of the people’s

judgment is over, that the pardon for her sins had come. Isaiah says, “Comfort,

comfort my people, says your God. Speak tenderly to Jerusalem, and cry to her

that her warfare is ended, that her

iniquity is pardoned, that she has received from the LORD’s hand double for all

her sins. [And this part should sound very familiar.] A voice cries: “In the

wilderness prepare the way of the LORD; make straight in the desert a highway

for our God. Every valley shall be lifted up,

and every mountain and hill be made low; the uneven ground shall become level,

and the rough places a plain. And the glory of the LORD shall be revealed, and

all flesh shall see it together, for the mouth of the LORD has spoken” (Isa

40:1–5).

“Comfort, comfort, my people.” These words are the announcement of Isaiah the

prophet, and it is a translation travesty that when we come to our reading this

morning in the Gospel of Luke, the ESV

says that Simeon was waiting for the “consolation of Israel.” The Greek in

Isaiah 40 is the verb παρακαλέω; the

Greek word in Luke 2 is the noun form of that same verb. It’s παράκλησις. This allusion couldn’t be more obvious. In the

same way that Mark begins his Gospel quoting this same section from Isaiah,

Luke wants his audience to have this same Old Testament narrative in mind as we

see Jesus being brought to the Temple and hear the words of Simeon and Anna.

The words Simeon speaks are part of

our Anglican prayer life. We say the Benedictus during Morning Prayer, the

Magnificat during Evening Prayer, and the Nunc Dimittis, the Song of Simeon, at

Compline. So when we say in our prayers at night, “Now you are letting your

servant depart according to your word; for my eyes have seen your salvation,”

we are invoking with Simeon this grand

narrative of God’s promise through the prophets of redemption for Israel and

glory for the whole world. And we are saying with Simeon and with the church throughout the ages that Jesus, even as the

infant child, is the fulfillment of God’s plan for God’s glory to be revealed

to all the world.

As the holy family brings Jesus to

the Temple to present him to the Lord, Israel’s story is coming to an end, to

its fulfillment, to its climax. The comfort of Israel has come. The one who would bring her exile to an end, who would bring pardon for her

iniquity, God himself has returned to his people and comes to his Temple for

the f