Showing posts with label silence. Show all posts
Showing posts with label silence. Show all posts

Monday, March 26, 2018

Sermon: Contrasts


Cathedral Church of St. Paul, Detroit

Palm / Passion Sunday

by The Rev. Vicki Hesse, Assisting

Palm Sunday (Year B) March 25, 2018

Listen on SoundCloud here.

In the name of God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen+

Good morning! it is an honor
to share with you this morning, 
this special milestone in our life together called
Palm/Passion Sunday.

Today’s full ceremony
of prayer and readings,
tempts me to say nothing. 
The readings kind of speak for themselves. And, at the same time,
they beg for explanation. 
Today,
the contrasts and paradoxes of Holy Week
meet us as we journey to Jerusalem with Jesus.

The city of Jerusalem, in Jesus’ time,
with a population of about 30,000,
would swell to as many as 80,000
during the festival of Passover.

Because of the crowds,
the occupying Roman authorities
would get nervous ever year.
The Roman governor and
an extra contingent of imperial troops
would come to Jerusalem
in case things got out of control.
A visible sign of force and rule. 

As many scholars have written[1],
it is quite likely
that Jesus planned his entry into Jerusalem
specifically to contrast
the time that Pilate entered the city.

So “…that spring day in the year 30,”
two contrasting processions entered Jerusalem.
From the east, Jesus rode a donkey
down the Mount of Olives
in a peasant procession.
From the west, Governor Pontius Pilate
entered Jerusalem
in an imperial procession.

These two processions show
the central conflict and contrasts
leading to Jesus’ crucifixion:
his message of Love,
and his compassion and commitment
for the poor,
declare the already-present kingdom of God
over and against both
the Roman Imperial power and
the Jewish high-priestly influence.

So many contrasts!
·         The charismatic teacher
riding triumphantly into Jerusalem,
was also the one betrayed, abandoned and humbled, facing death.
·         The people’s adoration of him
giving way to cries for crucifixion.
·         His consolation for us
giving way to his anguish and uncertainty
before God.
·         His extensive message of compassion
giving way to an unnerving silence.
·         As human, Jesus was offensive and there were even contrasts in who rejected him: rich and poor,
conservative, liberal and revolutionary, pious and impious, enemies and friends.

So many contrasts!
And in our society today, we, too, see contrasts:
·         We yearn for peace and yet we go to war.   
·         We want to be a nation of great values, yet we use violence to control.
·         Our culture values vitality yet our bodies are frail.
·         School bullies get away with violence,
yet we know God calls us to love, anyway.
·         Leaders, from which we expect the best behavior,
stoop to the lowest moral responses.
·         Our bellies are full, yet our neighbors are hungry.

Our lives are full of contrasts.
Where is God in this mess?! 

Where, indeed?

In the 1st century (as in the 20th century)
it was not easy to recognize
this shockingly human person, Jesus
the son of Mary,
as the One who was also son of God,
God with us.
In the contrasting drama of his passion,
Jesus forced options. 
He didn’t manipulate behavior,
he stood before others in that tragic gap,
holding a silence, so that a response
could no longer be ambiguous.

His vulnerability revealed his divine power – and the leaders’ choices revealed their values. 
In his own moment of truth, Jesus gave his life. 

Those who were “keeping watch” saw, finally, who he was, God’s Son, with utter clarity.
They saw, along with the Centurion,
the One whose love for us
bears all things, believes all things,
hopes all things and endures all things.

These contrasts exposed a Jesus who was
truly human and truly God,
and in that paradox
of the seemingly absurd but really true,
the contrasts shout out loud
that through Jesus, God’s love never ends.[2]

Why Palm / Passion Sunday for us, today?

Because we need to hear again
the enduring narrative of God’s story:
God’s radical life in the person of Jesus,
his unceasing presence with humankind,
and his claim on the divine reign
over the political and social
“powers and principalities.”  

We need to hear again the story that reveals Jesus’ vulnerability as a human
and power as God.
In the midst of our paradoxical time,
we need that story
to captivate our imaginations,
to help us make sense of the world, and
to guide us to recognize God’s presence.

And perhaps, through this drama,
Jesus’ humanity and divinity
“compels us - each - into
our own moment of truth.”[3]

Because, see, he was like us,
a multitude of both/ands at any given moment.
Showing us that
we can adopt what researcher and professor Brene Brown calls,
“a spiritual practice of belonging” –
one that originates from
the paradox of our lives. 

A spiritual practice of belonging means
being able to stand alone
when we are called to do so;
to straddle the tension of yes/and,
knowing we are part of something
bigger than us.

A spiritual practice of belonging means
When we are really struggling with someone,
we can get curious, get closer, ask questions,
try to connect.  Lean in.

·         We see this in the “march for our lives”
for gun control by those whose voice,
in a sense, doesn’t matter
(they are under 18 and not voters)
and yet their voice is what matters
for the future of our nation.
They stood unafraid of the powers of evil.
They resisted, held silence, and all
With the power of Love.
They are leaning in. They are getting closer.

Why Palm/Passion Sunday?
To save us, to save me, from ourselves,
from a world
that teaches that what matters
is mostly “what I want”
rather than seeing the possibility
that meeting my neighbor’s need
will also satisfy my own heart’s deepest desire.  

In the midst of these contrasts
we are compelled by God’s Love.
This is our moment of truth, in the contrasts
of Hosanna and Crucify him. 
In our moment of truth,
Jesus is present in the spiritual reality
of our inextricable connection.

This contrasting drama
draws us into that paradox of
God’s intimate, delicate last breath and
God’s powerful resurrection
in the person of Jesus Christ. 

So here we are, in this thin place,
where distinctions between time & eternity
fall away, where we proclaim how
the death of Jesus is integral to our life in God and where we journey with Jesus in the tension of both/and.

As we journey with Jesus this week,
May we know in the deepest part of our soul
God’s love for us on earth
as it already is in heaven.

Amen



[1] Marcus Borg, The Last Week: A Day-by-Day Account of Jesus’s Final Week in Jerusalem, (HarperCollins, San Francisco, 2006), p. 2-4

[2] 1 Cor 13:4-8: Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends. But as for prophecies, they will come to an end; as for tongues, they will cease; as for knowledge, it will come to an end.


[3] David J. Schlafer, What Makes This Day Different?: Preaching Grace on Special Occasions, (Cambridge, Cowley, 1998), p. 86

Monday, June 18, 2012

Why I Wake Early

This is the juicy time of day. Early morning.

Even in this transition-place between "Commencement" and commencing, between "Ordination" and serving as one ordained, between potential and actuality, I rise early.  It's not just because the cat leaps on my belly ("ooomph!"), or because the dogs in the upstairs apartment clomp around the hardwood floor, or because over-hydrating all day means I have to pee.  I'm not sure, exactly, why I rise early. But I do.

But when I do, I am rewarded with delicious silence, to sit with God. Pray. Read. Breath in, breath out. 

I think Mary Oliver has it sorted out....

Why I Wake Early

Hello, sun in my face
Hello, you who make the morning
and spread it over the fields
and into the faces of the tulips
and the nodding morning glories,
and into the windows of, even, the
miserable and the crotchety--

best preacher that ever was,
dear star, that just happens
to be where you are in the universe
to keep us from ever-darkness,
to ease us with warm touching,
to hold us in the great hands of light--
good morning, good morning, good morning.

Watch, now how I start the day
in happiness, in kindness.


Why do you wake early?


Thursday, December 30, 2010

renewal

recipe for vacation:

sleep-in each day, well past normal waking hours

rise before the sun at least once

read a book until the sun sets

bake chocolate chip cookies from scratch and eat every one of them

walk on the beach at least a hour a day, mindfully

journal when muse shows up

pray silently on balcony overlooking the waves

follow training plan and run along sand prescribed (but estimated) distance, stepping in rivers and scaring seagulls out of the way

stay up late watching movies online

play scrabble. lose. have fun anyway.

stare at the beach area for minutes at a time. watch the waves, the birds, the (few) people. notice the dolphins.

dip or float in the over-heated pool

do nothing

breathe in

breathe out

pray without ceasing

show up to this moment


I hate the two-faced, but I love your clear-cut revelation. You're my place of quiet retreat; I wait for your Word to renew me. Ps 119:113 (The Message)

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

On Not Clinging

I recently blogged about Cynthia Bourgeault's talk on wisdom ways of knowing.

In her expansive wonderings of the heart, the instrument "par excellence of wisdom," she connected our heart's ability to know deeply. We are to obey the heart - which means to listen from the depths. It is the heart, she states, that is perfect and our work is to get in touch with the heart and to explore any places where the signals to the heart "get jammed."

So how do we open our heart?

This question has been stewing in my spiritual crockpot ever since.

In Philippians, St. Paul writes about Jesus' ability to have the same mind as in Christ, and not cling to God. He emptied himself... perhaps this is the secret of his teaching - to not grab on.

My morning silent prayer time is strengthening this open-my-heart and learn-to-let go muscle. It's a paradox of allowing openness while detaching from the outcome.

So today, I pray to let go, with love.

What are you not clinging onto, in this moment?