Sunday, November 24, 2013

Christ the King, 2013: Re-member

Lectionary: Jeremiah 23:1-6; Canticle 16; Colossians 1:11-20; Luke 23:33-43
Preacher: The Very Rev Dr Valori Mulvey Sherer, Rector



En el nombre del Dios: Padre, Hijo, y Espiritu Santo. Amen.

On this our patronal feast day, the day we remember in whose name we live and move and have our being, we have the blessing of these words from our Psalm: “Be still then, and know that I am God.” (Ps 46:11)

As many of you know, Deacon Pam and I went on a silent retreat at Valle Crucis last week. We stayed in the
wonderful hermitages they have there. Pam stayed in the Julian of Norwich hermitage, and I stayed in the G. Porter Taylor hermitage. We didn’t choose them – they chose us.

In each hermitage are books and information about the one for whom the hermitage is named. During my time in that hermitage I held +Porter in particular prayer. I read his books (I hadn’t even known he’d written two books) and found myself blessed by his grace and wisdom in a whole new way.

That’s the thing about prayer: it connects us to one another in an intimate and powerful way. Most of us count on the truth of that, especially when someone we love is sick or uncertain or going off in a risky direction.

When we pray, we remember. We remember the name or situation of a prayer request we were given. We remember that the redeeming love of God is always ready to touch and heal whatever prayer request we offer up.

When we pray we are also remembered. We, who are dismembered from the wholeness of God by our sin, are re-membered by our prayer.

This is what we see in today’s gospel reading. Knowing he is with the Redeemer, the criminal asks not for rescue as does the other criminal, nor for forgiveness, acknowledging that he is guilty of his offense. Instead, he asks to be remembered: made one again with that from which he had been separated. He seeks wholeness, holiness.

In prayer, we come to know God intimately, honestly, overwhelmingly. The Psalmist’s prayer confirms that, reflecting the voice of God which speaks gently to us saying: “Be still…” Listen and you will learn how to hear me.

Being still is a prayer discipline that takes practice. Our attention wanders, our legs get itchy to move.

In the quiet we first hear the voice of our own conscience which has been speaking to us all along but has been drowned out by our busy-ness. Then we learn to hear the voice of God.

There is no distraction in the quietness which is what makes it uncomfortable, and we end up sounding much like the first criminal who asked Jesus for rescue. But that’s OK. Jesus didn’t rebuke that criminal, did he? Jesus also didn’t rebuke the soldiers who crucified him, the religious leaders who mocked him, or the people who stood by watching…. just watching…

In his most miserable moment as a human, Jesus prayed, and his prayer takes our breath away: “Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing.”

I’ll bet if anyone had asked, the soldiers they would have said they knew exactly what they were doing. I’ll bet the religious leadership were sure they knew what they were doing by getting Jesus crucified. The people… I don’t know. Maybe some thought they knew.

We often read this text forgetting that it is the distance of time that enables us to know they were killing the Messiah of God. Our sense of spiritual superiority wanes, however, when we remember that we, as a modern culture, are doing the same thing whenever we do it to the least in the kingdom of God.

If we were to open our eyes and truly see, we would be flooded with images of this: people around the globe and right here in Shelby, living in poverty and disease, with few options and even less respect. They cry out for rescue and are often rebuked, or mocked, or ignored by people who seem to know what they’re doing. But Jesus’ prayer: “Father forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing…” is eternally re-membering us and setting us free from the tyranny of our own hubris.

We don’t know what we are doing. We can’t – because our vision is so small, so finite. Thankfully, we aren’t asked to know. We’re asked to follow.

If we follow our Redeemer, we will remember. We will remember that although “the human family remains divided and enslaved by sin,” the redeeming love of God in Christ has set us on a course that will bring all of us together again under God’s gracious rule. (Collect of the Day)

Following means gathering together for Holy Eucharist and remembering. Following means going wherever God leads us and trusting, whatever the circumstance, that God’s grace is all we need.

Redeemer knows the truth of this first-hand. We have been to the cross and the tomb together. And today, we live the truth of the resurrection together, and it is glorious.

On this, our patronal feast day, and in the name of Jesus Christ our Redeemer, I bless this family of God who serve and follow so faithfully. With eyes wide open, you have seen the suffering of our sisters and brothers around us and in response, you opened your hearts, your hands, and your buildings to serve them while others rebuke, mock, and ignore them. I am honored to serve with you as your rector.

I close with an adaptation of the blessing St. Paul offered the Colossians: “May you [continue to] be made strong with all the strength that comes from God’s glorious power, and may you be prepared to endure everything with patience, while joyfully giving thanks to God, our Redeemer, who has enabled you to share in the inheritance of the saints in the light.”

Amen.

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