PALM SUNDAY

March 28, 2021

St. Uriel’s, Sea Girt, N.J.

Well, we’ve simplified things a bit this year, omitting the palm-bearing procession from the parish hall into the church. I earnestly hope that next year we’ll be able to restore these rites in their fullness. It nonetheless remains the case that today’s proceedings consist of not one liturgy but two: the Liturgy of the Palms and the Liturgy of the Lord’s Passion.

Down through the years, I’m sure we’ve all heard any number of sermons—I’ve given a good many myself—emphasizing the contrast between today’s two liturgies: the joyful acclamations of “Hosanna to the Son of David” giving way to the hateful cries of “Crucify him!”; the triumphal entry of the king into his capital city giving way to the condemned prisoner carrying his cross outside the walls of that same city to die.

On this Palm Sunday, however, I want to dwell a bit on the underlying unity between these two liturgies. For Christ’s triumphal entry into Jerusalem and his carrying the Cross to Golgotha both constitute parts of the same larger movement. Both fit into the same broader trajectory.

We really don’t know what Jesus was thinking as he rode the donkey into Jerusalem. We need to beware of overly psychologizing interpretations of the stories in the Gospels and the historical books of the Bible because, for the most part, the biblical writers tell us what the main characters said and did, not what they were thinking or what was going on inside their heads.

Still, it’s safe to surmise that Jesus approached Jerusalem that first Palm Sunday knowing that despite the outward trappings of a royal procession, he was in fact entering the city where he’d be betrayed, arrested, condemned, tortured, and put to death. He’d already told his disciples as much several times, beginning in the eighth chapter of Saint Mark’s Gospel: “And he began to teach them that the Son of man must suffer many things, and be rejected by the elders and the chief priests and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again. And he said this plainly.”

So, the Lord’s entry into Jerusalem was one stage in the journey that Saint Paul describes in today’s reading from his Letter to the Philippians: “Christ Jesus, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form he humbled himself and became obedient unto death, even death on a cross.”

The Greek word for self-emptying is kenosis, and this passage from Philippians is sometimes called Paul’s kenosis hymn, since its rhythm and meter in the original Greek text have certain hymn-like qualities. It sings of Christ, the pre-existent Son of the Father, voluntarily emptying himself of his divine power and glory to be born as a human being; and then, as a human being, humbling himself even to the point of accepting death on a cross, one of the most painful and degrading forms of execution imaginable.

The image of Jesus entering Jerusalem on a donkey coheres well with this theme of self-humbling, in fulfillment of the words of the Old Testament prophet Zechariah: “Lo, your king comes to you; triumphant and victorious is he, humble and riding on an ass, on a colt the foal of an ass.” It’s paradoxically an image of simultaneous triumph and humiliation. But that’s part and parcel of Christ’s journey of obedience unto death, even death on a cross.

The Passion Gospel that we’ve just read emphasizes Our Lord’s free and voluntary acceptance of his death. It’s to fulfill this mission that he enters Jerusalem in the first place. As Isaiah prophesies in today’s Old Testament reading: “I gave my back to the smiters, and my cheeks to those who pulled out the beard; I hid not my face from shame and spitting.”  When Jesus is arrested, he doesn’t try to escape. When questioned by Pilate, he doesn’t attempt to argue his defense or plead for his life; when he’s offered the anesthetic of wine mingled with myrrh, he refuses to take it.

The Collect for Palm Sunday affirms that Christ did all this so “that all mankind should follow the example of his great humility,” and then it asks God to grant “that we may both follow the example of his patience” and “be made partakers in his resurrection.”

In other words, the way of Christian discipleship is not the way of prideful self-assertion but of self-sacrifice in service to God and our neighbor. We’re called to follow the example not only of Christ’s humility but also of his patience under affliction. To return to Philippians, Paul introduces the passage I just quoted with the words: “Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, who though he was in the form of God did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped ...”

“Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus.” This past year has involved many sacrifices for all of us. Owing to the Covid-19 pandemic, we’ve had to give up many pleasures and privileges that we once took for granted. And for those who have fallen ill, died, or lost loved ones, it’s been a time of great suffering. The good news is that Jesus knows what we’re going through, and he offers us the example of his patience so that we may be partakers in his resurrection. When we consider what he went through for our sakes, then perhaps by his grace we can find the strength to accept whatever sacrifices he asks us to take on for his sake at this time in our history.

I said it on Ash Wednesday, and I’ll say it again today: Easter is coming! But before we arrive at the joy of the Resurrection, we need to walk the Way of the Cross, which is what we’re about today, and what we’ll be about this coming week. We need continually to remind ourselves that the Way of the Cross is the road not to oblivion but the path to eternal life and glory.

Today, we commemorate with great joy the Lord’s Triumphal Entry within the walls of Jerusalem, and with great sorrow his Death outside those same city walls. Still, both events are preludes to a greater victory than anyone present can possibly imagine. And all that I’ve been trying to say in this sermon is nowhere summed up better than in the last verse of the great Palm Sunday hymn:

Ride on, ride on in majesty,

In lowly pomp ride on to die;

Bow thy meek head to mortal pain,

Then take, O God, thy power and reign.  

 FOURTH SUNDAY IN LENT

March 14, 2021

St. Uriel’s Church, Sea Girt, N.J.

Numbers 21:4-9; Psalm 107:1-3, 17-22 

Ephesians 2:1-10; John 3:14-21

Today’s readings highlight God’s mercy. Psalm 107 exhorts God’s people to “give thanks to the Lord for his mercy, and the wonders he does for his children.” And in the reading from Galatians, Saint Paul describes God as “rich in mercy.”

A good definition of mercy might be “undeserved favor or forgiveness.” The well-known judicial ideal of “justice tempered with mercy” suggests a certain tension between justice and mercy. If we follow Aristotle in defining justice as “giving everyone their due,” then mercy is opposed to justice, because when we receive mercy, we don’t get what we deserve. The astonishing paradox, however, is that God embodies both perfect justice and infinite mercy. And today’s readings afford us glimpses into this wonderful mystery.

The episode in today’s Old Testament reading from Numbers occurs near the end of the Israelites’ forty years of wandering in the wilderness, just as they’re poised to make their final approach to the Promised land. For much of their wanderings they’ve camped near oases where food and water have been at least available if not plentiful. But now, traversing an arid desert known as the Wilderness of Sin, they begin to grumble and complain.

In the past, these incidents have fallen into something of a standard pattern. First, a threat to the people’s survival emerges, such as hunger or thirst. Second, the people find fault with Moses and accuse him of leading them out into the desert to die. Third, in desperation and fear for his life, Moses prays to the Lord. Fourth, in response to Moses’ intercession, God provides a miraculous deliverance in some such form as manna from heaven, or water from the rock. And then, fifth, the people cease complaining and the journey resumes.

This time, however, events take a slightly different turn. In response to the people’s grumbling and complaining, God sends a plague of fiery serpents, which bite the people so that many of them die. (That particular area is home to several species of venomous vipers, whose bites can be life-threatening. The description “fiery serpents” most likely refers to the burning sensation their bites cause.) 

It turns out, however, that the Israelites have actually learned something during their forty years of wandering, for now they recognize without being told that they’ve sinned. And they’ve also learned that the right course of action in this situation is to entreat Moses to pray to God on their behalf.

God answers the prayer, however, not by taking away the snakes, but by providing a remedy for the snakebite. The underlying theological point is that even though sins can always be forgiven, the consequences of sin cannot always be undone. In any case, God directs Moses to make a bronze image of a snake and set it on a pole, so that anyone who’s been bitten may look on the image and live.

Anthropologists have a field day with this story, pointing out how primitive religions often use images of dangerous animals to protect against those animals, and also how, in many cultures, snakes symbolize medicine and healing. But in the Bible the serpent has a deeper significance still. Remember that in the Book of Genesis, it was the serpent who first tempted Adam and Eve to disobey God.

In the wilderness, the Israelites are disobedient to God and suffer death by fiery serpents, just as in the beginning Adam and Eve became subject to sin and death by the serpent’s temptation. So the Israelites’ grumbling in the wilderness figuratively symbolizes human sin in all times and places, and the fiery serpents symbolize sin’s poisonous consequences.

Why, then, should healing come by means of a bronze serpent on a pole? One compelling explanation is that in order to be healed, the Israelites must face up to the reality of their sin. The bronze serpent brings them face to face with a visual symbol of their transgression, so they can look upon it, acknowledge their sin, and repent—in response to which God, in his mercy, will forgive and heal them.

This background helps explain the significance of our Lord’s words to Nicodemus in today’s Gospel reading from Saint John: “As Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life.”

The healing of the snake-bitten Israelites by means of the visual image of a bronze serpent on a pole foreshadows the healing of our wounded humanity by the cross of Christ. There’s no more vivid symbol of sin’s horror than the cross. When the Son of God came into the world, this is what we did to him. For this very reason, however, the cross becomes the most powerful remedy ever for sin. The image of the cross confronts us with the consequences of our rebellion, so that we may gain the opportunity to avail ourselves of God’s mercy.

To do so, we need only turn to God in repentance and faith. Notice that the indispensable prerequisite to the healing of the snake-bitten Israelites was confessing their sins and casting themselves on God’s mercy. As the psalmist sings, “Then they cried to the Lord in their trouble, and he delivered them from their distress.” 

The key reassurance for us is that God desires only our eternal salvation, and he’s willing to go to any lengths to get us there: even becoming incarnate as a human being and dying on a cross for our sakes. As Jesus says to Nicodemus in today’s Gospel, “God sent his Son into the world not to condemn the world, but that the world might be saved through him.”

So, then, Christ’s sacrifice on the cross simultaneously fulfills both God’s justice and his mercy. In today’s Epistle, Saint Paul emphasizes that the gift of eternal salvation is given by God’s grace and received in faith: “For by grace you have been saved through faith; and this is not your own doing, it is the gift of God—not because of works, lest any man should boast. For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them.”

In other words, we cannot do anything by ourselves to merit eternal life; we can only accept in faith the salvation that Christ has already won for us at such great cost to himself. But then, out of gratitude for such amazing divine mercy, we shall want to devote our lives to the service of God and our neighbor—again, not to earn heaven, as if that were possible—but to glorify God for the salvation that he’s already bestowed upon us in Christ Jesus our Lord.

 THIRD SUNDAY IN LENT

March 7, 2021

St. Uriel’s Church, Sea Girt, N.J.

Exodus 20:1-17; Psalm 19; 

I Corinthians 1:18-25; John 2:13-22

In today’s Epistle, Saint Paul writes of Christ as “the power of God and the wisdom of God.” A helpful theme for our reflections this morning is thus God’s power and God’s wisdom.

When we think about it, wisdom and power are a good combination. King Solomon won God’s favor when, in response to the offer of anything he desired, he asked for the gift of wisdom to govern God’s people well. A powerful ruler who lacks wisdom is capable of doing all sorts of harm and damage to his realm and those under his care. Conversely, a wise ruler who lacks power may have all kinds of great ideas for the betterment of humankind but will likely be unable to put them into effect. So, then, wisdom and power together are the optimal combination.

A key component of the biblical definition of wisdom, moreover, is the capacity and inclination to know and choose the good and to refuse the evil. The devil may be intelligent and cunning, but he’s devoid of wisdom—and so are all who follow his path of choosing evil over good. By contrast, when we say that God is infinitely wise, we’re also saying that God is infinitely good. So God combines in himself power, goodness, and wisdom.

In today’s Old Testament readings, God proclaims both his power and his wisdom. Giving the Law to Moses on Mount Sinai, God first identifies himself: “I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage.” It was a uniquely powerful God who could defeat Pharaoh and his army, liberate a collection of Hebrew slaves from bondage, and give them a new identity as a free people. That sort of divine power was unheard-of in the ancient Near-Eastern world. Most deities reinforced the social status quo rather than turning it upside-down. The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob was clearly a God of unprecedented power.

But then this all-powerful God reveals his wisdom by giving the Law, the Torah, summarized in the Ten Commandments. In Psalm 19 the psalmist celebrates the divine wisdom embodied in this great gift to God’s people Israel: “The law of the Lord is perfect, and revives the soul … The statutes of the Lord are just, and rejoice the heart … The commandment of the Lord is clear, and gives light to the eyes … The judgments of the Lord are true, and righteous altogether … By them also is your servant enlightened, and in keeping them there is great reward.” The Law was not burdensome or oppressive but, on the contrary, the great gift of God’s wisdom for ordering the life of his people Israel.

Today’s New Testament readings reveal, however, a gap—a great chasm, in fact—between divine wisdom and what passes for human wisdom, expressed most clearly in the difference between conventional human understandings of power and the way in which God’s power actually operates. Saint Paul writes to the Corinthians that God has made foolish the world’s wisdom. “For Jews demand signs and Greeks seek wisdom, but we preach Christ crucified, a stumbling-block to Jews and folly to Gentiles …” 

The “signs” that Paul describes his fellow Jews as seeking are mighty acts, like the Exodus of old, that demonstrate God’s power at work in the world. The cross, by contrast, signifies not power but weakness, suffering, and apparent defeat, and so functions as “a stumbling block” to those seeking signs of victory and glory. For the very same reason, the cross also seems “folly” to Gentiles, since it contradicts the worldly wisdom which values power and success above all else.

Nonetheless, Paul affirms, to those who are called, both Jew and Greek, the cross reveals Christ as the power of God and the wisdom of God: “For the foolishness of God is wiser than men, and the weakness of God is stronger than men.” In other words, on Good Friday, by his suffering and death on the cross, Christ exercises the divine omnipotence, an unimaginable power to forgive sins, to heal and to restore a fallen creation, according to a divine wisdom that runs infinitely deeper than the wisdom of the world.

But the cross is not God’s last word. In today’s Gospel from John, we hear again this demand for signs. After Jesus cleanses the Temple in Jerusalem of the vendors and moneychangers, the Jewish authorities ask of him: “What sign have you to show us for doing this?” The Lord’s response is somewhat cryptic and enigmatic: “Destroy this temple and in three days I will raise it up.” But, as John remarks, “He was speaking of the temple of his body.” The ultimate sign, then, vindicating Jesus’ identity and authority as the Messiah is his Resurrection from the dead on the third day. And it’s no accident that the early Christians saw the Resurrection as recapitulating the Exodus from Egypt. Just as in the Old Covenant God gave the great sign of his power by delivering Israel at the Red Sea, so in the New Covenant God gives a far greater sign of his power by raising Jesus from the dead.

After the Resurrection, John tells us, the disciples remembered that the Lord had said this. They’d already recognized his righteous anger in cleansing the Temple as fulfilling a verse from Psalm 69, “Zeal for thy house will consume me.” They were so immersed in the Hebrew Scriptures that they had absorbed the wisdom to understand at least some of what Jesus was saying and doing. And then, after Easter, they were able to recognize his resurrection as fulfilling his saying, “Destroy this temple and in three days I will raise it up.” As John puts it, the disciples “believed the scripture and the word which Jesus had spoken.” So the disciples relied on the divine wisdom to interpret the divine power at work in the Lord’s life, death, and resurrection.

Today’s readings thus invite us to immerse ourselves in the divine wisdom revealed in the Holy Scriptures of the Old and New Testaments, and most especially in the words and deeds of Jesus Christ, who is himself Wisdom incarnate. That wisdom teaches us in turn to trust that God is most powerfully at work precisely in those places in our lives where we feel weakest and most vulnerable. In our discussions in the Wednesday Lenten Study on Grace in the Wilderness, a number of the comments expressed a sense of fear and insecurity born of a situation so beyond our control. But the same God who, in infinite power and wisdom, delivered Israel from bondage in Egypt and raised Christ from the dead, will surely bring us through all this, and safely home to our journey’s end.