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Joy to the World

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Sermon from the Rev. Joseph H. Hensley, Jr., rector, St. George’s Episcopal Church
Fredericksburg, VA | Christmas Eve, December 24, 2017

Joy to the world. The angel says to the shepherds, “Behold I bring you good news of great joy.” The prophet Isaiah says, “You, God, have multiplied the nations, you have increased its joy.” Psalm 96 says, “Let the heavens rejoice and the earth be glad…then all the trees of the wood will shout for joy before the Lord when he comes.” Joy. Joy. Joy. If  there is one word you remember from this Christmas sermon tonight, let it be this: joy.

What is this joy, though, of which the angels and prophets and poets speak? What joy does the world receive at the birth of Jesus in a lowly manger? Tonight we celebrate that God has come down to earth, heaven has taken up residence in human flesh. The divine has entered the world as an infant born of a mortal mother’s body. The joy received by the whole creation, the people and the earth and the trees of the wood; this joy is none other than the joy of God. God has given all creation a gift of heavenly joy, and now heaven and nature sing, heaven and nature sing, together.

Christmas reminds us that the world has been given the joy of God. Our response is to rejoice, but rejoice how? By coming to church and singing songs? By giving presents? By feasting and delighting in one another. Yes, yes, and yes, but when the trappings of Christmastide are put away, what does rejoicing look like? How are we to live as a result of the birth of Christ?

Episcopal priest and writer, Michael Battle, who will be with us in February for our Lenten Weekend, writes that when God inhabited our human flesh, heaven came to live on earth. An earthly body became a container for heaven. And that means that we are free to practice heaven on earth. Practicing heaven means looking at everything as a container of joy. Everything! As the hymn Joy to world says, “fields and floods, rocks, hills, and plains: repeat the sounding joy.” Everything: women, men, young, old, neighbors, strangers. When we practice heaven, everything and everyone can be a container of joy. God revealed this to us in Christ’s birth. God saw the mother’s womb as a place for joy to grow. God saw the baby’s body as a place for joy to cry. And then, God saw the relationship between mother and child as a place for joy to abound. But joy doesn’t stop at that relationship. God entered into human form to be in intimate relationship with all creation as Jesus breathed the air, drank the water, laid down to rest on the earth, ate the fruits of creation, was crucified on the hard wood of the cross and was placed in a stone cave. By being born, living and dying and rising again, on earth, God brought joy into the relationships of all beings, and we are now free to practice heaven on earth together in joy.

Of course, we often fall short of practicing heaven together in joy. We distort and twist relationships, using them to control and hold power over others. We hurt each other. We hurt God’s creation. We do not honor each other as containers of joy, and so instead of looking for joy in one another, we often look for trouble. We look with suspicion and fail to see. We retreat from one another into protective isolation. We even retreat from ourselves. How many of us just plow through life not paying attention to our bodies and souls, because we are so busy, because we are afraid of what we might find if we stop to listen to our hearts. This is, of course, why Jesus came to be with us, so that we would not be stuck in our blindness and isolation forever. Jesus was born because we do fall short, but through Christ we have the promise of a new heaven on earth. Joy to the world!

What does practicing heaven look like? It has many expressions. I would like to tell a story of one family who has showed me some of what it might look like. Alex and Liz James and their twin sons, Will and Matt, live in my hometown, Greensboro, NC. They are members of my home church there. When they first met and were married, Alex and Liz were living the dream of a prosperous life. Alex was a basketball star who graduated from Harvard and was working for IBM. He met Liz, an up and coming business woman from a successful Greensboro family. They had the twins and were the picture of a successful and beautiful young family. But not all was well with Liz. Around the time the boys were born, she was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis or MS, a disease that would slowly rob her of her physical abilities and eventually her life. That was hard enough. But when the boys were three years old, they were diagnosed with muscular dystrophy. Matt was also diagnosed with autism. They were not expected to live beyond their teenage years. What had seemed like a dream started to look like a nightmare.

But it wasn’t. Alex left IBM and went back to school to learn how to be a caregiver for his wife and children. A network of friends started providing daily support to the family: meals, companionship, caregiving of all kinds. These friends have found deep and abiding joy in being in community with this family, even in the unpleasant moments of taking care of people who cannot care for their bodies. Somehow, joy overcame suffering. I remember as Liz got weaker, she would use a walker and later a wheelchair to get to the front pew at church. Liz had grown up a proper Episcopalian, and I doubt she sat on the front pew (because few Episcopalians prefer the front pew) until her illness meant that she needed to be close to the front in order to make it to the communion rail. She would even lay down and bring pillows, even though it was not the proper thing to do. And in her weakened state she would find the energy to joyfully shout, “Amen” when the preacher said something she liked. Her suffering opened her heart to know a new joy. And her joy opened the hearts of that congregation in new ways. Even the most stodgy Episcopalians had to smile when Liz shouted “Amen.” Most everyone who comes into contact with Liz and Alex James and their two boys finds a holy joy.

The boys have defied the odds and are now 26 years old. I do not believe God has caused this family to suffer, but God has used them to reveal divine joy, joy that abides in the midst of difficulty. My father used to have breakfast with Alex and the boys once a week, and he would often tell me he thought Alex was a saint. Alex has often said, “From the outside looking in, my family’s situation may look tough, but from the inside looking out, my family sees the best in people.” That’s what practicing heaven looks like. And the group of friends I mentioned who support the James family and have made it a way of life for over 20 years, they gave themselves a name: Joy friends. They are all saints, and so are we.

I asked the question earlier, how are we to live as a result of Christmas? We are to live as joy friends. Joy friends with Christ, just as Mary and Joseph and the shepherds and the angels were joy friends to the baby Jesus. Joy friends with each other. Divine joy has to be shared, otherwise is it not joy. Joy friends with all creation. I love the name of our local river keepers, Friends of the Rappahannock. They are Joy Friends. Joy friends find the beauty in everything and appreciate everyone. Joy friends live as though our neighbor’s story, our neighbor’s happiness is just as important as our own. Joy friends live so that “I” becomes “we” and “we” expands to include “them,” and none of us can be replaced. Joy friends practice heaven on earth. This does not have to look extraordinary. It might look just like every day life. As Alex James says, “We just live our lives, but there’s plenty of room for joy.”

Joy has come to the world, joy friends. The Lord is come. Let earth receive the joy of God in Christ. Repeat the sounding joy. Repeat the sounding joy. And through our joy friendship, let heaven and nature together sing.

 

 

 

St. George’s: The Place Where We Wait Together

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Sermon from the Rev. Joseph H. Hensley, Jr., rector, St. George’s Episcopal Church
Fredericksburg, VA | The Second Sunday of Advent, Dec. 10, 2017

Hear again these words from the second letter of Peter, “But in accordance with God’s promise we wait for new heavens and a new earth…Therefore, beloved, while you are waiting for these things, strive to be found by him at peace.” While you are waiting for these things, strive to be found by God at peace. Today, on this second Sunday in our season of Advent, we are reminded again that this is a season of waiting. Waiting for Christ to return, waiting for our completion and fulfillment, waiting for a new creation. The invitation is to wait in peace and to wait with hope. The message of Advent is true all the year round. We are a waiting people, and this is the place where we learn the art of waiting.

We do not usually like waiting. We try to avoid having to wait. Or if we have to wait, we find something else to do while we wait passively for something to happen. The waiting we do here, though, is Advent waiting, active waiting. Advent waiting is joyful anticipation, paying close attention because there is something new breaking out right now. This kind of waiting we want to be fully present for, not doing something else, not checking email messages. Advent waiting means living as if this moment is THE moment, the moment that God is breaking into the world again. Waiting, in this way, can bring a sense of peace.

St. George’s is our place to learn how to wait with Advent grace. In addition to being the second Sunday of Advent, today is also our St. George’s parish annual meeting, a time of looking back and looking forward, a time of electing leaders for vestry who will guide us in the waiting. A lot of times on these Sundays of annual meetings rectors set aside the sermon and give more of a report on the “state of the parish.” I’m not going to do that today, but I do want to talk about the state of our parish in the context of the unfolding promise of God in this place at this time. Many of you are here, because you have seen the unfolding, you’ve witnessed God working, and you want to wait here to see what happens next. St. George’s, how are we waiting?

In the Gospel today, we hear of John the Baptist at the Jordan River in the words of the prophet Isaiah, “Prepare the way of the Lord.” In other words, “wait for God with action and anticipation.” For us, that waiting begins in baptism. Our worship and sacramental life together is the beginning and end of that waiting. So let me share a few numbers with you here. In the past year, we welcomed 25 new members to the Body of Christ through baptism, adults, young children, and infants. We welcomed 28 people to the Episcopal Church through confirmation and reception. So that’s 53 new companions in the waiting. Thanks be to God. In 2017, we asked God to bless six couples in marriage as they promised to wait faithfully with each other until death. From this congregation in 2017, we have commended to God fourteen souls to God through death into newness of life, celebrating the waiting time we had with them on earth. We held Eucharist services on every Sunday and on Wednesday, Compline Sunday evenings and daily prayer most weekdays and some extra ones thrown in. We sent communion from this communion table to the sick and homebound. Worship and sacraments, signs of God’s grace, is where we begin and end our waiting. It is where we learn how to wait in holiness and devotion to God, where we learn the art of waiting together in words and story, song, and silence. It is crucial for everything else we do, and I give thanks that we do it in so many different ways.

Our worship and sacraments leads us to waiting in our pastoral care for each other, it leads us to waiting in our reaching out with helping hands with neighbors near and far, in sharing of the Good News, the good news of what we are doing here, what we are doing in the world, the good news of what is happening in our hearts. It leads us to learning and exploration of God’s word and how we follow Christ. It leads us to wait as we see the abundance of giving in time, talent, and money in thanksgiving to God. We are learning to wait with the earth itself as we strive to be better caregivers of God’s creation. We have learned to wait, with great urgency, as we strive for justice and to respect the dignity of every human being. We are learning this Advent waiting, this anticipation of God breaking into the world, every time we welcome a new person, welcome a stranger and reach across the lines of difference. I cannot possibly, in the time of this sermon, give an account of all the specific ways we have seen God at work in the waiting at St. George’s in the past year. We would be here for days. I think we will have to have another gathering, maybe in the spring, just to lift up the many, many stories of waiting and grace. I will not even attempt to hit the high spots, because frankly there are just too many and to choose one might diminish others.

I am giving you a bit of a report, not as much about what we have done and more about how we are waiting. The first reflection on waiting is that we are waiting to see what God will do with us next! Just when we think we have enough on the plate, God will throw something at us, something new. You all know how much we have going on around here, and then something else comes along and I say, “really God?!” So just one example (and there are many I could cite) we have some persons who are deaf who have discovered St. George’s and they want to be part of our community. In order to offer them hospitality, we need to find resources for sign language interpretation. We will need to get used to service animals being in our midst. We will have to wait and see how that will turn out. In the meantime, they have already given us a name. In the deaf community, it is an honor when they stop signing your name letter by letter and give you a sign. The name of St. George’s is now “the vegetable church!” We are the vegetable church, because of our reputation as a church which gives away fresh produce every Tuesday at the Table. I said, “I always knew we were a vegetable church, because our community has a lot of fiber!” We will have to wait, anticipate, and learn how to be welcoming in new ways. By the way, there is no church in our Diocese providing this kind of welcome. It will add some wrinkles to our glorious and complicated worship together, and we will wait to see how that goes. But I feel like God keeps doing this with us, giving us another thing, saying “you can do it.” And what is such a blessing is that you St. Georgians more often than not welcome a little more wonderfulness. “Sure, it’s one more thing, but let’s see what might come,” you say. There is an amazing spirit of enthusiasm here, a willingness to be part of the active waiting to see what God will throw at us next. It is a joy to see you excited as you wait to see what the Spirit is doing, what is getting ready to be born here.

My second reflection on the waiting is that there is a time to stop, though, and wait before we do too much. When I came here three years ago, you told me, “there is a lot going on here, are you sure you want this thing?” And you were right, there is a lot going on in this place, and sometimes it can be a little crazy. We are growing. We keep adding members. We have outgrown our space for Sunday school and are now renting space across the street. There is more growth to come. So over the next two years I am calling on us to stop and wait and to undergo a process of reviewing and renewing our ministries together. This will be a time to listen deeply to each other, to the community, and to the Holy Spirit. What ministries are waiting to be born? What ministries are waiting for a transition or maybe waiting to have their end? What resources, what leadership, what space, what money will we need in order to respond to God’s calling? Part of this process will be learning about the talents and the gifts that are right here in our midst, and we started this with the time and talent pledges this year. We need to get better organized in connecting people with each other with opportunities to share their gifts so that we can all share this ministry together. This will be a time of intentionally listening and planning so that the ministries we have been called to can be sustained for the long term.

My third reflection on the waiting is that as we wait in this Advent way, our waiting can be a witness to the world. Right now outside these doors is a world that is overwhelming and overwhelmed and changing so fast it makes our heads spin. And that world is also waiting for peace, but it does not always know it. It is impatient and does not really know how to wait with much grace. We, as Advent people, as people who are learning the art of waiting with hope, we have a witness to share about peace that can be found even in the middle of a mess, even when we do not see the complete way forward. This is something we have been exploring this past year in something we call “habits of the heart,” and healing the heart of our culture and our democracy. We have been saying things like, “we are all in this together,” “we can hold tension in creative and life-giving ways,” and “everyone can have a voice and a role to play as we build beloved community with God’s help. We have a witness while we wait for that to bear fruit.

Our Lenten Weekend speaker, coming February 2018, is the Rev. Dr. Michael Battle, and he has written a book titled: “Heaven on earth: God’s call to Community in the Book of Revelation.” This is not your typical book about the book of Revelation. What he’s saying is that while we wait for the new heaven and the new earth that God promises, we are called to come together. We are called to be active in the waiting together: choosing heaven instead of hell, choosing blessing instead of cursing, choosing community instead of chaos, choosing hope instead of despair. As Lawrence Davies, former mayor of Fredericksburg and pastor of Shiloh Baptist Old Site has said, “You can either curse the darkness or light a candle. I choose the latter.” That is an Advent waiting statement if ever I heard one!

St. George’s we are called to wait. We are called to learn the art of waiting actively together as we see what God has for us next, as we stop and wait to see what we need to sustain ourselves, and as we bear witness to the world with our waiting in hope, together. May God give us hearts to wait well, to choose light, not impatiently looking at our watches but waiting with joyful anticipation as we wait for the one who is coming into the world, the light, the Christ who baptizes us with the Spirit. It is a privilege to be your rector, waiting and to invite us all to wait in peace, together, as we begin another year.

It’s Not Too Late!

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Sermon from the Rev. Joseph H. Hensley, Jr., rector, St. George’s Episcopal Church
Fredericksburg, VA | The Third Sunday of Easter, April 30, 2017

The people whom God has chosen so often miss the point, over and over again–when we reject the one who has come to save us, when we fail to recognize the Savior standing right in front of us. But it’s not too late! The promise of God–the promise of life and love that is stronger than death is always there. It’s not too late.

[Text not available for this post. Can you transcribe? Contact the church office if you can help.]

The Earthquake of Easter

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Sermon from the Rev. Joseph H. Hensley, Jr., rector, St. George’s Episcopal Church
Fredericksburg, VA | Easter Sunday, April 16, 2017

 

(Sermon text as prepared)

Welcome happy morning and happy Easter! It is a joy to be together again on this Easter morning to hear the good news of the Gospel that Christ is risen and to hear it this morning in the version from the evangelist known as “Matthew.” Mathew’s version, unlike any of the other 3 Gospels in the Bible mentions an earthquake. The earth shakes as the angel of the Lord comes and rolls away the stone. The tomb is opened. Jesus is gone. Christ is risen. And that news has been shaking and quaking us ever since.

Now when I say, “earthquake,” especially in this place, many of you will think back to August 2011 when there was serious damage done, including to this old church building. I, myself, on that day was in a hospital in Chapel Hill, NC with my wife for a scheduled pregnancy check-up; and we felt the tremors. Disconcerting to say the least. Earthquakes are scary. They make us wonder if the world is going to fall apart? What’s going to happen next? Is everything going to be all right?

The Easter earthquake is different. It’s not a sign that things are falling down. It’s a sign that things are being raised up. For the evangelist Matthew, mentioning the earthquake in his Gospel was a way for him to tie the resurrection of Jesus to signs in the heavens and in the earth that were portents of the end times. Matthew is always trying to connect Jesus to the scriptures that came before and the prophecies of what is to come. I think, though, that this earthquake may mean more than just a sign. I like to think of it as Mother Earth, herself, shaking herself with a trembling “alleluia!” Shaking herself with joy that death could not contain love. That a tomb could not contain the peace of God. Mother Earth shook with joy that even though we did our worst to Christ, God’s love and life were triumphant. And that still shakes us and quakes us to our very core.

All of us have things that shake us in our lives. Earthquakes, literal and figurative, in our lives rock us and make us wonder if it’s going to be alright. Easter does not take those earthquakes away. Matthew talks about, after the passage that we just heard, those guards who were watching over the tomb, who had been sent there to make sure that nobody stole away the body of Jesus, but when the angel came they fell down like dead men, they woke up later. They went to the religious authorities and told them what had happened. And do you know what the authorities did? They paid the guards off. They told them to go out and tell everyone that the resurrection was a big hoax. Tell everyone it was not true. The Easter earthquake doesn’t take away the corruption of our world. The Easter earthquake doesn’t take away the cruelty that we can inflict on each other. It doesn’t take away the hatred that we can feel against one another. It doesn’t take away the disasters and the difficulties of our lives. It doesn’t take away death. But…that Easter earthquake, it shakes everything up. It shakes it up in a way that nothing is the same. It shakes it up in a way that the stones which keep us trapped in our tombs. The Easter earthquake shook the world in such a way that the things which were intimidating us, those “strong men” blocking our path, are knocked out and we can go free.

So that Easter earthquake, shook up the cruelty of the cross. That cruelty was cracked open so that the risen Christ can heal our wounds and our brokenness, heal our violence. Jesus doesn’t come out of the tomb breathing vengeance, saying “I’ll get you back for everything you did to me.” He comes out of the tomb ready to love and to send his disciples out into the world to share good news, hope and peace and love. The Easter earthquake shook up the seduction of hatred, so that we don’t become haters, so that we don’t even hate the haters. When Christ came out of the tomb loving and not hating, the Easter earthquake shook us to our core, that we might learn to love our neighbors, even those who are difficult to love. That we might learn to love ourselves. The Easter earthquake shook disaster, it shook the devastations of our world and our lives: the difficulties, the bad decisions, the diseases, the deaths and losses. It shook the disasters, both natural and human made. Sometimes the earth shakes because of violence that we do to one another. The Easter earthquake shook all these, not to take them away, but to create room and opportunities to love and to care and to serve. We can love in the midst of disaster. And that Easter earthquake shook even death itself. It shook the finality of death so that instead of fearing death as a termination, we see death as a transformation, knowing that life is changed not ended. And that gives us motivation to love even more, every day with every breath.

That Easter earthquake shook the world, shook everything, and we are still feeling the aftershocks that spread through the whole world, the aftershocks that have lasted thousands of years. We still feel them. In actual earthquakes there is an urgency to move, an urgency to get out of danger to a safe place. The Easter earthquake also has an urgency and a motivation to move. The word that appears over and over in this Gospel is “Go.” The Easter earthquake is moving us to run like Mary Magdalene and the other Mary who came to see the tomb early that Easter morning. Those women came not knowing what they were going to find, but when the earthquake came and the guards fell over like dead men, those women stood their ground! Those women were sent as the first apostles to the apostles. They were sent as the first messengers, even though in ancient times the testimony of a woman witness was not considered as valuable as the testimony of a man. God was shaking things up! The angel sent the women, the women, to share the good news. Sent them running, the text tells us. Running with fear and joy, with awe and wonder and excitement, they ran to share that good news that love conquers all.

So I have been pondering this week the great theological mystery that is the Easter Sunday egg hunt. It is connected to this idea of running. I try, each year, to think about why we have the egg hunt. One year I said it was about the sweetness of God’s love and finding the sweetness of Easter. Another year I talked about cracking open the wonder and grace and mystery of Easter. There’s the excitement of cracking open the eggs to see what is inside. Jesus cracked open the tomb, and so on. This year I had a new image, that of the children lined up outside the graveyard gate, and they are ready to go in to find the eggs. They have been told not to push or shove, not to trample the flowers. Make sure everyone gets some eggs. Then whoever is in charge says, ‘Go!’ and they just stream into the cemetery and it’s glorious. They go with such urgency to find those little treasures, and that urgency is the urgency of Easter. That’s the urgency with which Mary and Mary ran to tell the disciples the good news that Christ is risen. We, on this Easter, are called to run with that kind of urgency, to seek the treasure that is our inheritance as the saints in light. The treasure that death and cruelty and disaster and hatred do not need to intimidate us or entomb us or command us. The treasure that lasts through any earthquake, because Christ is risen. I pray that we feel that urgency of the children seeking treasure, to share this hope with the world, that Christ is risen. To share this treasure and hope, that love has not removed our suffering, but love has mastered our suffering. May we go, may we run with that urgency to find and share that treasure. And as we run, may we feel Earth’s alleluias shaking and quaking under our feet.

 

Hosanna! Help, please!

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Our Book of Common Prayer calls this day by two names: The Sunday of the Passion and Palm Sunday. We begin with a Gospel reading about Jesus’ triumphant entry into Jerusalem. We begin with Gospel where the crowds shout Hosannah! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord. We begin with palm branches. Then we make a sudden shift from a crowd shouting Hosannah to a crowd crying “crucify him!” We shift from blessings to curses. We shift from Jesus’ triumph to his trial and execution. From leafy palm branches to the hard wood of the cross. From Palm Sunday to Passion Sunday. God, help us.

God help us. The word, “hosanna” which the crowds shout, literally means “help, please!” or “save, we beseech you.” Or “deliver, please.” It is a prayer in itself and is part of Psalm 118 which is often read on this day, but that is not how the crowds use it. Although it had been in use for hundreds of years, the word ‘hosanna,’ by Jesus’ time, had become a common place word of praise, more like “hooray” than “help.” It’s a cheer. Go, Jesus! And yet the crowds desperately need the help which the word hosanna means. For just a few days later crowds will chant “crucify him.” Just a few days later, the blessings will turn to curses. Hosannah! Help, please, O God, because we know that we, your human family, can turn against you and against each other so quickly.

Writer Anne Lamott has a wonderful book on prayer titled, “Help. Thanks. Wow: The Three Essential Prayers.” Help. Thanks. Wow. In many ways, Holy Week takes us through all three of these prayers. Today, on this Palm and Passion Sunday, we pray for help. Help us and deliver us as we feel the tension between blessing and cursing, as we brace ourselves for our rejection of the one sent to show us God’s love. On Maundy Thursday we will say, “thanks” as Jesus gives thanks at the last supper, as he washes the feet of his disciples, even the ones who will betray and deny and desert him. On Good Friday we will be astounded and awestruck as we witness Jesus’ offering of himself on the cross. We will say “wow” as we witness the power of love: the power of love to overcome human cruelty and pain. The power of love to meet humiliation with heart. The power of love that is willing to die so that we might truly live. Wow.

For today, I invite us to move from a mindless ‘hosannah’ from a banal ‘yay Jesus’ to a more profound and heartfelt, “help, save us please.” How have we praised Jesus with our lips but not followed him in our lives? Deliver us, please! How do we as individuals and as a community, continue to reject the way of love and despise goodness and kindness? Help us, we beseech thee! When have we offered blessing in one breath and a curse in the next. O God make speed to save us. O Lord make haste to help us. These are the words that we prayer at noon, in the evening and at the end of the day in our daily round of prayer services. We pray them throughout the day  because we know how we can turn toward and then away from God’s love hour by hour. When I made retreat in the monastery, the monks prayed it this way, “O God, come to my assistance!” Come to our assistance on this Palm Sunday as we see you, O Christ, entering the holy city to face your death. Come to our assistance on this Sunday of the Passion as we see you suffer at the hands of your human family. Come to our assistance as we feel the tension between blessing and cursing. Come to our assistance as we know our own needs for healing and wholeness. Help, please deliver us save us in this time of Christ’s unjust trial. Save us from ourselves, save us from the cruel evils of which humanity is so capable. By your grace assist us as we cry for your help. By your grace assist us as we thank you for all your loving kindness and your mercy. By your grace assist us as we prepare to say wow, as we prepare to be astounded and awestruck at your power to put down the forces of death with the power of love. Help us, now, O God, we pray. Hosanna. Hosanna. Hosanna.