Sermon to St. Thomas of Canterbury, Temecula
Summary
Bishop Mathes challenges the people of St. Thomas, Temecula to discover who is their mission.
Message
Advent III, B
December 11, 2011
St. Thomas of Canterbury, Temecula
Isaiah 61: 1-4, 8-11
John 1: 6-8, 19-28
Come Holy Spirit: Touch our minds and think with them, touch our lips and speak with them and touch our hearts and set them on fire with love for you. AMEN.
We come to this service and this sacred space today for different reasons. Some come to hear a good sermon. Others are drawn by the liturgy and music. No doubt some stir from their beds to see friends. Still others are here to get right with God. And a few are here out of habit. And so we settle ourselves in our chairs and we wait to receive that for which we came. And in Advent, this season of expectation, we are taught that we are to wait—wait for God.
In another time of expectation and waiting, there was a man named John. The author of our gospel for today, another also named John, does not add an additional appellation, “the baptist or baptizer.” No, he is simply John. To those whom he encounters, he is a puzzling presence. To the priests and Levites, he first says who he is not: not the Messiah, not a prophet, just John who quotes the prophets, a voice, a preparer, a washer of those who come with water, and an unworthy one. As my children are wont to say, John might say, “Not it!”
This John is different from the norm in this opportunistic, consumer, egoist world of ours: my rights, my property, my time, my church. If we are not careful, as we may come today for our own needs, for our own lives, for our hopes, we are apt to make coming to church like going to a store, a restaurant or a movie. And we will ask, what am I getting out of this? A few weeks ago, I was just getting into my sermon when a man in the very back row of this rather large church started waving his hand back and forth. I correctly understood that he was having trouble hearing me, so I took the volume up a notch. Then after few moments a fellow in the same pew hollered, “bishop we cannot hear you.” Well, since it was the eight o’clock service and being Episcopalians, the first couple of pews had plenty of spots available, so I invited him to take advantage of that abundance. Just as I was starting to move back into my sermon, I heard him say, “I have sat here for years.” Indeed, not just my church, but my pew! Even in this season of Advent, we can make our waiting for Jesus be about us: our waiting for Jesus rather than our waiting for Jesus. John stands as a clear statement to us: “It is not about us; it is not about you.”
John comes as a witness, or in Greek, martyr. In this gospel of signs and wonders of Jesus, he is the first sign post pointing beyond himself to one who is already present, yet unnoticed. As the writer of this gospel describes him, “He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light.” I am reminded the painting by fifteenth century German artist, Matthias Grunewald, of the crucified Christ. On the left is depicted John the baptist pointing in an almost impossible way with an overly elongated finger. The great Swiss theologian, Karl Barth, kept a copy of this very painting over his desk for over fifty years. For this theological giant, John was a model. I would suggest that he is for us today: pointing to Jesus, witnessing to Jesus, and mirroring the light of Christ.
Yet, in this twenty-first century, when we ourselves may come here for ourselves and when so many people simply do not think to come, we may well wonder, how are we to witness? Truth be told: there is great antagonism to the message of Jesus and the witnessing church. Rather than an antagonism and resistance that leads to persecution as it once did, today it is much more likely to lead to us being ignored and marginalized. No wonder we try to bring folks to church by presenting what we offer as a product to consider.
However, we need not despair or be fearful. There is reason to even be joyful. As Paul told the Christians in Thessalonica, “Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances….” For, this is an incredible age of mission. God is up to something; God is always up to something. Today in Temecula, California, in the year of our Lord 2011, God has a mission. And God is inviting us to join in that mission.
And that mission has not changed through the ages. Indeed, it was once upon a time placed on the lips of the prophet, whom Hebrew Scripture scholars call Third Isaiah. His words are nothing less than our mission instruction. We are to: “bring good news to the oppressed, to bind up the broken hearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and release to the prisoners; to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor….” As Luke tells of the beginning of Jesus’ ministry, it is this portion of scripture that he reads. This is what God’s mission is about. It is what Jesus is about; it is we, the body of Christ, are to be about.
And we probably do not have to look too long before we can get to work. For if this gathering is normative, then there are among us, some who are oppressed by a fragile economy that is just about to pull him under. There is probably someone who is captive to a relationship which is all but dead. And statistics tell us that one in thirteen of us are imprisoned by addiction. The broken-hearted are in this sacred place.
And the broken-hearted are in our mission field, in the neighborhoods, the businesses, and the stores of Temecula. They are oppressed by poverty or captive to their immigration status or imprisoned by mental illness. To each of us and to all God’s children, this is the year of the Lord’s favor. In spite of wars, disease, human brokenness of all manner, God’s justice is mighty and his mercy is everlasting.
What’s missing is you and me. What’s missing is a church that believes that it is not about us. What’s missing is the missional church. Now, here in Temecula, over the last few years, we have been talking a lot about church. We have been talking about building a church. We have been talking about building this building. But this is not the church. The church is anywhere and everywhere that God’s people do mission. It is church when you “bring good news to the oppressed, bind up the broken hearted, proclaim liberty to the captives, and release to the prisoners; proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor….”
Now, you might be saying to yourself, “I can’t do that.” Those are lofty and poetic words, but God does not really expect us to do that. We have too much else to worry about: our families, jobs, bills, and don’t forget the church bills. Surely bishop: you want us to deal with that. And John reaches across the ages and says again, it is not about you. (POINT) It is about the one: “I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandal.” This is the same John whose clarion call to those who come to him is “repent.” Change! And yet as Flannery O’Conner once wrote to a friend, “All human nature vigorously resists grace because grace changes us and the change is painful.” The call to repent and the grace that pours upon us in our positive response will make us move—perhaps even pushing that fella I mentioned earlier out of his comfortable pew. It will place us, as Rowan Williams has said of our baptism, “in solidarity not of our own choosing.” If we are going to be a part of the body of Christ, a Jesus people, then we will pick up this mission of transformation.
We will discern the hurts and hopes of those who inhabit our mission field. We will find the broken-hearted and “give them a garland, instead of ashes, the oil of gladness, instead of mourning, the mantle of praise, instead of mourning.”
A couple of weeks ago, I was at St. Andrew’s-by-the-Sea in Pacific Beach. It is a small worshipping congregation of around seventy-five people. As they looked upon their community, they saw the broken hearted in the faces of the homeless who walked their streets. And so on Tuesday nights, they gather for a meal and eat together with any of the homeless and hungry who wish to join them. After the tables are cleared, they celebrate Eucharist. In some respect, it is easy for them to grasp their mission. Their witness to the light of Christ is literally to those who walk by their door. Broken-heartedness is indelibly written on the faces of their neighbors. It may take a bit more puzzling for this mission outpost in this mission field.
And so, I want to conclude by giving this community a charge. Discern what God is calling you to do. Reflect on the words of Isaiah, “bring good news to the oppressed, to bind up the broken hearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and release to the prisoners; to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor….” Take John as your model. Witness to the Christ who we worship; seek Christ in your neighbor in earthly ways. Too often in today’s church we ask the question, “What do we need to do build up the church?” That is the wrong question. We should be asking, “Who is our mission?” Who is your mission? That is the question. And when you find the correct answer, you will be changed. You will find grace. You will not need to come into this building to be church. And so, repent, witness, do the mission.
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