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Thursday, November 26, 2009
Thanksgiving Day
Almighty and gracious Father, we give thee thanks for the fruits of the earth in their season and for the labors of those who harvest them. Make us, we beseech thee, faithful stewards of thy great bounty, for the provision of our necessities and the relief of all who are in need, to the glory of thy Name; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who liveth and reigneth with thee and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Eve of Thanksgiving Day, 2009
Besides the traditional meal and for many the watching of too much football, what’s this holiday about?
Thinking about the great themes of the harvest, the invitation in this moment, in whatever state of life we find ourselves, is to remember the one from whom all blessings flow, and the invitation, certainly as we hear in our collect and in the reading from James, to reflect on our stewardship.
The stewardship of God’s abundance, as we recognize that abundance in our own lives and in the world around us. Not only about material abundance, of course, but the gift that we have of life, of creativity, of the potential of relationships. Jesus in Luke says, “from those to whom much has been given, much will be expected,” and that’s not just a word for the most wealthy and the most powerful. It is for all of us. Wealthy or poor or stumbling around in the middle. Vibrant with health or struggling with limitations. Rich in family or friendships, or living mostly on our own. However we mark this day of Thanksgiving, and whatever our circumstance, we need to hear this word: “much will be expected.”
And where, good Christian people, do we begin with that? Not to say a word about the potential for unhealthy guilt, to feel it as a weight on our shoulders. But--certainly instead about abundant opportunities for compassionate outreach, which is one way to think about stewardship. And that very often, and I think very appropriately, will take a material form-- about what any of us might be able to do in sharing of ourselves with others, and especially with those in need. To think of our in-gathering here this evening for the Food Pantry as a sign, a symbol of something we seek to be about in so many ways as a congregation and as individuals.
But to me, as I come to this holiday, and to a question about what Christian stewardship is about, I return to what we call the day on the calendar, Thanksgiving, and to see it in this context at the deepest level about what I guess we would call attitude. Inner orientation. A sense of a generosity first and foremost, as a generosity of the heart, a generosity of spirit.
Where there is an abundance of care, of love. The foundation of Christian stewardship, the self-giving love of Jesus, the meaning of the cross, and because he loved us, because he loves us, there is this stirring of affection and compassion in us as well. Our Roman Catholic friends have a devotion to what is called the Sacred Heart, the Sacred Heart of Jesus—and there is a deep truth there not just about him but about us as well. Love calls out to love. In Greek, of course, the word we translate as “thanksgiving,” is eucharist.
In this, I found myself this week looking again and listening again to the words of the Psalm appointed for this service, Psalm 65, printed in our service leaflets, and especially just to listen to the singer of the song, praising God, filled with God’s love to an overflowing abundance, as then in these final verses:
“May the fields of the wilderness be rich for grazing,* and the hills be clothed with joy. / May the meadows cover themselves with flocks, and the valley cloak themselves with grain;* let them shout for joy and sing.”
I just think this is really nice. Reaching deep down into what we would call the Royal Priesthood, our character, each, one of us, as mediators, channels, charismatic spirit-filled doorways of the divine presence, avenues, communicators not just in words but in the substance of our lives, of God’s care and interest and love. And to be most of all, every day and in every moment of our lives, about the expression of God’s abundant blessing.
I say blessings in formal ways at the ends of services, at baptisms and marriages, often at the bedside in a hospital room, when an infant or young child is brought to the communion rail. But that’s just a reminder of what we can all be about. I’ve blessed seeds out in farm country on Rogation days and boats and homes and youth group mission trips and dogs, and cats, and hamsters, and birds, and lizards and iguanas on St. Francis’ Day. We can all do that. What the priest does in this iconic and sacramental way, that’s what we’re all about. What a mom or dad does in placing a hand on the head of a child at bedtime, what a child does in reciting a grace before a meal. What we do all of us in our prayers, in church and in every corner of our lives. The deep stewardship of God’s blessing. Uncovering the holiness of the origin in God of all things. Revealing it, announcing it.
May the fields be rich for grazing, the hills clothed with joy. Bless the earth, everything on the earth, all that will live and breathe, that ever was and ever will be, rocks and wind, ocean and mountain. Families and friends, neighbors, the goodness of God reaching out in love to every human heart, reaching out in love to the whole creation. May the meadows cover themselves with flocks and the valleys be dressed in grain, let them shout for joy and sing.
Happy Thanksgiving, and blessings.
Bruce Robison
Monday, November 23, 2009
November 24, 2009
Burial Office
Margaret Kirk Stone
November 17, 1928 – November 18, 2009
Click here for newspaper obituary.
First of all, I would say simply a word of welcome to all, in this gathering of family and friends, and especially with a word of care and sympathy and affection to you Susan and Peggy, and your families, as we offer our prayers for Margaret this morning and commend her to God’s love and care. Grace to you and peace, from God our Father, and from the Lord Jesus Christ. It is my prayer that this time, this morning and then as visiting I know we will all continue today and in the days ahead, will be a meaningful and loving time for you as you come together.
Certainly this gathering today is a testimony in so many ways to Margaret’s influence and presence in all our lives, and this morning we would hear a word from scripture about hope, about the sustaining hand of God, as we are all in his hand, and as she now is embraced and carried home with the promise of new life in Christ, and life eternal.
She had just the day before turned 81. Of the generation coming of age in the Great Depression and during the War, and through the greater part of this past century. A life of rich texture, as for all of us, with mountaintops and valleys, accomplishments, friendships, deep relationships of care--I know so many dear friends for years at Calvary Church, and then for the last dozen years or so here at St. Andrew’s.
I knew her always as a woman of great dignity, grace, and I would say courage. She could see right to the heart of things, and although she was very often a person with a sense of reserve and restraint, she could speak as well with both intelligence and a mature wisdom—and with what could be a quiet but very sharp and pointed sense of humor as well. A woman of deep Christian faith and sustaining commitment throughout her life.
As we talked in preparation for this service, we had before us two requests that Margaret had herself handed on: the Laudate Dominum of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, and the hymn we’ll sing a bit later in the service, I sing a song of the saints of God. Musically very different, but both seem just right to me as we offer our prayers and thanksgiving this morning.
The text of the Laudate Dominum is Psalm 117: Two simple verses: O Praise the LORD, all ye nations; praise him, all ye peoples. / For his merciful kindness is ever more and more toward us; and the truth of the LORD endureth for ever. Praise the LORD.
And to me these words summarize the call of all Christian people, to have at the heart of our lives an attentiveness to the glorious presence and power of God—an almighty power, and this is so important, an almighty power, strength, to be known in us and among us always as “merciful kindness.” That is the nature and character of the loving Father, who meets us and sustains us, corrects and guides us all our life long, and into whose arms we commend Margaret today.
The other text, from “I sing a song,” which we will all sing together, is this fun and energetic and even humorous hymn, written to be sung for and by children and yet for us all as well, a celebration of all God’s people, his saints, those who have gone before us, those we share our lives with today, those who will come after us, redeemed and renewed in Christ. Famous heroes of faith, and those whose names are known to God alone. And I love and always smile with the last part of the concluding stanza: “You can meet them in school, or in lanes, or at sea, in church, or in trains, or in shops, or at tea, for the saints of God are just folk like me, and I mean to be one too.” The sermon and message Margaret preaches for us this morning. A part of her legacy.
And now, from strength to strength, from life here to greater life, as we have been promised, the holy hope that we would affirm today. And framed for us then in this wonderful and familiar passage from John 14: “In my Father’s house are many mansions.” Modern translations sometimes change this. “In my Father’s house are many rooms.” And in a way that makes sense. Houses have “rooms,” after all. But I’m going to stick with “mansions,” because I think that word directs us to a deeper truth.
A mansion is a home of expansive and generous elegance, where every need is provided for, a place of grace and grandeur. Which is what the destiny is that God has in mind for us. Which is the eternal life that Margaret is to enjoy. No ordinary life. An eternal life of abundance, and joy, and peace, and fulfillment. To be with Christ, her Lord and Savior, who said and says to us all, from generation to generation, “I am the way, the truth, and the life.”
May the souls of the faithful departed rest in peace, and may Light Perpetual shine upon them. As we pray for Margaret today. May she rest in peace, and rise in glory. Amen.
Bruce Robison
Margaret Kirk Stone
November 17, 1928 – November 18, 2009
Click here for newspaper obituary.
First of all, I would say simply a word of welcome to all, in this gathering of family and friends, and especially with a word of care and sympathy and affection to you Susan and Peggy, and your families, as we offer our prayers for Margaret this morning and commend her to God’s love and care. Grace to you and peace, from God our Father, and from the Lord Jesus Christ. It is my prayer that this time, this morning and then as visiting I know we will all continue today and in the days ahead, will be a meaningful and loving time for you as you come together.
Certainly this gathering today is a testimony in so many ways to Margaret’s influence and presence in all our lives, and this morning we would hear a word from scripture about hope, about the sustaining hand of God, as we are all in his hand, and as she now is embraced and carried home with the promise of new life in Christ, and life eternal.
She had just the day before turned 81. Of the generation coming of age in the Great Depression and during the War, and through the greater part of this past century. A life of rich texture, as for all of us, with mountaintops and valleys, accomplishments, friendships, deep relationships of care--I know so many dear friends for years at Calvary Church, and then for the last dozen years or so here at St. Andrew’s.
I knew her always as a woman of great dignity, grace, and I would say courage. She could see right to the heart of things, and although she was very often a person with a sense of reserve and restraint, she could speak as well with both intelligence and a mature wisdom—and with what could be a quiet but very sharp and pointed sense of humor as well. A woman of deep Christian faith and sustaining commitment throughout her life.
As we talked in preparation for this service, we had before us two requests that Margaret had herself handed on: the Laudate Dominum of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, and the hymn we’ll sing a bit later in the service, I sing a song of the saints of God. Musically very different, but both seem just right to me as we offer our prayers and thanksgiving this morning.
The text of the Laudate Dominum is Psalm 117: Two simple verses: O Praise the LORD, all ye nations; praise him, all ye peoples. / For his merciful kindness is ever more and more toward us; and the truth of the LORD endureth for ever. Praise the LORD.
And to me these words summarize the call of all Christian people, to have at the heart of our lives an attentiveness to the glorious presence and power of God—an almighty power, and this is so important, an almighty power, strength, to be known in us and among us always as “merciful kindness.” That is the nature and character of the loving Father, who meets us and sustains us, corrects and guides us all our life long, and into whose arms we commend Margaret today.
The other text, from “I sing a song,” which we will all sing together, is this fun and energetic and even humorous hymn, written to be sung for and by children and yet for us all as well, a celebration of all God’s people, his saints, those who have gone before us, those we share our lives with today, those who will come after us, redeemed and renewed in Christ. Famous heroes of faith, and those whose names are known to God alone. And I love and always smile with the last part of the concluding stanza: “You can meet them in school, or in lanes, or at sea, in church, or in trains, or in shops, or at tea, for the saints of God are just folk like me, and I mean to be one too.” The sermon and message Margaret preaches for us this morning. A part of her legacy.
And now, from strength to strength, from life here to greater life, as we have been promised, the holy hope that we would affirm today. And framed for us then in this wonderful and familiar passage from John 14: “In my Father’s house are many mansions.” Modern translations sometimes change this. “In my Father’s house are many rooms.” And in a way that makes sense. Houses have “rooms,” after all. But I’m going to stick with “mansions,” because I think that word directs us to a deeper truth.
A mansion is a home of expansive and generous elegance, where every need is provided for, a place of grace and grandeur. Which is what the destiny is that God has in mind for us. Which is the eternal life that Margaret is to enjoy. No ordinary life. An eternal life of abundance, and joy, and peace, and fulfillment. To be with Christ, her Lord and Savior, who said and says to us all, from generation to generation, “I am the way, the truth, and the life.”
May the souls of the faithful departed rest in peace, and may Light Perpetual shine upon them. As we pray for Margaret today. May she rest in peace, and rise in glory. Amen.
Bruce Robison
Sunday, November 22, 2009
St. Andrew: Patronal Festival, 2009
Feast of St. Andrew
Matthew 4: 18-22
Grace to you and peace, indeed, friends, and again a warm word of welcome, as we are assembled today to celebrate in St. Andrew’s Church, Pittsburgh, for what I believe is now the 173rd time, the feast day of our Patron Saint.
I’m not sure our friends of the Syria Highlanders were able to join us for that first celebration, back in November of 1837, but certainly for a number of years now it has been a wonderful blessing to have them with us. I would say again to you, thank you, and that it is as always an added way to enjoy this day to know that in sponsoring the bagpipes and drums we are as well sharing in a contribution to the very meaningful charitable work of the Shriners’ Hospitals for children. A double blessing. And so a welcome to all, and it will be fun to enjoy the festive St. Andrew’s Day reception in Brooks Hall after the service.
The word that leaps out from the reading of the gospel lesson from St. Matthew is the word immediately. Immediately.
Jesus comes, Jesus calls, and immediately, seemingly without even a moment of reflection or indecision—immediately they leave their boats, their nets, their homes and families, work, friends, the lives that they have lived day-in, day-out. Immediately they turn, and follow him.
There is of course a lot we don’t know about the background to the story. How much did these four know about Jesus before this moment of invitation and call? Had they seen him and heard him, perhaps with other followers of John the Baptist? Had they spoken with him before? Had there been days and months of inner reflection and prayerful discernment? Or was this more a bolt out of the blue? A moment of sudden, clarifying discovery. Love at first sight.
What we do know of course, and what they don’t know, and couldn’t have known, is what will follow from this day by the seashore, this turning point moment. The high moments and the hard moments. Cheering crowds, miracles, healings; controversy, rejection, isolation. How one day they would be with him at the top of Mount Tabor, have their eyes and minds and hearts filled with the vision of Jesus transfigured, a moment of meeting between heaven and earth. And how another day soon after, from a distance, they would see him climb another hill, alone, stumbling under the weight of the cross, bearing the burden of all the world’s sin.
What they couldn’t have known: the highs and the lows, victories and defeats, laughter and tears. Good Friday, or after, the disorienting news of Easter, and the new life of Pentecost. By the shore that afternoon, all a story yet to be told. A pregnant moment.
But there is no holding back, anyway. No matter what did or did not come before in each of their lives. Whatever conflicts may have needed to be resolved. He speaks—and they drop their nets, step from their boats out onto the road, and join him on the way.
And this morning of course we notice of the four especially our Andrew. Who would be soon the one who in gospel story after gospel story seems to have this special gift and role of making connections. Of bringing others to meet Jesus. A ministry of introduction which moves out from the gospel stories into the vague memories of years long after Easter, and a missionary life that carried him far from home, spreading the good news—and of course a missionary life that led him in the end to the honor of a death like that of our Lord’s own death, the death of the cross.
With what enthusiasm, energy, excitement they set forth, this morning. An urgency. Immediately they leave their nets, their boats, and follow him.
Blessed Andrew, pray with us that our hearts might be filled as your heart was filled with the love of Jesus. Pray with us that we might hear his voice as you heard his voice. That we might be stirred with energy and enthusiasm and excitement. It’s all a wild risk, for us as it was for you. None of us with any idea where this road may take us day after day, in the unfolding adventures and challenges of our lives.
As we carry in our time and the places of our lives the identity and honor and responsibility of the titles that were yours: friends of Jesus, apostles, evangelists, ambassadors of the Kingdom. But to know as you knew that to sit with him at the Banquet Table will be both our beginning and our ending, our setting out and our coming home. The Bread of our Life, the Cup of our Healing. Pray with us that our hearts might be filled, that we might hear his voice, and that we might know day by day the grace and courage to get up and to follow him. Immediately. Amen.
Bruce Robison
Matthew 4: 18-22
Grace to you and peace, indeed, friends, and again a warm word of welcome, as we are assembled today to celebrate in St. Andrew’s Church, Pittsburgh, for what I believe is now the 173rd time, the feast day of our Patron Saint.
I’m not sure our friends of the Syria Highlanders were able to join us for that first celebration, back in November of 1837, but certainly for a number of years now it has been a wonderful blessing to have them with us. I would say again to you, thank you, and that it is as always an added way to enjoy this day to know that in sponsoring the bagpipes and drums we are as well sharing in a contribution to the very meaningful charitable work of the Shriners’ Hospitals for children. A double blessing. And so a welcome to all, and it will be fun to enjoy the festive St. Andrew’s Day reception in Brooks Hall after the service.
The word that leaps out from the reading of the gospel lesson from St. Matthew is the word immediately. Immediately.
Jesus comes, Jesus calls, and immediately, seemingly without even a moment of reflection or indecision—immediately they leave their boats, their nets, their homes and families, work, friends, the lives that they have lived day-in, day-out. Immediately they turn, and follow him.
There is of course a lot we don’t know about the background to the story. How much did these four know about Jesus before this moment of invitation and call? Had they seen him and heard him, perhaps with other followers of John the Baptist? Had they spoken with him before? Had there been days and months of inner reflection and prayerful discernment? Or was this more a bolt out of the blue? A moment of sudden, clarifying discovery. Love at first sight.
What we do know of course, and what they don’t know, and couldn’t have known, is what will follow from this day by the seashore, this turning point moment. The high moments and the hard moments. Cheering crowds, miracles, healings; controversy, rejection, isolation. How one day they would be with him at the top of Mount Tabor, have their eyes and minds and hearts filled with the vision of Jesus transfigured, a moment of meeting between heaven and earth. And how another day soon after, from a distance, they would see him climb another hill, alone, stumbling under the weight of the cross, bearing the burden of all the world’s sin.
What they couldn’t have known: the highs and the lows, victories and defeats, laughter and tears. Good Friday, or after, the disorienting news of Easter, and the new life of Pentecost. By the shore that afternoon, all a story yet to be told. A pregnant moment.
But there is no holding back, anyway. No matter what did or did not come before in each of their lives. Whatever conflicts may have needed to be resolved. He speaks—and they drop their nets, step from their boats out onto the road, and join him on the way.
And this morning of course we notice of the four especially our Andrew. Who would be soon the one who in gospel story after gospel story seems to have this special gift and role of making connections. Of bringing others to meet Jesus. A ministry of introduction which moves out from the gospel stories into the vague memories of years long after Easter, and a missionary life that carried him far from home, spreading the good news—and of course a missionary life that led him in the end to the honor of a death like that of our Lord’s own death, the death of the cross.
With what enthusiasm, energy, excitement they set forth, this morning. An urgency. Immediately they leave their nets, their boats, and follow him.
Blessed Andrew, pray with us that our hearts might be filled as your heart was filled with the love of Jesus. Pray with us that we might hear his voice as you heard his voice. That we might be stirred with energy and enthusiasm and excitement. It’s all a wild risk, for us as it was for you. None of us with any idea where this road may take us day after day, in the unfolding adventures and challenges of our lives.
As we carry in our time and the places of our lives the identity and honor and responsibility of the titles that were yours: friends of Jesus, apostles, evangelists, ambassadors of the Kingdom. But to know as you knew that to sit with him at the Banquet Table will be both our beginning and our ending, our setting out and our coming home. The Bread of our Life, the Cup of our Healing. Pray with us that our hearts might be filled, that we might hear his voice, and that we might know day by day the grace and courage to get up and to follow him. Immediately. Amen.
Bruce Robison
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Big Game Day, 2009
Scroll to the end of this entry for a Joyful Postscript!
Cal Bears roll down to the Farm to play Stanford today--
the 112th Big Game!
Susy ('79) and I ('75, '79) will be getting together with other Cal Alums this evening to watch. It's been a rocky season for the Blue and Gold this year, and Stanford has played well, but for this game, you just never can tell . . . .
Let's Go, Bears!
Postscript: For the Glorious Big Game Story, Click Here!
Cal Bears roll down to the Farm to play Stanford today--
the 112th Big Game!
Susy ('79) and I ('75, '79) will be getting together with other Cal Alums this evening to watch. It's been a rocky season for the Blue and Gold this year, and Stanford has played well, but for this game, you just never can tell . . . .
Let's Go, Bears!
Postscript: For the Glorious Big Game Story, Click Here!
Friday, November 20, 2009
A Reminder
The custom at St. Andrew's Church, Highland Park, Pittsburgh, is to observe our patronal festival on the Sunday before the Thanksgiving holiday.
This year, Sunday, November 22, the bagpipes and drums of the Syria Highlanders will begin the festivities at about 10:40 a.m. in the Churchyard. Service at 11 a.m. and Gala Reception following.
All welcome! 5801 Hampton Street, in the East End Pittsburgh neighborhood of Highland Park.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Twenty-Fourth after Pentecost, 2009
Mark 13: 1-8 (RCL Proper 27B)
Well—the nights are getting longer for sure, and, while this has been a mild weekend, more and more often when I head out for my early morning run I see that the windshields of the cars parked along the street are frosted over. The last green leaves of summer have turned and mostly found their way in this neighborhood anyway into a zillion home depot yard bags--or have been swept, illegally, into huge mounds in the street. It’s not even Thanksgiving yet, but the advertising flyers in the newspaper are already announcing discounted holiday ornaments. And of course Bing Crosby and Frosty the Snowman are once again playing along in the background in just about every store and supermarket.
In the Church calendar we still have some way to go, and an important and meaningful journey, from where we are now to the midnight streets of Bethlehem and the Manger Bed that is his first earthly throne—but here in what we used to call the last weeks of Trinitytide, now the season of ordinary time “after Pentecost,” it is in any case beginning to feel a lot like Advent.
The collect last Sunday, Proper 26 in the way the Prayer Book numbers them, we might have noticed addressed God “whose blessed Son was manifested to destroy the works of the devil,” and looked to the day when he shall “appear again with power and great glory.” Certainly images right at the heart of Advent. And I would mention that the collect for this morning was from 1549 until the revision of the American Prayer Book in 1979 the Collect for the Second Advent Sunday: the anticipation of the Incarnate Word connected then to the continuing and living presence with us of God’s Word Written in Holy Scripture.
The Old Testament readings over the past few weeks as well from Ruth would evoke for us as well the background memories of the Christmas story—the great grandmother of David, and so along this branch of the family tree of David’s Greater Son. Hannah this morning, mother of Samuel, also a part of the David story, since it is Samuel who blesses David with oil and sets him apart as the “anointed one,” which is the meaning of Messiah. And the Song of Hannah, at the beginning of Chapter 2 of First Samuel, what Mary must have had in mind when she sang her first Magnificat after her meeting with the Angel Gabriel, which is why I made the special request for the Stanford in C in place of the psalm.
Hannah’s song in First Samuel 2 begins, “My heart exults in the LORD; my strength is exalted in the LORD.” And then continues, “The LORD makes poor and makes rich; he brings low, he also exalts. He raises up the poor from the dust; he lifts the needy from the ash heap, to make them sit with princes . . . . The LORD will judge the ends of the earth; he will give strength to his king, and exalt the power of his anointed.”
So again, the last weeks of Trinity, the “ordinary time” after Pentecost, but with all the wonder of the story we are about to share again in so many ways beginning to unfold up ahead. It won’t be long now.
All that said, and before us this morning the 13th chapter of St. Mark. This story as well working its way to the end. It’s already Holy Week, and the authorities are getting more and more anxious about Jesus, tension is in the air, and you won’t need to be the Amazing Kreskin with a crystal ball to see that Old Rugged Cross already being lifted up just outside the city wall.
And Jesus here. The disciples, some of them in the great city I’m sure for the first time in their lives, looking around at the magnificent, dazzling Temple.
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A Model of the Herodian Temple
The place both of deepest piety and also now much controversy in the life of First Century Judaism. The God who met Abraham in the the city streets of metropolitan Ur of the Chaldees, up in modern day Iraq, and who wrestled with Jacob at the Jabbock on the Arabian peninsula and who called Moses from the Burning Bush in the Sinai desert and who led his people as a pillar of cloud by day and of flame by night over the Tent of Presence, now with his sacred place on Mount Zion.
Built at the heart of the Royal City in ancient days by King Solomon to be the eternal earthly home forever for the LORD God of Israel, but soon corrupted with the images of the gods of the noble women of other nations whom Solomon had brought in through his many diplomatic marriages. Corrupted over generations, and then restored by King Josiah, but then pillaged and destroyed when the Babylonians finally overran the city.
Rebuilt by Governor Nehemiah and the Priest Ezra when the Exiles returned from Babylon, but then stripped and desanctified again under the reign of Alexander the Great and his successors. Restored by the Maccabees, in a miraculous way that is the origin of the holiday of Hanukka. And then expanded as a kind of Temple-complex, with all kinds of administrative and governmental and educational and social adjuncts, just a few decades before this moment in the gospel, under Herod the Great, in his massive campaign of public works and urban renewal. And Herod of course himself a figure of heated controversy among the observant Jews of the day. A client of the occupying Romans, a king not of David’s line, was he even really Jewish?-- who had far more identification with the Hellenistic culture of the Roman Meditteranean than with the heritage of Israel.
Click here for an overview of Herod's Temple.
The Temple from the beginning.
And an interesting related story in this morning's New York Times.
In Jewish literature of the era, the notion that what God’s Messiah will do when he comes first of all is replace this corrupted earthly Temple with a cleansed, and purified, and perfect Temple, to be truly the point of contact, the bridge between God’s Heavenly Kingdom and his renewed Creation.
And Jesus then this morning, in Mark 13. Yes, it’s an impressive building. Beautiful architecture, wonderful furnishings of wood and brass and gold. The place of the finest music and liturgy, the dazzling priests in their flowing robes.
But don’t let these outward appearances lead you astray. This of course the same message that we have heard recently in the parables of the Wealthy Benefactor and the Widow’s Mite . . . in the comments about the religious leaders who dress the part and say the right words, but whose lives and whose hearts are unconverted. In Matthew 23 he calls them “whitewashed sepulchers.” Beautiful on the outside, but corruption and death on the inside.
And here then: “There will not be one stone upon another, that will not be thrown down.” Some have talked about this as a kind of future prediction or prophesy of the destruction that will happen in the Roman military action in Jerusalem in the year A.D. 70. But that’s not what Jesus is talking about here. People put this building up, and then knock it down, and then build it again. And so it will be until God acts, once and for all. So it will be until this age passes away, and the new age is born.
The great vision of St. John the Divine in the 21st Chapter of the Revelation: “And I saw the Holy City, new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband; and I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, ‘Behold, the dwelling of God is with men. He will dwell with them, and they shall be his people, and God himself will be with them.’”
Which is of course what is happening now. Right now.
Which is what Jesus is saying to his disciples. Life goes on: wars and rumors of wars, earthquake and famine, seasons of prosperity and seasons of deprivation. All around us.
But we are like people standing over the point of the Continental Divide, one foot in each watershed. In the past, and yet even now striding into the future. At the Table this morning, in this great mystery: to be refreshed by the Banquet of the New Age of God’s Kingdom, the Bread of Heaven and Cup of Salvation; to know his Body as the Perfect Temple, and to be incorporated ourselves into his Body, to become ourselves the stones and building blocks of God’s Perfect Home.
Which is all Advent, all Christmas, all Good Friday, all Easter, all together. The old year is indeed coming to an end. The nights are longer. The early morning chill. And the New Year, the new year is just ahead. So near we can reach out and touch it, embrace it, begin to live in it. St. Paul, First Corinthians 3: 16: "Do you not know that you are God's temple?"
Bruce Robison
Well—the nights are getting longer for sure, and, while this has been a mild weekend, more and more often when I head out for my early morning run I see that the windshields of the cars parked along the street are frosted over. The last green leaves of summer have turned and mostly found their way in this neighborhood anyway into a zillion home depot yard bags--or have been swept, illegally, into huge mounds in the street. It’s not even Thanksgiving yet, but the advertising flyers in the newspaper are already announcing discounted holiday ornaments. And of course Bing Crosby and Frosty the Snowman are once again playing along in the background in just about every store and supermarket.
In the Church calendar we still have some way to go, and an important and meaningful journey, from where we are now to the midnight streets of Bethlehem and the Manger Bed that is his first earthly throne—but here in what we used to call the last weeks of Trinitytide, now the season of ordinary time “after Pentecost,” it is in any case beginning to feel a lot like Advent.
The collect last Sunday, Proper 26 in the way the Prayer Book numbers them, we might have noticed addressed God “whose blessed Son was manifested to destroy the works of the devil,” and looked to the day when he shall “appear again with power and great glory.” Certainly images right at the heart of Advent. And I would mention that the collect for this morning was from 1549 until the revision of the American Prayer Book in 1979 the Collect for the Second Advent Sunday: the anticipation of the Incarnate Word connected then to the continuing and living presence with us of God’s Word Written in Holy Scripture.
The Old Testament readings over the past few weeks as well from Ruth would evoke for us as well the background memories of the Christmas story—the great grandmother of David, and so along this branch of the family tree of David’s Greater Son. Hannah this morning, mother of Samuel, also a part of the David story, since it is Samuel who blesses David with oil and sets him apart as the “anointed one,” which is the meaning of Messiah. And the Song of Hannah, at the beginning of Chapter 2 of First Samuel, what Mary must have had in mind when she sang her first Magnificat after her meeting with the Angel Gabriel, which is why I made the special request for the Stanford in C in place of the psalm.
Hannah’s song in First Samuel 2 begins, “My heart exults in the LORD; my strength is exalted in the LORD.” And then continues, “The LORD makes poor and makes rich; he brings low, he also exalts. He raises up the poor from the dust; he lifts the needy from the ash heap, to make them sit with princes . . . . The LORD will judge the ends of the earth; he will give strength to his king, and exalt the power of his anointed.”
So again, the last weeks of Trinity, the “ordinary time” after Pentecost, but with all the wonder of the story we are about to share again in so many ways beginning to unfold up ahead. It won’t be long now.
All that said, and before us this morning the 13th chapter of St. Mark. This story as well working its way to the end. It’s already Holy Week, and the authorities are getting more and more anxious about Jesus, tension is in the air, and you won’t need to be the Amazing Kreskin with a crystal ball to see that Old Rugged Cross already being lifted up just outside the city wall.
And Jesus here. The disciples, some of them in the great city I’m sure for the first time in their lives, looking around at the magnificent, dazzling Temple.
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A Model of the Herodian Temple
The place both of deepest piety and also now much controversy in the life of First Century Judaism. The God who met Abraham in the the city streets of metropolitan Ur of the Chaldees, up in modern day Iraq, and who wrestled with Jacob at the Jabbock on the Arabian peninsula and who called Moses from the Burning Bush in the Sinai desert and who led his people as a pillar of cloud by day and of flame by night over the Tent of Presence, now with his sacred place on Mount Zion.
Built at the heart of the Royal City in ancient days by King Solomon to be the eternal earthly home forever for the LORD God of Israel, but soon corrupted with the images of the gods of the noble women of other nations whom Solomon had brought in through his many diplomatic marriages. Corrupted over generations, and then restored by King Josiah, but then pillaged and destroyed when the Babylonians finally overran the city.
Rebuilt by Governor Nehemiah and the Priest Ezra when the Exiles returned from Babylon, but then stripped and desanctified again under the reign of Alexander the Great and his successors. Restored by the Maccabees, in a miraculous way that is the origin of the holiday of Hanukka. And then expanded as a kind of Temple-complex, with all kinds of administrative and governmental and educational and social adjuncts, just a few decades before this moment in the gospel, under Herod the Great, in his massive campaign of public works and urban renewal. And Herod of course himself a figure of heated controversy among the observant Jews of the day. A client of the occupying Romans, a king not of David’s line, was he even really Jewish?-- who had far more identification with the Hellenistic culture of the Roman Meditteranean than with the heritage of Israel.
Click here for an overview of Herod's Temple.
The Temple from the beginning.
And an interesting related story in this morning's New York Times.
In Jewish literature of the era, the notion that what God’s Messiah will do when he comes first of all is replace this corrupted earthly Temple with a cleansed, and purified, and perfect Temple, to be truly the point of contact, the bridge between God’s Heavenly Kingdom and his renewed Creation.
And Jesus then this morning, in Mark 13. Yes, it’s an impressive building. Beautiful architecture, wonderful furnishings of wood and brass and gold. The place of the finest music and liturgy, the dazzling priests in their flowing robes.
But don’t let these outward appearances lead you astray. This of course the same message that we have heard recently in the parables of the Wealthy Benefactor and the Widow’s Mite . . . in the comments about the religious leaders who dress the part and say the right words, but whose lives and whose hearts are unconverted. In Matthew 23 he calls them “whitewashed sepulchers.” Beautiful on the outside, but corruption and death on the inside.
And here then: “There will not be one stone upon another, that will not be thrown down.” Some have talked about this as a kind of future prediction or prophesy of the destruction that will happen in the Roman military action in Jerusalem in the year A.D. 70. But that’s not what Jesus is talking about here. People put this building up, and then knock it down, and then build it again. And so it will be until God acts, once and for all. So it will be until this age passes away, and the new age is born.
The great vision of St. John the Divine in the 21st Chapter of the Revelation: “And I saw the Holy City, new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband; and I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, ‘Behold, the dwelling of God is with men. He will dwell with them, and they shall be his people, and God himself will be with them.’”
Which is of course what is happening now. Right now.
Which is what Jesus is saying to his disciples. Life goes on: wars and rumors of wars, earthquake and famine, seasons of prosperity and seasons of deprivation. All around us.
But we are like people standing over the point of the Continental Divide, one foot in each watershed. In the past, and yet even now striding into the future. At the Table this morning, in this great mystery: to be refreshed by the Banquet of the New Age of God’s Kingdom, the Bread of Heaven and Cup of Salvation; to know his Body as the Perfect Temple, and to be incorporated ourselves into his Body, to become ourselves the stones and building blocks of God’s Perfect Home.
Which is all Advent, all Christmas, all Good Friday, all Easter, all together. The old year is indeed coming to an end. The nights are longer. The early morning chill. And the New Year, the new year is just ahead. So near we can reach out and touch it, embrace it, begin to live in it. St. Paul, First Corinthians 3: 16: "Do you not know that you are God's temple?"
Bruce Robison
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