Lent 1, Year C -- Sermon at Sunday Mass

Luke 4:1-13

A key theme of this first Sunday of Lent is temptation. In the biblical languages, the verb “tempt” is more or less interchangeable with “put to the test.” A temptation is a test or time of trial during which we are confronted with the choice either to turn away from or reaffirm our loyalty and obedience to God.

The early Church Fathers saw the Temptation of Christ in the Wilderness as the reversal of the original Temptation of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, a theme taken up in the seventeenth century by John Milton in his poems Paradise Lost and Paradise Regained. While I certainly don’t want to dismiss that line of interpretation, a close reading of today’s Gospel suggests instead the reversal of the temptations of Israel during its forty years in the wilderness. Rebuffing the devil’s temptations, Jesus quotes three texts from the Book of Deuteronomy, each of which alludes to Israel’s desert wanderings.

The first temptation is: “If you are the Son of God, command this stone to become bread.” Jesus responds: “It is written, ‘Man shall not live by bread alone’.” Here he’s quoting Deuteronomy 8:2-3, which reads in full as follows:

[Moses said to the people] And you shall remember all the way which the LORD your God has led you these forty years in the wilderness, that he might humble you, testing you to know what was in your heart, whether you would keep his commandments, or not. And he humbled you and let you hunger and fed you with manna, which you did not know, nor did your fathers know; that he might make you know that man does not live by bread alone, but that man lives by everything that proceeds out of the mouth of the LORD.

The reference to the manna alludes to Israel in the wilderness longing for the fleshpots of Egypt, and murmuring against Moses and Aaron on account of hunger. The temptation then was to give up and return to Egypt – to seek food at the cost of turning away from the Lord. And before the miraculous appearance of the manna, the bread from heaven, the Israelites were prepared to do just that.

Likewise, the devil’s suggestion that Jesus turn a stone into bread is a temptation to use his power as the Son of God in his own interests, to provide food for himself apart from trust in his Father’s plan. But where Israel was tested and found wanting, Jesus is tested and overcomes the temptation.

This use of food as an enticement to disobedience suggests why fasting and abstinence are basic Christian disciplines, especially during Lent. When we go without food for a time we have the opportunity to practice resisting temptation and to enact the words of Scripture: “Man shall not live by bread alone.”

In the second temptation, the devil shows Jesus all the world’s kingdoms, and makes him the offer: “If you, then, will worship me, it shall all be yours.” Jesus responds by quoting Deuteronomy 6:13: “It is written: ‘You shall worship the Lord your God, and him only shall you serve’.”

In this part of Deuteronomy, Moses is warning the Israelites of the temptations they will face to worship other gods when they enter into the Promised Land. The devil’s temptation of Jesus, then, is to receive world dominion in return for worshiping him. But our Lord’s response makes clear that God is the sole ruler of the world; and that he alone is to be worshiped and served.

This second temptation is thus an enticement to false worship, putting someone or something else in God’s place. The best antidote is true worship, putting God first. And for Christians, being faithful and regular in the Church’s Sunday worship is how we begin to put into practice the command of Scripture: “You shall worship the Lord your God, and him only shall you serve.”

The third temptation is more subtle, and requires a bit more unpacking. The devil takes Jesus up to the pinnacle of the temple and urges him to throw himself down, so that the angels will catch him according to the words of the psalm. In response, Jesus quotes Deuteronomy 6:16: “You shall not tempt the Lord your God.” The actual text of Deuteronomy reads: “You shall not put the Lord your God to the test, as you tested him at Massah.”

The reference here is to Exodus 17, where the Israelites arrive in a place where there is no water. They find fault with Moses and demand, “Give us water to drink.” When Moses asks, “Why do you put the Lord to the proof?” they grumble all the more at Moses: “Why did you bring us up out of Egypt to kill us and our cattle and our children with thirst?” When Moses cries to the Lord, “What shall I do with this people? They are almost ready to stone me” the Lord directs him to strike the rock at Horeb; water gushes out, and the people drink. And Moses calls the place Massah and Meribah because of the fault-finding of the children of Israel, and because they put the Lord to the proof by asking, “Is the Lord among us or not?”

Instead of trusting God not to let them die of thirst, the sin of the Israelites was to make their loyalty to God contingent upon having their demands met on their own terms. Otherwise they were prepared to stone Moses and go their own way in search of water. Likewise, by throwing himself off the Temple pinnacle to force God to send his angels to catch him, Jesus would have committed the same sin – of trying to dictate the terms of his relationship with God, rather than obediently doing his Father’s will.

Understood in this way, this third temptation is very real and very common. It’s the temptation to make our faith and obedience contingent upon God’s fulfillment of some expectation that we may have of him. It’s the temptation to want to serve God on our own terms – not literally by throwing ourselves off a high building so that God’s angels will be forced to catch us, but in hundreds of more subtle ways.

Think of all the bargains we’re tempted to make with God – promising our devoted service if he will only grant us some favor such a saving a loved one from terminal illness; or threatening to forsake him if he doesn’t meet some other demand we’ve made of him. I’ve known people who’ve done this – stopped coming to church because God disappointed their expectations that he would protect them from all harm, tragedy, and loss in this life.

The virtue by which we resist this temptation is simply the willingness to love, serve, and follow God no matter what – without preconditions. In this way we put into practice the words of Jesus: “You shall not put the Lord your God to the test.”

The Letter to the Hebrews describes the risen and ascended Christ as a great high priest who is able to sympathize with our weakness, having been tempted in every way as we are, yet without sin. Elsewhere, the same letter affirms: “For because he himself has suffered and been tempted, he is able to help those who are tempted.”

By resisting temptation successfully on our behalf, our Lord has made it possible for those united to him likewise to resist temptation. And when we find ourselves being tempted to turn away from God like Israel in the wilderness, we need only call upon Jesus to strengthen us in the way of loyalty and faithfulness.

Last Sunday after the Epiphany -- Sunday Sermon

Luke 9:28-36

Today we conclude the Season after Epiphany with Saint Luke’s account of our Lord’s Transfiguration. Just under a month ago, we began the Season with the Baptism of Christ. Both events, the Baptism and the Transfiguration, are pivotal moments in the Gospels. So it may be instructive to look at both in relation to each other to see what the comparison can tell us.

On one hand, the respective settings could not be more different. The Baptism takes place in a valley, at the Jordan River. The Transfiguration takes place upon the peak of a mountain. The Baptism has many witnesses, consisting of the multitudes flocking to see and hear John the Baptist. The Transfiguration has only three witnesses: Peter, James, and John, the inner circle of our Lord’s disciples. At the Baptism, John the Baptist occupies center stage as the principal human agent, preaching and baptizing. At the Transfiguration, our Lord occupies center stage, taking the three disciples up a high mountain apart.

These differences make the similarities all the more striking. In both events, there is a visual manifestation of God’s presence: at the Baptism, the Holy Spirit descending in bodily form as a dove; and at the Transfiguration, the dazzling light, the miraculous appearance of Moses and Elijah, and the cloud that overshadows them. And in both events, a voice from heaven speaks almost identical words: at the Baptism, “Thou art my Son, my chosen, with thee I am well pleased,” and at the Transfiguration, “This is my Son, my Chosen, listen to him!”

This recapitulation of parallel themes and images suggests that a stage of our Lord’s life that begins in the Baptism ends in the Transfiguration, which in turn begins a new phase in the narrative. And this indeed turns out to be the case. In the Synoptic Gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke, the Baptism inaugurates, and the Transfiguration concludes, our Lord’s public ministry in Galilee. The Transfiguration likewise marks the beginning of the Journey of Jesus and the Twelve to Jerusalem that will end in his betrayal, arrest, trial, death, and resurrection.

The placement of these two events at these pivotal transitions reveals something more of their significance. The Baptism sets the stage for Our Lord’s public ministry in Galilee by showing in advance that everything he subsequently does – his teachings, healings, and miracles – he does by the power of the Holy Spirit that descends upon him. He is no charlatan or wonderworking magician, but the beloved Son, in whom his heavenly Father is well pleased.

The meaning of the Transfiguration is a bit more complex. Today’s Gospel begins: “Now about eight days after these sayings …” The sayings in question have consisted of his first prediction of his coming Passion and death. In response to his question, “Who do you say that I am?” Simon Peter has responded on behalf of the Twelve, “The Christ of God.” But immediately Jesus has commanded and charged them to tell no-one, saying, “The Son of man must suffer many things, and be rejected by the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day rise again.” He has then continued with the exhortation, “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross and follow me … For whoever is ashamed of me and my words, of him will the Son of man be ashamed when he comes in his glory and the glory of the Father and of the Holy Angels.”

Now notice that in these sayings Jesus has spoken not only of his coming suffering and death, but also of his rising again on the third day, and his return at the end of time. Eight days later, then, his Transfiguration serves as an anticipatory confirmation of the latter part of the prophecy: his resurrection from the dead and his coming in glory.

Sermons and devotional literature often describe the Transfiguration as a “mountaintop experience” that the disciples must let go and leave behind in order to come down off the mountain and follow Jesus in the hard way of discipleship that leads to Calvary and the Cross. But the truth is really the opposite. The Transfiguration is given to the three disciples as a foretaste of the glory that lies on the other side of Holy Week and Good Friday. It strengthens them for the hardships and suffering that lie ahead by equipping them with a vision of the victory that awaits them at the end of the story.

As in the Gospel narratives: just so in the Christian year and in the Christian life. Celebrating the Transfiguration today, on the Last Sunday of the Epiphany, helps strengthen us for the rigors of the Lenten Season by pointing in an anticipatory way to the Resurrection on Easter Sunday.

For us, the Baptism of Christ is reminiscent of all those sacramental moments when we receive the spiritual gifts and graces necessary to commence some new phase of activity in our life. Think of the Sacraments of Initiation, Holy Baptism and Confirmation, that prepare us to live the Christian life and exercise our ministries as members of Christ’s Body, the Church. Think of the Sacrament of Holy Matrimony, which initiates two people into married life together. Think of the Sacrament of Holy Orders, which sets apart, consecrates, and equips those who’ve been called to minister as deacons, priests, or bishops in the Church.

The Transfiguration, however, is reminiscent of all those moments that equip us for the end by giving us a foretaste of the glory that awaits us beyond the grave. Think, for example, of the Sacrament of Holy Unction, also known as the Anointing of the Sick. It’s a very simple little ritual: the priest marking the sign of the cross on your forehead with oil of a rather pleasant aroma. Yet anointing has inseparable associations with coronation – kings and queens are anointed when they enter upon their reign. In this way, the Sacrament reminds us that whatever physical or mental suffering we may undergo in this life, nonetheless in Christ we are “anointed ones,” destined for eternal life in God’s Kingdom.

The Anointing of the Sick is thus what might be called “a Transfiguration moment,” a foretaste of the glory to come. The same can definitely be said of receiving Holy Communion, the Sacrament of our Lord’s Body and Blood, which was known in the early Church as “the medicine of immortality.” Even as we live in the midst of a world that is passing away, our Lord affords us countless such Transfiguration moments, anticipatory glimpses of the glory that awaits us, if only we open our eyes to see.

Epiphany 4, Year C -- Sunday Sermon

Luke 4:21-30

Shortly after I was ordained to the priesthood, I had the opportunity to return to the parish that had sponsored me for ordination: as it happens, another Saint Stephen’s. I’d been a member of that parish for about twelve years, from my early twenties. There I’d learned a great deal of the faith and practice of the Church, and had gradually become aware of my own vocation to the priesthood. The congregation had been warmly and prayerfully supportive as I negotiated the various steps in the process along the way to seminary and ordination.

In some ways, returning there after ordination to say Mass and preach the sermon was a bittersweet experience. Everyone there who remembered me seemed happy and proud. Our John is now a priest. At the same time, I knew I could never go back there. In the Episcopal Church, with very few exceptions, it’s forbidden for priests to return and serve as the rector or clergy on the staff of the parish that raised them up and sponsored them for ordination.

When you offer yourself to the Church for ordination as a deacon or priest, the default assumption is that you will exercise your ministry in another parish, or series of parishes, to which you will come initially as someone sent from outside. This is one reason why the ministry of bishops, priests, and deacons is called the apostolic ministry. The word apostolic comes from the Greek verb “to send,” and apostles are by definition “those who are sent.”

I’m pleased to report that this post-ordination visit to my parish-of-origin went smoothly and pleasantly, with no blow-ups of the sort that today’s Gospel records of our Lord’s visit to the synagogue in his home town of Nazareth. But there are some parallels between the two situations. Just as the Church has discerned that priests and deacons exercise their ministries most effectively in places other than where they came from, so our Lord proclaims to the people of Nazareth, “No prophet is accepted in his own country.”

So far, everything has been going well in what appears to be the first return visit of Jesus to Nazareth after his baptism and the beginning of his public ministry. As we heard last Sunday, on the Sabbath he entered the synagogue, read from the scroll of the Torah, and commented on the text. Today’s Gospel picks up with the townspeople responding with approval: “all spoke well of him and wondered at the gracious words which proceeded out of his mouth; and they said, ‘Is not this Joseph’s son?’” The text gives us no reason to suppose that this last question, “Is not this Joseph’s son?” indicates anything other than pride in a hometown boy who has done well.

Strangely, then, perhaps knowing that they’re not saying everything that they’re thinking, Jesus challenges them: “Doubtless you will quote to me this proverb: Physician, heal yourself.” Actually, we do have independent attestation of such a proverb in the ancient world, among both Jews and Greeks. It was something one might to say to a meddlesome person offering unwanted advice or assistance: attend to your own problems before you try to solve mine. One Greek version reads: “Physician, see to the sores on your own body.”

But immediately our Lord makes it clear that he means something else, when he adds: “What we have heard you did at Capernaum, do here also in your own country.” In other words: “Physician, why are you devoting your time and attention to those outsiders? Heal your own people, here in your own home town!”

To these imputed thoughts, Our Lord makes the response: “No prophet is accepted in his own country.” In other words: “You’re speaking well of me now, but if I were to do here what I have done in Capernaum and the other places to which I’ve been sent, you wouldn’t accept me.”

And then he expands his point by citing the prophets Elijah and Elisha. There were many widows in Israel in the days of Elijah, but Elijah was sent only to a Gentile widow in the land of Sidon. There were many lepers in Israel in the days of Elisha, but Elisha cleansed only the Gentile leper Naaman the Syrian. In this way, our Lord implicitly identifies himself as a prophet after the fashion of Elijah and Elisha; and he also implies that his mission, too, will reach in some fashion beyond Israel to embrace the Gentiles. At these words, the people’s approval turns into outrage. Barely escaping with his life, Jesus continues on his way.

The early Church community for which Luke was writing his Gospel would have recognized this episode as prefiguring some of their own experiences. In their lifetime, the Church has begun reaching out to the Gentiles and has established missions throughout the Mediterranean world. This opening to the Gentiles has occasioned outrage among many, however, who think that the apostles – and remember that all the original apostles were Jews – have not concentrated their efforts in sufficiently in the Jewish community and have instead taken their ministry and message to the outside world.

One implication of this episode in the Gospels is that as the Church we’re always called to conceive of our mission in global terms. For example, speaking personally, I’m never impressed when charitable fund raising organizations make the boast that every cent one gives them will go to help people here in this country, or indeed here in this state – as though people in other parts of the world are less worthy and less deserving of our assistance.

Likewise, in our efforts at parish development, we need to beware the temptation to focus our attention inward, on ourselves and on the needs of our own community, to the exclusion of those outside. A significant part of our mission as the church is to reach out beyond our walls to those who may need our help, regardless of what’s in it for us. Paradoxically, study after study shows that churches grow most when they stop focusing inwardly on their own needs and start thinking about how to discern and fulfill their mission in the wider community.

Just as bishops, priests, and deacons are called to exercise an apostolic ministry as those sent to new communities, so all of us together, as the Church, are called to be an apostolic community, sent out to share the good news of Christ with all people. Pray, then, for the grace and courage to embrace that call.