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by the Rev. Dr. Molly Scherm
This morning’s “teaching sermon” explores what those of us in “the Episcopal branch of the Jesus Movement” believe and do in relation to the end of life and the rituals of burial. I don’t know whether you’ve noticed it, but in this sermon series we’ve been making our way through the Book of Common Prayer: we looked at Baptism and Eucharist, the Church’s primary and central sacraments, and then at the sacramental rites – confirmation, marriage, ordination, confession and healing. In the Prayer Book, these additional services come in the order in which we’ve looked at them, grouped together as “Pastoral Offices”. (One exception is that ordination services come under “Episcopal Services”, since they require the ministry of a Bishop.) The last of the pastoral offices, or ways in which the Church supports and ministers to its members through the transitions and challenges of life, are Ministration at the time of Death and the Burial Office. Let’s start with acknowledging that death is a hard thing to think about and talk about, for a variety of reasons. We all to want to live as long as we can – our lives are, after all, a gift from God, to be cared for and preserved. It is painful to lose those we love, hard to face the ways in which aging involves the loss of capacity for all of us who manage to live into old age, and really hard to see the suffering that often accompanies serious illness - painful both for the sick person and for those who love them. Death is scary in that we just don’t really know what comes after. And some deaths are simply tragic, especially when death involves a young person who has not lived a full life, or if death is sudden and unexpected. The reality of the many ways in which death is difficult exists in a tension with what our faith teaches us about it. As followers of Jesus, we believe that death is not the end of life, but is, rather, a transition to another part of life in which we return to God, entering into a larger life than we can know or imagine now. We believe that the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ assures us of this. Secular culture has popularized images of a heavenly afterlife to a ridiculous degree. The Book of Revelation speaks about pearly gates and streets paved with gold (Rev. 21:21), but the ways in which this symbolic and mystical image has been taken literally and expanded – we’ve all heard plenty of jokes about Saint Peter as gatekeeper with clipboard in hand - are not biblical and definitely not helpful. What scripture does promise us is that God’s love surrounds us even as we pass away out of this life, and that beyond life in this realm we are set free into a closer life with our God, with Love itself. Here’s some of what scripture offers: Jesus assured Martha of Bethany, at the time of her brother’s death, that “I am the resurrection and the life; whoever who believes in me, though they die, yet shall they live, and whoever lives and believes in me shall never die.” (John 11:25-6) Similarly, he assured the disciples, as he was preparing them for his own death, that “In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places… And when I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, that where I am you may be also.” (John 14:2-3) Comfort is also found in Paul’s writings: he assures the Romans that “neither death nor life… will be able to separate us from the love of God.” (Romans 8:38-39), and in his wonderful dicussion Love, written to the Corinthians, Paul promises that “now we see in a mirror dimly, but then [we will see] face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall understand fully, even as I have been fully understood. (I Cor 13:12) We believe these things, and yet, when death comes, we grieve. The Church, in its ministries, seeks to honor and balance both of these truths. The Prayer Book actually offers a series of opportunities for prayer around the time of death. Ministration at the Time of Death (BCP 462-465), which is often referred to as Last Rites, is a brief service of prayers asking God to comfort the dying, to protect them from pain and evil, to pardon sin and grant them a “place of refreshment” and “give them joy and gladness”. It includes a brief litany to be prayed with loved ones who are present, as well as the Lord’s Prayer, and we anoint the person with the oil of chrism, the same scented oil that we use at baptism. The service includes what I think is one of the most beautiful prayers in our tradition, the prayer of commendation, which is also included in the burial service itself: Into your hands, O merciful Savior, we commend your servant. Acknowledge, we humbly beseech you, a sheep of your own fold, a lamb of your own flock, a sinner of your own redeeming. Receive them into the arms of your mercy, into the blessed rest of everlasting peace, and into the glorious company of the saints in light. Amen. (BCP p. 465) Ministration at the time of death is a very precious, intimate, and privileged moment in ministry. The liturgy is ordinarily led by an ordained person, but it can also be offered by a lay person if a priest or deacon is not available. It is a tremendously powerful way to offer the concern of our hearts to God at the time of death. I have read it by myself when learning of a death I want to respond to but have not been present for, and have also read it together with family members who live far from a loved one who has passed away. Following Ministration at the Time of Death in the Prayer Book are two additional short sets of prayers through which the Church can mark the processes of attending to death. “Prayers for a Vigil” (BCP 465-6) provides prayer for family and friends in the time between death and the funeral and, like Last Rites, expresses love and petition for God’s care for the one who has died. The Prayer Book also provides a brief liturgy for “Reception of the Body” (BCP 466-7), for use at the time the body is brought to the church. In the Episcopal Church we now have a variety of funeral liturgies available. The Prayer Book offers two options for The Burial of the Dead – Rites I and II - and we also have an authorized alternative from the Enriching our Worship series; they all follow the same approximate format, but differ in the style of language. In a funeral service, hymns may or may not be sung, scripture is read, and prayers are offered both for the one who has died and for family and friends in their grief. The departed is often remembered with reminiscences by family members, and clergy may preach a homily. Holy Communion may be included. The service, if it is in in the church building, concludes with a Commendation of the individual to God’s care. The final part of the service may follow directly after the first part of the burial rite, or it may be separated in time. During the Committal the body or ashes are placed in their permanent resting place – whether in the ground, at sea, in a columbarium, or otherwise – and again, prayers including the Lord’s Prayer are offered. It concludes with a dismissal based on the Easter affirmation: Alleluia. Christ is risen. Christ is risen indeed. Alleluia. Funeral practices have changed in recent years, in large part because the pandemic has been a significant factor requiring families to adapt their expectations and their practices. For one thing, cremation has become much more accepted and commonplace, and it allows families to schedule services when it is convenient for those who need to travel. The limitations of safety protocols for indoor gatherings has resulted in many more families choosing graveside services, and those that Heather and I have presided over in the last couple of years have been lovely. While restrictions on end-of-life rituals have made it difficult for some families to celebrate their loved ones as they might have wished, I think that the opening up of options has ultimately been a good thing. In comparison to other aspects of the Church’s life, our tradition allows broad leeway for personalizing the services that mark the end of a human life, and leeway is often called for as the individual needs, circumstances, and preferences of families can vary. As Heather and I work with families planning funerals, our focus is on helping the families move through and beyond their pain as they remember and celebrate the life of the one who has died. I’m sure many of us have experienced the fact that the processes that follow death can be messy. While enduring a death can help us put things in perspective and bring out the best in us, deaths can also re-activate old family issues and conflicts. In our complex psyches, regrets, resentments and guilt can surface in unfortunate ways as we move through not only the religious rituals but also the other practical chores that accompany death, such as disposing of property. Whatever we can do to minimize the potential for additional hurt around times of death is something to strive for. Which brings me to reflecting on implications for us here and now: (you know that Heather and I always try to offer things to think about and do as we leave our worship each week!) There ARE things we can do as we think about death. It is not only a gift to those who love us but a personal responsibility for us to prepare for our own deaths, however little we may feel like doing so. For one thing, it is really important to have a will that directs others in how we want our worldly assets used after our deaths. The process of making a will helps us to come to terms with our own mortality AND to think about what is important to us in the way we leave things behind. Making provision for distribution of our assets is not only an opportunity to provide for our families’ security, but also to be generous in charitable giving in the many places where there is need in the world. Closely related to the importance of having a will is that of having advance health directives on record and having a health care proxy designated, a person who can make decisions for us if we are not able to express our wishes. Hopefully your health care provider has already had you complete these documents: if they haven’t, please take care of this soon. I also urge each of us to do some funeral planning. It is not a morbid thing to do. It provides help to our family members who, after we pass away, will have plenty of things to take care of and decisions to make: providing them some guidance on how WE would like to be remembered in a funeral can make the process a little bit easier for them. Here at James and Andrew we have a form that reminds you of choices to be made for your funeral. You can take it home to think about, discuss it with your loved ones, and/or you can meet with one of us to talk about your wishes, and we can keep a copy of your completed form on file here for the day it is needed. Our Faith Community Nurse, Kathryn Aubry-McAvoy, has also introduced us to a form called Five Wishes. It can be used as an official document that outlines what we would like the last stage of our life to look like. Kathryn tells me that she has numerous copies. I have completed it, and I commend it to you. Taking care of these acts of planning is, in its way, an act of faith. It says that while we value our lives, we know that they will end, and we want to do what we can, now, to help end our lives responsibly and with love. Amen. May it be so.
This month’s topic is ordination, the sacramental rite in which the Church lifts up leaders to assume particular responsibility in the community of the faithful. As Heather and I were divvying up teaching sermon topics, I got this one because I’m involved in this process at diocesan level: I participate in the admission of people into the ordination process, in mentoring those folks through their formation, and then certifying their qualifications when the time comes for ordination.
As we’ve usually done in these teaching sermons, this morning I’ll provide some historical background, and talk about what the process looks like today, including both the REALLY complicated sequence of things that take place in the selection and preparation of candidates for ordination and the things that happen in the rite itself. Finally and most interesting for me, I’ll reflect a bit on the theology of ordination and some of the issues involved. I’m sure you’ll remember the apostle Paul’s discussion in his first letter to the Corinthians in which he develops the metaphor of the Church as the Body of Christ. Like the physical body, he says, the Church has many parts, and they each have their own unique and important function - it’s up to the eyes to see and the ears to hear: the body needs all of its parts and they all work together. (I Cor 12:4-27) As the young Church grew rapidly in the days, months, and eventually years after Jesus’ ascension, it became obvious that the apostles couldn’t handle all of the leadership needs of the growing community on their own. An incident in the sixth chapter of the Acts of the Apostles ( Acts 6:1-6) tells about a group of Hellenists getting cranky because the widows were not getting served the meals they needed. Their complaint was obviously justified, because the apostles put their heads together and figured out that they needed to appoint a group who could take charge of that important ministry. The apostles selected candidates who had the gifts to do well at the job, prayed, laid their hands on those members, and called them deacons. Really, this is ordination in a nutshell – the Church identifying the people we believe have the gifts to serve in needed functions, laying hands on, and then setting them at their tasks. By sometime in the second century, the Church established three orders of ordained ministry that have not changed in the centuries since. First, however, I remind us that, in the catechism found in the Prayer Book, the answer to the question “Who are the ministers of the Church?”, is that “the ministers of the Church are lay persons, bishops, priests, and deacons.” (BCP 855) All of the baptized are the primary ministers of the Body of Christ in terms of sharing the gospel and doing God’s work of caring for one another and for all of God’s creation. Here's a quick review of the three orders of ordained ministry:
How does the Church know who to ordain, and how does it come about? It takes BOTH a personal sense of vocation AND the conviction of the Church that the person has “a call” to ordained ministry. The traditional notion is that God calls people as leaders, and the Bible of full of stories of folks who get such calls, many of them, in the Bible, are ready to go to great lengths in order to avoid the responsibility. In our own time, we look to the judgement of the Church to hear and confirm a call to ordained ministry, trusting that the Holy Spirit works through the prayerful processes the Church has developed for selecting its leaders. Although the canons (or laws) of the Church set out some requirements, the process varies from diocese to diocese and is pretty complex. There are basically two phases a person goes through before they are ordained: 1.) The first is that of an extended period of discernment of a vocation or call to Holy Orders. Here in Western Massachusetts we require that a person thinking about ordained ministry does lots of things including being active in practicing their faith life, engaging in individual conversation about vocation (for at least a year) and participating in another year of diocesan-led groups aimed at helping with deep exploration. If, after completing these requirements, they believe they are called to ordained ministry, they apply for postulancy, which requires documents of support from their rector, vestry and others in addition to their own written discussion of their sense of vocation. After a group session and an individual meeting with the Bishop, they are invited to a day of conversations with the Commission on Ministry, a group of lay and clergy representatives who have read their application materials. Based on the Commission’s reading and their interviews with the applicant, the Commission makes a recommendation to the Bishop, either that they be admitted as a postulant, be asked to wait while doing additional discernment – what we call the “not now” outcome – or that they not move forward as a postulant. Before the Bishop appoints them to postulancy, the applicant needs to undergo background checks and a psychological evaluation (to insure that there are no previously undiscovered obstacles.) 2.) Once a person is admitted as a postulant, there is a lot of preparation for ministry to be completed. Candidates for vocational diaconate take part in a two-year School for Deacons, meeting regularly both virtually and in person with candidates throughout New England. Priesthood candidates complete a Master of Divinity degree at a seminary or Divinity School approved by the Bishop: (if done full-time, an MDiv takes three years, but many candidates complete the program on a part-time basis while continuing to work.) In either case the formation includes worship in community, academic coursework, and an internship in a parish different from their sponsoring parish. Candidates are also required to complete Clinical Pastoral Education, a program of supervised self-reflection as one practices pastoral care, frequently in an institutional setting. Four times a year throughout the formation process, postulants write “Ember Day Letters” to the Bishop providing a check-in on what they are doing and thinking about. As their training approaches its completion, Postulants apply to become Candidates, a final step toward approval for ordination. They complete more interviews at both parish and diocesan level and are required to demonstrate proficiency in a set of areas required by national church: scripture, theology, ethics, history, worship, and the practice of ministry. Deacon candidates do this through submission of a portfolio of materials produced during their training, and priesthood candidates sit for a nationally-administered three-day essay exam. Candidates who successfully complete these many requirements (which they invariably experience as hoops to jump through,) may be ordained. The ordination liturgy itself is, in many ways, like the baptismal liturgy that we have all experienced many times. As in a baptism, the candidate is presented by those who have sponsored them and is examined by the bishop, making a series of promises. Listen to the key exchange that takes place at ordination of both priests and deacons: The Bishop asks: Will you be loyal to the doctrine, discipline, and worship of Christ as this Church has received them? And will you, in accordance with the canons of this Church, obey your bishop and other ministers who may have authority over you and your work? The ordinand replies: I am willing and ready to do so; and I solemnly declare that I do believe the Holy Scriptures of the Old and New Testaments to be the Word of God, and to contain all things necessary to salvation; and I do solemnly engage to conform to the doctrine, discipline, and worship of The Episcopal Church. (BCP 526) Following this verbal exchange, the ordinand then SIGNS the declaration “in the sight of all present”. Somewhat later in the service, the ordinand reiterates their commitment to submit to the authority of the Bishop, promises to persevere in prayer and the reading of scripture, to be a faithful pastor to those they are called to serve and, perhaps most interestingly, to “pattern their [life] [and that of their family, or household or community] in accordance with the teachings of Christ, so that [they] may be a wholesome example to [their] people”. (BCP 532) Heather and I puzzle over that one occasionally. *** So it sounds good, doesn’t it, that the Church takes so very seriously the work of lifting up people to serve as leaders? As is always the case, there are issues – places where we have failed, places where there is disagreement and sometimes controversy. For one thing, the Church has not always practiced a theology of full inclusiveness. The ordained ministers at the establishment of the Episcopal Church in the 18th century were exclusively white men. The first African American to be ordained a priest, Absolom Jones, was not admitted to holy orders until 1802, a full decade after he founded the first Black Episcopal Church in Philadelphia. John Johnson Enmegahbowh, Ojibwa Indian, was the first indigenous person to be ordained priest, in 1867. During our own lifetimes two more barriers to full inclusion in the life of the Church have fallen, but are not yet fully accepted. The first women were “irregularly” ordained to the priesthood in 1974, and the Church voted to regularize and approve women’s ordination in 1976. Although the first openly queer individual, Ellen Barrett, was ordained in New York by Bishop Paul Moore in 1977, the action caused an uproar in the Church, causing the House of Bishops, several months later, to pass a resolution identifying “homosexuality as unbiblical”. The consecration of Gene Robinson as Bishop of New Hampshire in 2003 was likewise unacceptable to many in the Church. A point of theological disagreement feeds what I regard as another serious issue in relation to the sacrament of ordination. Here’s the question: Does ordination represent a change in function for the ordained, or does the movement of the Holy Spirit in ordination convey an essential change in the being of the ordained? Are bishops, priests and deacons, as a result of their ordination, closer to God than lay people? Does ordination make them better people? Clericalism is the assumption – to one degree or another, whether conscious or unconscious – that the clergy are different and somehow spiritually superior to lay people. The official teaching of the Church is that ordination signifies a change in responsibility in the Church and is assisted by God’s grace. Clericalism runs deep in Christian culture, however. I cannot tell you how many times people have apologized for using a naughty word in front of me, or asked me to “put in a word” (in prayer, I presume) for better weather. These examples are basically silly, but the insidious effects of clericalism have been the assumption on the part of the clergy that they are invariably right and the non-ordained are wrong, and the subsequent difficulty the Church has historically had in holding clergy accountable where they commit wrongdoing. We are all familiar with some of the most damaging examples of clergy misconduct that have come to light in recent decades, both in other denominations and in our own. I deeply appreciate the comments of Pope Francis on this topic, in 2018: Clericalism arises from an elitist and exclusivist vision of vocation, that interprets the ministry received as a power to be exercised rather than as a free and generous service to be given. This leads us to believe that we belong to a group that has all the answers and no longer needs to listen or learn anything. Clericalism is a perversion and is the root of many evils in the Church: we must humbly ask forgiveness for this and above all create the conditions so that it is not repeated. (Address to Synod Fathers, 2018; cited on Wikipedia, “clericalism”) The assumption of moral rectitude in the ordained does not serve any of us well, either the clergy themselves or the Church. Let’s agree to do everything we can to end it. *** Those are rather grim observations, aren’t they? I don’t want to end there, but these hard things needed acknowledging, and I have also tried your patience long enough. For myself, ordained ministry has been an incredible gift and privilege, especially in the years that I have served in parish ministry. I am deeply grateful for having had the opportunity to serve and learn and grow in this work, and particularly in the good company of my colleague the Rector of James and Andrew. One of the best prayers in the Prayer Book is prayed in the ordination service AS WELL AS in the liturgy of the Easter Vigil, so it is appropriate to conclude with it here. Let us pray: O God of unchangeable power and eternal light: Look favorably on your whole Church, that wonderful and sacred mystery; by the effectual working of your providence, carry out in tranquility the plan of salvation; let the whole world see and know that things which were being cast down are being raised up, and things which had grown old are being made new, and that all things are being brought to their perfection by him through whom all things were made, your Son Jesus Christ our Lord; who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen. (BCP 527)
On Sunday Steve spoke with us about Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem: it had powerful symbolic associations for Jesus’ Jewish community. The supper we remember tonight is equally laden with powerful associations for the early Christian community who remembered and re-told the story of Jesus’ passion, and who struggled to understand its meaning in the light of his death and resurrection, and in the context of their relationship with God.
It was not just a meal that Jesus shared with his disciples: it may well have been the Passover Seder, or if not, was a sabbath meal shared in close proximity to the Passover celebration. The Seder meal, which is still practiced by Jews throughout the world, recalled the liberation of the Israelites from their enslavement in Egypt, some twelve hundred years before the Last Supper. We can assume that Jesus and his disciples included at least some of the traditional rituals of the Seder –
As we heard in our first reading tonight, the Exodus story tells us that the Hebrew slaves were able to leave Egypt because of the final plague with which God afflicted their Egyptian overseers, in which the firstborn of every household was struck down by the Angel of Death passing over the land. According to scripture, God called for a lamb to be sacrificed by each household, and the blood of the lamb was to be put on the doorposts of the houses: when death then passed through the land, the homes of the Hebrew slaves would be spared, and while the Egyptians were in disarray because of the plague of death, the slaves would be able to escape. It seems clear that as Jesus’ followers recalled the events of Jesus’ last days in Jerusalem, after his death, resurrection, and ascension, and as they struggled to understand his perplexing choice to submit to crucifixion, the imagery of the Passover story that figured so prominently in his final gathering with his community provided them with a means of understanding. They came to see Jesus’ death in the light of the sacrifice of the Passover lambs, whose blood saved their ancestors from death: just as the Paschal or Passover lambs’ death saved the people of Israel and brought them freedom from bondage, just so Jesus’ death saved and brought the new Israel freedom from the bondage of sin and death. John tells us that “Jesus knew his hour had come to depart from this world,” and that “having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end.” John tells us that Jesus was making a choice. Jesus knew that his friends still did not really understand his life or his actions or the truths he taught, but he had given them enough that, in time, through faith and the presence of the Spirit, they would come to understand. His final gifts came in the form of the two commandments conveyed to the disciples at that supper in the upper room. The first is the gift of the eucharist (from the Greek eucharistia, which means “thanksgiving”). Jesus commanded his followers to remember him in the sharing of the bread and the wine. The breaking of the bread in that context, and with the words with which Jesus described his action, must have been very powerful for his friends. You’ll recall that after his death and resurrection, two of his disciples met a traveler on the road to Emmaeus. The traveler walked with them, reflecting to them on the meaning of scripture, and although they marveled at his insights, they did not recognize him. The traveler agreed to join the disciples for supper afterward, and it was only at the moment when he broke the bread for the meal that their eyes were opened and they recognized him as the risen Christ. The sharing of the bread and wine in remembrance of Jesus self-giving love has been practiced by Christians since the first days of the church, and it remains the means by which we touch and are touched by that love every time we come to God’s table: it is a profound gift indeed. Jesus second gift/commandment came in an action that shocked his disciples. During the supper he garbed himself in a towel and began to wash their feet. Foot washing in that culture was considered to be an act of such humility that servants were not even required to carry it out if they didn’t wish to do so. That the one whom the disciples knew as the master and teacher should take on this role was incomprehensible to them, and Peter initially voiced his refusal to have any part of it. Jesus response was clear and explicit: his action was an example of how they should love one another. Jesus’ act in washing the disciples’ feet clearly called them “out of their comfort zone,” as the popular phrase goes. Jesus was once again turning their expectations upside down. The disciples were still fixed on their hopes for glory. They had not objected, it appears, to being sent forth as preachers and healers. They must have felt gratified by being in the inner circle with the one who was being hailed as the Anointed One. But this was something unexpected, something uncomfortable, even unacceptable, that the Master should actually take on the role of personal servant. Just as Jesus chose to exercise his love and spiritual wholeness in an act of humble service to the disciples, they, and we, are called serve the needs of one another. Jesus actions back up his words – that caring for others is not a matter of having the right sentiment, and not just for when it is comfortable, or convenient, or easy. Jesus reminds us that love is not about pats on the back in which we help one another to feel good – it is about getting down where it is personal, and intimate, and sometimes even messy and unpleasant. Tonight we recall Jesus’ Last Supper in actions as well as words. In a few minutes we will have the opportunity to take Jesus’ commandment literally, and to wash one another’s feet. We will also take part in the ritual of anointing that Bishop Doug has introduced. In the Eucharist we will once again re-enact Jesus’ Passover meal, remembering his love and his courage. We are set free and we are healed by Christ’s love. Nurtured by the sacrament and by the grace we receive in the community of Christ’s followers, may we be strengthened and inspired to become the lovers, the liberators, the healers of the world.
All four of the New Testament gospels include an account of Jesus’ anointing, though they differ in details. John tells us that the anointing incident took place six days before Passover, and that the atmosphere was charged with tension: according to John’s gospel, Jesus’ opponents were already plotting to kill him, and pilgrims in Jerusalem were speculating with one another about whether Jesus would come to the city for the festival.
Mark’s accounts of events in Jesus’ life have the authority of having been, chronologically, the earliest recorded, though this isn’t a guarantee of accuracy. In his anointing story, an unnamed woman anoints Jesus’ head with a costly perfume and the disciples, collectively, object to the gesture as wasteful. Jesus silences them, stating that “she has anointed my body beforehand for its burial.” He then goes on to observe that “what she has done will be told in remembrance of her.” Matthew’s account (Matt 26:6-13) is virtually identical to Mark’s. Luke’s gospel includes an anointing story (Lk 7:36-50) but the details are strikingly different. For one thing, Luke doesn’t locate the episode in proximity to Jesus’ death, but rather, cites it as happening earlier in Jesus’ ministry. The most dramatic difference between Mark and Matthew’s version and Luke’s is that the anointer is described as “a woman in the city, who was a sinner.” Instead of anointing Jesus’ head, she abases herself, anointing his feet after bathing them with her tears and drying them with her hair. When the homeowner in Luke’s version criticizes Jesus for allowing himself to be touched by a sinner, Jesus responds by justifying her action as one of gratitude for the forgiveness of her sins. Elizabeth Schussler-Fiorenza, Harvard Professor of Divinity, has written about this transformation in what seems to be a single memory from Jesus’ life: her analysis is pretty compelling. She observes that the anointing of the head is a gesture that has distinct and important symbolic meaning in Jesus’ culture. Noting that in the tradition of the Hebrew scriptures the prophet designates the king by anointing his head, as Samuel did with David, she interprets the anointing in Mark as representing the woman’s prophetic identification of Jesus as the Messiah. Just as Peter had SPOKEN his recognition that “You are the Messiah” (Mt 16:6, Mk 8:29), the anointing woman expressed the same recognition IN ACTION, actually taking on the role of the prophet. Further, Schussler-Fiorenza observes, in pairing the action with oil used at the time of burial, the woman is alone among the disciples in understanding Jesus’ messiahship to be one of suffering and death. “It was a politically dangerous story” for a patriarchal Greco-Roman audience, Schussler-Fiorenza contends, having the woman disciple in the role of prophet and having Jesus specifically lift her up for remembrance. Is it any surprise that her name is lost to us? The memory as told in Mark and Matthew was thus transformed by Luke, Schussler-Fiorenza suggests, into the more acceptable narrative of the woman as sinner.1 When John tells the story of the anointing decades after Mark, Matthew and Luke, as we have heard this morning, he seems to offer the compromise version. John agrees with the tradition that the anointing represents the woman’s preparation of Jesus body for burial, but tells the less controversial story that it is Jesus’ feet that are anointed. He also places the event at the home of Jesus’ friends Mary, Martha and Lazarus, and identifies Mary as the anointing woman, making her attention is a gesture of support: during a week of tension and foreboding, she offers comfort. Some undoubtedly conclude that the differing stories of Jesus’ anointing represent entirely different incidents. Some will choose to conclude that Luke’s version - the woman as forgiven sinner – is the true story. We’ll never know. I hope we don’t dismiss issue, however, as it raises the profoundly important question I began with, that of whose story we choose to hear. Last Fall we selected as an “all-parish read” Ibram Kendi’s Stamped from the Beginning. Similarly, a number of us joined in Sacred Ground “listening circles” in a curriculum prepared by the Episcopal Church. Both opportunities provided me with information about the complex realities of race and racism in the American Story that I did not encounter in my time spent in mainstream white American educational institutions. For the record, I do not accept every word Kendi wrote as “gospel”: there are points on which I reach different conclusions than he did. Kendi, however, and the Sacred Ground material and other resources I have sought out have certainly lifted a curtain that the culture we live in prefers for me not to peek behind. It’s been said that “history is written by the victors”. I don’t think we can ignore the fact that those who hold the power and authority in a community shape the flow of information. We will always do well to seek out multiple sources so that we can make our own choices about what to believe and what to be shaped by. *** But I want to return to John’s account of the anointing, because it also lifts up for us the hard question of the limitations of our seeing and hearing. In all of the gospels, Jesus repeatedly informs the disciples traveling with him of what awaits him in Jerusalem. He is often very specific. Here’s one of many of Jesus’ predictions, from Luke: Then he took the twelve aside and said to them, “See, we are going up to Jerusalem, and everything that is written about the Son of Man by the prophets will be accomplished. For he will be handed over to the Gentiles; and he will be mocked and insulted and spat upon. After they have flogged him, they will kill him, and on the third day he will rise again.” (Lk 18:31-33) Repeatedly, as we know, the disciples could not hear it. Luke goes on in the passage I just read to tell us that “they understood nothing about all these things.” Peter, in fact, was vehement in criticizing Jesus for making such disturbing predictions, and was in turn rebuked by Jesus for doing so. How often and how easily do we reject what others tell us about their realities, often enough because we don’t want to face the uncomfortable feelings their situations stir up in us? I have a childhood friend whose husband died a couple of weeks ago and this week she posted on social media a piece, versions of which I’m sure we’ve all seen, about what is helpful and what is not helpful to say to someone who is grieving. Her post spoke to the impulse we all have ask others not to feel bad, or at least, not to make us feel bad. In the case of “the twelve”, it’s pretty easy to see that in their hope for a messiah who would be triumphant in conquering the powers that produced suffering for their people, they were blinded and deafened to the truth that Jesus was trying to teach them, that sacrificial love is the way to peace. When we read and remember the accounts of Jesus’ Passion, I am always thinking about how lonely it must have been for him. But one of the disciples, whether it was Mary of Bethany or someone else, was able to hear what the others could not. She had heard and she believed that Jesus’ death and burial were approaching. She managed to get beyond “what not to say” when another is grieving, and she offered touch, and silent solace. I am not inviting us to feel guilty for all of the times and ways in which we haven’t heard what we ought to hear, the times when we insist on imposing our version of reality over what we are told about another person’s more difficult reality. I do invite us to work at being honest about our capacity to do these things, however. I invite us to examine our negative reactions when those resistant thoughts and feelings rise up in us in response to another’s sharing of “their truth”. Let us move forward doing our best to walk in love. 1 Elizabeth Schussler-Fiorenza, In Memory of Her: A Feminist Theological Reconstruction of Christian Origins, Crossroads; Introduction. |
Mission
We believe God is calling us to cultivate a community of love, joy, hope, and healing. Jesus is our model for a life of faith, compassion, hospitality, and service. We strive to be affirming and accessible, welcoming and inclusive; we seek to promote reconciliation, exercise responsible stewardship, and embrace ancient traditions for modern lives.
Office HoursTuesday 9:30 a.m. to 1:00 p.m.
Thursday 9:30 a.m. to 2:30 p.m. Friday 9:30 a.m. to 2:30 p.m. Closed holidays Our gardens and grounds are open from dawn to dusk for the community to pray, rest, be. Please help us take care of this sacred space by following the outdoor ethic & principle of “leave no trace.” |
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Worship Times10 a.m. In-Person Worship & Livestreamed
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