What is Your Name?

Holy Name; Phil 2:5-11; 1/1/2017

St. Paul’s Smithfield – Jim Melnyk: “What is Your Name?”

The story is told about a time when God decided to become visible to both a king and a peasant, and sent an angel to inform them of the blessed event.

“O King,” the angel announced. “God has deigned to be revealed to you in whatever manner you wish. In what form do you want God to appear?”

Seated on his throne and surrounded by awestruck subjects, the king proclaimed, “How else would I wish to see God, save in majesty and power? Show God to us in the full glory of power.”

God granted his wish and appeared as a bolt of lightning that instantly pulverized the king and his court. Nothing, not even a cinder, remained.

The angel then manifested herself to a peasant, saying: “God deigns to be revealed to you in whatever manner you desire. How do you wish to see God?” 

Scratching his head and puzzling a long while, the peasant finally said, “I am a poor man and not worthy to see God face to face. But if it is God’s will to be revealed to me, let it be in those things with which I am familiar. Let me see God in the earth I plough, the water I drink, the food I eat. Let me see God in the faces of my family and neighbors” (Synthesis, Paula Franck, 1/1/2017).  Considering the experiences of the king and the peasant, I guess being too sure of oneself doesn’t always pay.

The story of the King and the peasant reminds us how through the birth of Jesus God chooses to be revealed through intimate vulnerability rather than coercive power (ibid).  Salvation is made known to us in this particular act of humility – a child born far from the centers of power – far from the comfort of a settled home – amid animals and strangers because of the whim of Empire to solidify its tax base through a census taken among occupied people.

Jesus, the sacrament of God – the outward and visible face of God – born in obscurity, hunted by a king who is terrified of losing power – this same Jesus will eventually grow up to be an itinerate preacher whose life, death, and yes, whose resurrection, will topple empires and change a world.

Paul, in his letter to the Philippians, gives us his version of what the Incarnation is all about: “Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness.  And being found in human form, [Jesus] humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death – even death on a cross.”   And yet in our world today, it seems that too many people value power and authority over vulnerability and humility – the very antithesis of what Paul and the Gospels tell us what’s going on in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus.

The name Jesus, which means “God saves,” tells a lot about God, who is in the business of bringing salvation – that is, wholeness, to us all. But the name Jesus also tells us something about each of us.  The name Jesus tells us that we are the object of God’s love – it tells us that God loves us enough to take on the humility and vulnerability of human flesh to get our attention.

Just over two thousand later and we gather in this place bearing a rather special name as well – we bear the name of Christ.  And our decision to take on the name “Christian” should say a lot about us.  At the very moments of our baptisms we each are sealed by the Holy Spirit, and marked as Christ’s own forever.  This deep baptismal truth finds its place at the very heart of why we gather Sunday after Sunday – attests to the claiming of the name of Christ at least on some level. We need to regularly decide what that name means for us – realizing that our understanding – that our belief – about who Jesus is, and why he is, shapes who we are – should shape whom it is we are becoming.

Bearing the name Christian means we are Jesus Followers – and more than that – it means we are called to be Jesus “Be-ers” and Jesus “Doers.” And those of us at St. Paul's are part of what Presiding Bishop Michael Curry has dubbed “The Episcopal branch of the Jesus Movement.” 

To bear the name of Christ means we make a conscious decision to be Christ-like – or at least to strive to be Christ-like – even in light of our own human frailties.  And that’s the rub, isn’t it?  We seem to struggle, sometimes almost daily, with our own human frailty and the challenges against our identity in Christ – our challenge as Jesus followers to imitate Christ in our lives. 

And make no mistake about it – not every group or every person who claims the name of Christ seeks to be imitators of Christ.  There are certainly those who see their understanding of Christianity as a litmus test of faithfulness to God, and even as a weapon to be wielded against anyone who has the audacity to believe differently from them.

Sometimes it seems as if we have two very different realities struggling deep within us, seeking to be the name we will claim for ourselves – seeking to be the name by which those around us will know us – the name which will tell the world exactly who we are.

You may recall a story I’ve told before in different settings that comes to us from the ancient Cherokee tradition:

An old Cherokee is teaching his grandson about life. "A fight is going on inside me," he said to the boy. "It is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves.

One is evil – he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego. The other is good – he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. This same fight is going on inside you – and inside every other person, too." (As an aside, I have to think the grandfather knew something of Paul’s teachings about the fruit of the world versus the fruit of the Spirit)

The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather, "Which wolf will win?" The old Cherokee simply replied, "The one we feed."  The one you feed – the one I feed. 

The same can be said of the names which we carry within.  Which name will identify us to family, to friends, and to neighbors?  Which name will identify us to the sojourner who lives and works side-by-side with us in our land?  Which name will identify us as we stand before God? 

In essence, it will be the name we honor the most in the ways we live out our lives.  It will be the name we feed by our words and deeds in our day-to-day living.”

Jesus did not see equality with God as something to be grasped, but rather much like the peasant in our earlier story, Jesus lived out his ministry with a deep sense of humility for his human nature.  Rather than seeking personal grandeur, Jesus calls us to love God with all our heart, soul, mind, and strength; and to love our neighbor as ourselves (Mark 12:29-31).  But it is a calling and a naming which we have the freedom to refuse or to accept.  We get to decide the name to which we will each answer.  What is your name?

Falling In Love All Over Again

Christmas Day; Isa. 52:7-10; John 1:1-18; St. Paul’s, Smithfield, 12/25/2016

Jim Melnyk: “Falling in Love All Over Again”

Christmas is about falling in love – about falling in love with God.  On the surface it seems like it’s about music and lights, wonder and magic – but in reality it’s actually about mystery, awe, and love.  Christmas is about opening one’s heart once again to the presence of God in our world and in our lives – and it’s about the heart of God being held wide-open for us.  Christmas is about falling in love all over again.  Christmas is about the mystery of the Word of God made flesh, and the people of God being inspirited – being filled – with the Incarnate Word.

Christmas asks us to put aside for at least a few moments our best scientific-critical mindsets and revel in the mystery of the Word made flesh.  That is, allow ourselves to revel in what it might mean to believe in a God who can and does love us into existence – and who can and does love us throughout our existence.  Author Thomas Moore, writing about the spiritual life, tells us, “We live in a society that sees a mystery as a challenge, and you are successful only if you dispel the mystery and replace it with an explanation.  Religion,” explains Moore, “takes a different approach to the mysterious.  Rather than try to explain it away, [religion] creates ritual and song and story around the mystery, holding it and revering it.  Religion,” and I would say religion at its best, “assumes that a mystery is valuable in itself…. It is a powerful, unfathomable truth that is to be honored and lived – and which offers insight to our own humanity and our reason for being. (Thomas Moore in A Life at Work, quoted in Synthesis).

And so each year we tell the same story – the same old, old story of Jesus and of God’s love.  Because it is a story that touches our hearts and our souls – because it is a story surrounded by and enfolded in mystery – because it is a story that helps us fall in love once again – even if only for a few moments or a few short days – because if only for a short while, it gives us hope – it gives us the ability to fend off the demons of this world – it gives us the confidence to carry out our baptismal calling to seek the transformation of this world. 

Christmas is about falling in love all over again!  Have you ever fallen in love with God?  Have you ever wanted to fall in love with God?  Have you ever considered that God has fallen in love with you?” For me the answer is “Yes!  Yes this has been true for me!”  At the same time I realize how easy it is to forget that love, and how wonderfully the season of Christmas works to remind me of that love.

I also realize that apart from mystery, these questions about a God who falls in love with us, and who desires more than anything else in this world that we fall in love in return – well, absent the mystery – absent a belief that God can and does desire to be in relationship with us – it makes no sense. 

Last night I said, I don’t know about you, but I need and want a God who falls in love with us – a God who falls in love with me of all people!  I need and want a God who dreams of a creation that finds its “purpose for being” wrapped up in the wonder and the mystery of love. 

I need and want a God who embraces my humanness – our humanness – who embraces our frailty – who embraces our needs – who embraces our hopes and our dreams.  I need and want a God who chooses to be identified with us in the most tangible of ways – in our very flesh and blood.  For if God isn’t a God who is so intimately connected with us and with the whole of creation, what’s the point? As Julian of Norwich wrote centuries ago, “Would you know [our] Lord’s meaning in this?  Learn it well….  Love was our Lord’s meaning.”

Throughout time humanity has fallen in love with God – the real sort of love – the kind with all the bumps and bruises – with cantankerous grumbling and with contented sighs – along the way. 

We – God and humanity – speak poetic words of love to each other.  We fight with one another – sometimes we fight rather unfairly!  We – God and humanity – forgive one another and we make up with one another.  We are transformed by one another’s hopes – we are transformed by one another’s dreams and by one another’s fears.  We are transformed by one another’s love.  This is the God of Christmas – this is the God who calls to us across time and space – this is the God who enters into our human space – this is the God who calls to us in the very depths of our human hearts.

           

Christmas and the love of God are mysteries we are called to revel in rather than puzzles we are challenged to unravel.  Former Presiding Bishop Katharine Jefferts Schori has said that Advent “is the season when Christians are called to live with more hope than the world thinks is reasonable.” 

Episcopal priest and blogger Susan Russell reminds us that Christmas is the moment in which we experience the incarnation of that hope – more hope than the world thinks is reasonable.  Christmas, Russell reminds us, is about “a God who loved us enough to become one of us in order to show us how to love one another.  We wonder again,” writes Russell, “at the power of a love great enough to triumph over death and we claim a Christmas Truth greater than any of the traditions it inspires: the mystical longing of the creature for the Creator – the finite for the infinite – the human for the divine – all wrapped up in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.” 

And just perhaps, I believe, as we revel in the mystery that is Christmas, we might catch a glimpse of the mystical longing of the creator for the creature – a longing of the infinite for the finite – the divine for the human – a longing for love returned – a longing for us to fall in love one more time – and perhaps this is the most outrageous and comforting hope of all.  Amen.

Christmas Eve 2016; Luke 2:1-20; John 1:1-18; St. Paul’s Smithfield

Jim Melnyk: “Much Higher Than That!”

Sister Joan Chittister “tells the Hasidic story of the rabbi who disappeared every Shabbat Eve, ‘to commune with God in the forest’ – or so his congregation thought (There is a Season).

So one Sabbath night they assigned one of their cantors to follow the rabbi and observe the holy encounter.  Deeper and deeper into the woods the rabbi went until he came to the small cottage of an old Gentile woman, sick to death and crippled into a painful posture.

Once there, the rabbi cooked for her and carried her firewood and swept her floor.  Then when the chores were finished, he returned immediately to his little house next to the synagogue.

Back in the village, the people demanded of the one they’d sent to follow him, ‘Did our rabbi go up to heaven as we thought?’ ‘Oh, no,’ the cantor answered after a thoughtful pause.  ‘Oh, no. Our rabbi went much higher than that.’” (Quoted in Synthesis)

When I let my imagination run wild I can see that very same rabbi, lovingly moving about a cave-stable in Bethlehem one dark night as a young woman does the hard work of giving birth to her first-born child.  I can see the rabbi lighting the lamps and sweeping away the dirty straw – placing fresh, clean rushes in their place.  In my mind’s eye I can see him building the fire and cooking a meal for the exhausted couple – and perhaps several others who have found shelter with them that night.  I envision him keeping the fire going through the night in an effort to keep everyone warm and comfortable – and then gazing on in wonder – along with some wide-eyed shepherds – at the miracle of new birth before returning to his modest home by the local synagogue. 

Our story reminds us that God does not come among us in the glorious splendor of princely palaces – but rather, as the carol reminds us so poetically, God comes among us “in mean estate where ox and ass are feeding” (The Hymnal 1982, 115).

In another fashion, the Gospel of John tells us how the Word became flesh and dwelled among us.  John reminds us how that same Word is the Light of the World, and that it shines in the darkness, and how the darkness – or the brokenness of this world – will never overcome that Light.  But the Incarnation is about more than God in Christ Jesus some 2,000 years ago.  “The incarnation wasn't a 33-year experiment, a one-shot incursion by God into human history. The marvel of the mystery is that God loves the world so much, that God takes on human flesh – and has never since ceased to have human flesh.

In St. Paul’s words, ‘We are the body of Christ,’” (Ronald Rolheiser) and that reality of incarnation can have immense ramifications if we open ourselves to the hope of God for us, and for all whose lives we touch.

The Incarnation is about God loving us enough to take on human flesh in each of us.  The Incarnation is about God being made alive in you – it’s about God being made alive in me – in each of us – in all of us!  The Incarnation is about God’s desire for us to be a light that shines in the darkness – a desire that we will be the ongoing incarnation of Christ in the world around us – talk about immense possibilities for the life of this world!

I don’t know about you, but I need and want a God who falls in love with us – a God who falls in love with me of all people!  I need and want a God who dreams of a creation that finds its “purpose for being” wrapped up in the wonder and the mystery of love. 

I need and want a God who embraces my humanness – our humanness – who embraces our frailty – who embraces our needs – who embraces our hopes and our dreams.  I need and want a God who chooses to be identified with us in the most tangible of ways – in our very flesh and blood.  For if God isn’t a God who is so intimately connected with us and with the whole of creation, what’s the point? As Julian of Norwich wrote centuries ago, “Would you know [our] Lord’s meaning in this?  Learn it well….  Love was our Lord’s meaning.”

Christmas is the hope that we will come to recognize ourselves as Children of God – the hope that we will somehow come to recognize ourselves as the Light of God shining in the broken darkness of this world.  Christmas is the hope and promise of God made alive – in and through us by the power of God’s Holy Spirit – so that our world might be healed of its brokenness and sustained in love.  Tonight.  This very minute.  Now. 

The Eternal has taken upon itself the temporal – so that we might take upon ourselves the Eternal.  God takes on human flesh – think about the wonder, the meaning of that – God takes on human flesh so that we might take upon ourselves – might take within ourselves – the very nature of God.

Like the rabbi in the Hasidic tale, our calling is indeed a high calling.  We are the children of God – and so, we are called to be the ongoing presence of Christ – the incarnation of Christ for the world – tonight – this very minute – and beyond.  Amen.