Begin anywhere.

Esme was born in England and raised in Chepstow, a Norman town on the Welsh/English border. She has B.S. in business administration/marketing from Portland State University and a master of divinity from Church Divinity School of the Pacific. Prior to becoming a priest, she was CEO of an executive recruiting firm. She served as associate rector at Grace Memorial in Portland, rector at St. Aidan's in Portland and as supply priest at Calvary Episcopal Church in Seaside.

Fourth Sunday in Lent

Joshua 5:9-12

Psalm 32

2 Corinthians 5:16-21

Luke 15: 1-3,11b-32

Where The Heart Is

If you have read J. R. R. Tolkien’s epic masterwork, “The Lord of the Rings,”[1] you will be well acquainted with the life and likes of Bilbo Baggins, a fine and humble Hobbit, who suddenly finds himself pulled away from his comfy, somewhat benign and predictable slipper kind of life at home, into adventures he could never have imagined, let alone encounter, as he was destined to do. The four books which tell of these adventures taking place in a mythical middle earth, are filled with the kind of theology you and I work to understand. The lessons learned in Middle Earth, enjoyed by young and old alike, around the world, are not far removed from the lessons brought to us through the parables of Jesus. Stories of good prevailing over evil, of unknowing and trust, of humble and contrite hearts, of forgiveness and grace.

What springs immediately to mind when thinking about the Hobbits is a reminder of their innate generosity. If you have read the books, you will remember that, rather than wait for someone to hold a birthday party in one’s honor, the Hobbit arranges for a birthday party for his family and friends… giving thanks for their presence in his life, and indeed, as far as his parents were concerned, for giving him life in the first place. So, the birthday celebration does not seek to bring attention and focus to the birthday of the Hobbit himself, rather that auspicious day is meant to celebrate others through gifts of joyous gratitude. 

All this said, it would seem to make sense that the well-known parable we call the Parable of the Prodigal Son, heard today, would be easily understood by Tolkien’s Hobbits, and all others whose hearts reside in a place of humble hospitality and joyous recognition of others.

Jesus tells the story of a wealthy farmer and his two sons. Both are due to inherit a goodly sum from their father after his death. The younger son, however, somehow convinces his father that he should not have to wait for his share of the inheritance, and his father responds by fulfilling his request for what he feels already belongs to him. As we know, off goes the son to quickly spend his share of his father’s hard-earned money, on high living in the world, and, as expected, the money is soon gone, slipping through his foolish hands like sand. And, without a single coin to his name, he finds himself eating pig slop in order to survive. At this, he makes the decision to return to his father, who, at the very least, might give him a paid job, even if the work be at the bottom of the pecking order among the hired help.

Filled with humiliation and shame, he returns home. He practices his speech in order to have the right words to say before being cast out as disowned. He cannot imagine anything but the worst kind of welcome, filled with anger, blame and judgement, so he must not have been looking forward to the conversation about to ensue with dear old Dad. He is first sighted by his father as he walks over the hill overlooking the familiar homestead. His father joyously runs with open arms toward his younger son, his heart overflowing with compassion to greet him. It is the most unexpected reception the son could ever have imagined and before he has a chance to spill out his prepared speech, his father kissed him, a fine robe was thrust around him, a ring placed on his finger, a great feast was begun and most of the town was invited. I confess, I cannot stop thinking of a 1960’s MGM production here, maybe starring Spencer Tracy as the father and a young Burt Lancaster as the son! But no matter. For the cast was already set. For the father, it was a very big deal to see his son returned and, indirectly for all those who loved the father and witnessed his joy, it was a singular pleasure to revel in it with him. 

It would be so comfortable and easy if the story ended on this note. Just as it would have been far more comfortable not to have withstood all the challenges interrupting the happy life of the Hobbit Bilbo Baggins. But life most usually isn’t that smooth and the endings, while sometimes quite happy, are never really perfect.

There is another brother in the story, for whom none of this over-the-top welcome makes sense. During the entire time his brother has been gone, he has been the faithful, hardworking son, not expecting to use his coming wealth before its time, or in any way other than to continue in his father’s footsteps. For years he has worked hard without any overt appreciation or party thrown in his honor. At this huge celebration at his brother’s return, he is angry. Fed up. He would have most likely preferred to see his brother relegated to the lowest, most menial job on the farm, undergoing hardship and humiliation among those who used to pay him respect as a son of the landowner. That, at least, could have given some satisfaction.

Alas, so it is that in the human heart, cold justice too often ignores other human hearts involved and has no idea of the contents held within, thus counting their fate as not worth thinking about. This kind of worldly justice finds no place for forgiveness. At this unexpected and ceremonious welcome, he doesn’t want anything to do with his ne’er-do well younger brother and despite his father’s pleas for him to come to the party to greet his brother, he’ll have none of it. 

And here we are. Safely landed back on earth, with our very earthy, human responses. Back from the mythology of extreme generosity that lived in Middle Earth, back from the happy-ever-after fairy tales that seem to stop at the moment of all-ends-well, before too much can go wrong. After all, isn’t that why we call them fairy tales? They are not real. Human hearts that dwell in revenge or resentment are real. 

Jesus’ story is very real, and lifts up very real, human relationships and the complications of deep feelings, well-placed and well-intentioned, as well as feelings, while understandable, don’t often get us where we would really like to be. And yet, the parable does not ignore evil, does not belittle God’s way and justice is served, even though in a way we would never have thought possible. 

After all, it isn’t hard for us to understand the feelings of the hard-working brother after his responsible work for his father, his admirable behavior and care of his father’s land. And it isn’t too much of a stretch for us to think the younger brother should have to pay at some point. He’s the one who’s been playing at have a good time all these years, thoroughly enjoying himself, and now, instead of having his come-uppance, he’s arrived back home, penniless and with nothing to show for his time away, to yet another party in his honor. Our human hearts understand the elder brother’s anger. Who wouldn’t understand his being royally ticked off at his brother, and even at his father? How could his father be so blind!

Yet, as St. Paul says, we have to stop thinking about the relationship just described between the two brothers in human terms as he explained, “we regard no one from human point of view; even though we once knew Christ from a human point of view, we know him no longer in that way.”.[2] Paul reminds of that through his own suffering and death, Jesus took the place of the sinner in this story, just as he took the place for all sinners, including you and me, taking on all our iniquities and our turning away from God. Jesus is with us in the midst of all our human mess, which he overcomes. 

As professed Christians, we in turn, are adopted into that sinless One so that, even though we understand Jesus in his humanity, feeling, suffering as we do, we also understand and accept his resurrection and return to the Divine. We understand that we are reconciled to God through Christ, and thus we hold the ministry and capability of reconciliation in our hearts. This means, we do not count the trespasses against others but rather work toward reconciliation, just as as we are reconciled to God who forgives all our trespasses. 

In other words, let us begin to think of our relationships with the heart of the Divine. Perhaps one way to think about our approach to all our relationships, regardless of their circumstances or degree of difficulty, or even of their ease and tranquility, is to approach them as St. Benedict would say, with the “ear of our heart.” In other words, with the heart of the Divine. To place our heart where it can meet and be reconciled with the Divine.It is with the Divine heart that the father greets his younger son, and pleads with his older son, as well. 

Human reactions are not the focus of Jesus’ parable. We know the son feels afraid as he approaches his home after spending all his father’s inheritance and we know that his brother is boiling mad when he sees what he perceives to be unfair on the part of his brother’s welcome, and of his own sense of isolation from that welcome.

Rather Jesus focuses on the movement of the Divine in the heart of the father. The father does not react in a very understandable and human way, flailing in anger and blame at the sight of his long-lost and wayward son. Nor does he reprimand the older brother for his very human reaction of anger and bitterness toward his younger brother. He neither defends nor blames, which are very human reactions in a multitude of situations we all come across in our relationships, familial or between friends, at work or with all sorts of groups and institutions in which we are a part.

Rather, we are made witness to the father’s own abundance of joyous love, not just for one, but for many. There is no limit to his love. There is plenty for all. “All that is mine is yours,” exclaims the father when talking to his older son. In other words, there is no less love for you than for the other. My love is without condition and has no end. 

What has happened in the past has no impact on the father’s love. What might happen in the future has no impact on that unending love, either. The father is, you might say, in the moment. His heart is in the moment of the Divine, he is experiencing a moment where the divine heart has taken hold of the human heart to show it the way of the Divine. As Paul put it to the Christians in Corinth, “So if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new!”[3]

For the Divine Heart, the past counts for nothing. It has no place in the present moment for the Divine heart. And yet, the past and future, the blame and the warnings always seems to count for everything in the human heart. It is this inclusion of what has happened in the past, and what the outcome should be that steals away any opportunity for unconditional and overflowing love from our hearts, turning us away from the Way to God’s Kingdom on earth. 

Like the Hobbits and their birthday parties for the ones they love, the father is responding to the ones he loves and is ready to lift them up in celebration no matter who they are or what they have done. 

Through his parable, Jesus teaches us about God’s love for us. Abounding love, consistent, unconditional love. In our humanity, we get confused about love and put a price on it too quickly. I will love you, if…. I will love you when…. If you loved me you would…. How do I know you love me if you don’t…. I leave it to you to fill in the blanks. 

It will take perseverance, practice and deep awareness far beyond Lent for us to recognize our many personal sins of resentment, judgment, as our own pig-troughs continue to fill with envy and complaint. Yet, just as the son was welcomed back with open arms and non-judgmental love, so are we welcomed continually to return to God, the Divine Heart, no questions asked. 

Our human hearts are always waiting for the bad guy to get his, or her just deserts and we want the good guy to be vindicated. But for this to happen, war, at any level, must break out. Good must prevail over evil. Evil desires to win at all costs for selfish gain. What starts as a war in the human heart, is in danger of growing to such proportions that it infects the human hearts of others, and resentments, greed and lust for power, casts a fire of hell over all that could be at peace whether between two human hearts or the nations of the world. 

That said, it is clear we live on the side of a very slippery slope. We were created by God to be in relationship with God; in relationship with one another, and in harmony with God and in harmony with all of God’s created beings. It is when we fall out of relationship with God, when we allow our lives to become fragmented, distorted and broken due to the human need to be right, or to win, that we find ourselves lost in a fog of indirection. 

God’s deepest desire is for continual renewal of God’s creation and all God’s created beings. Only through God’s people can creation be repaired and restored, and we do not have time for human reactions to take final control over the Divine possibility that dwells within us. Perhaps the Hobbits were ahead of their time and could teach us a thing or two about awareness of where our hearts are. 

This story has little to do with wayward children and everything to do with the infinite height and depth, width and breadth of God’s limitless compassion and love and divine justice that transcends our ability to fathom it. 

For us to gain a foothold to lift us back into the safety of that Divinely held grace, compassion and mercy, we must remember the scope of God’s Divine Heart, always searching, always healing, always forgiving, always bringing the one that was lost, like you and like me, back home. 

Here is a prayer, God Has A Dream,in his book, A Vison of Hope For our Time, written by the late Bishop Desmond Tutu:

“I have a dream, God says. Please help Me to realize it. It is a dream of a world whose ugliness and squalor and poverty, its war and hostility, its greed and harsh competitiveness, its alienation and disharmony are changed into their glorious counterparts, when there will be more laughter, joy and peace, where there will be justice and goodness and compassion and love and caring and sharing. I have a dream that swords will be beaten into plowshares and spears into pruning hooks, that My children will know that they are members of one family, the human family, God’s family, My family.”[4] 

Amen.

Written to the Glory of God

E. J. R. Culver+

March 30, 2025

[1]J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings, (George Allen and Unwin (UK), 1937. 

[2]2 Corinthians 5:16

[3]2 Corinthians 5:17

[4]Desmond Tutt, God Has A Dream: A Vision of Hope for Our Time (New York: Doubleday, 2004),19-20.

The Third Sunday in Lent

Exodus 3:1-15

Psalm 63:1-8

1 Corinthians 10:1-13

Luke 13:1-9

SILK TREE THEOLOGY

When the nights were long and the mornings foggily dark and damp, from out of the depths, out of the darkness, out of holy ground, a minute piece of root left behind from the remains of a long since dead, old and broken down Silk Tree, formed a pale green grass-like shoot that began to move toward the light of day.

What awaited it there, it could not know. Nor was it capable of knowing. All it knew was to be obediently responsive to a call promising that if it kept on moving, its faithful work would be rewarded. The promise it understood was that there would be life-giving light and something would be tangible. While it could not understand the physicality of that promise, it did sense through whatever sensory gifts it had been given, that there would also be an indefinable and intangible opportunity to experience life in a new way, a way promised since the beginning of time, a way that, followed with faith and determination, never seemed to fail.

Somehow the little shoot underst00d that it could trust this way, even though it still could not be seen, perhaps so that it would be undaunted by the unseen and it would just keep moving until all could be seen and the little shoot, too, could be seen so that it could see its world revealed in a completely new way. The little shoot began to grow into its new way, then rested to prepare for what would happen next.

So it was for Moses. A simple man, small, tending his flocks, unchanging and unknowing, and yet invited, as are all God’s people to venture forward on to holy ground. We are invited to come before God in order to hear God’s word and to find the courage to follow the guidance for living found there. For Moses, it was the voice of God coming out of a burning bush that would not, could not, be consumed. Just as for us are hard-to-understand instincts that cause us to stop, turn and pray, call to listen, for once, to God’s voice, rather than the noise of the world.

What God had to say to Moses wasn’t easy for Moses to hear and, often, what God has to say to each of us isn’t easy to hear either. Would that any of us had it so easy as did the little green shoot. To be simply called up into the world, nothing more, nothing less. And yet, just how easy was that call in the life of the little shoot sensing only a call to keep moving forward with little else to rely on but trust.

To continue moving through dark unknowing, in trust that we will reach a place where each of us can fulfill our own particular destiny, a destiny designed to be embraced and received as fully acceptable, as fully authentic, as designed by an unseen voice, and to be received as one belonging in the place made available for us in the revealing light of day, takes courage, determination and faith in that unseen call.

The little shoot cannot know or understand the complexities of how it was created, the meaning of survival, or how its urge for survival gives it the strength to push its frail blade against a particularly hard clod of dirt or a pebble buried deep in the earth, barring its way. It only knows, deep in its DNA that it must and will keep moving in as straight a line as possible in order to reach the light. 

Within the complexities of our lives we meet the same hard clods of dirt, the same pebbles buried deep in the ground of our intentions and yet, rather than simply try to move through them or around them, we, too often, allow them to impede our progress, and we are quick to place the blame for our delay in reaching our destination.

Moses needed to push his way through his own obligations, his insecurities and indecision, his profound preferences, and to be given the chance to explain the reasons for his personal choices. Like us, Moses had all these and felt comfortable in his role as shepherd, with hearth and home a known and acceptable part of his life. 

Now he is being called to change all that; to leave it behind; to step out into the world in a new way; to do nothing less than to rescue and shepherd a nation of people. It seems an impossible task for Moses, and if he were to follow a path of his own choosing, he would likely have stayed put, or been pulled into other still-unknown directions which might have been unfulfilling or even disastrous.

When it comes to personal preferences, we’re not really much different than Moses. We allow ourselves to be controlled by our misguided needs and desires, making decisions that seem satisfying at the time, but tend to leave us feeling empty, undernourished, leading to life that seems acceptable, yet put to the risk of a kind of starvation and ultimate death of the soul.

The little shoot, unencumbered by choice, continues to make its way, like a pilgrim on a dark Lenten walk, one step at a time, in patient acceptance and trust that the light of Easter will eventually come. 

In the midst of our own Lenten walk, we, too, come to seek the Light, continually searching for answers that can only come with an enlightened awareness of our own deep call.

Once learning of that, much like a small shoot rising out of a single cell, we are called to walk on in trust, through this dark time of unknowing we call Lent and beyond. We are called by God to keep moving, in anticipation for what, we are unsure. We hear the voice of God when we set out to listen for it. “The Lord God called to the man, and said to him, “Where are you? He said, ‘I heard the sound of you in the garden, and I was afraid……” [1]

Like Adam, we are afraid of what God asks of us, but like Moses, we are to summon the courage to respond. God wants to be there with us at our greatest times of uncertainty and doubt about what direction we should take, and how we are to enter on to a path that God wishes us to take. Too often the holy ground we are invited to enter seems too difficult to encounter, guarded by a burning bush of our own making and yet which we cannot seem to understand, yet seems to challenge us, daring us to come closer. 

Holy Ground is that of God. And how sad it seems that when obstacles, real or imagined, rise up to block our way, we either don’t notice God’s abundance of gifts freely given to us, or we are reluctant to let go of our own definition of Godly living in order to allow God to be a part of it. 

It is when we allow God to enter the conversation about our own particular destiny that we hear our singular call to move forward, perhaps in a very different way. Perhaps in a way that is outside the expected, outside the ordinary of our lives.

To allow God in is to move away from the ordinary. We are offered an opportunity to think about living a life that transcends the ordinary….a life that grows beyond our known comforts or beyond our own self-sanctification of what we think we deserve. Ours is a world that has those kinds of limits and, like a fenced mansion, we can become entrapped by our own self-identity and meaning in life that has been fashioned by our own view of ourselves, with no or little input from God.

Yet, with all that being true, as the psalmist reminds us, God enters easily into the ordinary. The psalmist thinks of God as he lies in his bed, as he pads around his room in the middle of the night, and he shows us that God can just as easily be found there, in the ordinary. It is the ordinary that becomes extraordinary, as our trust in God grows with more ease and as God just as easily then, enters in.

Spurred on by its innate ability to respond to God’s creative call, the little shoot has continued faithfully on its way. It has become slightly misshapen but the hard clod of dirt has been split wide open and the pebble, buried so deep in the earth has been moved. Would that we could be so content to simply grow, mindlessly trusting in an expected outcome that has nothing to do with our control over the situation.

For instance, we just heard about the Galileans who are in conversation with Jesus. They are angry at the treatment and working conditions of their fellow countrymen under the thumb of the Romans. You can’t blame them for being angry about what they have heard, even though there’s a chance that what they are hearing of not being absolutely true. Regardless, they want Jesus to control the situation, to do something about it, to fix it,

But Jesus does not enter this place of blame and condemnation and focuses his attention on the angry faces before him. His call for their repentance, their about face from anger to self-awareness is a tall order. Yet Jesus challenges them on they way they are allowing themselves to be defined by the forces that surround them. Jesus calls us just as he calls them to be aware of our own actions before we come to conclusions about how to deal with life on our own terms without any input from God. 

It is into this world filled with discontent that Jesus tells the parable of the old fig tree, no longer vey productive. The farmer sees fertile land being taken up by a tree that doesn’t seem to bear fruit anymore, and he wants to cut it down.  However, the farmer’s head gardener intervenes on the tree’s behalf, persuading the farmer to allow him to fertilize the tree to see if there is life left in the tree and thus more fruit yet to come. 

It’s a sweet story with a hard lesson, as Jesus brings our self-righteous clamoring for what we think we are entitled to and our competitive need for power, back into perspective. We are brought down to size with his example of the old tree, asking us the question: are you bearing fruit or just taking up space? Are we bearing the fruit of forbearance or are we more interested in our own position to find room and space to think another way?

Jesus knew that it probably made more sense, given conventional wisdom, for the old unproductive tree to be cut down and yet his parable has the farmer making a management decision that seems efficient on the surface, yet inefficient given the circumstances. Jesus wants to emphasize something far more important than the place taken up by an old tree. He wants us to glimpse the amount of power that a mere hint of God’s mercy can bring about. As powerful as the opportunity to live anew, with a new way of thinking and being in the world.

Like the tree which has one year to turn itself around and bear fruit, so we are given yet another chance to turn and move humbly into a place that will fill us with an abundance of God’s grace and mercy until we become part of God’s presence in the world by its strengthening goodness. 

The little shoot finally breaks through the surface of a damp, cold earth and greets the world in which it has been called to live. It observes its new home with unspoken but visible gratitude for the strength and power it was given to reach this heretofore unknown place. It absorbs the Spring rain and discerns an irresistible pull toward the cool warmth of the sun as it begins the work of transforming itself into what it is to become. The shoot, now with full awareness of its destination, increases the pace of its growth and sends out young leaves that carry out a promise made in infinity. The leaves are supported by the shoot, itself, which has soon become identifiable as a Silk Tree sapling, grown from deep remnants of the old dying tree.

In its reaching for its authentic identity and presence on the earth, it assumes nothing, demands nothing, yet is clearly the recipient of God’s wealth of food and drink, surviving through that nurturing grace, to take its place in the world. It could have died, but it was called to live, to reach forward, to break out and establish itself as God’s own, firmly implanted in a place prepared for it, taking its position as part of the body of all God’s creation, a partner in the building up of God’s Kingdom on Earth. What a mighty destination!

To try to give ourselves bread and water of God’s grace without God is an effort in futility. We may grow but are in danger of growing in the wrong direction, encountering clods of dirt to big to break open, or rocks too large to circumvent. We try to live as best we can, perhaps loving the wrong way, embracing wrong relationships, wrong jobs, wrong desires for wealth and power, wrongly judging or blaming, as we continue to perpetuate the age-old paradox of needing to find God when God is already at our side waiting to be received 

God makes the deal abundantly clear. God is continually calling us into relationship and when we enter authentically on to that holy ground, God’s powerful richness of gifts give us all the strength we need for the journey we know we are called to make. 

Whether we are deeply seeking or simply aware that we have to make some changes in who we are, or within our lives, God is prepared to take us just as we are in our present, with our minute desire for change, and enter into it.

We start where we find ourselves in the here and now, and then with whatever amount of longing we have, we begin to grow toward the light. It’s alright if we are small. God understands the small, the vulnerable, the forgotten, the uncertain, and the repentant and celebrates them as God’s own, whether a small nation of Israelites, a baby born in a barn, the fearful carrying a heavy cross. Called to uphold and defend them, God fills them to overflowing with God’s grace and blessing.

Lent presents a challenge for us humans that seems far less difficult for much of creation that easily chooses God’s way. We are called to repent, to turn away from materialistic deadening choices that lead to only fleeting satisfaction and then to emptiness of spirit. Yet, within that message we are called to move toward choices that might fly in the face of conventional wisdom. In Lent we are called to find a path which leads to renewed intent, renewed trust, and renewed hope and thus toward a new way of being and living. 

Like the birth of a new tree, Lent offers us the opportunity to find life in the unexpected rather than the uniform, a life found in the complexity of the divine, rather than the wisdom of convention.

The old Silk Tree was left as dead and yet it rose again within a divine state of grace. It rose to stand firm upon the earth, filled with the strength of new life and purpose. Brand new. Vulnerable, yet with all the presence of the tree born before it. One among many others destined to be just as beautiful, just as noticeable, yet barely daring to think it could be noticed at all, especially by God.

But it is beautiful in God’s eyes and holds within the capacity to be far grander and far bigger than it could have ever hoped to be without its innate sense of God’s presence in and around it. It takes its place from which it will continue to grow, out of holy ground, responding to God’s call with humility and grace.

Like that little green shoot, like Moses and like all those who would call themselves the people of God, we are called to do the same. 

Amen.

Written to the Glory of God.

Esme J. R. Culver+

March 23, 2025

[1] Genesis 3:9b-10a

Second Sunday In Lent

Genesis 15: 1-12, 17-18

Psalm 27

Philippians 2:17-4:1

Luke 13:31-35

Journey of Faith

If someone were to ask me which word I would like most to strike from current vocabulary, the word that most quickly comes to mind is the word, “politics.” To be sure, politics can be used for the public good, and used well, everyone might benefit. Yet too often, politics, whether at the highest order of state, politics within systems existing within systems, politics in the schools and, sadly yes, even politics in the church, are often less beneficial. At any level, politics enables the shuffling for power and, too often, the murder of acceptable character, shoving any obstacles to status out of the way, with misdirected goals setting a few against the sacrifice of the many.

Jesus was no stranger to politics. Politics popped up in front of him at every turn, from his disciples shoving and pushing to be nearer to the top of his trusted inner circle, to corrupt politics of the Pharisees and Herod’s ruling elite.  Jesus had to stand his ground against any and all forces that wanted to, directly or indirectly, with or without cause, trip him up and trip up his ministry. Despite all efforts to redirect him,  Jesus would not be moved from the path he walked, casting out demons or healing bodies, souls and spirits, until he was ready to start moving forward to Jerusalem. The political machines were already being tuned up in that city, in anticipation of his arrival. 

Jesus, the one whom God named, “My Beloved,” spends his life and ministry beset by evildoers, enemies, legions of foes out to capture him in some way, to get him off the streets, if you will, in order that their own powerful grip on the people might remain secure. 

It is interesting to note that it was a group of Pharisee leadership, political animals of the first degree, who arrive to warn Jesus that Herod is out to kill him, advising him to get away while the getting was good. Herod did not have a very high rating among the Jews at the time, and Jesus was well known to have no respect for Herod and his oppressive tactics. Thus, when the Pharisees tell him of Herod’s plot to kill him, he makes it clear he has no time for Herod and his threats.  Jesus, like many of his fellow Jews, thought of all the Herodians as nothing more than usurpers who had taken by force the kingdom promised by God to David. Jesus well understood politics.

Even though it appears the Pharisees were trying to alert Jesus, seeming to protect him, it helps us to recall that the Pharisees and Jesus were never, what we might call, bosom buddies. If any group was immersed in political motive and maneuvering, it was the Pharisees. They were especially sensitive to the highly charged and continually changing directions of the political winds of their time, and they were quite aware that leaning toward collaboration with Herod would help their own sense of security, regardless of which way the political winds might blow, just as long as they could persuade Jesus to get out of town completely. With Jesus gone, he would no longer be a problem for them or their position of authority among the people, nor would Jesus be a problem for Herod and Herod’s agenda for power. 

Jesus’ response to this seemingly friendly and concerned warning by the Pharisees, began with “Go and tell that fox from me…”., his quick response revealing his recognition of the political machinations going on, and the ulterior motives of the Pharisees whom he well knows are into political intrigue up to their necks with the Herodians. 

So, perhaps that is one of the reasons Jesus let them know, in no uncertain terms, that he would remain where he was, until it was time for him to go. Then, and only then, would he start toward Jerusalem, the city, he says, “that kills prophets.” 

Jesus knew well that the ablest politician will always work toward an end that will endeavor to satisfy the loudest voices, most especially paying attention to those who will bring rewards for accomplished agendas. Jesus knew that dwelling among honest and sincere politicians who endeavored to uphold the best intentions on behalf of the people they served, there also existed the cunning and sly, albeit clever, and in some cases, the wily and the untrustworthy. 

So it was, that Jesus refers to Herod as “that fox.”

Now, I cannot let this opportunity for the defense of foxes to slip by. I grew up in a part of the world, where foxes got chased until death by a hundred hounds and lots of people on horseback. The fox was the hunted, terrified and afraid of imminent death. On the other hand, the fox was also a predator, keeping his eye firmly on chicken coops he happened across, often much to the demise of a few chickens. But then the fox had to worry about being chased by a snarling dog, or worse, being shot at by an angry farmer. Where I grew up, it was a pretty even playing field for the fox. A bit of a battle of wits. Nothing political. Nothing personal. Just an ongoing positioning for livelihood and sustenance. It took skill, wiles, cleverness and instinct for a fox to survive day to day in order to find his supper. It took the same attributes for the farmer to protect his chickens.

Conversely, in the Hellenistic thought of Jesus’ day and in his part of the world, the fox was thought of as clever indeed, but also sly and unprincipled. The Old Testament aligns the fox with certain destruction,[1]like a jackal, unclean and, therefore, not fit to eat. But there not much implication of this in Jesus’ description of Herod as “that fox.” Rather, Jesus is simply disdainful of Herod’s murderous threats, and he deflects the threats as not worthy enough to be heard, unable to prevent him from his mission to establish God’s Kingdom on earth.

The oppressive tactics of Herod were meant to subdue the people into a kind of acceptance or even submission. Fearing their very lives, the people dared not protest bad laws which Herod created to the detriment of the very people the laws were purported to be protecting and providing for. Luke’s Gospel brings home this reality in Jesus’ world and implies that not only is Jesus unafraid of Herod’s threats, if anything, he doubles down on his own ministerial agenda that he has set out to accomplish. 

After all, this is the Jesus who proclaimed that with the coming of the Kingdom of God, “some who are last will be first, and some who are first will be last.”[2] No wonder, there is more than a little restlessness amongst the powers that be. No wonder all those who were currently holding comfortable positions of power at the cost of comfort of the people, were becoming a wee bit threatened, themselves by this man called Jesus. 

No wonder, the political war machinery, fashioned from pent-up fear and jealousy, greed and lust for power, was being lined up and made ready for battle. For it will be on the third day, says Jesus, when I will begin my journey toward Jerusalem, and I will be taking my challenge all the way to the top.

It was in this politically charged environment, that Jesus sets the stage for his journey toward the cross. Jesus faces down the veiled threats sent out by Herod, letting the Pharisees and Herod know that he, Jesus, is anything but politically naïve, and that he is, if you will, on to them all. To emphasize his point, he informs the Pharisees that he will not even stop in at any of the villages along the way. He will head straight for Jerusalem, within his own time frame.

He is heading for the finish line, the show down, the ultimate end to his ministry.  Placing it into our modern frame of reference in our own place and time, he’s not taking it to any mere state capital, but to the heart of the Congress and the White House of his day. He knows he will not be expected, nor does he expect to be welcomed. He knows he is going to a place where, far too often, expectations, desires and dreams for a new and more just world simply disappear or die.

It is a story we understand and accept as part of Jesus’ world, because it is a common story all around our world. We hear the voices of people crying out in the face of undeserved killing and humiliation. We are witnessing daily sacrifices being made in the name of all that is good. We are witnessing the attempted humiliation of nations who fought to bring stability, security and freedom to their people. Yet, in defiance of evil, now unleashing its angry, lustful greediness for power, we are modern-day witnesses of those who are walking their journey of faith toward Jerusalem, on their own terms, in their own way, and in their own time. 

They are fighting a political few that hold no respect for what is good, whole and holy even though they know, their resistance will, in all likelihood, lead them to their own cross of sacrifice.

Their lament is being heard around the world: Why? Why? They ask, when we did not threaten or tease but only yearn to live and work in peace. 

In his story Luke shared with us today, Jesus did not call out with revolutionary style, eye for an eye rhetoric, but rather he offered his own lament, “How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wing, and you were not willing!” (34)

As Jesus and the people in his world cried out, and as the people of our world cry out for a better way in the name of peace, the mighty and powerful present themselves very differently. 

Herod, the Pharisees, the collaborators, the politically powerful, and all those who would be first, then and now, and all who desire to be feared as all-powerful, invulnerable, impenetrable behind the doors of their fox dens of political maneuvering, are and will be exposed by Jesus as they really are, as if caught in the glare of the spotlight of the world. 

In much of the world, as it was in Herod’s time, and as it has continue to be and is during and since the life of Jesus on this earth, politics of every kind and at every level continue to dominate the way people are told to think, to argue, to rage and quarrel, to trust and distrust, to uphold and to resist. But Jesus knew, as does every human being who lives and dies at the behest at someone else’s lust for power, that there is a better way. That better way lies at the heart of the one true and living God.

In the heart of God, in spite of God’s distaste of Herod and his like, they are thought of as lost chicks, scattering here and there, unable to come together as one, too stubborn and too afraid to find shelter in a way that would mean less power and more love. At the end of the day, Jesus would choose to gather them together, rather than fight them, so that unity can be achieved at last, a worldly union that is safe, secure and at peace.

The Kingdom of God is not built on politics. Rather God’s Kingdom is continually being built and rebuilt on the foundations of unity, compassion, forgiveness and love. It is those who are called “beloved and blessed” who will be welcomed from their journey of faith in the name of humility, innocence, faith and trust in the God of creation.

We pray that the innocent foxes find a way to live in peace with the nature God intended for them And may those we know of as guilty of hate, greed and overzealous, self-serving politics, come to discover when their earthly truth is revealed before God, that, at the end of their day, when they face the truth of their action, they will be forgiven. Then, and only then, face to face with their truth, they will realize that they are far less powerful than they ever imagined themselves to be during their life on earth. 

Amen.

Written to the Glory of God

E. J. R. Culver+

March 16, 2025

[1]Song 2:15, Ezek. 13.4

[2]Luke 13.30 

The First Sunday In Lent

Deuteronomy 26:1-11

Romans 10:8b-13

Luke 4:1-13

Psalm 91:1-2, 9-16

TEMPTED

He “was tempted in every way as we are, and yet did not sin.” So are the words of the Preface we hear with our Eucharistic Prayer during the Sundays during Lent. 

Jesus was tempted not once, or twice or even three times. He was tempted at every opportune time that the spiritual forces against God could find to try to destroy Him. 

It seems odd to think of the grubby little worldly realities of temptation, after having just been transported with Jesus and his disciples to the mountain top, toward the end of his ministry. Yet, here we are, now back at the opening days of that time when Jesus emerged from the baptismal waters of the Jordan and is now being led into the wilderness by the Holy Spirit to figure things out about himself, his ministry and what it was he was called to accomplish in the world. His mission was nothing less than to save the world, yet then, as now, the world was not an easy place to venture into in order to save it.

No matter the landscape you envision as representative of wilderness, your perception probably doesn’t  conjure up scenes of home with its creature comforts, well stocked pantry and adequate covering for warmth at night or shade as protection from the sun during the day, not to mention insect repellant, snake bite kits and the rest. Putting it mildly, the wilderness is anything but that. The wilderness is wild, filled with jeopardy, far from home, hearth and the kind of comfort most of us prefer.

Nowhere in the Gospels, whether Matthew, Mark or today’s version given by Luke, are we given the relief of knowing Jesus went into the wilderness with a well equipped backpack for the forty days he would spend in a Middle Eastern desert. 

And, even though we know the story well, and know how the story ends, with Jesus triumphant over the temptations of the devil, winning the day as the devil slinks away, contemplating an even more tempting comeback, we find ourselves, each in our own particular way, entering into our own sense of  deprivation… our own kind of wilderness,just as Jesus entered his. Like Jesus, we are equally ill equipped materially as we set out, but unlike Jesus, we are, sad to say, far less equipped spiritually to withstand the hardship and distance. 

Feeling fairly well equipped with faithful spirit in the best of circumstances, we find we are coming up short on faith when facing a wilderness of unknown and sometimes dangerous temptation. I not yet met anyone who ran joyfully toward Lent. If we have experienced entering the desert of Lent, over several years, as many of us have, we can’t help wondering why it doesn’t get any easier. Why is it, that we are still being tempted away from the difficult paths, toward paths that are so less forbidding and, indeed, even welcome in their comfort and relief to body, mind and spirit? 

Why is it that we seem to come face to face with the same shortcomings this year, as we did in years gone by? Why haven’t those sins disappeared, leaving us less work to do every time Lent bids us, yet again, to venture into the wilderness of our own making?

As The Rev. Dr. Clair McPhearson, a Professor of Ascetical Theology[1]at General Seminary in New York, once taught my son when he was a seminarian at General Thrological Seminary said in effect, that our greatest temptations are those which, when successfully embraced, make life much easier. Maybe, we are better at fending off temptations when they don’t interfere too much with our creature comforts.

Or, perhaps, because our sins are admittedly plentiful, we have been addressing the wrong sins. Maybe God doesn’t care what we eat or what we wear. “5 Therefore I say unto you, Be not anxious for your life, what ye shall eat, or what ye shall drink; nor yet for your body, what ye shall put on. Is not the life more than the food, and the body than the raiment?”[2]

These are all good to address in terms of looking pleasing to God, but let’s be honest, is going on a Lenten diet, or consuming less during Lent, something we’re doing for God? It’s a bit of a stretch to think so. It’s rather doubtful that Jesus had eating less carbs on his mind, in order to lose weight, when he spurned the devil who tempted him to turn rocks into bread when he was seriously hungry. Too often, we use Lent to make an attempt to better ourselves for ourselves rather than for God.

And Lent isn’t just about giving up treats. Working more hours, in order to get the promotion which translates into more money as a means to buying a bigger house or paying bigger bills for whatever it is that brings power and status, but yet never seeing, or even losing, one’s family in the effort, has a very different intent than the intent of Jesus, as he spurned the devil’s attempt to bring him power for the exchange of his body, mind and soul. As Jesus taught in our Ash Wednesday Gospel, "Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal; but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal.”[3]

When the devil invited Jesus to throw himself off a pinnacle and to trust in angels to lift him from certain death, Jesus would not allow the devil to put God to the test.  Jesus stuck to his conviction.  How many times does our faith waver when we begin to rationalize the reasons Lent is meant to test us and the measure of our convicton. 

Lent is not about putting God to the test. Nor do we try to impress God with our intention to topple idols which we cause only to rock a little on their bases because they are mere human ideals, which we for various reasons, wish to reach for all the wrong reasons. In other words as Paul asked the Romans, “Do we believe in our hearts what we confessed with our lips?”[4]

So here we are again at the gates of Lent, stepping onto a path that will lead us to be tested, by our own truths and by God. All the spiritual forces that rebel against God, all the evil powers that are out to corrupt and destroy all creatures of God and all the sinful desires that draw us from the love of God, are still out there. The struggle for our repentance is still out there, as is the struggle by evil forces to steer us away from God’s way, waiting too, as it was for Jesus, waiting for an opportune time to win the battle for our eternal souls. 

Yet even in Lent there is good news. We do not enter into this wilderness alone, and perhaps, thinking that we are alone might be the greatest test of our faith of all the tests we face. Even though we may feel alone in the world or in the spiritual wilderness into which we are now invited, the fact is we are not alone. We are not left alone to withstand the sly and sinister temptations creeping alongside of us as we continue on.

Of course, even walking in the footsteps of Jesus, we humans have the temerity to think we are perfectly capable of withstanding opposing forces by ourselves alone. We are the epitome of self-sufficiency: “I can do it myself!” And yet, in all truth, to be able to say something like that, we have to take time to learn how to do something, before we are able to take sole responsibility for a successful outcome, regardless of how long we have been in this world, or what we want to do. Sometimes, it means we have to put our worldly pride behind us, allowing one who knows the path well to walk alongside us, as we venture forward. 

It was when Jesus was hungry, with a gnawing pain permeating his entire body as it tried to function through the pangs of starvation, that Jesus defied the devil. And even through all this, Jesus remembers listening to the voices of Moses and Elijah, with him during his Transfiguration, and with him now, as part of his own ancestry to which he fiercely clings, just as he holds on to the voice he heard at his baptism, “This is my Beloved.” It is revelation that he was not alone that grounded his faith, that created such a strong foundation that no temptation would move it.

This is my Beloved. This is the voice we listen for and can hear with a heart of faith as we face down the truths of our own temptations at the beginning of this 40-day sojourn through the deserts of our own making. This is the voice assuring us that we are not alone: whatever or wherever our desert wilderness may be. Forty days seems a long time, but yet, in comparison to some walks through the wilderness, it is but a fleeting moment. 

Just a couple of years ago, the people of the world emerged from the isolation of pandemic, like all of us in this sanctuary today, with a newfound awareness of self and neighbor. Yet, as we enter into this Lent, we are acutely aware of continuing injustice and war imposed on innocent people, who have to continue to grapple with faithful adherence against the spiritual forces still at large in the world. Thus, this Lent takes on an even more profound meaning than ever. 

Let us pray that all God’s people know they are not alone. Perhaps that is the deeper message of today’s Gospel reading. It is not so much about how Jesus can resist temptation while I can only fail. It is far more about our not being alone as we walk through the wilderness of life. We are surrounded by a community of faithful, in this church and around the world and we have God. God’s beloved people are not expected, or even allowed to walk into the unknown without God walking with them, wherever their wilderness might be encountered or whatever its shape may be. Every step of the way, we hear the voice from deep within our hearts, minds and souls, “You are my beloved.”

The experience of the wilderness is not unfamiliar. It’s landscape may change and its challenges take on different complexities. It is all a part of life, but it is not all there is. If we would but listen, even in our darkest hours, we would hear the voice of Jesus, sounding firm against all that would try to tempt him, calling to us to be strong and to know that He is with us, even until the end.

It is through the guidance of he Holy Spirit we move through the wilderness of Lent from this day, armed with trust and faith, ready to resist with the best of our ability its temptations, doubts, challenges and pitfalls, and every part of us it might put to the test. The Holy Spirit, sent to us by Jesus to be our Advocate, our Comforter and Guide, walks next to us, every step of the way.

This world is proving to be a dangerous and confusing place with its sacred beauty and serenity always challenged, its holiness marred by tribulation and trial. And yet, we Beloved of God, will persevere in faith and joy in our ability to overcome whatever adversity comes before us, as we follow in the footsteps of Christ, who resisted temptation to take the easy way out, who walks only in the way of justice and peace, and who leads the way through whatever trials await us around the next turn. 

Guided by Father Son and Holy Spirit, we will keep on, groaning and complaining as we stumble along the hard road we are called to follow, continually tempted to find an easier way to keep going yet, in faith, find we unable to keep the joyous anticipation of Easter in our hearts silent in the face of it all. 

Amen

Written to the Glory of God

E. J. R. Culver+

March 9, 2025

[1]Ascetical Theology embraces spiritual teachings found in Holy Scripture and in the writing of the Desert Fathers, that help all faithful Christians to follow the teachings of Christ more faithfully in order to aspire to attain Christian perfection. Christian Asceticism implies self-denial for a Christian purpose. 

[2]Matthew 6:25-34, Luke 12:22

[3]Matthew 6:21

[4]Romans 8:9

Ash Wednesday

Joel 2: 1-2, 12-17

Psalm 103: 8 - 14

2 Corinthians 5:20b-6:10

Matthew 6:1 – 6, 16 -21

A Place of Stillness

Have you ever woken up on some morning and begin to realize that the power seems to be off? It used to happen more than it seems to lately but it still happens, and it can take one, first by surprise, and next by a growing sense of concerned assessment about all needs to be done to keep on keeping on within this unexpected situation. 

The lack of  power, be it electricity, gas, or whatever it is we depend on and take for granted for our day to day living, creates a time of focused awareness, an imposed need to think carefully about how to navigate through this uninvited inconvenience. We have to just stop, assess, and be aware of who we are, where we are and how we are going to cope until power is restored. If it is a dark morning or evening we start a scrambling search for candles, and as we sit amid leftover Christmas candlelight and other assorted candles acquired from somewhere for something special and there we are. Before much time we can’t avoid noticing a certain stillness. The longer the power outage, the more time we have to notice that we have little choice but to cease our normal activities. No toast this morning! We look around at what is going on outside of us and what is going on inside, and depending on who we are and the nature of our circumstances, we approach these sorts of things with a variety of reactions: from fun to fury, from humor to anxiety, from happy respite from the usual to desperate calls to the power company. Some, rather than thinking of it as an imposition, simply accept it as a time to focus. A time to peer into with intention. 

If you are wondering what Lent is all about well, it’s a lot like living with the lights off. A time of muted stillness filled with, if not a longing, then an anticipation of the coming of renewed light of Easter. That’s Lent. 

This Ash Wednesday we find ourselves in a world at war, a divided nation, critical climate change, out-of-control drug use, confusion, anxiety, poverty and, yes, despair. The world situation and our journey into and through Lent is asking each of us to have courage enough to allow ourselves to truly act as witness to our own thoughts and actions toward ourselves and toward others. For all the noise of the world, this is the time to go into a place of quiet, where there is just room enough for oneself and God to ask questions to which the answers will always be true. 

Who am I and who have I become during this last year? Am I whom I perceive myself to be. Am I truly who others think I am. Just as Jesus asked Peter, “Who do you say I am?” Jesus is asking us to ponder the same question.

It is not an easy one. The answer to the question cannot truly be found in easy conversation with a group of friends over dinner, no matter how long you’ve known one another. It cannot be found by reading books, or even, may I say, listening to sermons. All they can do is lead to the edge of your own quiet place…your place of stillness, where all that must be asked, can be asked, all that must be heard, can be heard, all that must be explored, can be explored and where truth, waiting to be discovered, is given perfect freedom to reveal itself. 

If we find ourselves bowed down by the transfiguring light of our own truth, we might, if we have the strength, the courage and the will to do it…..not merely adapt differently to our outer world situation, but rather, we will discover an opportunity to bring some measure of change to the world immediately around us and to bring some measure of change for the becoming reality of who we really are. 

We can probably think of much we would change about the world. We all wish we could change the world in some positive direction. But we are fooling ourselves if we think we are prepared to do that, even in a small way if we have not yet created positive change in ourselves? What is it we would change within ourselves? 

Perhaps this year, more than ever, we have a need to stop and ask ourselves, how much are we influenced by the world in which we live? How important is it for us to be seen succeeding by all the politically correct, to conform to the latest trend, in order to be viewed as au courant? Why do we need to be the first and the best? If, then, this is what the system under which we live demands, then to fly in the face of it is very likely to bring about great judgment or disappointment in us by others, and we, in ourselves, and we become angry, frustrated, or just as judgmental, blaming and bitter as others. Sadly, when we don’t believe, or when others don’t believe, that we have measured up to the demands of the system, we are hardly left in a position to create positive change in ourselves or in the world. 

And yet, we recall the words of Jesus…. “Beware the hypocrites..”[1]To give the outward appearance of creating positive change purely for the reason to be typecast as “good,” in order to satisfy the system, is probably to reach the highest form of sinful arrogance in God’s eyes. 

We hear God’s remedy for such arrogance in Jesus’ words to us today. Before you can bring about any kind of change….in yourself or in the world….. go inside and meet God there. And not just once, but more and more until this inner meeting place becomes familiar….like home. And all that you find there, you will come to know well. 

You can probably picture your home now and know where all those pieces of yourself that you treasure are located. A piece of driftwood from the beach, a rock from the side of a mountain when you watched the sun creep up its snowy side, or where you prayed early one morning, a lovely art piece you have kept with you throughout a lifetime, a fallen feather left for you to find by a passing bird, a lock of hair, a long held letter or card, an old photograph. They are where your heart is, and you know where they are. 

And so it is in your place of stillness. Perhaps it is a little more difficult to locate all that you treasure there. Perhaps it is harder to acknowledge that the treasure there is real….and really a part of you…..for good or for ill. Yet, just like any other activity that is difficult at first, the more you visit it and the more familiar it becomes, the easier it will be for you to recognize that which does or does not belong among all that you treasure there. 

It will take practice, and we are told it takes a month to turn daily practice into a habit, so perhaps we can be glad of the forty days of Lent given to us to do this work.

As Brian McClaren points out in his book, “We Make the Road By Walking,”[2] it’s not that practice makes perfect, it’s that practice makes habit. if you suddenly decide to run or even walk twenty miles but you haven’t even tried running or walking round the block, no matter how good your intentions are, it isn’t going to happen. But you can do it if you practice. You can start out completing a little bit each day and before you know it, you will be accomplishing your goal. 

In order to change from a way of being that we know is displeasing to God toward a way that may be less pleasing to the system but worthy of God’s pleasure and praise, we have to practice searching for reality and truth in the place within reserved for God. 

If we we don’t, we can get caught up in our own brand of personal hypocrisy – which can, like a spiritual virus – kill our own spirit and our own capability for positive change. 

Whether it be piety, good works, charitable giving, prayer or fasting, we are called to approach each with humbleness of heart, to offer these as truth from an encounter with the holy. Jesus asks all this of us yet also asks us to find the motivation for our prayer and fasting…. to be who we are outwardly as a result of who we are inwardly. To make an outward show of these solely for one’s own appearance is to lose a holy opportunity for change. 

One might ask, if Jesus asks us to hide our piety, why is it that on this day the ashes have created such a stir among some of the faithful. After all, we’ve always thought of wearing ashes as a wildly countercultural act. But is it? Has it become a form of piety that is worn according to the demands of world we live in, rather than to the demands of our inner spirit. Ask yourself, this Ash Wednesday, just how countercultural is it for you in 2025?

In all the years gone by, when ashes were imposed, were the ashes left there on foreheads for the rest of the day? And if so, why? And if not, why not? Here, in Portland, the system is such that we are allowed to display our piety in such a way or not. To do so, however, proclaims to the world that we are Christians and it is important to remember that today Jesus is urging us to go into a place of private stillness, to ask ourselves just what that means.

There are fellow Christians all over the world, part of the body of Christ to which we belong, that will not receive the imposition of ashes today because it is dangerous to identify themselves as Christians due to all manner of restrictions, like war, a struggle to survive, fear of retribution. For those of us receive the ashes freely, our Lenten journey asks us to carry those exhausted souls on our shoulders of prayer as we make our way toward Easter.  

Knowing this, perhaps the first question we must ask ourselves is, what is my commitment to Jesus Christ whether or not I wear ashes for the world to see, especially in a part of the world that really doesn’t care.

With or without ashes, what does my Christian faith mean to me and how is it made manifest in the world and in the eyes of God. What is the strength of my courage and my desire to be faithful in the face of a world that demands a different order?

With or without ashes, what do you desire more than your desire for God? What do you long to be in the eyes of the world more than in the eyes of God? What is the meaning of living for you?

Today, on this Ash Wednesday, we come face to face with an increased urgency to listen to Jesus’ words. It’s not about a quick forgiveness fix…not about momentary absolution. God wants us in for the long haul…wants us to go into the wilderness of our own heart and soul to find the path to true forgiveness so that we can become instruments of reconciliation, working to create an atmosphere of forgiveness and reconciliation in an angry, confused and frightened world of daily change. 

Ash Wednesday brings us to the threshold of Lent …..the point at which we must choose the path we will take to make our way through the maze of our foolish and false self-perceptions, our courageous and sacred choices, and sadly, our choices that hurt or destroy. 

God said, “Be still and know that I am God.” It is in the place of God, that we glimpse the entrance to a path that will take us through our personal Lent to a place where we can experience a particular freedom of recognizing the treasure of our own truth. Then, suddenly, the light is restored, and we joyously revel in the freedom to get on with life filled with a sense of renewed possibilities, renewed clarity, leaving the darkness of any past behind. 

During the next forty days, if we do our work to restore the light, the light of Easter will be its own reward for all those ready to embrace it. Welcome to Lent.

Amen.

Written to the Glory of God

E. J. R, Culver +

Marvh 5, 2025

[1]Matt. 6:5

[2]Brian D. McClaren, We Make The Road By Walking, Jericho Books, New York, NY. 2014. p137-9.

Last Sunday after the Epiphany

Transfiguration Sunday

Exodus 34 29-35

Psalm 99

2 Corinthians 3: 12-4:2

Luke 9:28-36

Gates of Hope

Some people are very good at remembering dreams in their entirety, but I am not one of them. Most usually, I remember remnants of dreams upon waking, and over time, only fragments of dreams stay in my memory. Once in a while, however, a dream will seem so lifelike that, fantastic as it may seem, it stays with me almost as a guidepost for living. As it is, one dream is always top of mind at the close of Epiphany. As I can best remember it, the dream was like this.

I was moving slowly, seeming to float really, between two high walls…they must have been hundreds of feet high, made of very old bronzed, iron with a softly aged patina and glow which flowed over countless shapes sculpted into the iron. At first glance, the shapes reminded me of those grotesque gargoyles one sometimes sees protecting doorways or in the crenelated towers of old castles. But at closer look one could see all manner of shapes …people mostly…along with some wild animals of nature…..diverse in character and circumstance…….all protruding from the wall …..permanent guardians of what I determined to be iron gates far ahead, appearing quite small at first, due to the distance. Coming closer revealed what seemed to be glass insets in the upper arches of the gates, and behind the glass I saw a faint flickering light. The light seemed to beckon and invite one to enter through the gates, and I was curious to find out more. Without seeming to move at all, and yet aware of my coming ever closer to the gates, the iron figures did not hinder my passage and indeed, once past me, the wordless figures simply faded fast behind.

As I continued toward the gothic arches of the great iron gates, I could begin to perceive that there were more carvings along their sides, over the top and on the gates themselves. Drawing even closer, I struggled to understand what I was seeing. The questions arose in my heart about what manner of creatures these were, and I began to question whether they were friendly creatures or out to destroy me. The light behind the gates seemed at times to flicker more like fire, and the creatures changed their features back and forth, friendly to menacing and back again. For a fleeting moment, I was confused, and then I seemed to instinctively recognize the guile of that light…..beckoning me on, seducing me into thinking I knew how to navigate it. And I remember beginning to chant silently…..help me decide… God….. No…I will not go through your gates if you are not God…I will not go to you if you are not whom you pretend to be….I will not go if you are not God….and God will let me know….I trust in God… I trust in God.

I kept up this mantra as my body slipped up the sides of the gates and I somehow knew they were there for me. These were the gates called Indecision and Denial. Suddenly I felt myself lifted up and over the top of the gates into a serene midnight beyond and I noticed my body was now weightless and free. 

I was no longer surrounded by those iron walls, and found myself drawing closer to another, far brighter source of light. I was no longer alone but one of many. All were smiling and with faces and clothing reflecting light that was difficult to look at, it was so bright. I wondered if I looked the same, but I couldn’t tell….. I didn’t really understand what was happening and I wanted someone to tell me that I was on the right path. Yet somehow I knew I had to keep moving toward the light which began to throb with increasing brightness……brighter….brighter….

And then I woke up. 

And the first words that came out of my mouth when I recognized my bedroom were “Thanks be to God!” 

But there was also a sense of disappointment….I was so curious to see that light and know it at last, It was so close….so close….

As thankful as I was to find I was safe in my own home again, I was still quite sure in the moment and I am just as sure now, that I was also thankful for the revelation of the dream.

Perhaps, in the waning light of Epiphany, as in the waning moments of an extraordinary dream, one yearns for it all to begin it again in order for it to take us to its conclusion. Like any memorable experience, we want to revisit, albeit with trembling desire,  to live into the light of whatever lies ahead. 

At Christmas,  we basked in the new light that shone over all the earth, our eyes fixed on the bright star leading the way to a divine light on earth lying in a manger.  We longed to keep its message of hope for the future. We longed to hold on to it and not forget its bright promise of peace on earth with its goodwill to all. 

Alas, the message of Christmas, with the passing of time, becomes much like a fading dream or like a mountain top fading into the distance as we fly past it into a new year. It slowly loses its color and shape until we begin to lose sight of it completely,  and we are left to imagine the memory of it as we continue to fly on. So it is as we come to the last moments of Epiphany, still clinging to the sweet reminders of the birth and ministry of Jesus, as we glide on toward Ash Wednesday and Lent. 

Yet, like the mountain top moving by us, its drama does not pass by us unnoticed. The movement from Epiphany into Lent is punctuated by its own drama, a particularly startling, fantastic occurrence in the life of Jesus and his disciples. 

Luke tells us that Jesus took Peter, James and John up to a mountain top to pray and “while he was praying, the appearance of his face changed and his clothes became dazzling white.”(v29) It is a moment of glorious illumination of the divine nature of Jesus….not the Jesus we met as the child of God, lying in a manger. Not the Jesus we know as teacher and healer, friend of the marginalized on the dusty streets of Galilee….. but Jesus as he approaches the completion of his life on earth, coming near to his own departure. Jesus, recognized now as completely and utterly glorified and embraced by God. 

Jesus is not alone with his disciples in this moment of recognition. Luke’s version of this mountain-top story us that at the moment of Jesus’ transformation he was joined by two of the most revered prophets Peter, James and John would have known, Moses and Elijah. These historical human giants were talking with Jesus about the coming turning point in his life… the time for him to turn his steps toward Jerusalem and his inevitable departure from his ministry on earth. 

The time for change had come to Jesus, and as God’s chosen one, he was transformed by a light so bright that it was difficult to recognize him in the moment. The disciples had been with Jesus for some time, witnessing all manner of miracles, but it was in this moment, according to Luke, that “they saw his glory and the two men who stood with him” (32b) They had seen his compassion and heard his teaching, yet they had never seen anything like this. 

For Peter and for the other disciples it must have been, as it is for us, hard to understand…hard to grasp ….this sudden, unexpected almost blinding transfiguration. It must have seemed dreamlike and surreal. Yet, just as in our dreams, we are much more than mere spectators. The disciples who accompanied Jesus participated fully and completely in the sight and sound of everything that transpired on that day, and in doing so, they too, would be transformed. 

And now we, too, are invited to move toward participation in this transfiguration -- to surrender to it in whatever circumstances we find ourselves in as it comes to meet us. We are not merely spectators and are called to enter into the experience with Jesus. In doing so, we are given a glimpse into what it means to come closer to God and all that God wants us to be. It brings insight into Jesus’ words, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness but will have the light of life.” (John 8:12) 

As Jesus prepares for his departure, he leaves us with the belief that as the children of Light, we, too are equipped to be empowered by the power of the Spirit to act in Jesus’ name. We just have to realize it. 

I believe my dream was a dream about choice…. and this re-telling of what seemed like a dream to the disciples is also a message about choosing which path we are to follow, the path toward the light of God, or what worldly path we think might merely please God. 

On this Transfiguration Sunday, Jesus shows us an example of what it means to be completely and utterly obedient to God and what it means to be recognized and embraced and transformed by God’s holy light.

“You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid…… let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.” (Matt 5:14-16)

Transfiguration Sunday offers encouragement to prepare ourselves for total abandonment to God’s will so that we become active participants in that will.

In a world so filled with despair and brokenness, we are called to participate with God in transfiguring God’s creation, reaching always toward the Light, giving ourselves to service, and working for justice and peace. With Jesus, Moses and Elijah, we are called to enter into transformative action which shines with the good news of hope for the world. 

It sounds like a dream, but is it? And how will we know unless we allow ourselves to move past the gates of our own iron walls of indecision and denial to discover what truths we know about ourselves and what strengths we hold to prepare ourselves to do God’s work in the world. 

On this Transfiguration Sunday, we are called to prepare ourselves for our own personal transformative Lent, giving up all that is not contributory to God’s creation and taking on all that is just that. It sounds like a tall order, yet it can begin anywhere and in any way. The only requirement for us is to hold on to the reality of the transformative Divine Light that is bequeathed to us with the power to banish darkness that loves to veil our hearts and minds, trapping our faith behind iron walls. It is not a dream. 

St. Paul said, “All of us with unveiled faces, seeing the glory of the Lord as though reflected in a mirror, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another, for this comes from the Lord, the Spirit. (2 Cor. 3:18)

My friends in Christ, the time has come for us make up our minds how we will approach the imaginary walls through which we must pass during Lent to reach Easter….with sincerity, courage, with strength, with joyous anticipation even in our contemplation and, yes, perhaps even our deprivation. 

The time has come for us to build rather than destroy, to create with God rather than to tear down, to stand strong in the light of God’s transforming message of peace and love in the world and to be obedient to that message, no matter the consequences. 

Listen again to the words from our collect today: “Beholding by faith the light of his countenance may we be strengthened to bear our cross, and be changed into his likeness form glory to glory.”

As we approach Ash Wednesday, we begin our journey toward a different dream for ourselves and for the world. If we are willing to submit ourselves to God’s transforming grace, we will reach the gates that open onto an explosion of light, filled with hope and renewal.

That is the measure of Transfiguration, which carries within it the holy light of Easter, carrying us with it as in a dream, buoyed up by faith, always onward to the place where yet again, we will discover the star still shining down on shepherds in their fields, always waiting to lead us, like the wise men of Epiphany, away by another road, through the Gates of Profound Inspiration, Acceptance, Certainty, and Peace.

Amen

Written to the Glory of God

E.J.R. Culver+

March 2, 2025

Seventh Sunday after the Epiphany

Genesis 45:3-11, 15

Psalm 37:1-2, 41-42

1 Corinthians 15:35-38,42-50

Luke 6:27-38

Enemies No More

If Joseph had known that his eleven brothers had no sense of humor when it came to listening to his dream interpretations, he might have thought twice about sharing. As it was, they were enraged to think that this young upstart, brother or not, would dare to imagine he would be lording it over all of them. The next thing Joseph knew was that, not only did they consider killing him outright and lying to his father, Jacob, about the cause of death, but stopped short of that thanks to one brother who didn’t want murder on his conscience. So, they ended up throwing him in a pit, leaving him, then selling him into slavery to a bunch of Ishmaelites who dragged him off to Egypt. With brothers like that, who needs enemies? Oh wait, they were jealous, envious, resentful and wanted him dead. Yes. They count as enemies!

As it turned out in the end, Joseph was right on the money with his dream interpretations, and he became pretty famous for the gift, not to mention rather high up in society due to his many other gifts for administration and management. Thus, after a few decidedly difficult and politically charged ups and downs, he rose to the number 2 spot in Egypt which is where we find him today.

The famine has driven his long-lost brothers into Egypt in search of grain for food and they find themselves in front of the Regent, second only to Pharoah. Of course, they don’t immediately recognize Joseph. He is no long a youngster, but a grown man who has accumulated a fair amount of life experience, not to mention now being in charge of food storage and food distribution for the entire nation and its close allies. But Joseph recognizes his brothers, alright, and decides to accuse them of spying and have them prove their innocence and sincerity by going home to fetch Joseph’s youngest brother, Benjamin. 

So now here they all are and the time for the denouement has arrived, and with the help of an interpreter, Joseph reveals his identity to his brothers “I am Joseph. Is my father still alive?” The scriptures say the brothers were so dismayed after this revelation they couldn’t say a thing. I would say that’s a bit generous on the part of the Genesis writer. How about “they were agonizingly humiliated and scared out of their wits, especially when Joseph invited them to ‘come closer.’” But Joseph loved the ones who were once his enemies and rather than even pretend revenge, he instantly desired to have them put their fears to rest, to find ways to ease their collective consciousness, and to realize and learn what the power of love can really do. 

“Do not be angry with yourselves because you sold me here; for God sent me before you to preserve life.” In other words, it was God who got me here and you were and are a part of all that. So now we will all survive. Joseph did not say thank you for the favor of your decision to get rid of me. What he did was absolve them absolutely and completely from any need for remorse or shame. What happened, happened, long ago…. is all now in the past. Until this moment, who would have guessed, whether Joseph, his brothers, or even his father, could have known that all the twists and turns of life would bring them to this moment of recognition and enlightenment which would be nothing less than a blessing for every one of them and all those directly or indirectly concerned with them. How could they have ever imagined that a family, broken apart by jealousy, guilt, secrecy and envy would find it’s way back to loving wholeness and healing.

It is an immense story that has echoed down through the ages with enormous lessons for all generations and for us in our own living today. As such, we are led to ask ourselves what part of parts of this story are ours. What of our own relationships with family and friends, acquaintances, workplace associates, institutional cohorts and the like? What of our dreams and favors we have shared with others, only to inspire jealousy, resentment and yes, enmity?

What do any of us know of being sold down the river or perhaps being part of a group that betrayed knowingly or unknowingly someone who trusted you? Have you ever been angry enough with someone that you would do everything you could to avoid him or her? What is it deep within you that betrays everything you wish to be? Could it be there is a little bit of Joseph and a little bit of the brothers residing in each of us? Perhaps the time has come, as it did for Joseph and his brothers, for a little sorting out to take place.

These are tough questions and, perhaps, come at a good time, as we approach the end of Epiphany and enter into the murky time of Lent. Walking toward the cross demands profound and honest truth and perhaps Epiphany has shed some light into a few of the dark places hiding in our hearts. Lent presents a time to turn things around, to move from dark to light, from wrong to right, from estrangement to reconciliation. Anything less makes the walk toward Good Friday meaningless. 

Reconciliation is defined in the dictionary as the processes of two people or groups in a conflict agreeing to make amends or come to a truce. That’s tidy, but from a biblical viewpoint, the Greek word translated as “reconciliation” in fact means to change completely. To change completely has very little to do with simply coming to a truce, and when you think about it, we can be pretty sure that would not be enough for Jesus. 

After all, through his death on the cross, God made reconciliation possible for all God’s people. In other words, God isn’t merely concerned with people reconciling with people, but rather, that through reconciliation with each other, we become reconciled to God. Without reconciliation with each other, we are alienated from God,[1]which is not where any faithful heart wishes to be.

The question is, what is it in our lives that seeks to be reconciled and where to start? What was it within Joseph that allowed him to take pleasure in seeing his brothers again, to kiss them, gathering them to him with so much love that he wept? What did or did not need to take place in order for him to choose his course of reconciliation? What does or does not need to take place in order for each of use to choose a course of reconciliation in our own lives?

Perhaps, first we need to allow ourselves to shed a few tears, for ourselves, for time and opportunities lost, and grieve for that which can never return to the place before a relationship was broken. If the tears will not come, then we must ask ourselves why not. What’s stopping them and why? I can always remember my mother saying when I came to her with a troubling situation, “You’ll feel better if you just go and have a good cry and then get on with patching things up.” 

So, we weep for what was broken and then look at what must be done for the coming together in reconciled relationship again. What must be done by each one of us in our own relationships, and what must the collective “we” do in our communities and the world to effect reconciliation.

To begin we must never consider that reconciliation is impossible. The fact is reconciliation is possible no matter the severity of situation and circumstance. Joseph’s brothers behaved in the most heinous way toward him, and after playing with them for a little while, he sought to reconcile with them completely, letting all that had happened in the past slip away into a forgotten history.

Reconciliation leaves no room for the ands and buts, as in, I am ready to reconcile but don’t ever do that to me again! We leave the past behind, as we enter a newly minted relationship. To bring the past into the conversation, is to sully it, stain it with memories of who did what to whom, and how one suffered as a result. In short, the past brings with it fresh blame and therefore fresh suffering and resentment. It is the relationship that is the center star here, and not the past. 

Reconciliation cannot be realized with lies or even slight fabrications in order to save face or to seem less at fault than we are. It demands the whole truth and nothing but the truth, good, bad or really bad. When Joseph met his brothers for the second time, he disclosed who he was and reiterated what he knew had happened in the past, but he did not bring it with him, and he did not magnify how he had been affected by his brothers’ actions against him. He quickly laid the truth of the matter out in front of them all, after calling them to come closer to him. He seemed to want to talk to them quietly rather than out loud so that all could hear of the brothers’ evil intent. He told the truth of the past but moved quickly to the truth of the present situation which was what brought the brothers into Egypt. Joseph understood, first- hand, the effects of the famine on his land and on the lives of his father, his brothers and the rest of his family.

Joseph does what he can to move forward into right action. He tells his brothers to go and bring his father and all his family and livestock back to Egypt so that they would not suffer due to the famine. He, Joseph, would take care of them. For their part, the brothers admitted to the truth of their mistreatment of Joseph and acted to bring Joseph’s father and his entire family to Egypt and a secure and safe life. 

Reconciliation requires grieving with regret for what has transpired. It requires leaving the past behind and it requires action going forward. It requires that we understand and accept that all the circumstances that have surrounded us leading us into misdirected and broken relationships. It requires us to understand that we have now found a time, place and time for reconciliation to take place. Most importantly, it requires the recognition that God’s presence is in the midst of it all. 

It requires an outward pouring of love, filled with good intent, prayer, endurance, a giving of oneself, in the same way that Jesus understood love. Nothing more than a pure gift of God, with no conditions attached and with no expectation of anything in return. Joseph recognized God’s hand in all the challenges and triumphs of his own life and that all he had experienced had brought him to this moment of reconciliation. He found within himself a limitless well of blessings which he spread lavishly over his entire family, over Egypt and beyond. 

We are not Joseph, or his brothers or their father, nor are we living with their story. We have our own families, our own stories, our own circumstances. Yet, from the beginning of time until today, there has been and always will be a profound need for reconciliation within families, within communities and in the world. 

In a world always wracked with pain and suffering, with division and misunderstanding, and riddled with mistakes and terrible decisions, may we, who call ourselves Christian, as a community of the One who is always present to offer unlimited divine love, attempt to offer some of that divinely given love, too? 

It is that love which is poured into us, inspired by the Holy Spirit…a divine spirit of love… that allows us to participate in the creation of a community we call the Kingdom of God; a community of love among those who were once called enemies. 

May we always be prepared to do whatever it is we can do and to work ceaselessly for reconciliation between ourselves, between communities and nations, and all those we once called enemies, until they are enemies no more and reconciliation becomes no longer a dream, but a reality that will set all God’s people free at last to love and to live in peace. 

Amen

Written to the Glory of God

E. J. R. Culver+

February 23, 2025

[1]See Colossians 1:20–22

Sixth Sunday after the Epiphany

Jeremiah 17:5-10

Psalm 1

1 Corinthians 15:12-20

Luke 6:17-26

Raised Blessings

How many of us visited the Portland Convention Center about two years ago to enter into the immersive experience of an exhibit of the Dutch artist, Vincent van Gogh? (hands) Van Gogh was a post-impressionist painter who, after his tragic death at only 37 years of age, became one of the most famous, revered and influential artists in Western art history. The exhibit, which is probably still running somewhere in the world, was called “Beyond Van Gogh,” was mesmerizing and an unforgettable experience for me. 

To be immersed in something, be it the human condition or nature itself; be it a conversation, the written word or other art, is to give more to it and to receive more from it than that which one can simply experience on the surface. It is to go underneath and inside the motivation that raised the human expression in the first place. From what place within one does an idea emerge, how does nature, art or conversation carry those ideas into insights? What depth of thought, what unconscious need to set free…..what muse, maybe suffering and pain, or joy and passion… or recognition of any of these, motivate one to great writing or music on to the blank page, or art on to the blank canvass, or any of these and more on to `the empty stage of life itself? 

I’m centering on Van Gogh, not just because the immersive event made public was memorable for me, but as a faithful Christian man, he is intriguing. Even though he was well acquainted with God and Christ, he lived a troubled life, largely driven by his artistic sensibility and his doubts about himself and the inner turbulence that drove him to a kind of madness. Even though faithful and given to scriptural direction he was withdrawn and solitary, spurned by much of life and the world with little self-confidence or sense of worth. His need to serve humanity led him to a deep interest in ministry and theology, and finding orthodoxy and doctrine confining in his own country, he traveled to the coal-mining region of Belgium. It was there, in the deep winter, that he faced a huge spiritual crisis which led him to give away most of his worldly goods. He was subsequently dismissed by the church for interpreting Christian teaching too literally. 

It was here that his Christian faith ebbed and flowed, and when sensing that his faith was being destroyed by the world, he discovered his true gift as an artist.

Perhaps his faith, no matter the degree of its intensity, held firm through his recognition of his own vulnerabilities and self-doubts. Like the Jesus he followed, he felt a passionate and deeply meaningful connection to the downtrodden in life, the ones who struggled to survive, working hard to make ends meet and he made the decision that all his work would be to bring comfort and understanding into the lives of all humanity, especially those who suffered. “I want to give the wretched a brotherly message,” he said. “When I sign (my paintings) ‘Vincent,’ it is as one of them.” This sense of the restorative power of his painting helped to bolster his own self-esteem and confidence.

As one who took time to immerse himself in the underlying meaning of life’s personal triumphs and tragedies, Van Gogh’s art invites one to take time to immerse oneself in his paintings, and in their underlying meaning and motivation. Doing that is to allow oneself to truly begin to understand the man and his mission in a far deeper, more profound way and by way of this, to try to understand, as he did, Jesus’ message to his disciples as he is preparing to enter into the consequences of his own ministry. It is interesting to note that Van Gogh was very close to the same age as Jesus when he was struggling with those same kinds of consequences.

He, too, dealt with struggling to understand the dualities of reality presented to us by Luke today. In the Gospel of Matthew there are eight blessings which we know as The Beatitudes. Yet in Luke’s Gospel we heard four blessings and four of what Jesus calls, woes. They are dualities of reality which Van Gogh well understood and tried to convey through his art.

On the surface the blessings and woes seem pretty straight forward, especially if you don’t take time to immerse yourself in their underlying meaning. Jesus wasn’t concerned about who had money or who didn’t. But he was concerned with the human condition of people’s hearts and souls, and there are differences and nuances between those who work for the building of God’s kingdom and those who work for worldly success alone

There are rich people who are humble of heart, and who work to alleviate the suffering of the poor. There are poor, who are arrogant and filled with anger against the ones who have privileges. Then there are the rich who take no notice of the poor and could care less about them. And there are the poor, who are humble in heart, blaming no one for the losses in their lives, yet still falling on their knees to thank God for the blessings they recognize as freely given by God.

None of these can be understood in concrete terms. The word “poor” need not be understood exclusively as an economic term, although Luke is certainly lifting up that social reality, especially in ancient Palestine. In our time, as a general rule we don’t think of material goods as being in limited supply. In Jesus’ time, however there was a vastly different view of the availability of goods. All goods, whether material, or spiritual wealth such as honor, friendship, love, power, security and status, and everything that existed in living was in limited supply. Thus, if one had a goodly amount of any one of these, then it meant that someone else had far less. There was only so much to go around. 

In Jesus’ time, the honorable took only what was rightfully owned with no desire to acquire more by taking someone else’s rightful share. This would be viewed as stealing. Profit making and the building up of wealth, as we know it, would have been thought of in ancient days to be the result of extortion – literally the robbing of the poor. 

To be rich was as much a social or moral statement as it was an economic one. Having the power to take from someone more vulnerable than oneself, that which was not one’s to take, put one in the position of having to hold consistent values for good or for evil. 

The New Testament often equates poverty with vulnerability or even misfortune. An inability to defend what was yours would leave one poor. For Luke, the poor were the imprisoned, the blind, the debtors, the lame. Matthew depicts the poor as those who are blind, lame, or are lepers, are deaf and even dead. Mark writes of a poor widow, and thus a victim. Revelation describes the poor as “wretched, pitiable, blind and naked.”

You may recall the story of how the rich man is contrasted with the poor beggar Lazarus, covered with sores. Upon his death, Lazarus is raised up into the kingdom to be with God, all sores gone and filled with an abundance of joy and gratitude, and at the death of the rich greedy man, well, we all know where he ended up!

In that society power brought wealth. In our society, wealth brings power. To be powerless meant one would be vulnerable to the greedy, who were like predators upon the weak. 

I think years later, Van Gogh somehow lived into these kinds of sensibilities, seemingly always pulling forth the short end of life’s stick. The social condition of suffering for whatever reason, as a social condition relative to one’s neighbor was the subject of Jesus’ teaching that Van Gogh might well have understood as a victim of the world’s expectations. The poor are weak, the rich are strong. It was his art that allowed him an outlet for his sense of helplessness in the face of all that. 

Like Jesus, the artist was moved deeply by the humble who had to struggle to make a living and yet were honest and accountable to do what it was had to be done. In his 1882 painting, Women Carrying Sack of Coal in the Snow, the women are struggling with the weight of the sacks of coal, and since their backs are to us, we don’t know who they are. Lacking identity, one not particularly distinguishable from another, they namelessly walk away from us into the distance which seems somehow infinite. That seeming lack of destination gives us a very real sense that life will never change for them, and that the destination they may be dreaming about may never appear. 

How much Jesus would have understood that painting and how much the artist understood that human condition. Jesus’ teaching was focused on those whose willingness to suffer so that the will of God may be blessed. It is to these that Jesus promises comfort and assurance. Whether in the first century or today, whether one’s work is simple and uncomplicated by life or whether it is the product of a brilliant but troubled creative mind, it is into these lives that God can enter in, so that all may revel in the blessings of God’s grace. 

Like Van Gogh, himself, and like Jesus, they know life’s reality, and they allow themselves to be completely dependent upon God’s care, comfort and grace, which they receive in limitless abundance. 

It is through the richness of God’s mercy and grace that a joyful and vibrant sense of being enters the hearts of the faithful, even through their suffering. They are less caught up in the dog-eat-dog world of the greedy, and more in love with the gifts of God.

Perhaps that is why Van Gogh, was able to revel in the natural beauty of nature around him, producing paintings filled with vibrant color and movement, in contrast to his painting of the women carrying coal. He was lone ranger, misunderstood, difficult, depressed, while at the same time reaching into the God-given possibility, the beauty of God’s handiwork, in a sense, painting in partnership with the human condition and its pathway out of pain and into blessing.

No matter who you are, how rich you are or how poor, whether you live in the Western world, or whether you live in a remote spot out in the world, prince or pauper, settled or refugee, Jesus wants his disciples and God’s Church to hear a particular call to discipleship based on love for all God’s people with compassion for their circumstances. 

Maybe you express that love and compassion through gifts that you acquire or through particular interests that speak to you. Most importantly, we can all express that love and compassion by embracing the values of God’s kingdom that are very different from those of the world. It is not an easy order, but just as Jesus called his disciples to follow “now,” so we, too, are being called, “now.” 

Jesus’ words are true and we, as the body of the faithful, can trust in how well God knows us, in every moment of our lives, in our better moments and our less-than-great moments. And that is good news indeed. It is these true words of Jesus that put the words of the world to shame. 

We participate in this truth through what we offer in community we know as family, friends, worshipping and hearing the Scriptures together, offering service to God and God’s people through the sacrifice of our own time and above all, by entering into communion with Jesus through the sharing of bread and wine. 

It is through this divine communion that we find ourselves rich in acceptance, rich in loving and joyous belonging, so much so that we can feel free to express ourselves just as we are, with truth and integrity, throwing off the dark and suffocating expectations of the world, covering it with our own version of painted flowers and fields, so that the woes of the world can never overcome what we know as God’s Kingdom.

We give thanks for all the Van Gogh’s who have and do suffer long and hard, misunderstood by the world and its woes, and yet find the their own outlet for beautifying it and offering it up as both a personal testament and a sacrifice to God. Surely these are to be blessed and, on the last day, will all be raised from the woes of the world. 

Our God is a God for all people and especially for those who have nothing but God, which means every one of us, here and far away. The reality is we are all as vulnerable as the poorest of the poor and no matter how vast our possessions may be, none will be everlasting. 

We have heard the truth from Jesus about what the faithful life of discipleship entails. We cannot say, after hearing his words today, that we weren’t warned. 

Here is the poem that seems to capture the spirit of Jesus’ words to us today, while seeming to fit well in conversation with Van Gogh’s painting of the Women Carrying Sacks of Coal in the Snow.[1]

Those who carry grand pianos

to the tenth floor

wardrobes and coffins.

The old man with a bundle of wood hobbling toward the horizon

the lady with a hump of nettles

the madwoman pushing her baby carriage

full of empty vodka bottles.

They will all be raised up

like a seagull’s feather

like a dry leaf

like an eggshell

a scrap of newspaper on the street.

Blessed are those who carry

for they will be raised.

Anna Kamienska, Poland,1984

Amen

Written to the Glory of God

E. J. R. Culver+

February 16, 2025

[1]Vincent Van Gogh (Dutch 1853-1890) Women Carrying Sacks of Coal in the Snow, 1882, Chalk, brush in ink, and opaque and transparent watercolor on woven paper. Kroller-Muller Museum, Otterlo, Netherlands.

Fourth Sunday after The Epiphany

The Presentation of Our Lord

Malachi 3:1-4

Psalm 84

Hebrews 2:14-18

Luke 2:22-40

Just as You Are

We brought extra candles to glow at our Altar today. They are special candles, poured especially special Feast Days, especially on this day, the day known in the Church as Candlemas. We don’t hear too much about Candlemas, since it always arrives on February 2nd, 40 days after Christmas and, because it doesn’t always land on a Sunday, it often slips past us. Some Orthodox churches might hold a candlelit Mass of the Candles. The congregation brings all their old candles to burn during the service, and new candles are lit in celebration, bringing light into the world, just as Simeon suggests that the birth of Jesus brought light to enlighten the nations. There is also a more secular tradition which surrounds Candlemas, which I will share with you. Tradition has it that Candlemas marks the time when you really should take down your Christmas decorations! In fact, custom says that whatever decorations you don’t take down on January 5th, the Eve of Epiphany, you have to leave up until Candlemas. For those who hate to take down Christmas decorations, that’s one reason to love Candlemas!

Candlemas is one rite that is observed in the Church, just like many of our other rites we observe throughout the liturgical year. 

However, whether or not it lands on a Sunday, Candlemas is important for us to observe as the celebration of the Light of the World, the arrival of Our Lord, brought as a child to be presented to the temple in Jerusalem by his parents, Mary and Joseph. 

Being faithful and law abiding, Mary and Joseph have come to the temple in Jerusalem so that Mary might be purified, as was the custom 40 days after childbirth. It was one of the rites of the Temple, just as we understand rites in the Church today, such as coming to church to celebrate Christ’s birth on Christmas Eve, or coming to pay our respects on Good Friday, or like today,  Candlemas. 

They came just as they were….a simple carpenter, his young wife and their baby. They made their way through the crowded streets with their infant child, and we can imagine the noise and dust of the city, the bustling markets with voices laughing or arguing, the air filled with the scents of animals and incense surrounding them and filling their senses as they walked. 

They came like any other law-abiding new parents would have come. It was time. They couldn’t afford the most expensive offering to offer the Temple for their special rites, but they brought what they could afford: a pair of birds. 

Mary and Joseph had their own history around the conception and birth of Jesus and they knew Jesus was special, but they didn’t think of themselves as exempt from the norms of their day. They just came as they were, as was the custom, to present Jesus to the Temple authorities and to offer him to the Lord. 

They weren’t sure what to expect, because Jesus was their first child and they had never presented an infant to the priests in the Temple before. So, they were probably taken aback when, one after the other, two complete strangers approached them. One was Simeon, who seemed kind and faithful, as if filled with the Holy Spirit, and Mary and Joseph trusted him to hold Jesus. Simeon knew at once that this was the one he had been waiting for, the Messiah at last….the one told to him by the Holy Spirit that he would see before his death, and he utters his famous words, “Lord, you now have set your servant free, to go in peace as you have promised….” But he warned Mary that one day a “sword of sorrow will pierce your soul.” Like every young mother, we wish there could be a way that she would never have had to hear these words….but yet, looking back at Jesus’ life, we know, as did Simeon who prophesied into the future, that this would come to pass. Mary would know deep pain. 

Someone else came to the side of the young parents, so that she could take a close look at the infant Jesus. She was very old and deeply devout, a widow named Anna and, like Simeon, she was filled with the Holy Spirit, and she, too, knew of God’s promise that God would come among God’s people in human form. The old widow, Anna, probably led a quiet and contemplative life, praying constantly and rarely leaving the Temple Yet once she saw Jesus, she was filled with the Good News of God’s promise fulfilled and praised God for Jesus and she told everyone she saw about the arrival of the One come to redeem all God’s people. 

Mary and Joseph were amazed at hearing this and all Luke tells us about what happened after they received Simeon’s blessing and prophesy of what was to come, and had witnessed Anna’s joy and jubilation. They simply returned home to family life. And, according to Luke, Jesus grew and became strong, filled with wisdom and the favor of God was upon him.

It was and is an auspicious day to consider…the day Jesus came to be presented in the temple before the Lord. The day when the Light to enlighten the nations was recognized by those who had been waiting for the day when they would see the prophesy fulfilled. Simeon and Anna had probably seen scores of baby boys presented at the Temple, but this one was different, and they knew it. Simeon and Anna saw a promise fulfilled and they knew this was the one for whom they’d been waiting. 

We know that they were right and so the candles of Candlemas glow with our own recognition that the Light of the World had come into being and was acknowledged as so, long ago in the temple.

And yet, for all this, we might have some mixed feelings about the day. Mary and Joseph heard some hard truths from Simeon. For all the wonder of Emmanuel, God with us, Simeon’s words must have echoed in their hearts and minds, “"This child is destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed.”  His additional somber words to Mary must have been something they talked about, thought about and prayed about. 

It must have been exhilarating and exciting and a bit confusing to experience the greetings from Simeon and Anna, but the words carried painful truths. Their child is destined for glory but is also destined for great suffering and pain. Mary sensed the truth of this, and did what any other mother would probably do, she did her best to stay strong and not let her fears get in the way of the need for Jesus to grow wise and strong himself. Mary sensed her destiny, too, yet there was no turning back.

As they made their way back through the streets of Jerusalem, one wonders about their conversation. They had experienced gladness and yet that blessing of great joy was inevitably intertwined with dread and the city was far to busy to know of the burden the young parents now carried with them.

This scene, which happened two thousand years ago, could be a story of today. 

Mary and Joseph heard truths that day, that they would rather not have heard. Sometimes we hear truths in our own lives, or about our lives, or about our family or our community, or our nation, we would rather not hear. Often, we’d rather not hear the truth at all, or just want to stick our heads in the sand up to our necks and hope that when we emerge, all will be well. The problem is, the truth is the truth, and we carry our truths with us for the rest of our lives, whether we confess them or not. Sometimes, it is someone else who has to point them out for us. 

The rush of living in our world is familiar to us, and we know how easily we can become focused on whatever it is in the moment that needs our attention. We spend most of our time moving from task to task, often taking little notice of what is happening around us,  rushing, as we do, to fulfill the world’s expectations of us. We get lost in our own story. And then, suddenly, something happens that jolts us back into a truth about ourselves.  Maybe we have chosen to ignore it, or simply didn’t want to know about it at all. Perhaps the truth comes from a stranger, or perhaps a friend. Perhaps it is a kindly word, or it might be difficult to hear. But it is truth and serves to remind us that we are not called to live only in our own personal story, allowing it to unfold according only to our self-absorption. 

We are all part of a much larger story, that reaches far beyond ourselves alone…..a story that embraces a vast range of human emotions, situations, circumstances:  love, hate, kindness and cruelty, and all sorts of dualities that contain joy or sorrow deep within them. The world will draw us into its story, no matter how much we try to avoid it. And sometimes, our souls will be pierced by the sword of circumstance beyond our control. 

In a way, as faithful Christians, we must have the courage to follow Jesus into the Temple in order to discover our own truth. We each enter bearing our own gifts…each seeking God’s call to us. Who will the Holy Spirit use to deliver the message of our truth to us…who will be your Simeon or your Anna. 

Mary and Joseph went to the Temple and to the synagogue to learn their truths and to learn how to deal with them. We go to church, to Bible study, to special lessons in order discover God’s truths revealed to us. We go out amid other groups, we might take a stand on a particular issue that we feel called by God to address. 

In all these we expose who it is we really are, we expose our truths and sense our vulnerability because of it. We risk our ideas and perspectives, knowing that, however noble they may be, they may well clash severely with the ideas and perspectives of others, who must either be very wise or could be very frightening strangers. We live in a world of real-time positioning, which leaves us even more vulnerable than humankind has ever been before. In our era of social media, competition for attention and the increasing isolation that it propels, it becomes harder and harder to discover our truths and more difficult to find a safe place in which to face them. 

Regardless of where it is we go to find our truths, to family, to church, in the solitude of our own rooms, as we ponder and pray, listening to the still small voice within, we must go, we must enter in, or we will never encounter our Simeon or our Anna. The Simeon’s and the Anna’s will not know that we even exist and we will never see the truth of ourselves reflected in their eyes, unless we have the courage to be open enough to let our truth be revealed to us and to the world.

In the surface, this day seems like a simple, happy episode in the early life of Christ, and yet this Day of our Lord’s Presentation in the Temple is a complicated day, holding as it does, its blessings, its burdens and its particular message. It is a day of counter-cultural dualities: joy and pain, elation and suffering, and, like the city streets of Jerusalem and in the streets of this city and the cities of the world, the day holds opportunities filled with life,  promise, beauty and danger, wonders and disturbance, attention and distraction, excitement and boredom, and in the midst of it all, it holds a real opportunity for us to keep the faith that God is present among it all. 

We follow in the footsteps of Mary and Joseph and jostle our way to the Temple. We must allow our hearts to be made vulnerable and yes, to be pierced by our truth, because that is the way to life. 

Let us light the candles to celebrate Our Lord as we enter in and let us recall the words to that wonderful hymn…“Just as I am….Yea all I need, in Thee to find, O Lamb of God, I come, I come.”[1] Apt words for this day, because it’s a day of moving forward a little closer to God, just as we are, in all our simplicity and our complication. It’s a day of arrival, a day that shifts everything just a little, so that we can sense, if we are open to receive it,  a slight shift of difference in who we are, and where we are going from this day forward. It is a day when it is possible to see and feel the Holy Spirit working in us, to bring us closer and closer to the truths in our lives. 

As we enter the Temple of our life, just as we are, who will we find there? Who will find us? Maybe someone who is a stranger will capture our attention, come before us, and maybe our story will never be the same again.

Amen.

Written to the Glory of God

E. J. R. Culver+

February 2, 2025

[1]Hymn #693 1982 Episcopal Hymnal