SSJE Sermons

Br. Jamie Nelson

Our Lady of Guadalupe

Luke 1:39-47

Today we celebrate the Blessed Virgin Mary’s appearance near Mexico City in the year 1531 as Our Lady of Guadalupe.

As the story goes, an Indigenous Nahua farmer named Juan Diego was walking alone at dawn on his way to mass at the nearest church. As he passed a hill, he heard music and birdsong coming from the summit. When he went to the top of the hill to find out what was going on, he saw a beautiful lady surrounded by light.

The lady spoke to him in Nahuatl, his native language, and identified herself as the Blessed Virgin Mary, Mother of the True God. She told Juan Diego to go to the bishop in Mexico City to ask for a church to be built on top of the hill.

So Juan Diego humbly and faithfully presented himself at the bishop’s office, but the bishop didn’t believe him. Juan Diego returned to the hill and reported his mission’s failure. Undaunted, the Lady told him to go back to the bishop the next day and to ask again.

This time, the bishop requested a sign from the Lady. When Juan Diego reported the bishop’s request to the Lady, she told him to come back the next morning, and she would provide the sign.

However, when morning came, Juan Diego’s beloved uncle was very ill. Instead of going to seek the sign that would make the bishop believe him, Juan Diego hurried to bring a priest to administer last rites before his uncle died.

His path took him past the Lady’s hill, but his mission was far too urgent to stop. The Lady came to him instead, appearing on the road before him. Juan Diego explained the urgency of his errand as the reason why he had not come to her as directed. The Lady told him not to fear, that his uncle was now healed. She directed Juan Diego to climb once again to the hill’s summit, where he would find the promised sign for the bishop.

On the top of the hill, Juan Diego found roses in full flower – blooming despite it being a cold December day. When Juan Diego met with the bishop, he opened his cloak to display the out-of-season bouquet. The flowers tumbled to the ground to reveal an image imprinted on the rough fabric of the cloak – a marvelous life-size portrait of the Lady as she had appeared to Juan Diego.

The church built at the Lady’s command is now a place of pilgrimage where more than nine million people visit on or near this day each year. Juan Diego’s cloak hangs above the altar, remaining without decay almost 500 years after the miraculous image first appeared.

So how might we pray with this story?

Let’s start with Mary. There’s a long tradition in the Episcopal Church and in our Society of regarding Mary with great esteem as the Mother of our Lord. We can ask for her intercession on behalf of the concerns of our hearts. We can look to her as a model of courageous faith and as a wise and loving friend inviting us into deeper relationship with her son.

Next, this story is a reminder that God shows a special desire to connect with people at the margins. Juan Diego was an Indigenous man who lived in a time of massive cultural upheaval due to European colonization. Mary was a young, unmarried woman, occupying a precarious social position, when she was called to bear her son Jesus.

Finally, this story is a reminder that God desires to connect with us in our everyday language and context, by means which we can understand. Juan Diego’s Lady shared her message in his native language. Many of the details of Our Lady of Guadalupe’s portrait carried deep symbolism in Nahua culture and thus were able to convey Christian theology in a visual way.[1] In Advent, we use familiar songs and symbols to retell the story of Jesus who came as Emmanuel to a particular people in a particular place who were longing for a savior.

Our Lady of Guadalupe, help us to prepare our hearts for the arrival of your Son.

[1] This infographic handout explains the symbolism of the image: https://guadalupeshrine.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/10/our-lady-guadalupe-heaven-tilma-infographic-theological-message-symbolism-english-lg.jpg

Br. David Vryhof

Matthew 11:7-15

In recent years, a prepackaged Advent series called “The Advent Conspiracy” has become quite popular in certain churches. It has the laudable goal of focusing on what’s really important in our preparation for Christmas by encouraging people to buy less, to give more to charity, and to spend time with their families rather than just spending money on them. The program seems commendable but there’s something that seems to be missing.

I wonder what John the Baptist would have thought about it. John pops up everywhere in our Advent readings and with good reason. He was the most popular preacher of his generation. Jesus claims that “among those born of women no one has arisen greater than John the Baptist” (Matthew 11:11). People walked for miles just to see him, drawn by his unusual lifestyle and his dramatic, even theatrical, preaching. He was a sight to see, for sure, but they also found their hearts captured by his message. Hordes of them found themselves welling up with tears, telling God how sorry they were, and lining up to be cleansed in the River Jordan. Even those who came just to see the spectacle went home drenched with baptismal waters.

John didn’t mince words. Preparing for the coming Messiah required repentance. Without repentance no one could enter the kingdom of God that Jesus was bringing. When they asked him what they should do, he replied, “Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise.” To the tax collectors he said, “Collect no more than the amount prescribed for you.” To soldiers, “Do not extort money from anyone by threats or false accusation, and be satisfied with your wages.” Repentance was not just a spiritual about-face, but one with very practical implications for daily life. John insisted that they “bear fruits worthy of repentance” (Luke 3:10-14, 8).

Not everyone embraced John’s message; some saw that they had too much to lose. To these, John says (and I’ll paraphrase this), “You snakes! Who warned you about the coming judgment? I’m here to tell you that the days of resting on your laurels are past! Don’t think you can whip out your “members only” temple gold card – your theological credentials won’t count for a thing on that day! Don’t brag about your spiritual lineage or that you’re Abraham’s offspring; if God wanted more children of Abraham, he could turn stones into a whole gang of them. But that’s the problem, isn’t it? Your hearts are dead, like stone, and God is looking for living trees producing juicy spiritual fruit. If I were you, I’d get serious about this because I’m here to prepare the way for Somebody much stronger than any of us who is coming real soon. He’s coming with a very sharp axe and will chop down and burn all the dead trees that aren’t producing fruit! You’d better act fast!” (Luke 3:7-9).

Needless to say, John’s message shook people up. It would shake us up, too. But maybe we should take this call to repentance more seriously. Advent is not just about preparing for Christmas, which is the main focus of “The Advent Conspiracy.” Advent proclaims a message of God’s coming judgment and calls us to heartfelt repentance that paves the way for the good news of Christmas. Maybe we need to repent for how we celebrate Christmas itself! What if we are the people who have become stone-cold in our faith because we’ve allowed the secular conception of the holiday to suffocate genuine piety and deep reflection on the meaning of Christ’s advent in our world?

Nobody wants John the Baptist at their holiday party. He’s a messy guest. And he can be so shrill sometimes. You can’t get through a single verse of “The Little Drummer Boy” before John is insisting that you confess your sins and get your act together – now!

But I hope we still have room for John in our churches at Advent. His voice is calling out, and it’s a voice we need to hear!

Br. Lain Wilson

The Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary

Luke 1:26-38

A couple, diligent in their prayers and service, humble in their relationships, faithful to their God. Long denied their one desire: a child of their own. Fervently praying, they are brought tidings of good news by a messenger from God: they will have a child

Anne and Joachim’s story, although not found in scripture, more than echoes other scriptural accounts. Sarah and Abraham, Hannah and Elkanah, Elizabeth and Zechariah: all couples whose joy in children had been withheld, and who eventually were able to conceive following fervent prayer. Anne and Joachim fit into this tradition.

This story, and the feast of the conception of Mary, are thus, from one perspective, standard scriptural fare on the power of God to intervene in the lives of the faithful. But, from another perspective, something new is happening here.

Something new, because Mary will break this pattern. Mary’s own pregnancy, with Jesus, the Son of God and second person of the Trinity, will not be a response to her fervent prayer – like that of her parents or other Jewish forebears. Instead, Mary’s pregnancy will be an invitation to cooperate with God, an invitation accepted: “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word” (Luke 1:38).

The daughter whom Anne and Joachim conceived was the daughter who, when she grew up and encountered the angel, would be perplexed, would question, would reason, and, ultimately, would assent. The daughter chosen by God from the foundation of the world to bear God’s only Son, was formed – formed in the womb, formed in her childhood by her parents – to be a willing partner in the world’s salvation: “let it be with me according to your word.”

Mary, the long-desired daughter of hope and promise, will herself bear hope and promise to a world that cries out for both. A 13th-century Cistercian abbot imagines creation’s response to Mary’s birth: “The whole world leapt for joy, heaven thundered with praise, the earth danced for delight, her song of joy soon joined by the skies above and the seas below.”[1] A broken world crying out for hope and promise replies with exuberant joy.

I recently received joyful news of my own. My best friend and his husband were approved to adopt an adorable young boy. The pictures he sent me reveal, as clearly as anything I’ve experienced, God at work in our lives and relationships: the hope for and promise of God’s healing and redemptive love shining out in the radiant smiles of parents and children.

Revealing as well that the hope and promise of God’s love don’t just work through miraculous pregnancies and traditional family structures. Rather, God’s choosing of Mary illustrates something true of us all, that God “chose us in Christ before the foundation of the world to be holy and blameless before [God] in love,” and God “destined us for adoption as [God’s] children through Jesus Christ” (Ephesians 1:4-5).

We may not be, like Mary, products of a miraculous pregnancy. But, like Mary, we are products of God’s choice: chosen from before time, fully adopted as members of God’s heavenly family.[2] And, like Mary, as children of God, we too are children of hope and promise. Like her, we too called to co-labor with God, to reveal God’s healing and redemptive love in our relationships, in our work and service, in our prayer and worship . . . in our very being.

Amen.

[1] Homily 2 in Ogier of Locedio: Homilies: In Praise of God’s Holy Mother; On Our Lord’s Words to His Disciples at the Last Supper, tr. D. M. Jenni (Kalamazoo, MI, 2006), 38.

[2] Paraphrase of the Collect for today’s feast from For All the Saints: Prayers and Readings for Saints’ Days (Toronto, 1994), 371.

Br. Jack Crowley

Matthew 9:35—10:1, 5-8

The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few. I’ve probably heard this sentence a few thousand times in my life. The truth is I’ve never known if it is good news or bad news. It always feels like both.

One of the best and worst parts of being a human being is labor. We labor with our hands and minds, we labor with God, we labor with one another, and we do the emotional labor of our lives as best we can. The best part of all that is we all have opportunities to do good work in our lives. The worst part is that something always gets in the way. Our labor is always limited by some obstacle, and is never as ideal as we first thought it would be. The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few.

The good news is that Jesus knows our human nature. Jesus knows we have this drive within us for labor. Jesus knows when we look at the woes of the world, we are often filled with compassion and want to do something. We want to labor for a better world.

Jesus also knows when we look inside ourselves and see what we need to work on, we are again filled with that drive to labor. We are ready to work on our ourselves and labor towards being a better servant of God. This drive is beautiful and is something to hold on to.

Jesus also knows that we always run into something. We can be honest and say that our labors are never totally smooth. There’s always some friction, there are always things that never go according to plan, and we are always bound by the limitations of our own human bodies. The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few.

Much of our life is spent dancing between serving God and staying sane. It is a delicate dance, a labor of love, a mixture of work and play, and it never ends. The harvest is plentiful. There is so much to do and an eternity to get it done.

We pray and work our lives as best we can, most often in silence, most often when no one is looking. Most of what we pray is between us and God. Keep working on that prayer.

Br. David Vryhof

Isaiah 29:17-24

I remember a sermon preached some years ago by the now-retired Presiding Bishop of the Episcopal Church, Michael Curry. In it, he recalled waiting in an airport for his plane to board and deciding to get his shoes shined. As his shoes were being shined, he struck up a conversation with the man who was shining his shoes and learned that he had been doing this work for many years and that he worked very long hours every week. Bishop Curry asked him how he came to be so dedicated to his work. “Well, I have a son in college,” the man explained, “and I plan to keep shining shoes as long as I can, to see him through.”

“That man had a vision,” said Bishop Curry, a vision of his son receiving an education that had not been possible for his parents and that would open doors for him that they could never have entered. It was this vision that inspired and motivated him every day. “Where there is no vision, the people perish,” the Bishop reminded us, quoting Proverbs 29:18.

We all need a vision, especially if we hope to make a difference in the world: a vision of what the world can be and of what we can be that motivates us and inspires us to bring about change.

The prophets of the Old Testament offered God’s people this kind of vision. In our text today, Isaiah describes a future transformation where the natural order is reversed and the oppressed are vindicated, leading to a time of renewal for God’s people. In this future, he says, deaf people will hear, the blind will see, and the humble will rejoice. “The tyrant shall be no more,” says Isaiah, “and the scoffer shall cease to be; all those alert to do evil shall be cut off.” It will be a time for healing, for change, and for renewal. It will be a day of judgment, when good will triumph over evil.

Jesus had a vision as well: a vision of a kingdom, God’s kingdom, in which the last were made first and the first last, in which the mighty were cast down and the poor were lifted up, in which the meek inherited the earth, the sorrowful were comforted, and the merciful would receive mercy. He envisioned a world where each person was valued and loved, especially the stranger and the outcasts, and in which violence, hatred, greed and oppression were no more.

So what is your vision? What is the world that you can imagine and for which you want to work and to pray? Is there a cause you would support, or a special population that you would lift up? Is there a wrong that you could help make right? An injustice that you could help correct? “Where there is no vision, the people perish,” and where there is a vision, they are stirred into action.

Br. Lucas Hall

Saint Andrew the Apostle

Today we observe the feast day of St. Andrew, the first-called disciple, brother to St. Peter. Well, technically his feast was Sunday, but the first Sunday of Advent bumped him. Honestly, I don’t think he’d mind; if your brother is St. Peter, you probably have a pretty thick skin about not getting top billing.

You may have noticed the signs at the entrances to the chapel, in the wooden frames with the candles, one at the front entrance and one at the guesthouse. We put those signs out on the larger feast days of the year, just to give people coming into the chapel a little context about why our liturgy may look and sound a bit different than normal. Each sign has the collect of the day, as well as a piece of art from somewhere in the Christian tradition, depicting the relevant figure or scene. So, naturally, today’s sign had to have St. Andrew.

As I was looking for a good image, I ran into a problem. A lot of them just aren’t very distinct. Many images of Andrew have been made, but most of them are just depictions of an older man. Which is fine, he was an older man, but they don’t really give you much. Some have him holding a scroll, a common feature associated with the Apostles, representing the Gospel, the Word, which they spread. Again, fine, but not very distinctive. Many had him with a big wooden X; the Church tradition holds that Andrew was crucified, not on an upright cross, but on an X-shaped cross, limbs spread and nailed to each arm of the cross. If you know what the Scottish flag looks like, a white X on a blue background, that’s from St. Andrew, the patron saint of Scotland. But as a symbol, that only really works if you’re not only familiar with Andrew in the Bible, but also of the Church tradition around him. If you’re not, it’s just an X. And some images depict him in a boat with his brother Peter, being called from the shore by Jesus; I considered that, but honestly, I felt a bit bad. We hear so much about Peter; maybe for one day a year, Andrew shouldn’t have to share the spotlight. Maybe Andrew’s sainthood isn’t just a function of bringing Peter with him; maybe he’s a saint in his own right.

The image I ultimately found is, at first, not that distinct looking. It’s an old man, holding a scroll. But what struck me was what was written on the scroll. In Greek, you see the words, “Eureka men ton Messiah.”  Literally, “We have found the Messiah.” This is the way Andrew shares the news with his brother Peter in John’s gospel. But what stuck out to me was that first word, “Eureka.” You may recognize it: Eureka! It’s an exclamation that’s made its way into English. The most famous story involving the word is that the ancient scientist Archimedes exclaimed “Eureka” after sitting in a bathtub, seeing the water rise, and realizing that by measuring how much the water rose, you could exactly measure the volume of an object placed in the water. He was so excited at discovering a fundamental function of physics that, it’s said, he sprang up, naked, shouting “Eureka,” that is, “I’ve found it!” and ran through the city still naked to share his discovery.

And honestly, as someone who has read a lot of John’s Gospel, many times, that’s new to me. “We have found the Messiah,” can be said, well, just like that. A simple recitation of fact. But seeing that word, “Eureka,” adds something exclamatory. We’ve found him! I need to share this with you, my brother, my loved one, because this is new and exciting; we’ve found the one we were looking for! We found him!

Maybe I’m channeling Archimedes, encountering a fundamental mechanism of physics, seeing something deeply and beholding in awe. Or maybe I’m channeling Christ himself, who speaks at length about searching and finding, the woman and the lost coin, the shepherd and the lost lamb, the father and the prodigal son, who did not even let his son get fully to his house before rushing out to him in the street, who “had to celebrate, because . . . he was lost and has been found.”

“We have found him!” How sweet and pure, how full of awe is this joy. How new, even in the words of an older man. We are in Advent, a season of preparation and anticipation. I go to church a lot. Many of you do too! Perhaps part of our Advent observance, our watching, our keeping awake, is not to become dulled by the familiar story. Maybe, with St. Andrew, we’re called to be excited, to be surprised, to behold this promise anew, and exclaim “Eureka! We’ve found the Messiah!,” and really, really mean it.

Br. James Koester

Advent 1A

Isaiah 2:1-5

It happened in an instant. I’d just walked in the building. It was packed, mostly with children. Even before I had made my way to the front, I knew I had to do this.

That’s what I tell people when they ask how I started to keep bees. A friend had been telling me for years that I had to keep bees. She’d been on about bees since I came to know her. In fact, just a few months before that fateful day at the Topsfield Fair I’d been staying with Ann. Once again, she started on about bees. To satisfy her, I took a couple of her bee books to read. The next morning, I returned them, unread, but promised to do some reading about bees when I got home.

So, I went off to the Topsfield Fair, mostly out of obligation. What happened changed my life. I walked in obliged. I walked out committed. In that instant something inside me woke up.

It’s safe to say I woke up to a whole new way of being. Because of the bees, I began to pay attention. I came to know where they found the nectar which they turn into honey, and the pollen they eat for protein. I began to see things, as if for the first time. Soon I could identify over 130 different plants, flowers and trees that grow at Emery House. I discovered the difference between butter and eggs (which is a flower and not a breakfast!), and goldenrod. I can tell you things bloom two weeks earlier in Cambridge. I can identify the ridge near Peabody where the weather between Cambridge and West Newbury changes.

But something else woke up in me: a memory, a dream, a vision. I remembered what I wanted to be when I grew up. Ever since I can remember, and then I forgot, and then I remembered: long before I wanted to be a monk; long before I wanted to be a priest, I wanted to be a famer. I remembered it that day at the Topsfield Fair and I knew, as if my life depended on it, that I HAD to keep bees.

We are urged today by Jesus, Paul, and Isaiah as well, to wake up, to wake up to a new way of being, a new world, a new reality.

Isaiah knew that there was a different way of being in the world than the one in which he lived. Wars and rumours of wars abounded. Warmongering, corrupt kings reigned. Fraudulent priests in league with the rich and powerful, oppressed the poor and dispossessed. But Isaiah was awake to a different reality. It was not the army of the Assyrians that he saw flocking to Jerusalem, or unruly mobs storming the halls of government, but the peoples of the earth seeking the ways of justice and peace.

“In days to come the mountain the Lord’s house shall be established as the highest of the mountains, and . . . all nations shall stream to it. Many peoples shall come and say, ‘Come, let us go up to the mountain of the Lord, to the house of . . . God . . . that he may teach us his ways and that we may walk in his paths.’” (Isaiah 2:2, 3)

Isaiah was awake to a different reality, a reality in which “nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more” (Isaiah 2: 4).

There were those no doubt who regarded Isaiah as unplugged from reality. At the same time many longed for Isaiah’s reality to be fulfilled. Who here today does not long for the reality of Isaiah, than the one we see emanating from the White House?

Sometimes to wake up to a new reality, to a new world, to a new way of being, we need to go to the Topsfield Fair. Other times we need to risk speaking of justice and peace in times like these. Sometimes the reality of the world, and the war cry of corrupt kings dull our senses to the reality of God, but Isaiah stands before us reminding us to keep awake to the reality that the promised day of God will indeed come, even when people think we are crazy.

Noah knew that there was a different way of being in the world than the one in which he lived.[1] To find that reality, he had to build an ark. There were those no doubt who regarded Noah as unplugged from reality. However, to be faithful to God, Noah knew he had to do something crazy. In the end he trusted the reality of God’s promises and built the ark. Sometimes the reality of the world, and the raging storms of daily life dull our senses to the reality of God, but Noah stands before us reminding us to keep awake to the reality that the promised day of God will indeed come, even when people think we are crazy.

Sometimes to wake up to a new reality, to a new world, to a new way of being, we need to go to the Topsfield Fair. Other times we need to risk building an ark.

Advent is a time when we are commanded to wake up, to keep awake, to stay awake.

All around us the armies of corrupt kings are laying siege. The storms of life are raging. But the vision of Isaiah, the trust of Noah, and the life of Jesus stand before us as reminders that a different reality is possible, a different world is possible, a different way of being is possible

Some days to find that that new reality, that new world, that new reality, we need to go to the Topsfield Fair. Other days we need the vision of Isaiah, the trust of Noah, and the life of Jesus to keep us awake, to open our eyes so that we may see, and know and believe that “salvation is nearer to us now than when we first believed” (Romans 13:11).

It feels this Advent that we are mired in despair. Everything looks hopeless. My hunch is, that was also the world of Isaiah, and the world of Noah. Yet both had an inner sense that another way of being was possible.

I don’t know what you see today. It may be the armies of corrupt kings laying siege all round. It may be storm clouds heavy with rain. Or it may be a wild and wonderful vision of peace. It may be plans for an ark. It may be a honeybee dancing and drawing you in to the source of a new and abundant life.[2]

The hope of Isaiah, the confidence of Noah, and the dance of the honeybee are the things calling to me this Advent. The challenge is to be awake to their message and hear, through the din of war, the clang of the blacksmith’s hammer; to see through the threatening storm clouds, the colours of the rainbow; and to remember as you watch the honeybee dance, the invitation to a new and abundant life.

So, this Advent, wake up and watch the honeybee, see the rainbow, and hear the clang of the blacksmith’s hammer and know that in this world full of corrupt kings and fraudulent priests, God’s promise of peace, salvation, and renewal is nearer today than it was, even yesterday.

[1] Genesis 6-9

[2] Upon discovering a source of nectar or pollen, honeybees return to the hive and dance to communicate the direction of the nectar or pollen.

Br. Luke Ditewig

Christ the King: The Last Sunday after Pentecost

Jeremiah 23:1-6

Woe to shepherds who destroy and scatter my people! Through Jeremiah, God is upset at corrupt kings in Israel and tells of Jesus to come as a good king, a righteous Branch, who will be wise, who will save and bring safety. Not long after this King Nebuchadnezzar conquered Jerusalem and destroyed the temple. He took most of the city captive and moved them far away to exile in Babylon.

As under Pharoah in Egypt and under Caesar of the Roman empire in the time of Jesus and the early church, the biblical story is of people under the oppression from both inside and outside. We see this in the world and experience it more now with our wannabe king as they seize power and wealth and oppress the vulnerable.

For the Colossians, the image of Caesar – understood to be the son of God – was everywhere, and imperial power kept the peace by military force including through crucifixion.[1] In his letter, Paul gives not a simple poem but rather subverting empire by saying Jesus, not Caesar, is the image of God and Lord of all.[2]

That community was saturated by images of Caeser being all-powerful. Paul proclaimed Jesus is all-powerful. Jesus is over all things, including thrones, dominions, rulers, powers, empire and scattering shepherds. Jesus is “before all . . . and in him, all things hold together.”

Paul wrote both to subvert and claim who Jesus is encourage how to act. He prays just before today’s text that the believers will “lead lives worthy of the Lord . . . bear fruit . . . and growth in knowledge” (Colossians 1:9-10). Later, Paul describes the alternative to empire, a community who acts like Christ: “as God’s chosen ones, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, patience, forgiveness, love, and peace” (Colossians 3:13-14).

To people under oppression, amid pain, act with compassion. Amid hatred, be kind. Amid power hoarding, share with those who have little. Amid immediate gratification, be patient. Amid hurt, forgive and love. Amid threat, protect. Amid violence, peacefully resist.

Humility and meekness are similar and from the same word in Hebrew. Humility is a lowliness, not thinking too highly of oneself. Meekness is a gentle, strong patience waiting and seeking justice. It is trust with a long view like the psalmist says: “For the power of the wicked shall be broken, but the Lord upholds the righteous” (Psalm 37:8).

When Israel was in Babylon, God said to build houses and live in them, plant vineyards – which take a long time to grow – and eat their fruit, and to seek the welfare of the city there in exile. Be meek, be strongly patient and seek justice in captivity.

Scott Bessenecker wrote: “the meek . . . are naturally disposed to use power in the way it was designed by God to be used – as a guard for the weak and to preserve the common good – in contrast to those with MONOPOLYTM power, who consolidate wealth and status in a single set of hands at the expense of everyone else.”[3] The gentle, strong patience of the meek is a way of using power, often choosing restraint and downward mobility, for good.

We see this in Jesus who saves by coming down as a poor, minority, refugee baby. Jesus led with meekness including by teaching and healing the poor, entering Jerusalem on donkey instead of stallion, and washing feet. Jesus did not seize control.

Though scoffed and derided on the cross, Jesus showed sovereignty saying: “No one takes [my life] from me, but I lay it down of my own accord” (John 10:18). Jesus spoke with authority to political power. “My kingdom is not from this world. . . . For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice” (John 18:36-37).

Jesus carried his own cross, hanging from it cared for his mother and beloved disciple. With compassion and forgiveness, Jesus said: “you will be with me in Paradise.” Jesus announced: “It is finished” and was buried with spices befitting a king. The Good Shepherd slaughtered for the sheep, executed by the empire, reconciles all and reigns through the cross.

Amid images that saturate us with and by oppression, Jesus is the good image, the image of the invisible God who rescues us. Jesus reigns through the cross holding our past, our present, all that breaks our hearts, and our future. In Jesus, all things hold together. All ultimately has and further yet shall be reconciled in Jesus.

We are image-bearers, embodying Jesus’ reign, seeking the welfare of our cities, protecting the poor and vulnerable, welcoming the immigrant and refugee, cultivating compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, patience, forgiveness, love, and peace.

Jesus reigns! As we shall sing: “Let Love’s unconquerable might your scattered companies unite in service of the Lord of light.”[4]

[1] B. J. Walsh and S. C. Keesmaat, Colossians Remixed: Subverting the Empire (Downers Grove, IL, 2004), 83-84.

[2] Ibid., 84.

[3] S. A. Bessenecker, How to Inherit the Earth: Submitting Ourselves to a Servant Savior (Downers Grove, IL, 2009), 15.

[4] “Christ is the King! O friends upraise,” The Hymnal 1982, no. 614; text by George Kennedy Allen Bell (1883-1958).

Br. Lain Wilson

The Blessed Virgin Mary, God-bearer

Luke 1:39-56

In his classic introduction to the Hebrew prophets, Abraham Heschel notes a characteristic of the prophet Isaiah: “Pathos is spoken of in Isaiah more frequently in an instrumental than in a personal sense. . . . the world’s great powers are instruments of the divine will.”[1]

The greatest expression for us Christians of the divine pathos is what John’s gospel reveals: “For God so loved the world that [God] gave [the] only Son” (John 3:16). For this supreme expression of love, God chose not one of the world’s great powers to be God’s instrument, but instead a poor young woman named Mary.

Celebrating Mary today reveals something about what God is up to, and something about what we are called to.

As we prepare to celebrate tomorrow the feast of Christ the King, today we can proclaim the words of a seventh-century hymn of praise to this poor young woman chosen by God: “Rejoice, for you are the throne of the King.”[2]

The figure of Mary invites us to gaze with joy on the mystery of divine humility: that the kingship of Christ we anticipate isn’t one that perpetuates our own broken kingdoms and empires, but instead chooses and embodies and exalts the humble and low. “[God] has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly,” Mary sings in her great Magnificat (Luke 1:52). Saint Paul expresses a similar sentiment in his first letter to Corinth: “God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong . . . what is low and despised . . . things that are not, to reduce to nothing things that are” (1 Corinthians 1:27-28).

And as we prepare to make room in our lives and in our hearts during the season of Advent for the coming of our Savior, today we proclaim that Christ is already here, present in Word and Sacrament and gathered Body of Christ.

The figure of Mary invites us to consider how we too are instruments of the divine pathos: humble people chosen to be bearers of God ourselves, bearing God’s love into a broken world that still cries out for justice and healing.

“Rejoice, through whom creation is renewed.” The hymn is addressed to Mary, but how do you hear it when you direct it to yourself? When you, like Mary, say “yes” to your own vocation as co-laborer with God? When you, like Mary, say “yes” to being an instrument of divine love?

Amen.

[1] A. J. Heschel, The Prophets: An Introduction (New York, 1962), 1:82.

[2] Akathist Hymn, first stasis, available online at https://www.goarch.org/-/the-akathist-hymn-and-small-compline (accessed November 22, 2025). The subsequent quotation from this hymn is also from the first stasis.

Br. David Vryhof

1 Maccabees 4:36-37, 52-59

We have today two stories, both of which involve the cleansing of the Temple. Our first lesson from the book of Maccabees records the actions taken by Judas Maccabeus following the desecration of the Temple by the Seleucid king, Antiochus IV Epiphanes. Having conquered Antiochus’ army, Judas Maccabeus set about cleansing and purifying the Temple, replacing its defiled altar and furniture, and rededicating it to the worship of the God of Israel. In this case, the defilement of the sacred space was the direct result of outside forces attempting to suppress the religion of the Jews.

The second story, taken from Luke’s gospel, addresses defilement of the Temple from within, from the Jews themselves. Jesus cleanses and purifies the Temple by casting out the moneychangers and declaring plainly, “‘My house shall be a house of prayer,’ but you have made it a den of robbers.”

Biblical scholar Fred Craddock notes that among New Testament writers Luke is the only one who presents a positive view of the Temple. His gospel begins with Zechariah in the Temple and ends with the disciples in the Temple. He opens his second book, The Acts of the Apostles, with Christians attending the Temple services every day, and presents Paul (who is often portrayed as a rebel) praying in the Temple and there receiving a revelation that he should preach to the Gentiles.[1]

Luke’s account of the cleansing of the Temple is shorter than the other gospel accounts and does not imply that what Jesus did signaled the end of the Temple and its services. In Luke, Jesus is purifying the Temple, not destroying or replacing it, in order that it might be a place for his own ministry and that of his followers. It is not the system itself that is attacked by Jesus, but the excesses in the system that were interfering with true worship.

Luke doesn’t name what those excesses were. Jesus’ actions against the moneychangers could have been directed at the corruption of exchanging Roman coins for sanctioned Jewish coins. Or he could have been targeting the exorbitant prices being charged for the birds and animals offered in the Temple sacrifices. In either case, pilgrims to Jerusalem were an easy mark for the greedy. Pilgrims, many of them peasants, were not in a position to dispute unfair practices. Jesus reminds his hearers that the Temple’s chief purpose is to be a house of prayer for all people.

Jesus’ criticism of an institution dedicated to the worship of God is remarkable – and that prompts us to ask, What happened to the Temple? How did these excesses creep in?

It is not hard to imagine how, over time, the Temple became corrupt. Religious institutions are corrupted, Craddock suggests, when people give their leaders “more authority than they have the character to handle.”[2] When servants become officials, when ministers become religious authorities, their self-interest tends toward preservation of the institution (and of their status) rather than responsiveness to God.

This is a challenging word for any religious institution. In the Rule of our Society, we remind ourselves that “In John’s gospel the community of disciples is portrayed as a circle of Christ’s friends. . . . In this portrait we recognize an implicit critique of the tendency for communities to harden into institutions, and for officialdom to replace the spontaneity of mutual service.”[3]

We might ask if these distortions of purpose characterize our own churches and religious communities. What are we about? What should we be about? What faults might we be covering up by our acceptance of the status quo?

Or we might ask if we have lost sight of the overarching purpose of our own lives. If we recognize how comfortable we’ve become with our own status quo, we might ask ourselves how we might contribute to our own renewal and sanctification. What in my life has become corrupted and needs to be changed or discarded? How can I recapture my highest ideals and my most sacred intentions? How can I open myself to what God is asking of me now?

The upcoming season of Advent seems an appropriate time for such self-assessment, for renewal and rededication. What would “renewal and rededication” look like in your life or in the life of your community?

[1] F. B. Craddock, Luke, Interpretation Commentary (Louisville, 1990), 229.

[2] Ibid., 230.

[3] The Rule of the Society of Saint John the Evangelist, 11.