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by Will Harron, Lay Preacher  “That Ridiculous Faith Reckoned as Righteousness”
The poor shall eat and be satisfied, and those who seek God shall praise God: "May your heart live for ever!" I’m currently involved in the world’s slowest bible study. There’s no record-checking to prove this claim, but it certainly feels true. For the past year or so, my friend Bird and I have been meeting on a voice call to read through the book of Genesis. It started out weekly, but we’ve both lost track of our schedules, and so are meeting much less regularly at the moment. But the bible study was also slow because we were taking our time. Each time we met, we’d read through a chapter out loud, spend some time in silence, and then spend a half hour or so reflecting on the text. Genesis is 50 chapters long, so this is not a fast process – and Bird and I are nearly at the end. But this study has given me a certain familiarity with the text, a joyful connection to this story and its characters; its families; and its promises. And so, reading through this morning’s lesson from Genesis, I was struck by some of what is included, and what is excluded from the portion. As the lesson shares, Abram is ninety-nine years old and the Lord appears to him and announces that God will make a covenant with Abram. Abram, in deference to God, falls on his face, and God continues: this covenant will make Abram the ancestor of a multitude of great nations, great in both the numerical sense and in the power exercised by those descendants. Abram will now be called Abraham, and his wife Sarai is now to be called Sarah, and she will be blessed by giving birth to a son. The lesson skips over 8 verses that detail that the sign of this covenant is circumcision, and the mechanics of how that sign is carried out, which is fine, but it also ends at verse 16, which I find interesting. In verse 17, Abraham reacts to this pronunciation by once again falling on his face, but this time in laughter. “Can a child be born to a man who is a hundred years old? Can Sarah, who is ninety years old, bear a child?” There is a comedic resonance to Abram, falling down on his face before God both in awe and wonder as well as in the throes of hilarity. That makes me wonder, why is our lesson structured this way? What were the framers of the lectionary up to? Sometimes our lessons from the first testament flow in a continuous story, especially in the long stretches of Sundays after Pentecost. In Lent, in Year B of our cycle of readings, however, the first testament lessons serve to echo themes found in the later lesson or the Gospel reading. Today’s portion from the fourth chapter of Paul’s letter to the Romans gives the key to what this particular selection from Genesis is highlighting. There is a pretty direct connection between the two. Paul is talking about faith – specifically about Abraham’s faith – being what connects us to God’s promises, rather than following laws. This is how he explains it: Abraham lived before the covenant of laws that God made with Moses. Despite not having those laws to follow, he was worthy of God’s promise. Thus, Paul writes, following the law of the covenant isn’t the key thing to being worthy of God’s promise – instead, Paul writes to his audience of Jewish and Gentile followers of Christ in Rome, what is most important is faith. Paul is being a little tricky, playing a little fast and loose with the story to make his point. This morning’s lesson is just one part of a complicated argument Paul is making about the unity of the emerging Christian community, and about the bonds of that unity. He is trying to do something very challenging, to weave ties between the different and feuding communities of Christ-followers in Rome, trying to summon connections that can transcend the previous markers of community, and can also transcend previous grudges and bad feelings – the things that separated one body of believers from another. This is challenging at the best of times, and he’s doing this from across the Mediterranean in a letter dictated to Tertius and read aloud in Rome by Phoebe. So we can perhaps forgive him for fudging some minor details in order to make a larger point – Abraham believed in God’s promises and it was reckoned to him as righteousness; therefore, according to Paul, we who believe in God’s actions in raising Christ from the dead are also connected to that faith which is righteousness. That concept is a tough one to wrap my mind around. “Faith reckoned as righteousness.” What does that even mean, for faith to be reckoned the same as righteousness? My mind immediately resists the concept, thinking of contemporary examples of blind faith leading to catastrophic results. Was that righteousness? How many pieces of our broken world, fragments of the nightmare made from God’s dream, are the result of faith in something death-dealing being treated as righteousness? So, Paul, you’ve got me in a double bind. Because, thinking back to Abraham – and that verse which was omitted from our lectionary - Abraham immediately laughs at God’s promise. Abraham immediately treats it as ridiculous. He falls on his face laughing. “Can a child be born to a man who is a hundred years old?” What does it mean for us that in the text of Genesis, Abraham questions God’s promise, even as Paul makes the claim that “He did not weaken in faith when he considered his own body, which was already as good as dead (for he was about a hundred years old).” Paul is no fool – even when we disagree with him, we must give him credit as a skilled interpreter of scripture. What, exactly, is Paul doing here? Let’s carry that question with us to the Gospel lesson. Our Lenten gospel lessons, in one week, have hopped halfway through Mark. We’re now in chapter 8. Just before this passage, Jesus asked the disciples who they thought he was, and Peter confessed his belief, his faith, that Jesus was the Messiah, a promised, anointed deliverer of the people Israel from colonized oppression. Nodding, Jesus tells them that he must undergo suffering, be rejected by the religious authorities, be killed, and to rise again three days later. Peter, perhaps emboldened by the experience of confessing faith in his teacher’s divine status, steps forward again, takes Jesus aside, and rebukes him. That’s not what the Messiah means. Suffering, rejection, death – those aren’t the plot points of the saving of the world. Those are what Peter already sees around him. His faith demands more. Perhaps he doesn’t register Jesus rising on the third day – perhaps it is too ludicrous to consider, or the audacity of the claim underscores the need to get Jesus on message, to keep being the Messiah Peter believes in. Jesus won’t have this. “Turning, and looking at his disciples, he rebuked Peter and said, ‘Get behind me, Satan! For you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.’ Let’s pause here. This can land with a shock. Peter has just expressed two moments of tender vulnerability with Jesus – first confessing faith in him, then privately pushing back against claims he doesn’t think are fruitful. And Jesus rebukes him and calls him Satan in front of the other disciples. But I believe it is fruitful to dig some more at this. For one, if you recall from last week’s Gospel lesson, Jesus has met Satan. Jesus has experienced being tempted, being accused, being asked to set aside who he truly is for what the world and society around him think the Son of God should act like:
This, to Jesus, is Satan. And so, he rebukes Peter. This is not the way. This is not divine. This is not what Messiah means. And Jesus calls the crowd, speaking to and beyond his disciples – to follow him is to deny oneself, to take up their cross and follow him towards his death. Trying to save your life will fail, but letting go of that fear, stepping with Jesus across the chasm of pain, rejection, humiliation, and death – will bring life, will save life. What good is gaining the whole world – the goal of princes and generals and conquerors and rulers throughout time – when you’re still going to die anyway? That isn’t the divine dream. That’s a human nightmare. Jesus’s rebuke of Peter is a challenge to his friend, an invitation to broaden his faith beyond a narrow conception of what God-breathed liberation looks like and into the expansive faith that destroys death. It is a challenge to the disciples, and to all who hear it – that the Good News isn’t the pursuit of power or glory, but the denial of it, bringing freedom and overcoming death. This is faith reckoned as righteousness – faith that, despite monuments of power, the chronicles of oppression, and the pursuit of death-dealing to stave off oblivion – the true divine thing in this world, the way to follow Jesus, is to give all of that up, give up life itself, to walk in love as God loves us. This sort of faith, for Paul, despite its foolishness, is hope. This faith can bridge estranged communities and heal distrust, can make reparation and repair breaches. It doesn’t matter for Paul that Abraham laughs at the ridiculousness of God’s promise. It is a ridiculous promise, just as the promise of resurrection is ridiculous. But we can laugh at something even as it compels us to follow. Amidst war and genocide; amidst the seemingly irretrievable state of our political institutions, especially in light of unending gun violence; amidst environmental catastrophe; amidst the pervasive and persistent anti-Blackness, homophobia, racism, transphobia, misogyny, and hate within our society and amidst the death caused by such hate; we still get up each new day, we still dream of justice, we still find hope in the love that surrounds us. That is ridiculous, and yet it is true. We may be as good as dead, as Paul quips of Abraham. We’re all going to die, and there’s no escaping it. But the way of Love, the way of divine things, of denying death-dealing systems and embracing the hope that our faith offers, remains. God always offers this mercy, bringing us back again and again to that ridiculous faith which is reckoned as righteousness. Amen. by Kathryn Aubry-McAvoy, Lay Preacher  In today’s Gospel reading from Mark, we witness Jesus’ baptism. As he rises from the water, the heavens are torn apart and the spirit descends like a dove on him, God speaks those exquisite words to Jesus “you are my beloved with you I am well pleased”. Then that gentle dove drives him into the wilderness! Luke and Matthew say he was led there, driven or led by the hand of the Holy Spirit, he begins his wilderness days of prayer and fasting. Mark (as usual) gives very few details about what happens in the wilderness. Matthew, never at a loss for words, tells us that he was tested 3 times by the devil, once tempted to feast to appease his hunger, (the temptation of the flesh), once tested to ask God to prove God’s power and love for us, (temptation of pride of life, and temptation to abuse power) and lastly tempted to worship all the kingdoms of the world and their glory. Jesus does not yield to the temptations and so wins this battle and is then attended by angels. He emerges from this wilderness proclaiming that the kingdom of God is near.
On this side of the resurrection, we know what was coming near, in his baptism and wilderness time Jesus is preparing for the ultimate test, crucifixion on Good Friday and then that 3rd day on which we sing “the strife is 0’er the battle done, the victory of life is won, the song of triumph has begun!” Today we begin our Lenten journey, our yearly time in the wilderness. Of course, wilderness times come frequently in life; times when we are struggling with sorrow, loss, confusion and fear. Historically, in the church, Lent was a season when those persons preparing for baptism began a time of prayer and fasting, so that they were prepared to sign on to their covenant with God. (Spoiler alert: we reaffirm our Baptismal vows at the Easter vigil and we will welcome 2 persons into the household of God during the Easter season, here at James and Andrew.) In this season of Lent, we are called to wrestle with this question: have we been keeping our baptismal covenant? This is a chance for us to prepare for renewing our baptismal promises and search for ways to better keep those promises. The great litany, that dramatic listing of various petitions and responses, was used as early as the 5th century in Rome. It is an all-embracing prayer for everything and everyone: from natural disasters to guidance for leaders of the nations! It’s not an easy prayer, but it leads us into Lent in our tradition, and it can be a prompt to review how well we are doing in keeping our baptismal promises. Yes, we are asking for Gods help, but maybe our Lenten discernment could be to ask ourselves: “how well are we keeping up with our end of the bargain?” In the Great Litany we ask God to “spare us from evil and mischief: In our Baptismal Covenant we promise (with God’s help) to resist evil and when we don’t to repent and return to God. In the Great Litany we ask God to deliver us from worldliness, and false gods, : In our Baptismal Covenant we pledge with God’s help to believe in God, in Jesus Christ and in the holy Spirit (period!). In the Great litany we ask God to visit the lonely, strengthen those who stand, comfort and help the fainthearted and raise up the fallen; In our Baptismal Covenant we pledge to respect the dignity of everyone, seeking and seeing Christ in all persons, loving our neighbors as ourselves. I need to add a personal note to self here (this might help you): Keeping the covenant does not necessarily mean work harder or take on exciting new ministry opportunities. It was moving to hear vestry members talk about their Lenten practices at our meeting this past week. So many of them described small, personal gestures of love, care, comfort and respect; for family, coworkers, neighbors and friends, recognizing Christ in all persons. As we wander into our own Lenten wilderness, we have an opportunity to review and renew our Baptismal promises and search for ways to better keep those promises, to review how well we are keeping up our side of the covenant. There are a few paper copies in the Narthex, our Baptismal Covenant is on page 305 of the Book of Common Prayer; also found online at bcponline.org Lent is a chance to ask ourselves this: how can we more fully “believe, continue in the Apostles’ teaching, resist evil, repent, return, proclaim, seek, serve and strive for justice and peace?” It’s a big ask, I know, but remember that God has already given us hearts full of love and compassion. We all are “the great joy of God’s life”. I believe, with God’s help, we can do it. Amen  By Lay Preacher, Charlie Houghton
May the words of my mouth and the meditation of our hearts be acceptable to you, O Lord, my rock and my redeemer. Amen As Sister Joan Chittister noted in a 2017 interview with Emily McFarland Miller regarding Ash Wednesday and the start of Lent, “The God who made us dust knows we're dust. We don't have to feel like perpetual failures because we aren't more than we are, and we don't have to be in contest and contention with everybody around us, because once I know myself and realize I have limitations, then two things happen: I realize my need for you, and I do not expect more from you than I expect from myself. So mercy comes with it, joy comes with it, authenticity comes with it, and freedom comes with it. ”[1] This day is a gateway. As we move into Lent, we begin a journey from nothing – dust – to everything – where God sends us God’s own son to teach us how to live in a way that is pleasing to God. This is the beginning of a time of reflection and action. We are called to reflect on our lives. How is our prayer life? Do we spend meaningful time in prayer and reflection? Do we honor Sabbath to rest and reset? Action requires us to look at both what we are doing and how we are doing it. The Gospel talks about doing good things for the purpose of being noticed while doing those good things. Drawing attention to ourselves while doing good works can actually detract from them. These good works become more about us and less about the people we suggest we are helping. Sometimes it means that because we are not paying attention to what others need, we cannot provide appropriately for them. What we really hope to achieve is quiet faith in action. That is to say, we act in love and not for power. As Matthew notes in tonight’s gospel, “Jesus said, ‘Beware of practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them’” (Matthew 6:1). Yet here we are, ready to put a cross made of ashes on our foreheads for anyone to see. How do we reconcile this with the idea of not “practicing our piety before others”? It is thought that ashes are a sign of humility, penitence and mortality. Ashes are often a sign of mourning in Scripture. For example, in the book of Job, Job sat in ashes during his afflictions (Job 2:8-10); and in chapter 3 of Jonah, when Nineveh was called to repent, the people, including even the King, immediately turned to God, acknowledged their sin, and donned sackcloth and ashes in repentance. (Jonah 3:1-10) Ash Wednesday sets the tone for Lent. This is a time of self reflection and prayer. The ashes we wear on our foreheads represent our repentance and acknowledgment of the mistakes we have made over this past year. Yet embedded in this repentance is the knowledge that ours is a forgiving God whose love and mercy save us. The origins of Lent are thought to date back to 325 CE, and the length of Lent is thought to honor Jesus’ time spent in the desert after being baptized and before the start of his ministry.[2] The Rev. Canon Porter Taylor, in an article entitled “Entering Lent with Intentionality” says, “Lent is not a time to earn forgiveness for your sins. It is not a time to begrudgingly give something up temporarily only to greedily pick it back up after Easter. It is not a time for false humility or personal piety. Lent is not only a tradition for the liturgically minded. I believe that Lent is for the priesthood of all believers. I believe that Lent is full of hope.”[3] I agree with Rev. Porter and Sr. Joan that Lent can be filled with hope. After all, at the end of Lent is the glorious season of Easter. But our Lent is only just beginning. And we still need to journey through Lent to the foot of the cross before we can reach the empty tomb. And it seems really relevant that we bring ourselves to the foot of the cross as we see the state the world is in right now. It is difficult to look at the world in hope when there is war in Ukraine and Israel; continuing refusal to meet the challenges of climate change by many political and corporate leaders; unwavering support on the part of many politicians for the NRA’s unwillingness to compromise on even the smallest measures when increasing gun violence often hurts the most vulnerable of our society — our children who should feel and be safe while in school. Many things that are important to us seem out of reach, beyond our abilities to impact them. And that may very well be true. Certainly my own sphere of influence does not include international relations or even the ability to give our planet a fighting chance. But that does not mean that I get a pass. If lent is to be hopeful for me, I have to make the effort to participate in some kind of action that makes a difference. Sr. Joan Chittister has a suggestion for how we might participate in something that seems quite simple, but may be more profound than we realize. In a talk she gave at a conference, she suggests saying this silently to everyone and everything you see for thirty days, but I would suggest you keep it for the people you run across, and say it aloud if you can convince yourself to do so, “I wish you happiness now and whatever will bring happiness to you in the future.” It is a small gesture, but it could be important for both you and the person to whom you say it. And Sr. Joan suggests we see what happens to our own souls. I believe a meaningful Lent lies not in what we are willing to give up, but in what we are willing to contribute. Sometimes what I feel able to do is simply to pray. I found some of this prayer online, and rewrote it with my own thoughts guiding it. It is my prayer for hope when I worry that I have too little. It is something I will pray daily throughout Lent in order to remember that Lent is a time of hope. It is a time when I will try to create within myself a light to shine in the darkness, a light to guide others home. So in this difficult and confusing time, I offer this prayer: Heavenly Father and Mother of us all, in times of darkness and uncertainty, I turn to You for hope. You are the source of all hope and the light that shines in the darkness. Fill my heart with hope and light, Lord, and help me trust in Your plan, even when I cannot see the way. I ask this through our God, Creator, Redeemer and Sustainer. Amen [1] Emily Mcfarlan Miller, The Salt Lake City Tribune, Religion section, April 20, 2017, Interview with Sr. Joan Chittister [2] Jack Dutton, Newsweek, February 22, 2023, “Ash Wednesday: Why Christians Put Ashes on Their Forehead [3] Rev. Canon Porter C. Taylor, News & Stories From The Field, Entering Lent With Intentionality, February 12, 2015 By Rev. Heather J. Blais, Rector  One of the great musicals of the last decade is Lin-Manuel Miranda’s Hamilton. Miranda tells the story of Alexander Hamilton’s life, and the incredible sense of urgency with which he worked for his cause. Over the course of 6 months, Hamilton composed 51 of the 85 Federalist Papers.* This is one reason why in the song Non-Stop the question is begged of Hamilton:
Why do you write like you're running out of time? Write day and night like you're running out of time?...** This past week these lyrics kept reminding me of Mark’s gospel. While Mark only left us with a single work, featuring a mere 16 chapters, it is written like the world might end tomorrow, and we must understand the good news NOW. Mark’s sense of urgency manages to make Hamilton seem rather relaxed, which we know was hardly the case. All this is to say, in Mark’s gospel we are meant to not miss a beat. There are no extra words, only what is needed to make the point. This can leave us with more questions, but also invites a greater curiosity. Mark’s gospel begins by diving head first into Jesus’ baptism. Just as Jesus was coming up out of the water, “...he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. And a voice came from heaven, “You are my Son, the Beloved, with you I am well pleased” (Mk 1:10-11). Or as the Message translates:“You are my Son, chosen and marked by my love, pride of my life.” This was a private and intimate moment between God and Jesus. There were no witnesses. Instead, Jesus is enveloped and marked by God’s love. Because we live two millennia after Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection it is easy to forget that we understand the text with two thousand years of theological interpretation layered on top. We know the end game; or at least, how the Church has come to understand the text. This often interferes with receiving the text as Mark’s original audience would have. Whenever we can, as best we’re able, I would encourage us to try and hear the text as though it were for the first time. Can you imagine what Jesus must have made of this encounter? He arrives at the Jordan River ready to be baptized, as an act of spiritual renewal, and gets far more than expected - a transformational experience of the divine. God says, to him alone, “You are my Son. I love you beyond measure, and couldn’t be prouder.” Is it any wonder that after such a momentous experience, Jesus is immediately driven into the wilderness for forty days? It is only after this wilderness time that Jesus is ready to begin his public ministry. The entire time he keeps his full identity to himself. Until we reach today’s text featuring the transfiguration. Here God reveals Jesus’ full identity to a handful of disciples, with some very clear instructions that the disciples are to ‘listen’ to Jesus. Jesus and the disciples have been ministering together for quite a while. He had only recently begun to prepare them for all that was about to unfold with regard to his impending suffering, death, and resurrection. The disciples were having a difficult time understanding and accepting this news. It is at this point that Jesus brings Peter, James, and John on a short pilgrimage to Mt. Hermon.*** The four of them were alone on the mountaintop when Jesus was transformed; even his clothes took on a shimmering brightness. Then Elijah and Moses appeared, and were talking with Jesus. The disciples were at a complete loss as to understand what was happening. As Peter began to introduce the idea of making three dwellings, a cloud overshadowed them, and God’s voice was heard through the cloud, proclaiming: “This is my Son, the Beloved, listen to him!” (Mk 9:7). Whereas at Jesus’ baptism, God spoke directly and privately to Jesus: You are my Son. At the transfiguration, God spoke directly to Jesus and the three disciples: This is my Son. With this encounter, God is telling Jesus: This news is no longer for just the two of us. Ready yourself. Likewise, God is saying to the three disciples: My love is revealed in the life of my Son, Jesus. Listen to him! Scholar Amy Lindeman Allen notes that,“In Mark’s gospel, Jesus never directly claims this status for himself. While the disciples generally respect his authority, it is in this moment that they begin to understand the depths from which it originates. This is the core of the revelation: Jesus’ status as beloved of God.” **** Moses and Elijah were also present for this mountaintop transfiguration.***** Their presence reminds the three disciples of how God has acted and been revealed throughout history. God had been at work with Moses, the founder of ancient Israel. Much like at the transfiguration, God and Moses communicated on the high, holy mountain of Sinai, with clouds enveloping them. God had also been at work with Elijah, the prophetic restorer of ancient Israel. Just as Jesus' work had taken on a similar role. Moses and Elijah’s presence at the transfiguration affirms God’s revelation to the three disciples. This entire episode must have been quite an experience for the three disciples.Referring to Peter, the text says, “He did not know what to say, for they were terrified” (Mk 9:6). Other translations describe them as stunned and frightened. The Message sums the scene up well: Elijah, along with Moses, came into view, in deep conversation with Jesus. Peter interrupted, “Rabbi, this is a great moment! Let’s build three memorials—one for you, one for Moses, one for Elijah.” He blurted this out without thinking, stunned as they all were by what they were seeing. Peter’s instinct was to preserve this life-changing moment, which is an understandable response. Throughout human history mountains have been considered sacred places that yield transformative experiences. In Sanskrit, one of the oldest languages in the world, there is a word for this, darshan.“It suggests a face-to-face encounter with the sacred on earth; with a physical manifestation of the holy.”***** These holy encounters transcend mountaintops. We are transformed by the sacred everyday: …when we are outdoors in God’s creation and feel the peace of the Holy One wash over us. …when we see things through the eyes of our children and grandchildren. …when we are overcome with gratitude for a loved one no longer with us. …when we hear God’s call, and finally feel courageous enough to say yes. …and in the thousands of other ways we encounter the holy in this life. Like Peter, we may want to hit pause to memorialize these sacred moments. But it doesn’t work that way. We take in the glimmer, and then return to our messy, broken, and complicated lives. Yet that glimmer changes us; it helps point us forward, just as the view from the mountaintop shows us the many paths we might take as we wander through the wilderness of our lives. The glimmer of the holy invites us to listen and be present in the moment. God was pretty clear with the disciples about this, “Listen to him.” Listen to what Jesus is saying about what will soon unfold. Listen to his teachings about my love. Listen and be present. Like the rest of us, in light of the startling revelation of the transfiguration, Peter is ready to get to work and start building memorials. Peter exemplifies the human experience in this manner. God knows that we like to do, do, do, as it is far more comfortable for us than being present to the uncertainty within ourselves and our world. Which is why God is telling us to Listen. Be present. It really is quite fitting that we hear a version of this story each year before we enter the wilderness time of Lent. Lent is a season for self-examination and repentance; prayer, fasting, and self-denial; and for reading and meditating on God's holy Word. It is a season of working our way through the wilderness. Sometimes we do that work with a whole lot of doing, by taking things on or trying to break unhealthy habits. Maybe this year we work our way through the wilderness by being. Being present and listening to what is unfolding within the wilderness. To discern what needs tending and care at this juncture in our relationship with God and ourselves, as God’s beloved children. To hear what God may have to reveal to us this Lent. What if this Lent, we simply listen. What might we hear if we: Listen Listen to the voices of creation and the earth herself. Listen to the suffering endured by neighbors near and far. Listen for the Holy One in scripture, literature, and media. Listen for God at work and at home. Listen for God in our relationships. Listen for what needs tending within ourselves. Listen for what God has to say to us. This Lent, what do we need to lay down on God’s altar so we might be able to listen? What might God be saying that we need to hear this Lent? What might happen if we learn to listen with this kind of intention every day of our lives? Amen. * https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Federalist_Papers ** https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DPgE7PNzXag **** The Jewish Annotated New Testament, p.88 **** Preaching, p.77 ***** See Oxford Annotated New Revised Standard Version Commentary discussion of Moses and Elijah in Mk 9 Robert MacFarlane, The Old Ways: A Journey on Foot, p. 269. |