Go, Teach, Love

April 16, 2023. The Lord is Risen! Hallelujah! The Lord is risen indeed.

Today is Easter Sunday for millions of Orthodox Christians around the world.

Orthodox Easter takes place between April 4 and May 8, following the first full moon after Passover. Orthodox Easter always falls after the celebration of Passover because the biblical accounts say the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus took place after he entered Jerusalem to celebrate Passover.

For Roman Catholics, Lutherans, and other western Christians, Easter is determined by the Gregorian calendar established in 1582 by edict of Pope Gregory XIII. Orthodox Christians use the Julian calendar which means we celebrate the same holidays on different days.

The last time western and eastern Easters were on the same day was in 2017, and the next time will be 2025.

As you might suspect, many people think it is a bad witness to the non-Christian world that Christians cannot agree on the day to celebrate the most important event in the Christian year. When I was on the staff of the World Council of Churches there were occasional quixotic efforts to get both traditions to celebrate Easter on the same date every year. But I’m not going out on a limb to predict this will never happen. Orthodox Christians are convinced that their formula of placing Easter on the first full moon after Passover is the correct one. And who is to say they aren’t right?

So today, on Orthodox Easter, we read of Jesus’ great commission to all the church – and note the repetition of the word “all:”

“All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything” – all – “that I have commanded you. And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”

There’s no room for misunderstanding these orders.

And yet here we are on an Easter Sunday that exposes the divisions that exist among all the disciples of all the nations. 

Ain’t that a shame?
My tears fell like rain
Ain’t that a shame?
You broke my heart
When you said we’re apart
Ain’t that a shame?

Given that Jesus gave us all the same commission, it’s a shame we are all apart.

There’s not enough time to trace the history of the early church to see how we ended up this way. 

But perhaps we should take a closer look at how all of us Christians lost track of Jesus’ real message in his great commission.

And perhaps the first question to ask, is, who and where are the nations we are seeking to make disciples?

In the very early years of the church, Saint Paul interpreted the Great Commission as a call make disciples of all outposts of the Roman Empire, including Rome itself.

Simeon Bachos the Eunuch, who was baptized by Saint Philip in Acts 8, is thought to have carried the message of the resurrected Lord to Ethiopia.

Saint Thomas, who we call “Doubter,” traveled to India and established churches. Today the Mar Thoma and Malankara Orthodox churches trace their origins to his missionary efforts.

All of these churches are different from one another because of cultural differences, but all of them and many more were faithful baptizers and teachers of Christ’s commandments.

But as the shadow of medievalism darkened across Europe, the idea of disciple-making took a sinister turn.

Alarmed by the presence of Islam in Jerusalem, Christian popes and monarchs sent eight murderous crusades to the Holy Land between 1096 and 1291. Thousands of Muslims were slaughtered in the name of Christ.

In 1597, Martin Luther’s Ninety-five theses led to badly needed reforms in the church. But they also led to violent divisions between Catholics and Protestants that erupted into holy wars. For decades, Catholics burned Protestants at the stake, and Protestants burned Catholics. It was a far cry from creating disciples who would follow Christ’s commandments.

In the late fifteenth century, when Europeans discovered other lands across the sea, the scramble to accumulate fruitful real estate began. To simplify matters for European Christian sailors who found themselves in strange lands, the Doctrine of Discovery had been proclaimed by Pope Nicholas V in 1452.

The doctrine allowed sovereigns to claim territories that were uninhabited by Christians. The doctrine proclaimed that indigenous peoples in the Americas were not human so any land conquered by Europeans was considered uninhabited.

When Columbus arrived in 1492, it is estimated that the Americas were inhabited by 100 million people, about one-fifth of all humans on the planet. (www.ictinc.ca) These human beings were slaughtered, conscripted into slavery, exposed to fatal European diseases, and forced to witness the purging of their ancient cultures.

A mere eighteen days ago, on March 30, 2023, the Vatican press office announced “in no uncertain terms” the repudiation of the doctrine of discovery.

But of course the damage had been done. And you and I no doubt know individuals who continue to be affected by the fall-out of the doctrine.

I have a friend, a professor of theology at Northern Baptist Theological Seminary in Chicago, who is a member of the Kiowa nation in Oklahoma. Tom is also a drummer in his own band, and he handles those sticks with rhythm and an energy that makes your heart pump faster.

“It’s kind of a revenge,” Tom once told me. “The missionaries who came to us thought drums were of the devil and they took them away from us.”

Missionaries also discouraged their charges from holding on to their customs, speaking their languages, and expressing their beliefs in a God the missionaries didn’t recognize.

Too often, it seems, we have responded to the Great Commission by going forth to teach peoples we think of as “other” – people who we think are different from us. Years ago, Martha and I were stunned at a commissioning ceremony at a local Baptist church to send a young man into the mission field. The field? Ireland. He was being sent to convert Christians to Christianity.

For years the foreign mission arm of the United Methodist Church sent missionaries to Russia, no doubt with the aim of bringing Jesus to godless communists. But these good intentions raised the ire of Christians who remained active, namely the Russian Orthodox Church. Life in the Soviet Union was difficult enough, the Patriarch said, without Christians sending missionaries to convert Christians to Christianity.

“Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you.”

What is the essence of Jesus’ message to us?

It is this:

“I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.” (John 13:33-36)

The Great Commission of Jesus is to go throughout the world to proclaim the message that God’s love is for all people. 

And let the Holy Spirit take it from there.

In the late 1990’s, I received a powerful lesson on what trust in the Holy Spirit can do.

The World Council of Churches organized in San José, Costa Rica, a gathering of Orthodox Christians and Latin American Pentecostal Christians. The theological and cultural differences between these groups could not be more vast, but Orthodox and Pentecostal Christians place great reliance on the Holy Spirit. The gathering was called to explore their similarities.

Somewhat to my surprise, Nicaraguan Pentecostals said they do not re-baptize the Roman Catholics they have converted.

“We know the Holy Spirit was present during their Catholic baptism,” they explained, “and we respect the Holy Spirit.”

But more than that.

The Pentecostals said they also reject the notion that their non-Christian neighbors, as well as their indigenous ancestors going back thousands of years, are irredeemably lost souls because they never accepted Christ as their Lord and Savior.

“God’s love is for all God’s creation,” the Pentecostal pastor said. “God was present in the lives of our pagan ancestors, and the Holy Spirit dwelled within them. Their religious practices were different, but the Holy Spirit led them to an understanding that a great and loving power presides over the world.”

Today we have the full story of Who that power is, and the love the Father has for God’s creation. 

God’s love is the message we are commissioned to spread throughout the world.

And the Holy Spirit will bring that love to fruition in God’s own time.

Recognizing Jesus

(Preached March 19, 2023, at St Paul's Evangelical Lutheran Church, Rye Brook, N.T.)

Several times a week at the grocery store, I pass a fundraising table for a Christian camp or project I’ve never heard of. The sign invites passersby to “Help Change Lives”.

I always smile benevolently at the middle-aged man behind the table.

“Can you help us?” he asks.

“No thanks,” I reply.

“Okay. Have a blessed day.”

This happens often, though not so often that the guy recognizes me as the smiling old dude who never gives a cent.

But to be perfectly honest, the word “Christian” in the camp’s name raises questions. There’s no time to vet the place while buying bread and milk.

The man standing behind the collection box looks nice enough, and it may well be that the camp serves children of all ethnicities and social classes and encourages them to imitate Jesus’ example of loving and accepting everyone.

On the other hand, the place could be a project of the insanely homophobic Westboro Baptist Church, or a training ground for an evangelical agency that sends missionaries to Ireland to convert the Christians to Christianity.

So doubt paralyzes my impulse to grab my wallet.

Recently I joined Martha and Katie at our favorite restaurant. After we were seated, I excused myself and went to the bathroom to wash my hands.

Inside, I was startled to see a tall man bent over the sink. He was scrubbing his face with an excess of hand soap while crooning  Fergie’s “Glamorous” in a fulsome, falsetto voice:

“If you ain’t got no money, take yo’ broke ass home/you say it
If you ain’t got no money, take yo’ broke ass home.”

I turned to leave the room but the man caught sight of me.

“Sir, excuse me,” he said. He gestured grandly toward the sink and stepped aside. “After you,” he said as soapy water drizzled into his beard.

“No,” I said, “Please finish up.”

The man pulled small scraps of paper towel out of a miserly dispenser and dabbed at his face.

“I got time,” he said. “Waiting don’t bother me. I been in prison three years. Just got out.”

I glanced at the bathroom door and stepped to the sink. I let a little water trickle in my hands and quickly shook it off.

“Are you heading home?” I asked.

“I am,” he said. “As soon as I can get the bus.”

“You must be a happy man.”\

“Thinking about getting out is all that kept me going.”

I usually don’t offer benedictions in public restrooms, but the guy seemed so joyful.

“God bless you,” I said. “I hope it all goes well from here on.”

“God bless your kind self,” he said.

He continued in the same genial vein.

“Spent all my money on the bus ticket,” he said. “Haven’t eaten today. Can you help me out?”

I tend to ignore requests like that when I don’t have time to think them over.  My hesitation probably stems from conflicting genes I inherited from my paternal grandparents. During the Great Depression, Grandma was famous for doling out samples of her canned meat to starving hobos, while Grandpa was known to defend his larder with a .45 revolver.

I inherited more of Grandpa’s tightness than Grandma’s generosity, but Grandpa never negotiated with an ex-con in a restaurant bathroom.

“Don’t have a lot,” I mumbled, reaching for my wallet. I pulled out three crisp dollar bills and gave them to the man.

His eyes crinkled as he grinned.

“God bless you more,” he said, almost laughing. He clutched the money to his chest. “God bless you, man.”

I smiled and backed slowly out of the bathroom.

Martha and Katie were still waiting for our food when I took my seat. I glanced back at the bathroom and saw the man had also exited and was pressing the three dollar bills on the counter. The waiter nodded and brought him a basket of bread. The man stuffed a bread stick into his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully as he packed the rest of the bread into his jacket pocket and walked out of the restaurant.

Soon our food was delivered. I leaned back in my chair and mused how I would tell this interesting story to Martha and Katie. I knew I had time to think about it because Martha was staring intently at her iPhone and Katie was absorbed by a large bowl of macaroni and cheese.

Suddenly I had an epiphany, or thought I did.

“I wonder,” I said, picking up my fork, “if I just talked with Jesus.”

Martha glanced at me quizzically.

The passage from Matthew was running through my head.

“I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.” (Matthew 25:35-39)

Actually, I was fretting about the more negative passage:

“Just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.” (Matthew 25:45)

Jesus, I said to myself. I should have sprung for more than three bucks.

I took some solace in the fact that the man seemed satisfied by my grudging largess.

And of course there’s always a chance the man was just who he said he was – not Jesus but a recently paroled convict looking for a meal as he waited for the bus home.

But it doesn’t make any difference because Jesus made it plain that we should treat convicts and strangers as if they were him.

That’s a helpful thing to keep in mind, not only because otherwise we’d treat convicts and many strangers with contempt, but also because it’s not always easy to recognize Jesus.

Immediately after his resurrection, Jesus’ closest friends failed to identify him. Mary Magdalene, the first to arrive at his empty tomb, didn’t realize Jesus was the man talking to her until he called her name.

In Luke 24, the resurrected Jesus joins two of his disciples on a walk to Emmaus, but Luke reports “their eyes were kept from recognizing him.” (v.16). Mark reports, a bit mysteriously, that Jesus appeared to them “in another form” (Mark 16:12) which, as author Garry Wills writes in What Jesus Meant, is “hard to interpret.”

“Jesus appeared in numinous form (Wills writes) … his body was not the earthly body any more, but one both outside time and space and affecting time and space.”

From our 21st century vantage point, where digital media create incredible virtual realities on Hi-Def screens, the sensationalism of the resurrection begins to dim. Jesus’ strange post-death appearances, which galvanized his contemporaries into the fiery evangelical movement that transformed the world, no longer excites many modern minds. The figure in the Easter stories makes is too much like an exhilarating Elvis sighting or the unexpected reappearance of John F. Kennedy, Jr.

But how will we know him when we see him? Even his contemporaries didn’t know who he was when they encountered their resurrected leader on the road or in their homes. Two millennia later, in an age of secularism and doubt, how can we possibly recognize him?

Fortunately, Jesus made it easy for us. He is present, he declared, whenever we mingle with our fellow humans.

For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me some clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me … Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.” (Matthew 25:35-36; 40b)

“The least of these” certainly include persons we meet in chance encounters:

The homeless mother and her children, holding out a cup as we pass her as in a grocery store parking lot;

The man pulling a flimsy blanket more tightly around him as he sleeps on a heating vent in the city;

The veteran who needs a few bucks and stands in the cold in the middle of a traffic line at a red light, hoping to attract some driver’s attention;

The thousands of LGBTQ teens and young adults who have been cast out of their homes and struggle day-to-day to survive;

The hundreds who live at the poverty line and below and seek to supplement their diets at church food pantries.

Help for all these folks is within our reach every day.

But nationally and world-wide, the problem extends beyond our reach.

According to the USDA, more than 34 million people, including 9 million children, in the United States, cannot be sure of a meal tonight.

After steadily declining for a decade, world hunger is on the rise, affecting nearly 10 percent of people globally. From 2019 to 2022, the number of undernourished people grew by as many as 150 million, a crisis driven largely by war, climate change, and the COVID-19 pandemic.

Earthquakes are estimated to have directly impacted 26 million people across Turkey and Syria. The focus has now shifted to providing essential support for survivors who have lost their homes, belongings, livelihoods and loved ones.

Millions of people have been uprooted from their homes in Ukraine and are need of humanitarian assistance, in what has become the largest and fastest displacement crisis in Europe since World War II. Of these, over 8 million have fled to neighboring countries as refugees and millions more people displaced within Ukraine are also in need of urgent humanitarian assistance. 

And the beat goes on. 

It’s easy to bow our heads in despair because we have no direct means of helping people in these dire situations.

But all is not lost because there are many relief organizations reaching to hungry, displaced, and suffering people in our country and around the world. Saint Paul’s supports the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America and Lutheran World Relief which reaches out to work hand in hand with vulnerable communities to feed them, house them, and help them rebuild after disaster strikes – and to help communities avoid or prepare for future disasters. 

These relief efforts are supported by your contributions to this church, and you can also make direct contributions at lwf.org. Other relief organizations include Church World Service and the Red Cross. 

No doubt many people perform such deeds of caring with no idea that they were ministering to Christ, writes Dr. Carla Works, professor of New Testament at Wesley Theological Seminary in Washington.

“Jesus says that whenever they gave food to the hungry, welcomed a stranger, clothed the naked, or visited the sick or imprisoned, they acted in kindness toward Jesus himself,” writes Dr. Works. “Jesus can identify with the least of these because he has walked in their shoes.

“On the other hand, those who have failed to see the needs of the disadvantaged have acted as though they have never seen Jesus. They have not followed in Christ’s footsteps.  They have not continued to do the work that the Master has called them to do (24:45-51).  They have not displayed who the real King is.”

But the bottom line, Jesus told us, is that he never left us. He is with us when we least suspect it.

Which brings me back to my earlier question: was the ex-con I encountered in the restroom of a local restaurant Jesus?

I have the answer to that on the highest authority. 

Of course he was.

This is most certainly true.

Imagining the Gospel

Saint Ignatius suggested we may hear God’s voice more clearly if we imagine ourselves in the midst of Gospel stories we are reading.

I love to follow this advice. It enables us to divert our eyes from the fading prints of Salman’s Head of Christ and begin to see the real Jesus. As we imagine ourselves in the crowds who witnessed his baptism, or place ourselves in the synagogue as Jesus declares “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing,” (Luke 4:18:21), we begin to see a man of extraordinary charisma. Unlike the blond Christ on stained glass windows, we may behold an actual brass age Palestinian: a man with brown skin glowing with sweat, unruly black hair, and large biceps developed by his years as a laborer. We may behold the man whose powerful presence and contagious compassion attracted curious crowds wherever he walked.

Sometimes the stories we read take Jesus away from the adoring crowds. In Matthew 4, after his baptism, he is led by the spirit into the wilderness.

I don’t have any difficulty imagining the Palestinian wilderness, which I visited as a young man in 1974. It is truly desolate with pale, jagged rocks and rugged mountains, so much like the American southwest desert. In 1969 Episcopal Bishop James A. Pike visited the wilderness where Jesus prayed. Pike got lost, attempted to keep hydrated by drinking his own urine, and prayed for help. His body was found days later as he knelt against a rock in a position of prayer.

Clearly it is no small thing to go into this wilderness to pray. And it’s daunting just to imagine yourself, in Ignatian contemplation, at Jesus’ side. There are no other witnesses to hide behind. Just miles of arid emptiness and silent rocks.

In my mind’s eye I see Jesus sitting on one of those rocks. He is looking straight ahead and I wonder if he is praying. Or perhaps he is thinking of the cool waters of his recent baptism, now so far away. 

I move slowly toward him, wincing as sharp rocks press into my Sketchers, and sit on a boulder a few feet from Jesus. Jesus continues to sit quietly and so do I.

Long moments pass and our shadows disappear as the sun climbs high over head. Beads of sweat begin to collect on Jesus brown forehead. 

I glance at my Apple Watch to see how much time has passed. I begin to wonder how much longer we will be sitting silently on unforgiving rocks and the thought jumps into my head that Jesus is supposed to be here for forty days. I gasp. Is that, I wonder, a literal forty days or a metaphorical way of saying “a long time.” And, if so how long?

Jesus turns his head toward me and I sense both his loneliness and his compassion. But we continue to sit in silence.

Over head birds of prey are circling. Probably seeking some distant carrion, I tell myself. Jesus and I are clearly too alive to tempt birds who feast on decomposing flesh. I look at Jesus for reassurance but he has closed his eyes in prayer.

Good idea, I think. I try to remember devotional words from Luther’s Small Catechism. The words of the Lord’s prayer spin through my mind, and so does the Jesus Prayer: “Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.” Usually the words are a great comfort to me, but I’m a little self-conscious thinking them with Jesus so close. Can he hear me? Are my prayers intruding on his?

I continue to sit quietly, resenting the rock beneath my uncomfortable backside. My hungry stomach begins to grumble and thoughts of the Bagel Emporium menu push the Jesus prayer out of my head.

Cinnamon raisin, poppy seed, blueberry, all sorts of bagels danced in my head. I was sure the rumbling in my stomach could be heard over the desert wind. Jesus turned toward me again.

“Are you okay?” he asks gently. I am startled by the sound of his voice.

“I’m fine,” I said. “I’d be happy to spring for a dozen bagels if there’s a bakery nearby.”

Jesus smiled. “I’m good,” he said.

We had been sitting for a long time and Jesus stood up, stretching his arms. I was grateful for the cue and lifted my aching bums from the sharp rock.

Jesus walked slowly toward a crevasse in the rocks and I followed him cautiously. At the bottom of the chasm was a small trickle of blue water. I suddenly realized I was thirstier than hungry and began to calculate a safe route down the cliff to get to the water. I am not a rock climber and I could foresee a dangerous and perhaps fatal descent.

Jesus looked at me and I was sure he was reading my mind.

“Jesus,” I said, “that’s a long way down. I guess it would take a miracle to get to the bottom safely.”

Jesus smiled. “Then forget it,” he said. He turned and walked back to the rocks where we were sitting. Reluctantly, I leaned against my rock and tried to shift positions so my ass wouldn’t fall asleep.

Jesus closed his eyes again and visions of Fiji water bottles and egg bagels pushed the Jesus Prayer out of my head.

I closed my eyes and tried to imagine what it must be like for Jesus as he sat in the wilderness awaiting his tempter.

Emboldened by our recent exchanges, I cleared my throat. Jesus turned toward me.

“Still okay?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I was just thinking what it’s like for you, the Son of God who was present at the creation of the universe, all this power at your fingertips.”

Jesus looked at me but did not respond.

“And here you are, alone in the desert, no food, no water, no acolytes, no assistants or aides.”

Jesus did not respond. I cleared my throat again.

“I mean, look at all the earthly power that has been amassed in your name. Emperors, monarchs, popes, presidents, television evangelists, superchurch pastors.”

Jesus continued to look at me silently.

I shifted uneasily on my rock.

“I mean, doesn’t it drive you crazy, all this power humans have seized in your name while you – the ultimate power in the universe – sit here on a rock in the Palestinian desert?”

Jesus was silent.

“It doesn’t make you crazy?” I persisted.

Jesus turned away from me.

“Nah,” he said.

We spent the next hour sitting in silence. The silence was putting me on edge and I began to plan my exit from this Ignatian revelry that was bringing me closer to the real Jesus.

I leaned against my rock for a few more minutes and then stood to signal my ethereal departure. Jesus turned to me one last time.

“It’s been real, Jesus,” I said, “and I feel I’ve gotten closer to you than ever before.”

Jesus smiled.

“But I gotta ask,” I said. “Weren’t you supposed to be tempted by the Devil here?”

Jesus smiled again. 

“Oh? You missed him?”

He closed his eyes and turned away from me.

I opened my eyes, grabbed a water bottle out of the fridge, and hopped in the car for a brief drive to Bagel Emporium.

Science and God

Sermon prepared for Science Sunday, St Paul's Evangelical Lutheran Church, Rye Brook, N.Y., February 12, 2023.

Two years ago one of my former pastors, John P. “Jack” Irwin, died of Covid-19 at the age of 95.

Jack was an amateur astronomer. In the mid-1960s, when the United Church Youth Fellowship met on Sunday nights, he would show black-and-white slides of stars, nebula, and universes light years away. We looked at pictures of alpha centauri, a triple star system that is the closest to our own sun.

By “closest,” Jack explained, it would take a beam of light, traveling at 186,000 miles per second, four and a third years to reach it.

Jack showed other slides of solar systems a hundred and a thousand light years away. In a darkened living room, with Jack’s soothing voice describing the far reaches of space, it was difficult to stay awake. But when the lights came on and we blinked against the brightness, Jack asked a question none of us ever forgot:

“How many of you,” he asked, “have a concept of God that is as large as outer space?”

I suppose we were 15 or 16 years old and certainly we didn’t think of God as an entity of astrophysics. God and science were two different things, God being a powerful but approachable figure some call “the man upstairs;” and science, by contrast, is the empirical exercise of verifying phenomena by observation and experience rather than pure speculation.

Until Jack Irwin’s slide show blew our minds, we were content to keep our notion of God within reasonable bounds, perhaps as a white-bearded grandpa figure who created the world a few thousand years ago and raised Jesus from the dead.  There was no reason to assume the bible was not literally true.

In many respects, we adolescents were at the same intellectual and emotional stage as millions of people in the mid-19th century. Back then most people kept their idea of God under reasonable constraints, and when God said, “Let there be light” (Genesis 1:3), it was not necessary to explain how God did it.

Then in 1859, scientist Charles Darwin published On the Origin of Species, a meticulously documented study that concluded plants and animals responded to changes in their environment by passing their strongest traits on to future generations. 

Today this idea of natural selection and evolution is generally accepted in biological studies.

But Origin of Species exploded like a bomb in church circles in 1859. If, for example, apes could theoretically evolve into thinking and talking beings – if, in fact, human ancestors were monkeys – then humans were not just a little lower than the angels, but just a little higher than the simians.

Church leaders and politicians responded to Origin of Species with rage. It’s worth noting that both Charles Darwin and Abraham Lincoln, born on February 12, 1809, were portrayed as apes by cartoonists of the day.

But it may have been the poets of the Victorian era that felt the pain of Darwin most deeply. Suddenly they were confronted with a God who was not an all powerful and generally benign creator, but an inattentive God who was allowing creation to develop on its own.

If you were a literature major in school, you may have read Thomas Hardy’s “Hap,” a depressing poem in which he lamented good and evil were governed by mere happenstance. If God was causing pain, Hardy wrote,

Then would I bear it, clench myself, and die,
Steeled by the sense of ire unmerited;
Half-eased in that a Powerfuller than I
Had willed and meted me the tears I shed.

But not so.   How arrives it joy lies slain,
And why unblooms the best hope ever sown?
—Crass Casualty obstructs the sun and rain,
And dicing Time for gladness casts a moan. . . .
These purblind Doomsters had as readily strown
Blisses about my pilgrimage as pain.

In the United States, the reaction to Origin of Species was simpler. Many states made it illegal to teach the theory of evolution.

In 1925, in one of the best known confrontations between biblical inerrancy and free thought, the state of Tennessee accused high school teacher John Thomas Scopes of violating the Butler Act, which forbade teachers from teaching evolution in any state-funded school.

The issue came to blows in the “Scopes Monkey Trial” in which perennial presidential candidate William Jennings Bryan defended the inerrant bible, and famed criminal lawyer Clarence Darrow defended John Scopes.

The trial was staged to draw attention to the issue. Bryan and Darrow sparred over the issue of biblical literalism and in the end Scopes was convicted and ordered to pay a $100 fine.

But history remembers Darrow’s defense of the sacredness of ideas, as recorded in the 1960 film, Inherit the Wind. As Henry Drummond, representing Darrow, Spencer Tracy declares the divinity of

“The individual human mind. In a child’s power to master the multiplication table there is more sanctity than in all your shouted ‘Amens!‘, ‘Holy, Holies!’ and ‘Hosannahs!’ An idea is a greater monument than a cathedral. And the advance of man’s knowledge is more of a miracle than any sticks turned to snakes, or the parting of waters!”

The theory of evolution signifies the miracle of the advance of human knowledge. Even so, we know it is still illegal to teach it in many parts of our country – just as it is illegal to teach Critical Race Theory, the 1619 project, the lingering effects of slavery in America, and the genocide of indigenous peoples in our land.

Origin of Species continues to be a threat to right wing Christianity and in many churches Charles Darwin is regarded as the Great Satan. I learned as a Baptist magazine editor that dropping Darwin’s name caused subscription cancellations and angry letters.

I sometimes suspected some of the readers of The American Baptist magazine would have been happier subscribing to Answers in Genesis magazine, still readily available on your smart phone at answersingenesis.org.

In the “answers” section of this web page we learn the following:

1. The earth is approximately 6,000 years old. “If we believe the earth is billions of years old and shows no sign of a worldwide Flood,” we are reminded, “then that belief contradicts the biblical account of Noah. If we accept God’s testimony regarding the Flood, we cannot logically believe in millions of years.”

2. All animals that now populate the earth are the genetic descendants of the animals rescued on Noah’s ark.

3. Dinosaurs were among the land animals God created on the sixth day of creation, which was about six thousand years ago. According to answers.org, dinosaurs and humans existed at the same time. I imagine the massive tyrannosaurus rex reaching out helplessly with its tiny arms to snatch a panicky human being from a cave. For some, The Flintstones is a scientific documentary.

4. Finally, the bible is the inspired, infallible word of God, Adam and Eve were real people, and the bible provides the “correct chronology” of human history on our very young planet.

It’s no wonder science and particularly Darwin are such fearsome threats to many people. 

I was a bit surprised a few years ago when Martha, Katie and I visited Westminster Abby in London and discovered that Darwin is buried there among the monarchs, clergy, politicians, and poets who Britain reveres.

Charles Darwin is not the Great Satan in England. In fact his image is on the 10-pound note. In England, Darwin is remembered as a faithful Anglican layman whose theory of natural selection and evolution were not intended to challenge faith. On the contrary, they vastly expand our concept of God and our scientific understanding of the intricate details of God’s creative miracles.

For many, On The Origin of Species had the same effect on intellect and faith as Pastor Irwin’s question had on his youth group so long ago:

How many of us have a concept of God that is as large as the theory of evolution?

How many of us have a concept of God that is as large the new vastness of space revealed by NASA’s Webb telescope?

How many of us have a concept of God that is as large as the ideas that have developed in human brains 

To create vaccines for serious illnesses? 

To write the computer codes for space travel?

To write the computer codes for diagnostic tools such as CAT scans and MRI’s to maintain our health?

Science expands our concept of God to the very limits of human imagination. And because of Charles Darwin, God is bigger, not smaller. And while we draw breath on this earth, we will never truly comprehend the infinite vastness of God.

C.S. Lewis, the great Christian writer and teacher, wrote an Evolutionary Hymn so show his faith in the vastness of God:

Lead us, Evolution, lead us
Up the future's endless stair;
Chop us, change us, prod us, weed us.
For stagnation is despair:
Groping, guessing, yet progressing,
Lead us nobody knows where.

Wrong or justice, joy or sorrow,
In the present what are they
while there's always jam-tomorrow,
While we tread the onward way?
Never knowing where we're going,
We can never go astray.

To whatever variation
Our posterity may turn
Hairy, squashy, or crustacean,
Bulbous-eyed or square of stern,
Tusked or toothless, mild or ruthless,
Towards that unknown god we yearn.

Ask not if it's god or devil,
Brethren, lest your words imply
Static norms of good and evil
(As in Plato) throned on high;
Such scholastic, inelastic,
Abstract yardsticks we deny.

Far too long have sages vainly
Glossed great Nature's simple text;
He who runs can read it plainly,'
Goodness = what comes next.'
By evolving, Life is solving
All the questions we perplexed.

Amen.

Dark Days for the Baptizer

Sermon prepared for Epiphany Lutheran Church in the Bronx, December 11, 2022.

Today we celebrate the third Sunday in Advent by lighting the pink candle symbolizing the joy of the season.

It’s good that we keep this joy in our hearts because the scripture this morning is a bit of a downer. 

John the Baptizer is in prison because he because he spoke truth to power. He rebuked the king, Herod Antipas, for divorcing his wife Phasaelis and unlawfully marrying his brother’s wife, Herodias.

There is no way this could end well for John.

We can imagine the Baptizer in a dark cell, trying to keep his spirits up. But he is clearly at the end of the line of his prophetic ministry and doubts begin to cross his mind. In his desolation he calls upon his followers to go to Jesus and ask, 

“Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” (Matthew 11:2-3)

This is a shocking question from Jesus’ own kinsman. John knew all his life that he has been called by God to prepare the way of the Lord. John had seen the heavens open when he baptized Jesus and heard God’s voice express pride and pleasure in God’s son. We can only guess the depth of John’s despair that made him doubt himself, his life, and now he is feeling doubts about the Messiah’s legitimacy. It’s almost as if, in his desperation to restore his faith, he sends a message to Jesus asking, “are you for real? I think you are but I need to check.”

John, son of Zechariah, was born to play a supporting role for the greatest event in history. He clearly accepted his role, telling his disciples, “One who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to stoop down and untie the thong of his sandals. I have baptized you with water; but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.” 

As far as modern scholars are concerned, John is not number one in the drama of world redemption. He’s number two. In other words, the Baptist is the greatest second banana in history.

But as he sits in his darkened prison, assured of an imminent execution, is he struggling with doubts about this celestial assignment?

We know from objective observation that second bananas are not always content with their second fiddle fare (to expand the metaphor), nor are they enamored with those who cast the shadows in which they walk.

Vice President Thomas Jefferson smiled sardonically as his followers accused President John Adams of having a “hideous hermaphroditical character, which has neither the force and firmness of a man, nor the gentleness and sensibility of a woman.” Jefferson may not have used the words, but he could have said, “I’m Thomas Jefferson and I approve this message.”

During the Second World War, British Field Marshall Bernard Law Montgomery dismissed his superior, General Dwight D. Eisenhower, with four words: “Nice chap, no soldier.” More than once, Monty tried to take over Eisenhower’s job as allied field commander in Europe.

Vice President Harry S Truman described his boss, President Franklin D. Roosevelt, as “the coldest man I ever knew,” and “a faker.”

Vice President Richard Nixon, who owed everything to President Eisenhower, called Ike “devious,” although he added a Nixonian qualification that he meant the word in its “best sense.” 

Vice President Lyndon Johnson hid his contempt for President John F. Kennedy, whom he regarded as a callow playboy who was physically not up to the job. According to his biographer Robert Caro, LBJ would put his thumb and forefinger together to demonstrate the circumference of JFK’s ankle, suggesting Kennedy was neither physically nor temperamentally fit for power.

In fact, virtually every empire and geopolitical entity in the world has had its usurpers. Second Bananaship inevitably fuels a drive to the top job.

Church historians and cynical observers have wondered if John the Baptist was content with the role. Did he, in fact, actually think of himself as a Second Banana?

The biblical and historic record suggests he was an extraordinarily gifted man with a magnetic personality who attracted thousands to his watery warren in the Jordan River and acknowledged no authority but God’s. He had innumerable disciples who followed him faithfully.

John’s father, Zechariah, foresaw a starring role for the boy:

“And you, child, will be called the prophet of the Most High; for you will go before the Lord to prepare his ways, to give knowledge of salvation to his people by the forgiveness of their sins. By the tender mercy of our God, the dawn from on high will break upon us, to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace.” (Luke 1:76-79)

Later, Luke introduces John with historical precision, marking for posterity the time and place he first appeared:

In the fifteenth year of the reign of Emperor Tiberius, when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, and Herod was ruler of Galilee, and his brother Philip ruler of the region of Ituraea and Trachonitis, and Lysanias ruler of Abilene, during the high priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas, the word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness. He went into all the region around the Jordan, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins, as it is written in the book of the words of the prophet Isaiah, “The voice of one crying out in the wilderness: ‘Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight. Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be made low, and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough ways made smooth; and all flesh shall see the salvation of God.’” (Luke 3:1-6) 

 If there was ever a religious or political leader qualified to think of himself as number one, it was John the Baptist. He is one of a small handful of bible characters who appear in extra-biblical accounts. He is mentioned by the Jewish historian Josephus and he plays a prophetic role in the Qur’an. According to the Encyclopedia of Islam, Yahya ibn Zakkariya, Sufi Muslims hold John in high regard because of the Qur’an’s account of his astute wisdom, unfailing kindness, and sexual purity.

John’s significance as a prophet and first century evangelist has led some scholars to theorize his Second-Banana-to-Jesus status was an after thought made up by uneasy Christians seeking a credible cover story. The fact that Jesus was among several thousand who came to John for baptism suggests to some – including scholars who work so hard to destroy the faith of innocent seminarians – that Jesus initially thought of himself as a disciple of John. All the prophetic references casting John in the role of the “voice crying in the wilderness” to prepare the way for the Messiah came later, these cynics say, to explain why Jesus was baptized by John, a mere Second Banana. 

I think all this distrusting skepticism is understandable.

Most of us find it hard to respect Second Bananas, or to trust them to be loyal to the person at the top. History is too full of Second Bananas who were driven to push their bosses aside and snatch the power away.  

Ideally, Second Bananas should not threaten their bosses. And John the Baptist was no comical sidekick, so some scholars have had difficulty thinking of him as a prophet who would be comfortable as a number two.

The skepticism is understandable because it is so difficult to accept the logic of Jesus’ oxymoronic declaration: “So the last will be first and the first will be last.” (Matthew 20:16)

Jesus also made it clear what happens to Second Bananas who seek to usurp power:

“You know that the rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and their great ones are tyrants over them. It will not be so among you; but whoever wishes to be first among you must also be your slave; just as the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.” (Matthew 20: 25-28)

Perhaps no one in history had a more important supporting role than John the Baptist.

He was, by his own declaration, not the Messiah. His role was to prepare the way, to call people to repentance, to remind them of the preeminence of God in human lives, and to open their hearts and minds to the coming of Jesus.

That may be only a supporting role, but it’s a great one.

When the imprisoned John asked Jesus if he was actually the Messiah, Jesus responds with understanding and love.

Jesus answered them, “Go and tell John what you hear and see:  the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, those with a skin disease are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them. And blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me.”

And Jesus shows he has not lost faith in John:

As they went away, Jesus began to speak to the crowds about John: “What did you go out into the wilderness to look at? A reed shaken by the wind. What, then, did you go out to see? Someone dressed in soft robes? Look, those who wear soft robes are in royal palaces.  What, then, did you go out to see? A prophet? Yes, I tell you, and more than a prophet.  This is the one about whom it is written,

‘See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you,

    who will prepare your way before you.’

 “Truly I tell you, among those born of women no one has arisen greater than John the Baptist.

That is the testimony of Jesus, and that is the verdict of history.

John the Baptist is not the Messiah but neither is he a Second Banana.

In the eyes of God and all who seek to emulate his role every day, his status in the divine hierarchy is clear.

John made it clear with his life and message: Jesus is the Messiah.

John the Baptist is banana number one.

Ten Lepers; Luke17:11-19

Updated.

God Deliver Me From Riches

Sermon prepared for Epiphany Lutheran Church, Bronx, N.Y., September 25, 2022.

But Abraham said (to the rich man in Hades), ‘Child, remember that during your lifetime you received good things, and Lazarus in like manner received evil things; but now he is comforted here, and you are in agony. Besides all this, between you and us a great chasm has been fixed, so that those who might want to pass from here cannot do so, and no one can cross from there to us.’ Luke 16:25-26

No surprises here. Jesus routinely lambasted persons of wealth. Especially unpleasant is this anecdote of the rich man who basks in luxury, scarcely noticing the wretched beggar who dying of psoriatic ulcers and hunger beneath his table. The beggar dies and goes to heaven, while the rich man was consigned to the torments of hell. (Luke 16:19-31). 

Then there the story of the rich young man who abandoned Jesus when he was told to sell all he had and give the proceeds to the poor. (Matthew 19:21)

Too, there is Jesus’ famous clincher that it would be easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to get into heaven. (Mark 10:24)

And there are many other passages that show us God’s love for the poor and disdain for the rich.

James 2:2-5: For if a person with gold rings and in fine clothes comes into your assembly, and if a poor person in dirty clothes also comes in, and if you take notice of the one wearing the fine clothes and say, “Have a seat here, please,” while to the one who is poor you say, “Stand there,” or, “Sit at my feet,” have you not made distinctions among yourselves, and become judges with evil thoughts? Listen, my beloved brothers and sisters. Has not God chosen the poor in the world to be rich in faith and to be heirs of the kingdom that he has promised to those who love him?

Proverbs 22:22-23 .Do not rob the poor because they are poor, or crush the afflicted at the gate; for the LORD pleads their cause and despoils of life those who despoil them. 

And on and on.

Bad news for Jeff Bezos. 

Bad News for Elon Musk. 

Bad news for the Koch brothers. Bad news for Ken Copeland and Creflo Dollar. 

And bad news for most of us. Because millions of us who fall far short of the celebrated one percent are nevertheless richer than any first century rich people could possibly imagine. 

Worse, most of us in that category are as indifferent to the nearly 40 million U.S. residents who live below the poverty line as the rich man was to Lazarus.

These are biblical warnings we should keep in mind the next time we wait hopefully in line to buy multi-million dollar lottery tickets. 

There’s almost no chance we would win, of course, but what if we do? It would ruin our lives. It would suck to be rich.

The other-worldly fate of the rich – almost certain hellfire – is sobering, but perhaps it is too finely drawn. Also dubious is the blissful eternity assigned to the poor. It’s too easy to take these verses and design a dialectic that all rich people are hell bound. And it is equally wrong to anesthetize desperately poor people with a promise of pie in the sky when they die.

But it’s also a bad idea to rationalize these biblical warnings away.  During my undergraduate years as Eastern University, I recall many spirited discussions between evangelicals and social-gospelers about whether a rich person could achieve a heavenly reward. We shrugged off the camel-through-a-needle analogy as hyperbolic humor on Jesus’ part, and we noted his codicil that “with God all things are possible.” (Matthew 19:26) What was harder to explain away was Jesus’ assertion that the rich man had to sell his many possessions and give his money to the poor, because it didn’t sound like he was kidding.

Eastern University (then Eastern Baptist College) provided an atypical academic experience in the late sixties. The beautiful campus offered a cloistered tranquility in Philadelphia’s bustling Main Line, but the times were anything but tranquil. By 1968, the Civil Rights Movement had been eclipsed by urban uprisings, the student protests against the Vietnam War had intensified, the eco-justice movement was budding, and students on sectarian campuses struggled to determine where God fit into it all. 

In some ways, Eastern and the sixties were in mystical sync. The biology department explained creation in the literal terms of the Genesis account, while the religion department insisted evolution was God’s creative modus operandi. There were about 500 students on campus, so everyone got to know everyone else by name, aptitude, and theological slant. Some were evangelicals who believed they were unconditionally saved and spent their time in choirs, prayer groups, and house-to-house visitation to pass out copies of “The Four Spiritual Laws” tract. Others joined the contrary group of social activists who demonstrated for peace and freedom and tried to look serious during anti-war demonstrations which were actually – shall we say – the grooviest of parties.

For those in the latter group, the epistle of James undergirded the basic principles of the social gospel: don’t favor the rich over the poor, love your neighbor, and faith without works is dead.

That seemed to belie the facile assurance of evangelical students that their faith in Jesus was the key to salvation, not their work in food pantries or peace marches.

Back then, social gospel Baptists were so insulated from other currents of Christianity that it was easy to dismiss once-saved-always-saved evangelicals as minions of trailer parks and tent crusades. 

Actually, the notion of “salvation by faith” was over 500 years old. Martin Luther declared it was the grace of God that saved people, not their goodness.

Luther, who systematically excised biblical books he didn’t like (declaring then “Apocrypha”), didn’t care for James’ smug missive, which he called “an epistle of straw.” 

Luther objected to the church’s habit of extorting “good works” from its beleaguered congregations for its own profit, and he declared a gospel of works was a tool of the devil.

Given the corruption of the church in Luther’s day, it’s hard to disagree with him.

In our day, however, James seems to be raising urgently legitimate questions:

What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if you say you have faith but do not have works? Can faith save you? If a brother or sister is naked and lacks daily food, and one of you says to them, “Go in peace; keep warm and eat your fill,” and yet you do not supply their bodily needs, what is the good of that? So faith by itself, if it has no works, is dead. James 2:14-17.

That’s another way of saying that if one truly has faith, good works must follow automatically. There can be no good works in the absence of faith. And if faith is present, good works cannot be stifled.

That’s a sobering thought for any faithful Christian who has stepped over a sleeping homeless person or brushed off a hungry pan-handler, as most of us do.

But most of us ignore human needs far greater than that and assuage our guilt in precisely the fashion James warns us about: by praying for the desperate, as if to invite them to “keep warm and eat your fill.”

For months, tens of thousands of Ukrainian migrants have streaming into Europe to escape certain death in the Russian invasion that has threatened their country's existence. After some debate and hesitation, the nations of Europe are opening their doors to thousands of refugees who might otherwise die on their journeys of escape.

But for persons of faith, this good work should have been automatic. Naturally we have been praying earnestly for poor and endangered people, but some Christian leaders proposed direct action – faith-based good works that can save lives. Pope Francis opened the doors of the Vatican to shelter families of refugees “fleeing death,” and he has called in Catholic parishes, convents, and monasteries across Europe to do the same.

There are, of course, an abundance of crises at home and abroad that cry out for us to prove the bona fides of our faith through good works.

According to the 2020 census, more than 37.9 million persons in the U.S. live below the poverty line, and most of them need more than our advice to keep warm and eat their fill. 

Not long ago, the United Nations general secretariat release this message:

“Projections indicate that in 2015 more than 600 million people worldwide will still be using unimproved water sources, almost one billion will be living on an income of less than $1.25 per day, mothers will continue to die needlessly in childbirth, and children will suffer and die from preventable diseases. Hunger remains a global challenge, and ensuring that all children are able to complete primary education remains a fundamental, but unfulfilled, target that has an impact on all the other Goals. Lack of safe sanitation is hampering progress in health and nutrition, biodiversity loss continues apace, and greenhouse gas emissions continue to pose a major threat to people and ecosystems. The goal of gender equality also remains unfulfilled, again with broad negative consequences, given that achieving the MDGs depends so much on women’s empowerment and equal access by women to education, work, health care and decision-making.”

Most of the world’s churches have endorsed the U.N.’s Millennium Development Goals that were originally set to alleviate these problems by 2015.

Some economists, including Jeffrey David Sachs, point out that a nation as rich as the United States has within its means the ability to wipe out poverty.

But a good work of that magnitude will require a lot more faith than has yet been manifest.

Some Christians, sanguinely saved by faith, even argue against the good works that could eliminate poverty. They quote Jesus that the poor will always be with us, and some intimate that people are poor because they don’t work hard enough.

We don’t need James to be reminded that kind of faith is dead.

And we don’t need the parable of Lazarus and the rich man to be reminded of another consequence we will never be allowed to forget:

It would be a curse to be rich.