Year C Epiphany 3: The year of the Lord’s favour

Posted on January 27, 2013 by Rosalind C Hughes

There has never been a time that God was absent from us.

There have been times when it seemed a close thing. The Flood, for example, the bondage in Egypt, the Exile, the cry of dereliction from the cross.

But we have seen, we know, we are here because we trust that God was never gone, that God would never leave us.

We read in Luke’s gospel that Jesus read from the scroll of Isaiah, from that wonderful oracle about the year of the Lord’s favour, with its images of freedom and vitality, health and restoration, gladness and joy, and then he sat down and began to say to the gathered worshippers,

“Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”

We assume that he was talking about himself and his mission. But he was also talking about the fact that every day this scripture is being fulfilled; every day this scripture has been fulfilled since the beginning of time. Every year is the year of God’s favour, because God, since the creation began, has proclaimed it good, and loved it.

Jesus in the synagogue was following in the traditions of his ancestors, reading from the scriptures and then giving interpretation, explanation, for the understanding of the people. We see it back in Nehemiah, in our first lesson, where the scribes “read from the book, from the law of God, with interpretation. They gave the sense, so that the people understood the reading.”

In Nehemiah’s time, the people had lived without the law for years during the exile of the Jewish people in Babylon and Persia, and part of the restoration of the people to Jerusalem and the temple was their restoration to the covenant of Moses, to the law of the Lord. When they laid the foundations for the new temple, the people sang responsively, singing psalms back and forth as we do even today,

“praising and giving thanks to the Lord, ‘For he is good, for his steadfast love endures for ever toward Israel.’ And all the people shouted with a great shout, when they praised the Lord, because the foundation of the house of the Lord was laid.” (Ezra 3:11)

As a gradual return and resettlement program began, the found scriptures guided the reestablishment of the old religion in the old country, and the people were reminded of their covenant with God, the covenant which Moses had received and brokered on behalf of the people after their return from the Egypt, after the Exodus through the Red Sea so many centuries and generations ago.

The people wept to hear the law, because they had abandoned it for so long; but their leaders told them, “This day is holy to the Lord your God; do not mourn or weep,” because the law was the sign that God had made an everlasting covenant with them, and had never left them, would never abandon them. Their leaders told them, today this scripture is being fulfilled in your hearing.

But the people wept in their joy, because the human condition is always mixed, because restoration of one thing means letting go of another, because recognizing a better path means realizing that the one we have been struggling along was not so good, was not, perhaps, worth all the toil that we invested in it. Hope brings, paradoxically, a little bit of hopelessness in its wake.

We hear the words of Isaiah, the year of the Lord’s favour, sight to the blind, good news to the poor, freedom to the oppressed, release to those held captive by whatever binds them; we hear Jesus proclaiming that this is the year, this is the day, that this prophecy is fulfilled, here and now, and we look around, and we wonder, why, then, are we not free from poverty and disease, hunger and oppression, violence and bondage to sin?

Like the people gathered before Nehemiah, hearing the word of the Lord as if for the first time, we mourn for what we know could be, even as we hear God’s promises to us.

But here’s the thing. When God restored the fortunes of Israel, when God led the people on another Exodus back into the promised land, to rebuild the city and the temple, to restore their way of life and their relationship with the covenant that God had given them, God did not hand them a finished temple, a city with its walls intact. God did not raise up for them houses and fields of grain. God gave them God’s word, God gave them a promise to be among them, to work among them, to lead them and to correct their compass and never to leave them.

But they had to work. They had to build. They had to grow. They had to care for the sick and the needy, to help those who could not help themselves back to the old country; they had to pore over the old scriptures and discern what God was asking of them, what God was promising them. They had to meet together and to share ideas and to work them out and to plan and to promise one another that they would work together. They had to make decisions and choices and they had to dig out foundations and put one stone on top of another, piece by piece, until the work was done.

When Jesus sat down, and told the people gathered, “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing,” he did not stay sitting down in the synagogue and let it be. He did not mean that the work was over, that his work was done. No; he went out after this and he began to preach good news to the poor, and he began to proclaim release to the captives. He restored sight to those who were blind, and he set free many who were oppressed by disease or demons or by guilt. His fulfillment of the prophecy was to do the work that the prophecy proclaimed; and if we call ourselves followers of Jesus, we might think about doing the same.

There are many ways that we might think of doing that.

Did you see yesterday the people lined up behind the banner of the National Cathedral, Episcopalians among so many others marching together to require that we take action to curb our gun violence, to rein in our addiction to weaponry? They were pleading liberty for the oppressed.

Or maybe some of you were there, or at least you will have seen on the news or in the Plain Dealer that on Thursday evening people of God from around the city of Cleveland and from the cities around Cleveland gathered to talk about access to healthcare, about the extension of Medicaid to those who are most vulnerable and who have no means of paying for medical assistance. Our bishop was there. They said that 600,000 extra people would be helped to better health and security if our state chooses to expand our Medicaid program as provided for in the Affordable Care Act. My friend and colleague Dean Tracey Lind told the assembled congregation on Thursday night that the number 600,000 occurs just once in the Bible, in the book of Exodus, so I looked it up: it is the number of the Israelite men, not counting women and children, who were led out of Egypt on the night of the first Passover; the people whom God led to safety through the Red Sea (Exodus 12:37). Talk about proclaiming release to the captives. Talk about preaching good news to the poor.

The year of the Lord’s favour is the year that we proclaim, this year and last year and next year. It is any time in which we remember the promises of God and share them, do the work that shares them with our neighbours, with the people whom God loves. Because God has never been absent from the world; there has not been a year which God has created in which God has not loved the world. And that is the prophecy into which we are called to live. And this is the work that we are called to do: to preach good news to the poor, and release to the captives, sight to the blind and liberty to those who are oppressed.

“Today,” said Jesus, “this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.” Because any day that God is with us is the day of the Lord’s favour; and God is with us, every day.

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Little ones

Posted on January 26, 2013 by Rosalind C Hughes

Last week, while some were celebrating “Gun Appreciation Day,” a six-year-old girl in Cleveland found her father’s gun, and she shot herself to death.

(http://www.19actionnews.com/story/20631205/6-year-old-dead-after-severe-head-trauma)

Later in the week, a four-year-old boy in Akron died in similar circumstances.

(http://www.19actionnews.com/story/20678028/4-year-olds-death-ruled-a-homicide)

In both cases, their fathers are being held by the authorities, and investigations will continue, but this much is abundantly clear:

when the proliferation of deadly weapons in our neighbourhoods, in our homes and around our streets has got so out of hand that they find their way into the hands of children, there is something terribly wrong. We should be ashamed of ourselves for ever letting this get so out of hand and into theirs.

Jesus said, “Occasions for stumbling are bound to come, but woe to anyone by whom they come! It would be better for you if a millstone were hung around your neck and you were thrown into the sea than for you to cause one of these little ones to stumble.” (Luke 17:1-2)

We would do well to take heed, and to work to remove these weapons of personal and painful destruction out of the centres of our lives and our families, where life belongs, not death.

 

 

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Ordination anniversary

Posted on January 24, 2013 by Rosalind C Hughes

It’s been a busy day. Perhaps tomorrow will be more reflective, more suitable to the occasion; but one story stands out from the day as particularly apt to this first anniversary of my ordination to the priesthood.
This morning, at a community meeting, I introduced myself to the young woman sitting next to me with my name and the organization I was representing. We exchanged pleasantries, then she asked, “What is your role at the church?” I replied, “I am their priest.”
Her eyebrows rose. “That’s cool!” I had to smile. “Yes, it is really cool.”
What sort of church, she wanted to know, so I told her, and she had heard a few things about the Episcopal Church, and she wondered … Can they… Could I…. Did they…
I waited, still smiling, because I was confident that the answer would be yes.
It turned out the question was could I be a priest and be married? Yes, I told her, for twenty-one years and with three children.
“Wow. That’s awesome.”
Well, yes. Yes it is.
Thank you Florence. Thank you Nancy. Thank you Katie, and Mark, too.
And thanks be to God.

20130124-184029.jpg

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Seven below

Posted on January 22, 2013 by Rosalind C Hughes

One from the archives for a chilly day

This morning, on the school run,
even the sun did not want to rise,
lounging fatly in the treetops,
red and round, heavily globular,
a frozen popsicle on a bare tree stick.
The air itself petrified hard,
was spiky and painful to touch,
unyielding; we hugged ourselves
and shouldered the cold aside.
It was cold this morning.

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How do we keep the dream alive today?

Posted on January 20, 2013 by Rosalind C Hughes

A reflection offered at the community celebration of Martin Luther King, Jr, hosted by Lakeshore Christian Church, Euclid, Ohio

One year ago today, I stood in a room downtown before a federal judge, and I took an oath, and some words were said and some papers handed down and at the end of it all, I had become a citizen of these United States.

The judge, offering some remarks towards the end of the ceremony, spoke of the service of citizenship, of the responsibility of all people to work together for the common good. He offered his opinion that our society is as good as we make it, and that if we want to live well together, we owe one another our best efforts on behalf not only of ourselves but of the smallest of us all, our best efforts to make this country the best it can be for everyone within its borders, and an example and a promise to those beyond them. It was up to us, he told us, to make the most of what we had been given.

Deciding to become a citizen of this country was, for me, as much a spiritual as a political  choice. As a newly-ordained minister, I asked, how could I serve the people of God right here, all around me, unless I committed to being here in body as well as spirit, wholly and truly, working with my mind as well as my heart, my treasure as well as my talent, my vote as well as my voice, for the good of this community, this society, this small piece of God’s good creation?

Working for justice, working for peace, working for the common good, for the good of the whole community and every member of it, is gospel work.

Martin Luther King, Jr, in his Dream Speech, quoted the prophet Isaiah and his vision “that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.” (Isaiah 40:4-5; Martin Luther King, Jr, August 1963; source: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/01/17/i-have-a-dream-speech-text_n_809993.html)

When we come together as families of faith, as communities of the children of God bound together by the promises of God, and we recognize that what unites us in God is way more important and essential than anything that divides us, then we begin to live into that dream.

When we work together as communities of faith to remove the high obstacles that stand in the way of equality, of equal access to all of the benefits that this country has to offer, then we are living into that dream.

When we seek out the rough places, and soothe them and smooth them, we live into that dream.

When we pledge to protect the life and safety of all of God’s children, by promoting peace and reducing violence, refusing to be seduced by the myth of security through ever-increasing force, choosing instead peace, promise, respect and love for one another, then we keep the dream alive.

When we look beyond the labels and see instead people, people who care for their parents, their children, their beloved friends, their faithful companions, people who love one another, and we share with them the blessings that we have received, then we keep the dream alive.

When we choose to meet one another on level ground, making straight the paths between us, talking straight with one another, and treating one another with dignity and with the honour due to each one made in the image of God, then we keep the dream alive.

Fifty years ago this August, Dr King reminded us of the “fierce urgency of now.” He said, “This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy.” (Martin Luther King, Jr, August 1963; source: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/01/17/i-have-a-dream-speech-text_n_809993.html)

We know that we live in difficult and dangerous times; we know that we struggle to get past that which divides us, which keeps us paralysed and would prevent us from building bridges across those valleys, building roads around those mountains which Isaiah would see wiped away.

But in the eyes of the prophets, challenging times are a clarion call.

And when we recognize that there is no time like the present to do the right thing, that there is no time like the time that God has granted us on this earth to work for justice, when we give thanks that we have the opportunity and the responsibility of proclaiming the year of the Lord’s favour, liberty to the captives, good tidings to the afflicted, the binding up of the wounds of the brokenhearted,  [Isaiah 61:1-2] now, this year, in our own times and our own place, then we keep the dream shared by all the prophets alive. Amen.

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Year C Epiphany 2: Sermon for Annual Meeting Sunday

Posted on January 20, 2013 by Rosalind C Hughes

In another year, perhaps this sermon will sound more like an annual report. For today, since I was only here for a quarter of last year, I feel as though I’m still finding my way around a little; there are light switches that I am only just discovering the location of, and although we have begun to get to know one another a little better, I know that you still have many stories to share with me, ones that I am eager to hear.

On the other hand, today’s epistle reading does seem like a perfect fit for an annual meeting morning. We are reminded, in a timely fashion, that there are varieties of gifts which are granted us by God for the building up of the common good; there are varieties of service, and of action and effect, but the same Spirit motivates them all, if they are destined to build up the whole people of God.

The gifts that Paul enumerates seem, in some ways, a little esoteric for us today, a little far removed from our daily experience and a little less than practical. But perhaps that is the formal, biblical language getting in the way. And since one of the gifts he mentions is the interpretation of tongues, let’s look again and see what we can find that speaks to us.

To one is given the utterance of wisdom, and to another the utterance of knowledge, given by the same Spirit. William Barclay understands this to be the difference between understanding and factual knowledge, or the spiritual wisdom which has bright ideas and the kind of practical know-how that gets things done (William Barclay, The Letters to the Corinthians, in The Daily Study Bible Series, rev. ed. (Westminster, 1975), p.109). It might be that the argument between religion and science that we hear so much about is a misunderstanding of the way in which both of these ways of understanding the world are gifts of the one who created it: religion, to discern the hand of God behind and beyond creation, and science, to understand how God has crafted the world and how it works. Both are given by the same Lord, for the common good, to lift up the welfare of all. The pragmatist and the poet, the engineer and the artist, the dreamer and the practical soul, each is necessary to the good of the whole.

Faith, we are told, is a gift given to one, while healing and miracles are given to another. Faith keeps us hoping, and healing helps us to live into that hope. We encourage one another in different ways, but the same God encourages us all. It is interesting, isn’t it, that faith is considered a personal gift; we tend to think that we should all have the same amount of faith, but it may be that if faith is a gift given to one, then the doubt of another is also a gift, designed to provoke our curiosity, our questing for God, our seeking for assurance, and the foil to the gift of faith to the one who is calm and confident, the reason that this one’s faith is indeed a gift offered for the good of the whole.

To another is given the gift of prophecy, of telling it how it is, of telling the truth to power, of calling to account the people of God, offering oracles of challenge and of comfort in the tradition of the prophets. And their neighbour has the gift of the discernment of spirits, to know when the prophet is on the right track, and to offer correction when he gets carried away. Similarly, one person has the gift of translating another’s words, another’s prayers, for the good of the gathered audience.

We need each other, Paul says; no one knows the mind of God, fully, completely. We walk as best we can in discipleship, as ones who confess that Jesus is Lord, but we need one another, in community, sharing the gifts of the Spirit as they are shared amongst us all, for our common good.

The list which we have here is clearly not exhaustive. We haven’t even begun to talk about love, hospitality, perseverance, the gift of creating order out of chaos, one of which personally I always stand in awe, prayerfulness, playfulness. We haven’t talked about the gifts of tact and of evangelism, of generosity of spirit and of the keeping of the communal memory, gifts which we know are present in this community and granted by the Spirit of God for the good of the whole, for the building up of the common good of the people of God.

And let’s not neglect to appreciate the unexpected gifts. A friend once told me of her Spiritual Director’s advice in a time of grief and sorrow: that even tears are a spiritual gift. It is given to some to celebrate the world’s joys, and to some to inspire the world’s idealism, and to some to carry out the work that idealists forget about, the hard graft that gets things done; and it is given to some, she said, to weep for the lost, to grieve with those who mourn, to bear the wounds of the brokenhearted. An unexpected gift, but a gift all the same, to the individual, and to those whom she serves, whose burdens she shares.

There is a variety of gifts, but the same Spirit; and there are varieties of services, but the same Lord; and there are varieties of activities, but it is the same God who activates all of them in everyone.

Many of you are probably familiar with the idea of a spiritual gifts inventory: a way of identifying your own gifts, the ways in which God most readily works in and through you for the good of your own faith life and for the common good. They can be useful tools for deciding where to apply your energy, where God is calling you to serve, which varieties of activities you will most enjoy and find most fruitful in your own Christian ministry.

What I would like to propose us doing together over the coming year is some work on a communal spiritual gifts inventory: what are the gifts of this parish community as a community; how are we best placed to do the work of God in the world; what will energize and enrich us, knowing that we are following the lead of God’s Spirit, the promptings of God’s Spirit through the gifts that we have been given?

This work is meant to inspire rather than to restrict; to open horizons and raise our vision. A friend and colleague said at the beginning of this week that the lesson of the miracle at Cana is that where our resources end, that is where God’s resources begin, or kick in. But the epistle tells us that God’s resources are already shared with us, and that God puts us together to extend them, to build up the common good.

With this in mind, I want to thank those who have served in various capacities, in various activities, and in various ways during the past year: the Vestry and wardens, and their treasurer and clerk, the search committees that introduced Peter and me to this parish, those involved in music, worship, in hospitality and outreach, in prayer and pastoral care, in programming and in practical assistance of all kinds. I want to thank each of you that comes together Sunday by Sunday to join your gifts to those of the people around you to lift up the voice of the people of God in praise and thanksgiving, and to do the work that God has called us to, to celebrate together as the Body of Christ, those inspired by the Spirit to proclaim that Jesus is Lord.

And because all good gifts come from God, I would like to end with the prayer of General Thanksgiving found in our Book of Common Prayer, to thank God for you all:

Let us pray.

Accept, O Lord, our thanks and praise for all that you have
done for us. We thank you for the splendor of the whole
creation, for the beauty of this world, for the wonder of life,
and for the mystery of love.
We thank you for the blessing of family and friends, and for
the loving care which surrounds us on every side.
We thank you for setting us at tasks which demand our best
efforts, and for leading us to accomplishments which satisfy
and delight us.
We thank you also for those disappointments and failures
that lead us to acknowledge our dependence on you alone.
Above all, we thank you for your Son Jesus Christ; for the
truth of his Word and the example of his life; for his steadfast
obedience, by which he overcame temptation; for his dying,
through which he overcame death; and for his rising to life
again, in which we are raised to the life of your kingdom.
Grant us the gift of your Spirit, that we may know him and
make him known; and through him, at all times and in all
places, may give thanks to you in all things. Amen. -BCP, 836

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An anniversary

Posted on January 18, 2013 by Rosalind C Hughes

It is not lost on me that as I board the plane for our nation’s capital Sunday night, it will be on the first anniversary of its becoming “ours.” For me, this nation was “yours,” and I was categorized as an alien – green tentacles optional – until one year ago Sunday. Thank you for having me.
So a year on, what is the difference between “yours” and “ours”? What has changed? Have I?
One month after that day, a school shooting a little too close to home, and far too close to two children whom I had taught in Sunday School, reminded me of some of the things I had worried over before we came here. Could I live in a country with so many guns? Would I feel safe in a neighbourhood where deadly weapons might legally hide behind any given respectable suburban door?
Most of the time, it hardly seemed to make a difference. Bad things happen anywhere; tragedy strikes, anger lashes out, or despair; such is the universal condition.
When this place was “yours,” and I was an alien, I could turn the other cheek, look away and pretend that this was not causing me a problem, so it was not my problem.
It wasn’t exactly true, but as a working model, it served; and anyway, I didn’t feel as though I had a lot of choice.
Now, this place is ours. I am involved; I am invested. My children are growing to adulthood in the society that we have created and whose future we will choose together. I do not want to worry about it. I do not want to be afraid for them, or for their friends, the children I taught in Sunday School, the children who trust us to keep them safe and to make their world right. I cannot any longer close my eyes and ears to the seductive lies that greater force enforces peace, that violence restores justice, that fear offers finer protection than kindness, that our security depends not on loving our neighbours, but on arming ourselves against them.
As I board the plane for Washington Sunday night, I will have just left a community celebration of the legacy of Martin Luther King, Jr, who spoke fifty years ago in another context of the “fierce urgency of now.” We cannot wait for justice. We should not wait for peace.
An editorial in my local paper this morning reflecting on the President’s gun control initiatives said that “the president’s suggestions can help … But only if he and an aroused public refuse to be silent again.”*
A year ago I was granted a voice, even though I speak with an accent. I will no doubt use it to laugh and cheer on Monday, and I pledge to continue to use it to support the fiercely urgent business of justice, peace, and the welfare of all people in the year to come.

*The Plain Dealer, January 18, 2013, A7, Editorial: “No backing down on anti-gun effort”

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Year C Epiphany 1: For us, and for our salvation

Posted on January 13, 2013 by Rosalind C Hughes

After Christmas, after Epiphany, we come to the baptism of Jesus. In a way, this story is the culmination and confirmation of everything that has happened up to now. An angel announced his conception. Faithful even before he was born, cousin John, who would grow up to baptize the people, leapt in his mother’s womb at the news of Jesus’ gestation. More angels lit up the night sky and sang terrifyingly to proclaim his birth. Wise men offered gifts. An old man in the temple, and an older woman, prophesied great things about him, that he would redeem the nations and Jerusalem. John, all grown up, paved the way for his arrival on the riverbank, talking him up, announcing that “one greater than I” was coming, and coming soon.

There was a lot of excitement, a lot of expectation, one might say, a whole lot of hype to live up to.

And when Jesus had been baptized, along with all of the people, and had come out of the river to pray, the heavens opened, and the Holy Spirit came upon him in bodily form, as if a dove, and a voice came from heaven, the voice of God, name him as a son, a beloved child, one in whom the divine parent delighted.

It is a culmination and a confirmation of everything that Luke has been telling us up to now. It is true, he is telling us, it is real, there can be no doubt that this Jesus is the Messiah, is the long-awaited redeemer, is the One, because the voice of God, the very voice that spoke creation into being, has announced it.

But surprisingly enough, this story of Luke’s is not only about Jesus. If we read carefully this particular account of the baptismal story, we see that Jesus was not alone, nor just with John, when this took place. All of the people had been baptized, and Jesus too. Perhaps he went last; perhaps he had been in the midst of them. At any rate, the whole community had gathered at the river to celebrate their baptism together, and Jesus was among them. He took his place as one of them, as one of the community of the faithful, and it was in that context, in the community of faith, that God singled him out and fell upon him bodily, as if to embrace him, and spoke to him in a voice like thunder that seemed to come out of nowhere, out of clear blue skies.

It was in the context of the whole community of faith that the Samarians received the Holy Spirit at the hands of the apostles, and it was the whole community of faith, the faithful people of God that God addressed through the prophet Isaiah in our first lesson:

But now this says the Lord, he who created you, he who formed you:
Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine.
When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you;
when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you.
For I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Saviour.

Do not be afraid, says God, I am with you. I have named you, I have claimed you as my own. When you are plunged into the waters of chaos, I who tamed the chaos and ordered creation out of the waters that covered the earth will redeem you and bring you back to dry land; the rivers shall not overwhelm you, and I will not let you down, I will not let you drown.

Do not be afraid; though the Holy Spirit burns like fire, you will not be consumed. Only the chaff, the protective layers that you thought that you needed but which you have outgrown, only that which keeps you from me, will be burnt away. My Spirit will fall upon you like fire, but you will feel her touch as the feathers of a dove, gently brushing away the ash.

I have named you. You are my daughter, you are my son, you are mine.

You have heard it said that God spoke at each our our baptisms: You are my son, my beloved one; you are my daughter, with whom I am well pleased.” But God did not say that to any of us in isolation. We are beloved together of God; we are not only children, any of us, but we are embraced in God’s family, and we are called to extend that embrace to all of our brothers and sisters, each one of God’s children, until they also know themselves to be beloved of God, cherished children, beloved of God with no exceptions.

The Holy Spirit came to Jesus in bodily form, wholly, fully, incarnate, because we are, we live in bodily form. We hear with our ears when someone pays us a compliment or lends us a kind word. We are satisfied in ourselves when someone offers us food or a cup of water; we are grateful for a hug or a healing touch. Even when we see God in the sunrise or sunset over the lake, we are seeing God’s embodiment in creation, in the orbit of the earth, in the movement of the planets, what we used to call the heavenly bodies.

And so our baptismal covenant calls us to love one another not only in spirit and in truth, not in ideas and prayers only, although they are vital, but in bodily form, in the giving and receiving of gifts, in the feeding of the hungry, in the blessing that comes from abiding friendship and companionship, in caring for one another’s bodily safety and wellbeing and joy. It calls us to care for all of God’s creation, the world around us which some have called body of God, to treat it gently and kindly as a fellow creature, another part of the creative act which gave us breath. It calls us to take seriously our name as the Body of Christ; a body which can offer an embrace, which can offer sustenance, which can offer protection and healing to those in need.

Some time ago, some miles away, long before I was ordained, I met a woman who was having trouble forgiving herself for something, and having trouble believing that God forgave her either. We talked a while, and at a certain point in the conversation, I asked her what it would take for her to know that God forgave her. She said, ‘I need some sort of a sign.’ I heard myself ask her whether the sign could be that a person came to her, to talk to her, in the name of Jesus Christ, and told her with certainty that she was forgiven and beloved by God. And she agreed that that could work.

Make no mistake, I was terrified at the idea of offering myself as a sign from God, but I have come to believe that the Holy Spirit was indeed working through my bodily form that day to tell this young woman, ‘You are my daughter, my beloved, and I still love you.’ And I believe that the Holy Spirit can at any time call upon any of us to become that bodily sign of God’s love and salvation, to be the Body of Christ that we are called to be.

After Christmas and Epiphany, after the private message of the angel to Mary, after the seclusion of the stable where she gave birth, which was opened up after all to the animals and to their shepherds; after their coming out to the temple and his coming forth to the river, Jesus’ baptism was an event, a party to which all of the people were invited. It was a culmination and a confirmation of all that had gone before, and it marked the beginning of a very public ministry which would span continents and centuries in its influence, in its impact, which continues today as long as his body endures.

One of my former teachers, Hank Langknecht, posted something on facebook before Christmas which struck me as brave, but true, and somewhat counter to all those “Jesus is the reason for the season” bumper stickers and taglines:

“You (and I and all creation) are the real ‘reason for the season’; Jesus came to serve not to BE served,” he said.

Jesus came for us. Jesus, the beloved Son of God in whom God was well pleased, whom the Holy Spirit embraced bodily, came among us, lived with us, loved us, was baptized alongside us, because God loves us, and has called us each by name, and has promised to redeem us, and to be with us always; and Jesus came to serve that promise.

Now when all the people were baptized, and when Jesus also had been baptized and was praying, the heaven was opened, and the Holy Spirit descended upon him in bodily form like a dove. And a voice came from heaven, “You are my child, my beloved,”

And if you had been there, wet from the river, the drops of water running off you and mingling with those dripping from Jesus and from John and from your sister and from your cousin and from your neighbour and from the strange woman from along the way, drops of water running together into rivulets running back into the river ready to baptize whoever comes tomorrow, mightn’t you have remembered Isaiah, and the words that God had spoken to all of God’s people:

Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine.
When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you;
when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you…
Because you are precious in my sight, and honoured, and I love you …

Amen.

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Waving goodbye

Posted on January 10, 2013 by Rosalind C Hughes

Whenever we left
she wept, never knowing which
time would be the last.

(Sometimes, poetry is simply laying the ghosts out in the daylight.)

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In bodily form

Posted on January 9, 2013 by Rosalind C Hughes

When our bodies betray us, let us down,
we berate them, hesitate to call them holy,
when, after all, they are the
sacrament of God’s creative genius,
each featherlight touch a reminder of
the love that engendered our creation,
redemption, adoption; each whisper
an echo of the voice of heaven.

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