God is the one waiting this Advent, waiting for you to come and be the Christ for the world you were anointed to be.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The First Sunday of Advent, year A
Texts: Isaiah 2:1-5; Romans 13:11-14; Matthew 24:36-44

Beloved in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen

What if God’s the one waiting for an Advent?

Hoping, praying for the coming of Christ into this world to bring wholeness and life?

Every year we take this season to remember we are always waiting for God’s coming again in Christ. We talk about what it means to be patient for God’s healing of all things.

But what if the Triune God is the one who waits, the patient one?

What if we’ve been looking at Advent backwards?

Isaiah’s pretty clear about this.

In days to come, the prophet says, weapons of war will be reshaped into tools for growing, tools for nurturing, tools for feeding. Weapons of any kind won’t be needed, and the earth’s peoples won’t even learn how to do war.

It’s a beautiful promise. You just might not have heard clearly how it happens, that’s all.

Isaiah actually proclaims that all the world’s peoples will come to God’s mountain to learn a new way. God’s teaching will go out from there and spread over the world. All people will learn what it is to walk in God’s way. And the prophet concludes with this urgent invitation: “Come, let us walk in the light of the God Who Is!”

We’ve been waiting for God to bring about the promised peace on earth, good will to all, and we’ve missed this whole truth: it is God who is waiting for us. This Advent, and every day, the holy and Triune God is praying, “please come. Christ is needed in the world, you anointed ones of mine. Come, my Christs, and learn from me, let me shape you in my love, so I can send you out for the blessing of my creation.”

It’s time we took the Scriptures seriously regarding God’s promised hope for this world.

It’s almost never God’s divine intervention. It’s always God choosing people, drawing them close, showing them the light of God’s way, and sending them out.

And you and I, who are baptized in Christ, we even claim that title. You are anointed in baptism, which means you are literally Christ. One in Christ Jesus’ death and resurrection. That’s not just so you know where you’re going after you die. If you are one with Christ, you are joined into the life of the Triune God.

And if you are Christ, the Anointed of God, there’s only one job to do: go out and be the Anointed of God.

And the Triune God is waiting, hoping that you, that I will finally hear what the plan is and act on it.

It’s time for salvation now, Paul says. “So, put on the Lord Jesus Christ.”

The divisions in the Roman churches between Jewish Christians and Gentile Christians can only be healed when they all realize that they are Christ, they are, as Paul says to them earlier, people who are transformed by the renewing of their minds, rescued from their enmity with God, and made into one body. Made into Christ. That’s not a symbol, or a cute way to think of the Church. Christ is a real body, Paul believes, made up of real people who are in fact, Christ themselves.

So “be clothed in Christ,” Paul literally says. Put Christ on as a garment, be covered by the anointing of God, and you will be changed.

This whole section of Romans, of which we only got a small part today, shows what that looks like:

You will love your neighbor, because you are Christ.

You will be kind to those weaker in the faith, because you are Christ.

You will not insist on your own way, because you are Christ.

You will rejoice in hope, you will be patient in suffering, because you are Christ.

You will live in harmony with others, you will live peaceably with all, because you are Christ.

Even if no one else does, you need to be who you are, Paul says. You are needed to overcome the evil of this world with your good. Because you are Christ.

The thing is, God needs weapons changed to tools for feeding. But God needs you to do it. It’s what you’re anointed for.

Every time I lash out at someone, every time you cause another person pain on behalf of your own comfort, we’re just making more weapons.

We may not have the ability to end war on a global scale, though we can certainly work for that, vote for that, urge our leaders toward that goal. But none of that matters if we don’t look at the swords and spears in our own hands, our violent thought, our violent words, our violent actions, and recognize that they must be changed. Jesus clearly preached and lived a way of non-violence, but he did that in a tradition that stretches back at least as far as these words of Isaiah.

Everything that we do matters. Your life affects others. Even things that you do that you aren’t aware hurt others have their impact. And if it harms anyone, then as Christ, you have to ask if you are loving your neighbor as yourself, if you are being peaceable, if you are living a transformed life.

It’s complicated, and it’s inconvenient. More and more people are making you and me aware of how what we do hurts others in so many ways. We’re confronted daily with how our lives are literally weaponized, even without our wanting it to be so. I just recently decided I don’t think I can do business with a company anymore because of the horrible work conditions they subject their workers to. As Christ, as God’s anointed, I’ve decided there are other companies I can use, and until I’m convinced otherwise, I can’t participate in their practices.

God’s waiting, for me, for you, because only you and I can set down our weapons and make them into tools for healing and life.

Only you and I can pay attention to our lives, our words, our actions, consider how our neighbor is affected, and then ask, “what should I do?” This is how together we will end the sin of racism, the evil of sexism, the criminal reality that people starve to death in a world with tons of food thrown away every day, and this is how we will end every problem that harms and even kills God’s beloved children.

And this is why Jesus doesn’t really care about when the world will end. As the Son of God, he says today he has no idea when it will happen. Don’t care about that, Jesus says. Just stay awake, do the job you’ve been called to do, and let the end be what it is whenever it is.

This is why you were anointed. It’s why we were all anointed.

So what are you waiting for?

If God’s plan can’t happen without you, what does that mean for your Advent prayer? If you’ve been called into your life, your family, your community, anointed in baptism for what you and only you can do as Christ, what does that mean for your Advent prayer?

You certainly can continue to pray, “Come, Lord Jesus.” That prayer is answered every moment of your day, every place you are: with your life, and the lives of all God’s anointed.

In our Eucharistic Prayer every week we pray both, “Come, Lord Jesus,” and “Come, Holy Spirit.” And in the prayer for the Spirit we always ask God’s Spirit to move in us and change us in some way. To empower us to be a part of God’s healing and life. To give us what we need to answer God’s patient but urgent Advent prayer, to be what God is waiting for.

The second coming of Christ is you. It’s me. We are who we’ve been waiting for. And with the courage of the Spirit flowing in you, there’s no limit to what God can do for the world through you.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

 

The biblical model of gratitude is a spiritual practice that can nourish us through all seasons of life.

Vicar Bristol Reading
Day of Thanksgiving, Year C
Texts: Deuteronomy 26:1-11, Philippians 4:4-9, John 6:25-35

Beloved in Christ, grace to you and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit.

Gratitude is having a moment. It’s trendy to be thankful these days.

Numerous self-help gurus suggest keeping a daily gratitude journal, writing down a few things you’re thankful for every single day. Doing so, they say, is a quick and easy way to “fix your mindset,” and “spark joy.” In other words: it will make you feel better! And it’s true. Social science research has actually shown that practicing gratitude regularly does have a positive impact on your health. People who write thank you notes, for instance, report increased happiness scores. I’m not sure how that’s measured exactly, but it certainly sounds like a good thing.

It’s great that people are promoting gratitude, and it’s fascinating that science seems to back up traditional ethical wisdom. But, to be honest, all of this actually makes me a little nervous… Is gratitude only valuable when it makes us feel good? Do we want to measure our morality by what increases our happiness scores?

Gratitude should be more than just an emotional experience.

Sometimes we do feel thankful, but sometimes we don’t. In difficult seasons of life that are filled with grief or pain, sometimes the feeling of gratitude is hard to come by. We’re in that stretch of time now that’s known as “the holiday season,” which can be particularly painful those who are experiencing loss or loneliness. We don’t have to be grateful for our suffering. We can, though, be grateful through our suffering, And that requires an understanding of gratitude that’s more than just feeling good.

Another concern I have with this trendy kind of thankfulness is that it can hide issues of injustice and inequity.

The hashtag #blessed is ubiquitous on social media, but it’s often used in response to a life of ease or wealth. People feel #blessed when they go on cushy vacations or can afford a fancy new gadget. Yet, the biblical concept of blessing goes much deeper than creature comforts. Jesus declares that it is the poor and hungry who are blessed. This clearly calls us to understand blessing in a way that looks beyond the possessions and privilege of this life.

I want to be clear: It is okay to be grateful when we are happy or enjoying the nice things we have! And – gratitude is still valuable even when that’s not the case.

Our scriptural texts this morning underscore this idea. Paul writes in Philippians that we should rejoice always, in all circumstances; he says we should bring everything to God with thankful prayer, not only the parts of our lives that are going well. That kind of gratitude isn’t optional or occasional. It’s a spiritual discipline. It’s not a feeling, but a practice, something that we commit to doing no matter what our present situation is like.

And then there’s the Deuteronomy text, which doesn’t just encourage giving thanks in all circumstances; it actually gives elaborate and specific instructions for how to do so. Even though Deuteronomy is an ancient text, from a completely different culture than our own, its prescribed process for giving thanks is still relevant. It even comes in four basic steps!

Number one: offer your first fruits in thanks to God.

The text means this literally, as in “bring some of the first crops that you harvest,” but this applies even to those of us who aren’t farmers. Offering your first fruits means you don’t leave gratitude to the bottom of your to-do list, something you do once you’ve covered all your other needs, paid all your other bills, completed all your other chores. Gratitude takes precedence.

For some people this means budgeting in a way that prioritizes charitable giving. For others, this means honoring commitments to volunteer their time, even when their schedules are full. Or, this can be as simple as pausing before you even get out of bed in the morning to breathe slowly in a moment of thanks for a new day. The point is not what you do but how you do it. Make gratitude a practice, and make it an important one.

Second, the Deuteronomy text says to give thanks where God dwells.

Well, great! You’re all here in church on Thanksgiving morning, so must have this one down! In the context of Deuteronomy, the place of worship wasn’t yet a permanent building like this, because the Israelite community was still a wandering one. This is why the text says, “Go to the place that God will choose as a dwelling.” Even though we do have a building, this instruction to go wherever God dwells speaks to the reality that God dwells so many places in the world, beyond the walls of any church. Anywhere you practice gratitude, it is an act of worship. Any time you give thanks, it is a form of prayer. The mystic teacher Meister Eckhart actually wrote, “If the only prayer you ever say in your entire life is thank you, it will be enough.” In this way, we connect gratitude to awe and wonder. We are attentive to where God’s spirit is present and moving in the world. The whole earth is making joyful noise to God, the Psalmist says (Psalm 100:1), and when we join our voices to that chorus of praise, we are practicing gratitude.

So, make thankfulness a priority, recognize gratitude as an act of worship, and third: tell the story of what God has done for you.

Gratitude to God is meant to be shared, to be communal. The Deuteronomy text gives us model by recounting a story the ancient Israelites told:

My ancestors were wandering in a barren, dry wilderness, and famine almost killed them! But – God brought them into Egypt, where there was enough food. Then my ancestors were enslaved by the Egyptians! But – God heard their cries and rescued them. Then my ancestors ended up back in the wilderness, again struggling to survive. But – God showed them the way through and gave them a land of their own, a Promised Land that was lush and fruitful, Because God did these things, my ancestors survived and I am here now, on this good land, able to grow enough food to feed my family. I am thankful because God always sustained my ancestors and God always sustains me.

Even when things got really difficult– especially when things got really difficult– the Israelites told this story about how God had provided for them again and again. The church still tells this story today: you hear it often in our scriptures, our hymns, our liturgy. You hear this story in our prayers during Eucharist because it is about God’s provision. God feeds us – not only with physical sustenance, but also, as Jesus reminds us, with the bread of life that nourishes our souls.

God has provided for us spiritually in so many ways: through the gifts of the sacraments and the wisdom of the Word; through the sure promise of grace, the forgiveness of sins; through the guidance and comfort of God’s Spirit. Gratitude is our joyful response to God’s faithfulness and sufficiency.

The story you tell doesn’t have to be about ancestors wandering around in the desert. It can just be about the ways God’s spirit is moving in your life. How has God transformed your family, your marriage, your friendships? How has God been at work in your home, in your workplace, in your travels? How has God been speaking in your prayer life, in your learning, in your rest Telling these stories is part of giving thanks, part of practicing gratitude.

And finally, in the Deuteronomy text the culmination of this pattern of thanksgiving is a big celebratory meal. That’s the fourth step.

Sounds fitting in our American context, although I don’t imagine the ancient Israelites were eating much turkey. The biblical imperative is also clear that this meal isn’t just a party for family and friends; it’s a radical welcome for everyone. The text specifically says that “aliens who reside among you” should be invited. Those who cannot provide for themselves should be generously provided for. Caring for the hungry and poor, the ones Jesus called blessed, is a central part of this practice of gratitude. Even as they wandered in the wilderness, God called the people to share whatever they had. Now we are called to that task. Our thankful celebrations for all that God has done for us should always turn us outward to be signs of God’s justice and generosity in the world.

As we gather around our tables this holiday season, may we be cultivate a practice of gratitude that nourishes us for service, remembering that, at God’s table, all are welcome and there is always enough for everyone.

Amen.

When the situation in the world looks bleak, Reign of Christ Sunday is our reminder that God’s power of love, embodied in Christ on the cross, always wins, and that we are meant to be part of making God’s peaceful reign a reality.

Vicar Bristol Reading
The Reign of Christ, Last Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 34 C
Texts: Jeremiah 34:1-6, Colossians 1:11-20, Luke 23:33-43

Beloved in Christ, grace to you and peace, in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Things look bleak. It seems like evil is everywhere. Each day brings devastating news of destruction and violence. Everything is falling apart. Who is to blame for what’s happening? It’s the incompetent, immoral, irresponsible leader of the nation – at least, that’s Jeremiah’s conclusion.

In the passage we heard this morning, the Hebrew prophet is grieving the fate of his homeland Judah, which has fallen to the Babylonians. The Judean monarchy was just not strong enough to resist the foreign empire with its different culture, different values, and different gods. Babylon has conquered. And now the precious city of Jerusalem has been sacked! The sacred walls of the temple have brought to rubble! Many of the Judean people have been taken away into exile, while those who are left split into conflicting factions. And it’s all the fault of a couple crummy kings.

The prophet explains that kings are supposed to rule like shepherds, protecting the sheep from danger. But Judah’s most recent kings have been misguided leaders. They have let the flock scatter. The only chance now is that there might come a king righteous enough and powerful enough to pull the nation back together. There might, someday, be a good shepherd.

Hundreds of years after Jeremiah’s time, someone finally came along who seemed to fit the bill. Jesus came from humble beginnings, but he was descended from the right lineage, the line of David, just as the prophet had foretold. Jesus spoke with wisdom beyond his years. With merely a word, he could heal deformities and illness, cast out demons, and calm storms. He fed thousands with next to nothing and even raised to life a man four days dead.

Could this be, at last, the promised Prince of Peace, the chosen one, the Messiah? Could this finally be the good shepherd? Many people thought so. Jesus drew crowds and changed lives. Yet, his growing popularity made the authorities increasingly nervous. He challenged established religious and social norms, and claimed divine power. But, curiously, he didn’t amass any armies or incite insurrections. He led no coups, took up no weapons. How would he protect the people if he didn’t fight?

Eventually, the opposition against him got organized. They arrested Jesus. They hauled him before the authorities and put him on trial. Frustrated, they demanded of Jesus: “Are you a king or not?!” But even then Jesus didn’t fight, and they convicted him to death, a criminal’s death. Surrounded by angry mobs, he ended up on a cross outside Jerusalem, the same city whose destruction Jeremiah had mourned generations earlier.

In this moment, it seems like history is repeating itself. Things look bleak. It looks like evil has won. Another so-called “king” looks like another failed leader. One criminal hanging next to Jesus expresses this sentiment: “Some Messiah you are! You can’t save us now. You can’t even save yourself.” Instead of calling down righteous judgment on his foes, Jesus speaks forgiveness, even as he loses his life. Instead maintaining his authority, Jesus humbly gives everything away. What kind of king does that? Everyone can see that this is not the king they’d expected after all…

Well, not everyone. Not the criminal hanging on the other side of Jesus. He sees the situation differently.  He sees Jesus as a king. Even though it looks like Jesus has been defeated, he says, “Remember me when you come into your kingdom.” When this criminal looks at Jesus, he sees one who rules with mercy, not domination. One whose victory comes through sacrificial love, not retribution. That’s a different kind of power, and somehow, at the darkest moment, the most unexpected person recognizes it. Whatever Jesus’ reign will look like, he wants in. These are the final moments of this criminal’s earthly life. This man is dying, and yet the power he sees in Jesus gives him immense hope. He puts his complete trust in Jesus, even on the cross, and so he says, “Remember me.” And in return, Jesus speaks acceptance and promise. He tells the criminal, “Today you will be with me in Paradise.”

This encapsulates the kind of power that the Triune God wields: a power that offers forgiveness for even the gravest of sins; a power that finds lost ones and carries them to Paradise; a power that brings abundant life out of certain death. This is, indeed, the promised messiah, the prince of peace, the savior of the world.

It’s no wonder that people failed to recognize it in Jesus, failed to see a king in the crucified – the reign of Christ is unlike any other. It’s still difficult to put our hope in the cross. It’s tempting to trust in the kind of power that rules with might, rather than the kind of power that empties itself in compassion. It’s especially hard to put our hope in the cross when we reach those moments in history when things look bleak, and the news is devastating, and national leaders are a disappointment.

Reign of Christ Sunday, the liturgical festival we celebrate today, serves as a reminder that – no matter how the situation looks – the power of sacrificial love has already won. Our ultimate ruler and judge, stands above and beyond the ups and downs of history. This festival was added to the Christian calendar almost a century ago, in the wake of World War I, as authoritarianism was gaining momentum around the world. Its message is no less critical to the present moment.

On this Sunday, we come to the story of Jesus on the cross and we encounter the power of God in Christ. It may look like weakness by human standards, but this power actually makes us strong. As Paul writes in Colossians, through Christ we are able to endure whatever the world brings. Christ holds the whole creation together and reconciles us all to God. That is a word of hope for every moment of human history.

Generations after this liturgical festival was instituted, it calls us to remember Christ, whose kingdom has come and is yet coming. When we pray together in worship, “Your kingdom come,” we invoke God’s desire for our world, a vision of peace, justice, and love that stands against earthly systems of violence, oppression, and greed. And we are meant to be a part of making God’s reign real: to be instruments of that peace, advocates for that justice, embodiment of that love – not just individually, but in our families, our communities, our congregation. Together, we live the sacrificial way of the cross, knowing that it is, always, the way of life, and trusting fully that God-in-Christ, our good shepherd, goes before us and goes with us on the way.

Amen.