Epiphany 2 – John 1:29-41
The Rev’d Charles Everson St. Mary’s Episcopal Church January 15, 2023 Last week, we heard the story of the Baptism of Jesus from St. Matthew’s perspective, and today, we heard St. John’s retelling of what he saw. Matthew described Jesus’s actual baptism in detail, but in telling the same story, John is more interested in focusing on the signs that might lead others to believe in Jesus as the Son of God.[1] Matthew, Mark, and Luke reveal Jesus’s identity as the Messiah gradually over time, but not so with John. Right out of the gate, he begins his gospel, “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” Just before today’s passage, John the Baptist enters the scene and identifies himself as the voice crying out in the wilderness, “Make straight the way of the Lord” quoting the prophet Isaiah. He says that he is not the Messiah, and that he is not worthy to untie the thong of the sandal of the one who is coming after him. The next day, John the Baptist sees Jesus coming toward him and responds, “Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!” On other words, Look! This is the one I’ve been telling you about! John doesn’t describe Jesus as a royal conqueror or as a warrior – that would have made a lot of sense, as the Jews were expecting an earthly, political Messiah – he calls him the Lamb of God. Instead of an all-powerful being who would deliver God’s people in power and might, God chose to send the Messiah as a weak lamb like the one the Hebrews sacrificed each year at Passover. From Exodus 12, we know that at the Passover, the Hebrews were to slaughter a lamb, smear some of its blood on the doorposts and lintels of their houses, and then eat the lamb. When God passed through the land to slay the first-born sons of the Egyptians, he would pass by the Israelites’ houses and spare their first-born sons, delivering them from death by the blood of the lamb. This is the first of several times that John links Jesus with the paschal lamb. And very early on, Christians reinterpreted Passover symbolism in light of the Eucharist.[2] Paul says in First Corinthians, “Christ our Passover has been sacrificed for us. Therefore, let us keep the feast,”[3] a phrase that many of us know from the Rite II Eucharistic liturgy in our prayer book. We also are familiar with the Agnus Dei, the traditional fraction anthem: “O Lamb of God, that takest away the sins of the world, have mercy upon us.” There’s another moment in the historic Western liturgy where Jesus is referred to as a lamb, and that is just before the priest receives communion. You all are used to me turning around and showing you the consecrated bread and wine while saying, “The gifts of God for the people of God,” a phrase that the revisers our prayer book borrowed from the East. The traditional text when the Sacrament is shown to the faithful is John the Baptist’s joyful and exciting proclamation upon seeing Jesus: “Behold the Lamb of God, behold him who taketh away the sins of the world.” John responds the same way when he sees Jesus the next day: “Behold the Lamb of God”, but this time, Andrew and Simon Peter heard him say this and decided to follow Jesus. You’ve heard me refer to my time as a Baptist missionary in Paris, France, in my young twenties. My faith was young and fresh and full of vigor, and I felt called to say, proverbially or literally to anyone who would listen, “Behold the Lamb of God!” But I don’t recall anyone responding by choosing to follow Jesus as quickly as Andrew and Simon Peter did! But perhaps the point isn’t looking for immediate results. After John the Baptist’s exciting proclamation, Jesus asks Simon Peter and Andrew, “What do you seek?” They ask him where he’s staying, and he says to them, “Come and see.” They came and saw and “stayed with him that day”, a Greek phrase that essentially means that they went to hang out with Jesus. It was this deep, intimate encounter with him that led Peter to confess, “We have found the Messiah.” This is the pattern of evangelism that is an inherent and integral part of the Christian faith. In a moment, after the Eucharistic prayer, I will turn around and present to you the body and blood of Christ and say, “Behold the Lamb of God, behold him who taketh away the sins of the world.” Whether it be in a golden chalice or in the face of the poor, when we see Jesus, we are called to joyfully make him known to those around us in word and in deed. Thanks be to God, we aren’t responsible for how they respond. But we are called to be to them, in a sense, the “star of the east” that guided the Wise Men to where the infant redeemer was laid. On Tuesday, I gave a tour of the church to a group of college students from Baker University taking a class called “Experiencing Sacred Spaces.” Like most tours I give, I had them walk in through the back of the parish hall. As they rounded that corner and beheld St. Mary’s in all its glory, I heard gasps and these comments “How beautiful!” “Wow – I don’t know what to say.” “I’ve never seen a Church so beautiful” and my favorite “This place is heavenly.” The arches in the architecture, the recurring fleur-de-lys symbolism, the saints depicted in the windows, the intricate vestments, the formalized ritual, the amazing gold and silver Eucharistic vessels, the heavenly music – everything here at St. Mary’s is designed to point us to the Lamb that was slain for us, the Lamb that takes away the sins of the world, the Lamb that will be made manifest to us on this altar in the bread and wine of holy communion. Upon seeing Jesus, John the Baptist responded, “Behold the Lamb of God, behold him that taketh away the sins of the world!” When the celebrant shows the consecrated bread and wine to the people with the same proclamation, the people respond with the words of the Roman Centurion in Matthew chapter 8 when he replies to Jesus’s commitment to come and heal his paralyzed servant in his home: “Lord, I am not worthy that thou shouldest come under my roof: but speak the word only, and my soul shall be healed.” We respond to seeing Jesus by acknowledging our unworthiness and asking him to heal us. For we are about to receive him under the “roof” of our mouths and thus welcome him into the very depths of our bodies and souls. This intimate moment when we receive communion passes quickly, with or without an emotional response on our end, and then we are dismissed with the words “God in peace to love and serve the Lord.” And the cycle begins anew. Empowered by the grace we’ve been given in the Sacrament, we go out into the world and proclaim God’s love anew to those we encounter in word and in deed. Dear friends, don’t be afraid to talk about your faith with others, not to attempt to convert them or get them to believe all the right things, but rather as a natural outpouring of your own encounter with the risen Christ. Keep the eyes and ears of your hearts open and be on the lookout for Jesus throughout your daily lives. As you encounter him, whether it’s in a golden chalice or the face of the poor, respond with joy and excitement and proclaim as John did, “Behold, the Lamb of God!” [1] David Bartlett, and Barbara Brown. Taylor, eds. Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008, 263. [2] Keck, Leander E. The New Interpreter's Bible Commentary. Abingdon Press, 2015, 451. [3] 1 Cor. 5:7b-8a. Feast of the Holy Name
Philippians 2:1-13 The Rev’d Charles Everson January 1, 2023 When we hear that a woman is pregnant, one of the first questions we ask is, “Do you have any names picked out?” Parents choose names for their children for a variety of reasons – perhaps they choose the name of a saint in the church that has been particularly meaningful to them, or maybe they choose a more modern name that exudes life and freshness and spunk. No matter which name is chosen, it is safe to say that parents put a lot of thought and time and energy into the decision of what to name their child. My name, Charles, was given to me by my parents primarily because it was both my grandfather’s and father’s first name. In order to distinguish me from the elder Charles’s, I was called Chuck and that nickname stuck until I was 22 years old. I had just arrived in Paris, France, to serve a two-year stint as a Baptist missionary, and my boss took me to services at St. Michael’s Anglican Church, a Church of England parish with services in English. The vicar’s name was Antony, and his wife was Claire (though we lovingly referred to her behind her back as The Queen due to her formal accent and mannerisms). I introduced myself to her by saying, “My name is Chuck.” She giggled and said, “Oh, how American!” I’ve been Charles ever since. In 1st century Jewish Palestine, it was common to both circumcise and name boys on the eighth day after birth. We hear in today’s gospel, “After eight days had passed, it was time to circumcise the child; and he was called Jesus, the name given by the angel before he was conceived in the womb.” The name “Jesus” in the Greek comes to us from the Hebrew name that we normally translate as Joshua in English. It literally means, “The Lord saves.” [1] From the name of Jesus comes good news: God himself has come to save us.[2] In Paul’s letter to the Philippians, he quotes a popular hymn that was sung in the early church. This hymn is essentially a commentary on the name of Jesus. The first stanza speaks of Jesus starting out being in the form of God, but ultimately humbling himself by becoming human and being obedient to the point of death on a cross. In the second stanza, God exalts Jesus and gives him the name that is above every name, thereby winning the allegiance of those in heaven and on earth (and even those “under the earth”!).[3] In the preceding verses, Paul begins by asking the Philippians to “be of the same mind, having the same love, being in full accord and of one mind.” He continues, “Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility regard others as better than yourselves. Let each of you look not to your own interests, but to the interests of others.” He then launches into the hymn that we talked about by saying “Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus.” Paul frames this hymn – this commentary on the name of Jesus – by exhorting the Philippians to be of the same mind that was in Christ Jesus, to be humble, putting the interests of others before our own. Humility is often confused with humiliation, or letting others walk all over you, but that’s not what it means. Humility is a “quality by which a person considering his own defects has a lowly opinion of himself and willingly submits himself to God and to others for God's sake.”[4] Jesus modeled humility by emptying himself, being born in human likeness, and becoming obedient to the point of death. But humility isn’t a virtue that should be exercised only in extreme situations of life and death; it starts in the small, mundane choices of everyday life. Saint Benedict, in his rule written to guide the lives of Benedictine monks, writes humility means that monks must submit to their superiors in all obedience for the love of God.[5] He goes on to say, “In this obedience under difficult, unfavorable or even unjust conditions, his heart quietly embraces suffering and endures it without weakening or seeking escape.”[6] One of my bosses in my previous banking career was an overbearing tyrant who liked to micromanage and criticize everything I did. For a time, the situation was certainly unfavorable and probably unjust, but I needed this job to feed my family as Jay had gone back to school full time and wasn’t working. I was faced with a dilemma: get emotionally worked up and fester on it at the risk of blowing up at him, walk out in protest, or quietly embrace the suffering and endure the situation? Another example that comes to mind was a relatively minor issue, but no less relevant. I have an acquaintance that constantly gets on everyone’s nerves due to his overbearing conversational habits and behaviors. No one likes to spend time with him out of utter annoyance, but he asked me to have dinner with him on a holiday evening a few years ago, and I knew that he was lonely and didn’t want to spend the holiday alone. I would have much rather spent time with family or friends, but I knew that the humble and obedient response would be to forgo the festivities and spend time with him instead. Humility is a virtue to be practiced in all areas of our lives, both individual and communal. How can you and I practice humility in our communal life here at St. Mary’s? Is there some ministry or area of need that could benefit from your time and treasure, but you’ve been ignoring the still small voice leading you in that direction? Or perhaps there’s someone in our community that you know could use a friend right now, but you haven’t yet taken that step to reach out and ask them to share a meal? How might God be calling you to practice the virtue of humility by putting the interests of other parishioners before your own interests? How about outside of these walls? How might you put your spouse’s interests before your own, or your children, or a co-worker, or a lonely acquaintance, or those who experience racism or oppression in our society? When the deacon or priest prepares the altar at the Offertory of the Mass, he or she pours a bit of water into the wine and prays, “By the mystery of this water and wine may we come to share in the divinity of Christ, who humbled himself to share in our humanity.” On this the Feast of the Holy Name, let us leave this place empowered by that Great Name to practice the virtue of humility and put others’ interests before our own, and thus come to share in the divinity of Jesus, the One who has come to save us. [1] F. L. Cross and Elizabeth A. Livingstone, eds., The Oxford Dictionary of the Christian Church (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997), 872. [2] Brandt Montgomery, "'What's in a Name?': A Meditation for the Feast of the Holy Name of Jesus," The Living Church: Covenant, http://livingchurch.org/covenant/2017/01/01/whats-in-a-name-a-meditation-for-the-feast-of-the-holy-name-of-jesus/. [3] David Lyon Bartlett and Barbara Brown. Taylor, eds., Feasting on the Word, vol. 4 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 110. [4] Arthur Devine, "Humility," CATHOLIC ENCYCLOPEDIA: Humility, 1910, December 31, 2016, http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/07543b.htm. [5] Benedict, RB 1980: The Rule of St. Benedict in Latin and English with Notes, ed. Timothy Fry, O.S.B. (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1981), 197. [6] Ibid 197. Christmas Eve
The Rev’d Charles Everson St. Mary’s Episcopal Church December 24, 2022 There’s a popular way of characterizing the focus of the three historic Christian churches in the Catholic tradition. The Roman Catholic Church emphasizes Christ’s suffering and death on the cross on Good Friday, the Eastern Orthodox Church focuses on the glory of Christ’s resurrection at Easter, and Anglicanism, our own tradition, is captivated by Christmas when God took on human form and dwelt among us. I think there is some truth to this stereotype. So great is this feast of the Nativity of Our Lord Jesus Christ that we pull out all the proverbial stops. From the joyful carols to the fresh flowers on the altar; [from the smell of incense to the heavenly music sung by the choir]; [from the red bows to the exquisite manger scene]; from the beautiful vestments to the poinsettias. This place exudes that formulaic “Hallmark Christmas movie” feel with its predictability and warmth and almost schmaltziness. And yet, as we heard from St. Luke’s account, the birth of our Savior in a manager in Bethlehem was anything but a Hallmark moment. Jesus was born during a time of intense political and societal unrest amidst the filthiness of cows and goats and sheep. The long-expected Messiah came into a world filled with fear and oppression and sin, much like our world today. God came into the world in the midst of human sin and suffering and met the Hebrew people where they were. The angel appeared to bring the good news of great joy of the birth of the Messiah not to the important people of the day – not to the Emperor, not to the Governor, not to the Jewish religious leaders – but to the lowly shepherds. Shepherds at that time were at the bottom of the social ladder. They were seen as poor and dishonest people who grazed their flocks on other people’s lands. An example of this in our society might be a loan shark or a convicted felon. These shifty characters who probably didn’t smell so great from living out in the pastures believed the angel and immediately went to Bethlehem to see the child in the manger…the child who came to bring peace to all men and women, but especially to the poor and lowly. The Christmas story we heard tonight was from the second chapter of Luke’s gospel. The first chapter began with an announcement by an angel of the birth of John the Baptist in the place the Jews understood to house the presence of God…the Temple. The angelic announcement of the birth of Christ that immediately follows was not in “God’s house” but in the fields. The contrast between the two couldn’t be more striking. God came into the world as a human child not in the Jewish equivalent of a place like St. Mary’s Church, but in the grittiness of human existence, ox and ass and stable and all. Friends, this is good news of great joy, not only to the shepherds watching in their fields by night, but to all of us gathered here. Note that almost all the Christmas hymns we sing speak of Jesus’s birth in the present tense, not the past tense. “Come and behold him, born the king of angels” not ages ago, but now. Like with the shepherds, the Creator of the universe stoops down and meets us where we are in the grittiness of our lives. And yet, as we heard St. Paul say in the epistle reading, “we wait for the blessed hope and the manifestation of the glory of our great God and Savior, Jesus Christ.” The birth of the babe begins the process of the redemption of the world, and we rightly rejoice tonight. But we know all too well that this old world is still deeply wounded, and sin and suffering and abound. In this child born to poor parents in a remote and backward part the world, God begins that work of restoration and healing and wholeness that we have access to today. We don’t have to wait until we are in God’s presence face to face to experience it. We can receive the very same grace given to us in that manager in the waters of baptism and in the bread and wine of Holy Communion, giving us the strength we need to shine Christ’s light in our own day. And so we pull out all of the stops for this great feast. As St. Leo the Great reminds us in his great Christmas sermon, the extraordinary birth of Christ in all of its grittiness gives us every reason, to “rejoice and be glad. There is no place for sadness among those who celebrate the birth of Life itself. For on this day, Life came to us dying creatures to take away the sting of death, and to bring the bright promise of eternal joy. No one is excluded from sharing in this great gladness. For all of us rejoice for the same reason: Jesus, the destroyer of sin and death, because he finds none of us free from condemnation, comes to set all of us free. Rejoice, O saint, for you draw nearer to your crown! Rejoice, O sinner, for your Savior offers you pardon!” Advent IV – Year A
The Rev’d Charles Everson St. Mary’s Episcopal Church December 18, 2022 Isaiah 7:10-17 and Matthew 11:18-25 Many of our Protestant cousins mark the four Sundays of Advent respectively by thinking about love, hope, joy, and peace. Not so at St. Mary’s. Since at least the 15th century, Advent sermons have been marked by the Four Last Things: death, judgment, and heaven, which we’ve already heard about. Hell is this week’s topic, and frankly, hell is not something I’ve thought a lot about since becoming an Episcopalian. It’s not because I don’t think there is a state or place called hell – the Bible is clear that there is – it’s because hell was regularly used as a weapon of fear by the leaders in my evangelical past. “Do this, and you’ll go to hell.” “Be like them and you’ll go to hell.”…and so on. While the Bible may be clear about hell being a thing, it isn’t clear at all about what precisely hell is. Hell – sheol in Hebrew – is vague in the Old Testament. It is the place where the dead go, and is sometimes translated as the grave, death, destruction, the pit, and sometimes hell, all of which have very different meanings in English. In the New Testament, the two Greek words most often translated as hell are hades and Gehenna. In short, hades is the Hebrew sheol - the place of the unseen spirits – the realm of the dead – while Gehenna is place of fiery punishment after death. In our first reading from Isaiah, Sheol and heaven seem to be at the opposite ends of the extremes of the universe: “[as] deep as Sheol or as high as heaven.”[1] You’ve heard me talk about heaven kissing earth in the Sacraments of the Church, especially in the waters of baptism and the bread and wine of Holy Communion Quoting the book of Genesis, we sing this verse when a new church is consecrated by the bishop: “this is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven.”[2] Our burial liturgy speaks of Holy Communion as “the foretaste of that heavenly banquet.” If we experience heaven, even impartially, in our world today, might it be true that hell manifests itself in this world? I just read a heartbreaking news story detailing the horrors of what’s happening behind the scenes in Ukraine. Mass shootings abound in this country. Women are arrested for not covering up their entire bodies except for small openings for the eyes in Afghanistan and other places. In the East African nations of Kenya, Somalia, and Ethiopia, the is such an extreme drought that food shortages are likely to cause one death every 36 seconds between now and the end of the year.[3] We may be deluded into thinking hell on earth is having to park a 10-minute walk away from our destination, or having to deal with supply chain shortages when ordering new appliances like dishwashers. But one doesn’t have to look to the most horrible atrocities on the planet to see hell right in front of our face. Beyond the obvious tragedies of the loss of loved ones at too young an age, the ravaging of cancer, and so on, we only must look at even the smallest effects of human sin, particularly in the mirror. You and I know full well how we are complicit in making hell known by our own sin. No matter what hell is in the afterlife, there is no doubt that hell is a very real thing that we experience and even contribute to in big and small ways here and now. We are desperate for a sign of hope in the midst of our warfare and strife. Seen in this light, I’m not sur that it is helpful to speculate who, if any, comprise the population of hell. Hell is not a place we assign those with whom we disagree, but is rather a place where it seems that God is not. It’s hard to see where God is at the bombed hospital in Kiev, or with those who will be sleeping in the -10 degrees weather expected this Thursday night. It’s also hard to imagine that a God of love would subject anyone to an eternity of fiery punishment, but it’s impossible, for me at least, to believe that God doesn’t love enough to give us a choice whether to accept him or reject him. I’m what you might call a hopeful universalist. We don’t know with any certainty the final destiny of any human being, and while none of us will escape the Day of Judgment that we talked about three weeks ago, God’s mercy is so great that it is unfathomable to our feeble minds. Isaiah’s promise of a sign – a son born of a virgin named Immanuel – gives hope to the house of David in a time of warfare between Israel and her neighbors. This passage was quoted by St. Matthew in our gospel lesson, leading to a lasting Christian connection between the child promised by Isaiah to the son of Mary and adopted son of Joseph of the house of David hundreds of years later. As Advent makes its turn toward Christmas, we hear the end result of when heaven kissed earth for the first time at the Annunciation when the angel announced to Mary that she would bear this Immanuel in her womb. Rather than focusing our imagination on what hell will be like – who is in and who is out, how long it lasts, how precisely separation from God will be experienced – let us set our sights and our hopes on this child, this Immanuel, God with us, who is coming to rescue us from the hell we’re in now. Let us look to the babe in the manager who will bring the love and grace of heaven to this lost and broken world. Immanuel, God with us, even in the midst of hell on earth. “Come thou long expected Jesus, born to set thy people free! From our fears and sins release us, let us find our rest in thee.” [1] Isaiah 7:11. [2] Gen. 28:17. [3] https://www.euronews.com/2022/10/15/famine-in-east-africa-to-cause-one-death-every-36-seconds-oxfam-warns Advent II – Judgment
The Rev’d Charles Everson St. Mary’s Episcopal Church December 4, 2022 It is an understatement to say that the Church’s treatment of these weeks preceding Christmas is counter cultural. Even though in our opening collect, we prayed that we may “greet with joy the coming of Jesus Christ our Redeemer,” Advent is a penitential season and joy seems only visible far off in the distance. And yet the “joy of Christmas” exploded all over the place from the radio to Costco to the Plaza over the last few weeks, while we gather and soberly attempt to reflect on our final destiny – on death, judgment, heaven and hell, intentionally subduing our joy as we take stock and prepare our hearts for Christ’s coming in the manger and at the Last Day. Last week, Fr. Sean talked to us about death, and this week, it’s judgment. Advent bids us to set our death before our eyes and prepare for the judgment that is to come. Theologians generally talk about judgment as it relates to the “last things” in two ways: the particular judgment and the general judgment. The particular judgment is what happens when a person dies. God judges the individual for his or her deeds, and the person then awaits their final destination (the two traditional final destinations being discussed the next two Sundays). The Church affirms that upon our death, each of us will be called to account for our life, with Christ as our judge. In that moment, we will not be able to hide our darkest secrets and deepest emotions. All will be laid bare. Just as the time of reckoning arrives at last for the individual, so it does for all of creation in the general judgement. One day in the future, human history will come to its conclusion, and Christ “shall come again, with glory, to judge both the [living] and the dead” as we affirm in the Nicene Creed. Christ will return at the sound of the trumpet, and the souls of the dead will be reunited with their bodies at what we call the general resurrection. At the final judgment, all the departed come before the judgment seat of God, body and soul, no matter their station in life. It will be a day of rejoicing for some and a day of doom for others. Jesus warned in Luke 12, “Nothing is covered up that will not be uncovered, and nothing secret that will not become known. Therefore whatever you have said in the dark will be heard in the light, and what you have whispered behind closed doors will be proclaimed from the housetops.”[1] Neither the particular nor the general judgment sound like a fun time. This isn’t a sermon topic that one chooses to attract newcomers to the church. The idea of God judging us for our actions doesn’t feel very inclusive and welcoming, bringing back traumatic memories for many of us who were judged unfairly, or who, by the judgment of others, weren’t deemed worthy of heaven. Advent’s reminder of God’s judgment at the hour of our death and at the Last Day isn’t designed to scare us into submission. It isn’t the Church’s way of controlling us to behave a certain way, to prompt us to clean up our act on our own, or to marginalize and exclude. God’s judgment leads us to mercy. And we prepare for God’s judgment by judging ourselves, lest we be judged by the Lord. We examine our lives and conduct by the rule of God’s commandment and acknowledge our sins before Almighty God with full purpose of amendment of life.[2] We heed the warnings of John the Baptist and prepare the way of the Lord, making his paths straight in our hearts, turning from our selfishness toward God’s abundant mercy. But we can’t gloss over the fact that the Day of Judgement will be terrible. Referred to in Scripture by the prophets as “The Great and Terrible Day of the Lord”[3], it is described in vivid detail in the old Latin funeral hymn Dies irae, which was actually written for the season of Advent. It begins by warning that the Day will reveal God’s wrath upon all injustice and unrepented sin. The day of wrath, that day, will dissolve the world in ashes …the hymn begins. Fear seems to be the only response possible! The hymn continues, How great will be the quaking, when the Judge is about to come, strictly investigating all things! The trumpet, scattering a wondrous sound through the sepulchres of the regions, will summon all before the throne. Death and nature will marvel, when the creature will rise again, to respond to the Judge. The written book will be brought forth, in which all is contained, from which the world shall be judged. When therefore the Judge will sit, whatever lies hidden, will appear: nothing will remain unpunished. Judgment shall be according to our deeds, whatever is in the Book.[4] But also in God’s Word is the hope for mercy. Our hymn continues, What then shall I, poor wretch [that I am], say? Which patron shall I entreat, when [even] the just may [only] hardly be sure? King of fearsome majesty, Who gladly save those fit to be saved, save me, O fount of mercy. Just Judge of vengeance, make a gift of remission before the day of reckoning. I sigh, like the guilty one: my face reddens in guilt: Spare the imploring one, O God. You Who absolved Mary, and heard the dying thief, give hope to me also. God’s judgment leads to his great mercy! It is only by his great mercy that we will make it through that Great and Terrible Day. And so the hymn continues and calls on the Lord who said in the gospel of John, “No one who calls on me will I ever reject.”[5] My prayers are not worthy: but You, [Who are] good, graciously grant that I be not burned up by the everlasting fire. Grant me a place among the sheep, and take me out from among the goats, setting me on the right side. Once the cursed have been silenced, sentenced to acrid flames, Call me, with the blessed. [Humbly] kneeling and bowed I pray,[my] heart crushed as ashes: take care of my end. Tearful [will be] that day, on which from the glowing embers will arise the guilty man who is to be judged: Then spare him, O God. Merciful Lord Jesus, grant them rest. Amen.[6] As terrible as the judgment that is to come may be, judgment leads to mercy. For the God who mercifully redeems us is the same God who judges us. And he uses the same means to both judge and save: his unconditional love, a love that has both effects – first judgment, then mercy. Advent judgement calls us to put ourselves in in a position – by prayer, fasting and repentance – by watching and waiting – to receive the unconditional love of God in Jesus Christ both now and at the hour of our death. That having heeded the warnings of the prophets and forsaken our sins, we may greet the coming of Jesus Christ our Redeemer with perhaps a bit less fear and a lot more joy. Amen. [1] Luke 12:2-3 (NRSVA). [2] Exhortation, 1979 BCP. [3] Joel 2:31, Malachi 4:5 [4] Rev 20:12; Romans 2:6 [5] John 6:37 [6] This treatment on the Dies irae comes from this blog post by Msgr. Charles Pope: http://blog.adw.org/2011/11/sing-the-dies-irae-at-my-funeral-a-meditation-on-a-lost-treasure/. Christ the King
The Rev’d Charles Everson St. Mary’s Episcopal Church John 18:33-37 November 20, 2022 It’s a joy to celebrate this great feast of Christ the King with all of you, a feast which, unlike many of the things we do here at St. Mary’s, is a relatively modern development in the life of the church created by Piux XI, Bishop of Rome, in 1925. From the 8th century until the year 1870, the bishops of Rome not only had a leadership role in the Church with respect to other bishops, they held temporal power over territories of land of various sizes throughout the centuries. In other words, they were both bishops and kings. In 1870, after decades of increasing nationalism, King Victor Emmanuel of Italy annexed the last vestiges of the Papal States, and just like that, the Bishop of Rome lost his earthly kingdom. The Italian king quickly took up residence in Quirinal Palace, the papal residence where Pius IX had been elected in conclave and which many Roman citizens viewed as the ultimate sign of authority in the city. When asked for the keys to Quirinal Palace, the old pope reportedly asked, "Whom do these thieves think they are kidding asking for the keys to open the door? Let them knock it down if they, like Bonaparte's soldiers, when they wanted to seize Pius VI, came through the window, but even they did not have the effrontery to ask for the keys." Ultimately, a locksmith had to be hired.[1] This bitter sting and horror at losing his earthly, temporal power certainly contributed to the proclamation of papal infallibility later in 1870, as well as his successor’s proclamation of this feast, “The Solemnity of Our Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe” a few decades later in 1925. In today’s gospel reading, Jesus at least appears to be more self-aware than the pope was – he acknowledges that his kingship is “not of this world.” He said, “’For this I was born, and for this I have come into the world, to bear witness to the truth.” Jesu] is, as he says here, from another world. The church calls this the incarnation: the descent of God from the eternal realm of uncreated light into the violence, darkness, sickness, and death of this world.”[2] Jesus is indeed King of the Universe, but he’s a king unlike any earthly king. He rules over a kingdom where the King came not to be served, but to serve. In God’s kingdom, those who are first are last of all and servant of all. This kingdom has an entirely different value system than this world does. The kingdom of God is the reality of existence brought about by the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ in which the poor have been chosen to be rich in faith – in which the last shall be first and the first shall be last[3]. The most important in the kingdom of heaven are the worthless rags of earth. In God’s kingdom, the rich are sent away empty and the hungry are fed, the mighty are cast down from their thrones, and the lowly are lifted up. You and I were made citizens of God’s kingdom not by swearing an oath to a Republic or earthly king, but rather in the waters of baptism. After making promises, or having promises made on our behalf at baptism, we are made citizens of God’s kingdom and adopt the value system of this kingdom that is in utter and complete opposition to the values of this world. It is through baptism that we submit ourselves, as sons and daughters, to a father who loves us without condition. It is in our baptism that we first bend the knee to a king who has no temporal power, but reigns in the hearts of the men and women who trust not in their own righteousness, but in the King’s manifold and great mercies. Our civic duty in God’s kingdom is to deny ourselves daily and take up our cross and follow Him. To put others before ourselves and put God’s ways before the ways of the world. Peace reigns over war; unity conquers division; love overcomes evil and hate. We experience this kingdom partially now, but, and I state the obvious here, the powers of this world are not yet vanquished. War and racism and poverty and division abound. When will we get to realize the kingdom in its entirety? When will we realize the fulfillment of God’s promises to us to create a new heaven and a new earth where there is no more pain nor death, neither sorrow nor crying, but the fulness of joy? When will we get to live as our true selves, without the awful effects of sin, the way God intended things to be? I’m not going to try to attempt to answer this question today as the Church has set aside an entire season of the church year to contemplate the Last Things – the season of Advent which begins next Sunday. In the meantime, we live in this world which is God’s creation given to us for our joy and benefit. We are given this time – our earthly lives – to do our part to reconstruct and redeem the unjust power structures of this world so that they may begin to reflect the Creator’s original intent. By the power of the Holy Spirit, through the grace God continually pours upon us through the Sacraments of the Church, we are empowered to live out our baptismal promises to “seek and serve Christ in all people, loving our neighbor as ourselves; to strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being.”[4] As we begin this journey of Advent next week and live into the waiting and the wondering for Christ’s first coming in the manager, and his third coming at the Last Day, thanks be to God, we don’t have to wait for his second coming in the bread and wine of Holy Communion. As citizens of God’s kingdom, we can approach this altar at which we are transported to the altar in heaven before God’s throne to receive a foretaste of the great banquet of heaven – a banquet so fulfilling, so filled with rich conversation and joyful delight – that even a foretaste of it is powerful enough to bring about God’s restoration and wholeness and topple unjust power structures in our world today. On this great feast, the Church invites us to renew our allegiance to the King of King and the Lord of Lords not by offering our sword or by paying our taxes, but by receiving God’s manifold and great mercies at this altar, giving him the proverbial keys to our hearts to reign in us and through us. [1] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Roman_Question [2] Fleming Rutledge, Advent: The Once and Future Coming of Jesus Christ (Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 2018), 228-229 . [3] James 2:5 [4] BCP 305. Proper 28, Year C – Luke 21:5-19
The Rev. Charles Everson St. Mary’s Church November 13, 2022 As the scene opens in today’s gospel reading, Jesus engages with his disciples as they talked about the beautiful Temple in Jerusalem. The Temple was the center of public life for the Hebrew people, in matters of religion, politics, and commerce. The original structure was built in the mid-10th Century BC and was destroyed in 586 BC by Babylonian King Nebuchadnezzar who forcibly deported the bulk of the Jewish people into exile. Seventy years later, the Temple was rebuilt, and it was this reconstructed Second Temple that existed in Jesus’s time. It was adorned with beautiful stones and lavish gems and lots and lots of gold. Jesus delivers the shocking news that the Temple will be destroyed. This immediately brings to mind the old stories that everyone knew of the destruction of the first Temple, and the misery and despair that their ancestors experienced when they were forced to be slaves for the in Babylon. Jesus’s words invoke fear. He goes on to predict even more dire conditions: wars, insurrections, nations rising against nations and kingdom against kingdom, great earthquakes, and famines and plagues. On a more personal note, he tells them that they will be persecuted, and that some of them will be put to death because of their allegiance to Him. I’m not sure about you, but this doesn’t seem like good news to me. Surely, this message of doom and gloom evoked a similar type of fear that you and I experience at various times throughout our lives. The kind of fear that arises when we lose our job, or a family member dies unexpectedly, or divorce shatters a family, or sometimes, when we turn on the news. Most scholars believe that St. Luke wrote his gospel around the year 85 AD, about 15 years after the destruction of the Second Temple in 70 AD. Meaning his readers would have heard this story as a reflection on something that had already happened rather than a prediction of future events. When the Romans sacked Jerusalem, they not only destroyed the Temple, but they killed hundreds of thousands of people, mostly Jews, and ended up sending the budding Christian movement underground into persecution. The folks who heard this story were living in a hellish world, and these words gave them hope for a brighter future: “But not a hair of your head will perish. By your endurance, you will gain your souls.” In our baptismal liturgy, the candidate or the parents are asked, “Will you persevere in resisting evil, and, whenever you fall into sin, repent and return to the Lord?” The candidate responds, “I will, with God’s help.” This promise to persevere in resisting evil is a bold promise that is not for the faint of heart. It’s much easier to succumb to fear, isolation, and the selfish acts of sin than it is to persevere in resisting evil. And thanks be to God, we aren’t expected to persevere in resisting evil on our own strength. It only makes sense in light of the previous question and answer in which the baptismal candidate promises to continue in the apostles’ teaching and fellow, in the breaking of the bread, and in the prayers.” This “endurance” that “will gain your souls” is not a strong-willed resistance to temptation, nor is it achieved by pulling yourself up by your bootstraps. Saving endurance does not rely on human strength, but trusts in God’s persistent and unfailing love. Paul says this in his letter to the Romans: “We also boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us.”[1] Saving endurance is found in trusting in God’s love. Think of the Christians you know who have endured amid terrible suffering. When confronted with admiration for their persistence, they don’t say, “Yeah, I worked really hard and was able to win the battle and came out unscathed.” No, you hear something like, “It was only by God’s grace that I was able to make it through to the end.”[2] They view their terrible ordeal as what Jesus calls “an opportunity to testify” not of their own strength, but of God’s persistent and unfailing love. Dear friends, when your life seems to be falling apart, when you hear of the horrors of what’s happening to innocent civilians in Ukraine, when the world seems to be going to hell in a handbasket, when you are faced with doom and gloom, do not be afraid. Look to Jesus, who for the joy that was set before him endured the suffering and shame of being tortured to death on a cross. When you’re suffering, silently or before all the world to see, lean in to sacramental life of the church – what the baptismal life calls “the prayers and the breaking of the bread” – by which God will give you the strength you need to persevere to the end. Lean into the opportunity to testify to the hope he has given you – hope that unlike the beautiful stones and lavish gems that made up the earthly Temple in Jerusalem, you have been made a living stone built into a spiritual house that no one can destroy. [1] Romans 5:3-5, NRSV. [2] https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ordinary-33-3/commentary-on-luke-215-19 Pentecost XXI – Proper 26, Year C
Luke 19:1-10 St. Mary’s Episcopal Church The Rev’d Charles Everson October 30, 2022 In today’s familiar gospel lesson, Jesus encounters a wee tax collector named Zacchaeus in the city of Jericho. Tax collectors in the first century Roman Empire were, by definition, wealthy, and were seen as sleezy and immoral, as they got to keep any money they collected from the people above and beyond what was owed to the empire. Zacchaeus is “short in stature,” something I can relate to, and thus can’t he see Jesus through the crowds. He climbs a tree so that he might be able to see Jesus, even from a distance. When Jesus arrives there, he tells Zacchaeus to come down and then invites himself to Zacchaeus’ home. The onlookers aren’t too happy about this. They murmur because Jesus had gone to eat at the house of “a sinner.” Upon seeing Jesus, Zacchaeus declares that he will give half of his goods to the poor and restore back fourfold those whom he has defrauded. Jesus then tells Zacchaeus that salvation has come to him, for the Son of Man came to seek out and to save the lost. Traditionally, this passage is seen as a conversion story par excellence. The sinner repents and is saved and as a result behaves virtuously and gives of his wealth extravagantly. However, in verse 8, there is a Greek verb whose meaning is debated amongst scholars. The translation we just heard says “Behold, Lord, the half of my goods I give to the poor; and if I have defrauded any one of anything, I restore it fourfold.” Some of the newer translations change the verbs to “will give” and “will restore”, implying future actions, despite the use of verb forms indicating that Zacchaeus is already doing these things. The traditional interpretation certainly is congruent with other parts of Scripture and isn’t a bad thing. However, if these were things he was already doing, the focus isn’t on Zacchaeus’ conversion, but rather Jesus’s actions in welcoming yet another sinner from the margins of society. Yes, he is rich, but would have been automatically rejected outright by the establishment because of his occupation and close association with the Empire. This crooked, untrustworthy Zacchaeus is desperate to see Jesus. So desperate that despite being a wealthy government official, he humiliates himself by climbing a tree like a child in order to catch a glimpse of Jesus over the crowd. When he finally sees him, Jesus greets him by name and asks him to come down, and Zacchaeaus “receives him joyfully.” Joy is not something the world around us associates with Christianity. In fact, I think many non-Christians think of us as being like the members of the crowd who murmur because Jesus accepted an invitation to be the guest of a “sinner” who is not pure or holy enough for our tastes. That’s probably because many of us are. Many Christians, and it’s not only the fundamentalists and the Roman Catholics, murmur like the crowd for many reasons: the person receiving God’s grace before our eyes is more successful than us, or has committed more serious sins than we have, or has an occupation like the tax collector that we may view as incompatible with or at least incongruent with Christianity. When I lived in France from 2002-2004, I was struck by the fact that members of the clergy (which, in the French mind, generally means Roman Catholic) were portrayed in television, movies, and the media in general as dullards who hate anyone on the margins of society and don’t have the brainpower needed to add two plus two. Twenty years later, this is not an uncommon view of Christianity in our own society. It’s easy for us enlightened liberal Protestants to judge police officers or wealthy investment bankers because of their profession while smugly forgiving and loving those whose professions put them out of favor with the fundamentalists like abortion providers. Let us not forget that we too have the same human tendency to lump people together and judge the hearts of human beings based on whatever category is most convenient to put them in. I don’t think we should make this story into a conversion experience like St. Paul’s on the road to Damascus. Zacchaeus doesn’t confess his sins nor repent. Nor does Jesus commend his penitence, or his faith, or his change of heart. He merely pronounces blessing, blessing based not on anything Zacchaeus has done, but simply because he, like those murmuring around him, is a child of Abraham, a child of God.[1] Zacchaeus is an example for all of us. He desires to see Jesus and experiences joy in his presence. At first, he can’t see him because like me, he’s too short, perhaps both physically and morally. Yet he is desperate to see Jesus. So desperate that he humiliates himself by climbing a tree like a child in order to catch a glimpse of him over the crowd. When he finally sees him, Jesus calls him by name and asks him to come down, and Zacchaeus “receives him joyfully.” The word used to describe Zacchaeus’ reaction to Jesus – joy, or rejoice – is the same word used a few chapters back in the three most famous parables. There is more joy in heaven when one lost sheep is found – when one sinner repents – than over 99 righteous persons who need no repentance. There is rejoicing in heaven when the woman finds the coin she has lost! The Father rejoices and throws an extravagant party when the prodigal son returns home. The Good News of today’s gospel reading is that if you truly want to see Jesus, you will, no matter your occupation or shortcomings or past sins. And more than that, you will be seen and known by Jesus and experience his unconditional love given extravagantly. This is the Good News of Christianity, Good News that the world needs so desperately. In the words of the hymn we sang before the gospel, “not to oppress, but summon all their truest life to find, in love God sent his Son to save, not to condemn mankind.” While his body is no longer here on this earth, we have an opportunity to see Jesus in a moment at the altar in the consecrated bread and wine. Not only see him, but receive him into our innermost being, all while kneeling at the altar rail alongside someone we may have judged negatively for some reason or another. Like Zacchaeus, let us receive our Lord joyfully, and let us carry that joy with us so that the world may see and know the Good News of God’s extravagant love. [1] https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ordinary-31-3/commentary-on-luke-191-10. Feast of St. Luke the Evangelist
St. Mary’s Episcopal Church The Rev’d Charles Everson October 23, 2022 Today, we celebrate the feast of St. Luke the Evangelist, the original patron saint of this Church. Luke is traditionally believed to have been the author of both the Gospel of Luke and the Acts of the Apostles, which means that Luke is the author of more than one-fourth of the New Testament. He was likely a Gentile Christian – the only Gentile to write the books in the canon of the Bible. He is also the first Christian physician on record. Luke accompanied St. Paul on a significant part of his missionary journey, and he likely acted as Paul’s personal physician. It’s no surprise that the church considers Luke to be the patron of physicians and more generally of health and healing, and thus, a tradition has been established wherein parish churches such as ours have a healing mass on his feast. In a few moments, I will those of you who are interested to exit your pew chairs and head to one of the four stations, and a priest will lay hands on you and pray with for healing, and will anoint you on the forehead with the oil of the infirm. Most people in today’s world go to a physician when they’re sick, not a priest, and there’s certainly some logic to that. But the Church gives us the opportunity to receive God’s grace in a special way in the sacrament of the anointing of the sick. By the laying on of hands and anointing with oil, the church’s intention is to bring healing in this life by joining the sufferings of the sick person to Christ. But it’s not only intended to bring physical healing, it also brings the forgiveness of sin, and the ultimate healing of the whole person – body, mind, and spirit.[1] The priest, in this act, isn’t casting a magic spell, but is instead responding to the faith that the individual seeking God’s grace displays in seeking it – faith that the Lord can use ordinary creatures like a priest’s hands and olive oil to join his or her sufferings to Christ and begin to bring healing and wholeness and freedom. In today’s gospel, Luke presents to us a sermon that Jesus preached that essentially involved him reading from the book of Isaiah. He said, “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.” This short passage contains the essence – the heart of Jesus’s life and ministry. It’s all about healing and freedom and release. As you and I receive God’s healing and forgiveness today in both the Anointing of the Sick and in the Holy Eucharist, we are called to leave this place and take that reconciliation and wholeness to a broken and hurting world. To take this Good News to the poor. To proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind. To let the opposed go free. To take the healing and wholeness of Jesus to everyone we encounter. Amen. [1] Hans Boersma, Matthew Leverling, and R.W.L. Moberly, The Oxford Handbook of Sacramental Theology (Oxford University Press, 2015), 558-564. Pentecost XVIII, Proper 24, Year C
2 Timothy 3:14-4:5 October 16, 2022 The Rev’d Charles Everson St. Mary’s Episcopal Church “All scripture is inspired by God and is useful for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness.” There may not be another single verse in the Bible that is so often used to back up the type of Biblical “literalism” that I used to subscribe to back in my evangelical days. “The Bible is literally true,” I thought. “ALL scripture” is inspired by God, not just the parts of it that I like or agree with. The terms “scripture” and “sacred writing” in this passage may or may not include the four gospels or other parts of the New Testament, but it is certain that they do include the Jewish scriptures that we commonly call the “Old Testament.” It is just as certain that neither term refers to the New Testament as we know it today as no matter the precise date 2nd Timothy was written, the New Testament had not been formally canonized. The phrase “inspired by God” literally means “God-breathed.”[1] In the creation story in Genesis, God breathes life into humankind, and in John chapter 20, Jesus breathes on his disciples and says to them “Receive the Holy Spirit.” Perhaps this verse isn’t a proof text for the acceptance of biblical inerrancy, but is rather indicative that God uses the Scriptures to breathe new life into us. This verse is part of a wider passage in which Paul exhorts his young pastor friend Timothy to “continue in what you’ve learned and believed, know from whom you learned it, proclaim the message, be persistent in season or out of season, rebuke and encourage, be sober, do the work of an evangelist” – in other words, carry out your ministry fully. Paul is trying to tell Timothy that his job, and that of the pastor in general, isn’t to be innovative, but to be faithful, even in the midst of hardship. Paul continues, “For the time is coming when people will not put up with sound doctrine.” It’s easy to compare ourselves with others in trying to determine who really has the soundest doctrine, but the sound doctrine referred to here is the basic good news that Christ has died, Christ is risen, and Christ is coming again. Paul reminds Timothy that from childhood, he has known the sacred writings that are able to instruct him for salvation through faith in Christ Jesus. Friends, being faithful and proclaiming the gospel isn’t always an easy or popular thing to do, especially given the misconceptions out there about the Biblical record. Just yesterday, I had a conversation with a lifelong devout Roman Catholic who believed that the Bible we have today is the result of monks copying pages from previous copies, leaving room for errors to creep in over the centuries despite the fact that those of us who study such things as our primary academic discipline know that isn’t the case at all. I was a sophomore in college (a Biblical Studies major) when my maternal grandmother was diagnosed with cancer. She had been raised by a mother who was a convinced Christian Scientist, a member of a group that eschews some forms of modern medicine while claiming to “take the inspired Word of the Bible as our sufficient guide to eternal life[2]”. As she was struggling with how to proceed with treatment, she asked me, “Can one be a Christian and not go to church?” I don’t remember how I answered her question, but in retrospect, my response would now be something like this: Christians are grafted into Christ’s body, the Church, at baptism, and as part of the household of God, we live out our faith together. The Christian life was never intended to be lived in solitude, but rather in community. And it is in Christian community, gathered around God’s Word and Sacraments, that God breathes new life into his Church. The catechism in our 1979 Book of Common Prayer puts it this way: Why do we call the Holy Scriptures the Word of God? We call them the Word of God because God inspired their human authors and because God still speaks to us through the Bible. How do we understand the meaning of the Bible? We understand the meaning of the Bible by the help of the Holy Spirit who guides the Church in the true interpretation of the Scriptures.[3] Evangelicals love to say that we Episcopalians do not study the Bible, and then are shocked when they experience just how much Scripture is read at our services. And yet, there is something to be said about the stereotype that Episcopalians don’t do a lot of reading and studying of the Bible at home. Episcopalians sometimes act like they’re allergic to the Bible, and that is understandable given that many of us come from corners of Christianity who see it as a set of rules to follow rather than as the primary way the Holy Spirit breathes new life into the Church. It’s especially difficult given that in the year 2022, we are still dealing with folks like the guy who testified before the Conway Public School Board in Conway, Arkansas this past Tuesday, saying that LGBTQ people “deserve death” because “God gave them over to a depraved mind so that they do what they should not be doing”, a selective quoting Romans chapter 1. “All scripture is inspired by God” used to say to me that the Bible as we know it is without error and literally true. But now, I’m hearing God’s Spirit say something different: just as God breathed over the water at creation, and just as Jesus breathed on his disciples to empower them for ministry, God breathes new life into his Church through the Scriptures today. Paul’s high-direct instructions to young pastor Timothy are not only for those of us called to ordained ministry, but apply to the household of God more broadly: we are to continue in what we’ve learned and believed, know from whom we learned it, proclaim the message, be persistent in season or out of season, rebuke and encourage, be sober, do the work of an evangelist – in other words, carry out our ministry fully, and be faithful in living out and proclaiming that Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again. We Episcopalians do not subscribe to Biblical inerrancy, but rather that God inspired the human authors of the Biblical books and that God still speaks to us through the Bible today. We’ve got the communal reading and listening of Scripture down – on Sundays and major feasts, three readings plus a portion of the psalter. But I think we are missing out on something important by leaving our Bibles on the shelves at home. If it has been a long time since you’ve picked up the Bible, I encourage you to dust it off and at least begin to imagine a world in which the reading and meditating on the Scriptures is a regular part of your life not only at church but at home (and if you don’t have a Bible and want one, come see me). I’m not asking you to daydream about being a monk or a nun, nor am I asking you to do the hard work of interpreting difficult Biblical passages on your own. Our catechism says that we understand the meaning of the Bible by the help of the Holy Spirit who guides the Church in the true interpretation of the Scriptures.[4] Clearly, different Christian communities have different interpretations of any number of Biblical passages, but together, we have some hope of hearing God’s voice collectively, and nourished by the power of the Holy Spirit in Word and Sacrament, we are given strength and courage to faithfully and fully carry out our ministry as ambassadors of the Word made flesh, even Jesus Christ our Lord. [1] David Lyon Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, eds., Feasting on the Word. Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary. (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 185. [2] https://www.christianscience.com/what-is-christian-science/beliefs-and-teachings [3] BCP 854. [4] BCP 854. |
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To the Glory of God and in honor of the Blessed Virgin Mary
St. Mary's is a parish of the Diocese of West Missouri, The Episcopal Church, and the Anglican Communion.
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