Rejoice in the Lord always.   And again, I say rejoice.  

As is ever the case, the introit for the Third Sunday in Advent (which we have just heard sung) sets the tone for us.  Christ is drawing nigh.  He is almost at the very gate.  Flowers adorn the altar for the first time since Advent began… We light the rose colored candle on the Advent wreath… And Fr. Dan is still pretty in pink.  God is in his heaven, and all is right with the world. Rejoice!

And yet, for all of our rejoicing about the coming of Christ, the Gospel itself seems to take us in a different direction.  Last Sunday, Fr. Patrick preached quite an excellent sermon on Repentance.  John the Baptist was center stage.  The “rock star from Judea” was brimming with confidence, and all the world was flocking to the riverside to hear this good news of salvation.

But in this morning’s Gospel, John the bold preacher is much more subdued.

He had been quite sure that God had called him to his prophetic ministry.  And he was quite sure that his cousin Jesus was the Messiah long-expected.  After all, had he not heard from his youth how his mother Elizabeth had rejoiced in that prenatal visit.  And son, when Mary walked in the room I felt you leap within me…
There can never be any doubt in a mother’s word… and she had told him this amazing news.  He had always been sure.  He had never doubted.

Behold the Lamb of God! Behold him who takes away the sins of the world.

After me comes one whose sandals I am not worthy to stoop down and tie.  He must increase.  I must decrease.

I baptize with Water.  But he shall Baptize with the Holy Spirit!

John had proclaimed Jesus as Christ with great confidence.
But even a confident man can be quite shaken by a sudden turn of events.  John thought he was called by God to preach.  The authorities, on the other hand, thought he was dangerous.  Too much controversy.  Too many people.  Such a crowd might attract more attention from the Romans than was prudent.  So John was locked away in a prison cell.

And there in the dank, dark loneliness, he wondered. He struggled.  He tried to pray and believe…  Had he been wrong about the whole thing?  He had to know.

And so he sent a messenger to ask the haunting question, Are you he who is to come, or shall we look for another?

It is interesting that Jesus didn’t come in person.  No reassuring visits are recorded in the scriptures.  No kindly pastoral advice.

Like John, Jesus, too, is a man with a mission.  And there was not time to be distracted.  And so he simply sent the following reply:

Go tell John what you see and hear:  The blind receive sight. The lame walk. Lepers are cleansed. The deaf hear.  The dead are raised…and the poor have good news preached to them.

And having sent this short message, Our Lord returns to his sermon… Among those born or women, none is greater than John, yet the least in the Kingdom of heaven is greater than he.

And the only other thing we know about John the Baptist after that, is that a soldier burst into his cell during one of the king’s parties, and announced that his head was requested on a silver platter.

Perplexing, isn’t it?  The liturgy demands that we rejoice.  And yet we find it hard to rejoice from our prison cell.  We seem to empathize more with poor John the Baptist than with those upstairs eating and drinking and watching Salome’s début episode of Dancing with the Stars.

Have you ever had the experience of someone demanding your happiness even when you didn’t feel like it?  For many people, the seasonal depression around what the culture calls “the holidays” is a profound thing indeed.  We are expected to be filled with mirth and joy and good will, as if it were as easy as flipping a switch.  Just spray a little Christmas aroma in each room  and everything will be just fine.

But it doesn’t work like that. Advent and Christmas don’t stop bad things from happening.  People get sick at Christmas.  People die at Christmas.  The postman doesn’t stop bringing bills at Christmas.

Like John the Baptist, we can sometimes find ourselves in a sudden and unexpected reversal, and even our strongest convictions can be tested.

Are ye who is to come? …Or shall we look for another.

But Jesus is direct and to the point.  The blind see.  The lame walk. The dead ARE raised.  Everything that Isaiah the prophet said has come true.  I AM the one who shall come, and who has come…and I will never leave you nor forsake you.

On Christmas day, we will rejoice in a great many good things.  And we will thank God for our health, and our families, and our many blessings.  Presents will be unwrapped, with hugs and kisses.  All grand and glorious stuff.

But on the 26th of December, while the poinsettias are still red and pretty, we will remember at mass the stoning of St. Stephen, the first Christian martyr.  And on the 27th of December we will remember that John the Apostle was exiled to Patmos.  And on the 28th we will remember all those innocent little ones slaughtered by Herod, as Mary and Joseph and the infant escaped to Egypt.

We rejoice today, as Christians ever have on this Gaudette Sunday.  But our rejoicing is not the “circumstantial happiness” the world so hotly pursues.  We rejoice, not in the fleeting transitory things, where moths consume and thieves steal.  We rejoice today because we have been given the peace of God which passes all understanding.  We rejoice because Christ the morning star shines in our hearts.  Our circumstances matter not. Whether we are in exile, or in danger, or in prison, or even in the hour of our death, Our Lord has spoken his word of peace to vanquish our doubts.  Are you He who is to come?  Or shall we look for another?

Ah, but yes!  The Blind see!  The Lame Walk!  The dead are raised!
Lord to whom shall we turn? For you have the words of eternal life.  And we have seen and have come to know that you are the Christ of God! Rejoice in the Lord always.  And again, I say, Rejoice. +++Amen.



Many of you will remember that 30 years ago, Hwy 17 between Georgetown and Charleston was two lane traffic most of the way, and very, very rural.

There were no malls nor shopping centers nor car dealerships… No “upscale” housing developments…

…Just the Awendaw Baptist Church (in front of which was a notorious speed trap where my mother once got a speeding ticket with a station wagon full of cub scouts… bless her, it was the only sin she ever committed)… a scattering of small houses, and the stands where the basket ladies sold their craft.

I traveled this stretch of highway regularly as a college student, and came to know it very well.  And one of the marvels in those days was that a man decided to build a boat right there in one of the creeks.  It was huge… and each time I drove by, I took interest in the progress.  First, it was just rib and frame… then it was covered with some fabric stretched over the frame… and finally painted white…  And there it sat.  Year after year.  It never moved, never even got in water deep enough to float.

I read in the paper some years back that the builder had died… and that the only movement the boat ever had was to blow over on its side during Hurricane Hugo.  Today, there are a few buildings that obscure the view, but if you look hard enough, the old boat is still there, forlorn, abandoned in the marsh grass…

What a curious thing… to build a boat in the middle of nowhere… for no obvious purpose.

And I suppose that if such a thing is a curiosity now, then it would have clearly been so if - let’s just suppose -   the builder was a more public figure… Let’s just say that, in addition to building a boat in the middle of nowhere… he advertised that it would be the only means of escape from a coming deluge. Well, we know that such a man would be mocked and ridiculed (haven’t we heard that story before?)

The first Sunday in Advent is always the Sunday on which the Church speaks of eschatological things…  There will be a time, we are told, that the Christ who has come will return.  We give lip service to such a notion Sunday after Sunday in the Creed… He will come again to judge the quick and the dead…We say the words… but we certainly don’t expect that it is something we have to be concerned about this week.

Jesus tells us, in the Gospel for this morning, that we are just like those in the days of Noah…We are invited to safety… and we glibly go about our business:  eating, drinking, getting married…which are, by the way, fine things to do…. IF they are understood within the context of God’s sovereignty.

The larger problem is that most people don’t listen at all.

It is not coincidental that the opening hymn at mass on the first Sunday in Advent is Wachet Auf!  Wake up!   Holy Mother church seeks to shake us from our lethargy, and remind us of the critical importance of giving Christ our full attention.

How best to go about that?  Well, I once saw a National Inquirer headline that said Fundamentalist Preacher spontaneously combusts in pulpit.

That might do it for a week or two.  We might fill a church where the preacher had actually exploded.

But that is precisely the point.  Our Lord is not interested in conjuring tricks and traveling road shows.  He does not wish to entertain us with the spectacular.  Rather, he is interested in a relationship that steadily grows and matures.

In the language that our Lord uses in the Gospel, it is clear that the day of consummation is not indiscriminate.  Two men are in the field… one is taken.  Two women are grinding… one is taken.  These are not random selections.  The point is, that as loving and gracious and inviting as God is… our failure to respond to his invitation has consequences.

The human heart can harden in such a way that even the diligent, insistent love of God cannot penetrate.

Advent simply states clearly and definitively that this is so.

We do not need to send out full color “rapture posters” to get the point across.  Our preachers do not need to explode.

But we each do need to pay attention… to be shaken from any human preoccupation that would distract us from the daily invitations that God sends our way…

To love him with our heart mind and soul…

To love our neighbors as ourselves…  

To seek Christ in others…

To forgive and reconcile…

For there will continue to be floods…

Not just the type that Al Gore fears…

Not just the rising tides against which the Sandbags and the Wild Dunes Homeowners struggle…

…But the floods of selfishness and sin that wound and destroy us…

And as those tides rise, as they surely do each day, we are invited into the Navis Domini,  the Ark of the Lord… the Holy Catholic Church.  For within these walls we are nurtured, nourished, and kept from the storm… until such time as we come safely to the dry land of God’s Kingdom.

Wachet Auf… Wake up.  Listen.  May this Advent indeed be a time of preparation… introspection… of real conversion…  of hope…and of joy.

+++Amen



What would you say are the distractions that most shake religious institutions?

Scandals?  Certainly.  And the church has given us more than our share in the past decades, and any student of church history knows that it has ever been thus.

Hypocrisy?  We all quickly tire of leaders, spiritual or political, who speak one way and live another.

Selfishness?  That covers so much territory!  Nearly all the serious divisions in the church, or any other institution, can be traced to the fact that someone or some group wants to put their agenda or needs ahead of the well-being of everyone else.

We could all add the list… and I am afraid that it would be rather long.

In our scriptures this morning, we see that two of the distractions that beset the early church were:

1) Trying to control God’s timing.
2) Trusting in power, wealth, and prestige.

Fr. Patrick gave us insight into the Church in Thessolonica last week… and today, we hear a little more.  It seems that some in the church had come to believe that the physical return of Jesus was so imminent that they had quit their jobs, taken to their lounge chairs, and spent their days gawking into the heavens.

But even in their idleness… even though they believed that Jesus would soon swoop down and take them to a better world… their behavior did not reflect an increased holiness. They weren’t spending extra time in prayer or works of mercy.  On the contrary, they were sponging off their neighbors.  

Paul rebukes them, not only for their idleness, but because they were busy-bodies!  You know the sort… always giving us little bits of advice in an ever so-condescending tone.

Paul states rather sternly… If they will not work, they should be permitted to eat.  This is no mere aphorism…or wise saying.  It is a command.  Don’t be sentimental.  You shall not use the common resources of the church to enable the lazy.

Now, we could spend hours on the passages.  There are many things that could be said about the dignity of work (papal encyclicals have been written on the subject).  There are many things that could be said about the Final Coming of Christ to judge the quick and the dead… (but we will save that for Advent in just two weeks).

The main point I think we need to understand this morning… the motivation behind the behavior of the Thessolonicans… was that they thought they could depend on God to operate on their time-table.  And that is idolatry.  It is not Faith, but conjuring.  You may remember me quoting Bishop Allison once, when he talked about a habit of his grandmother.  Anytime that something happened that shook her sense that God’s timing was somehow “off” she would shake her fist and rail, When I get to heaven, God’s going to have a lot of answering to do!    Maybe you have heard other people say similar things.  But what kind of God is answerable to our grandmothers? (formidable as they may have been).

Finally, as we consider the Gospel for this morning, we see that Jesus has a word or two to say about the Temple.   Now consider how important the Temple was.  People had scarcely recovered from its destruction in the time of the Babylonian Captivity.  It was a powerful symbol, not only of their religious faith, but of the stubborn Jewish insistence that, in spite of the oppressive Romans who controlled their everyday lives, they WOULD return to a position of power and glory.  The Temple was not just a religious shrine, it was the center of their Nationalistic ambition as well.

Even the disciples, country boys that they were, could not help bending their necks and straining their eyes, whistling with admiration. (Anybody who has have cursed a horse drawn carriage blocking up Meeting Street while you are in a hurry knows exactly what that looks like!)

Jesus shocks them… and everyone else by saying… Yes, it’s beautiful enough… but they days are coming when not a stone of it will be left standing…

Shocking words.  But 35 years later, the Romans wiped it off the face of the earth, and …not only has it never been rebuilt… but a mosque stand where it once was…  (And speaking of topics that could take hours… that’s another one).

But again, the point for our purposes is a simple one.  The trappings of power and prestige… of wealth and grandeur… are not talismans of protection.  If we put our ultimate trust in them… we are again falling into the trap of idolatry.

As we now wind down the last hours of the Christian Year… and as we await a New Advent on December 2, we would do well to ponder the message of today’s scripture.

We all know the church is in turmoil.  We know that the world is more hostile and the church less prepared to deal with it.   Christopher Hitchins, the darling of the media, hawks his atheism on every channel, and the Christian apologists who often respond are so weak and inarticulate that it is little wonder that countless throngs find us irrelevant.

Attendance and giving figures for the Episcopal Church have recently been released and have been much in the blogsphere of late… and wonder of wonders… all the news is bad. (The majority of Episcopal Churches in the country have an average Sunday attendance of fewer than 100).


So times are hard. That’s nothing new.  Today’s Gospel makes it clear that the Christian life has always required sacrifice.  We simply have lived lives of such security that we don’t know how to behave when our prosperity is threatened.   And what is the worst way that we could respond?

By demanding that God act on our time table… and by circling the wagons around power and prestige and wealth and glory…

For Jesus is here to tell us that, if that is our security… not a stone will be left on stone.

Rather, Jesus has promised us a Church.  A “visible” Church.  The gates of hell will never prevail against it.  It is built not of stone, but of human hearts.

He will preserve it.  He will vindicate it. And we are to serve it.

As this beautiful little girl is brought to baptism this morning, Anna Elise Fox, we all have again the opportunity to give our hearts again to the One who is the True and eternal Temple.  Listen to the words of the liturgy.  So often we mouth them without even hearing them. Let us truly mean them as we say them.  And let us trust in the promise we have each been given.

You are sealed by the Holy Spirit in Baptism… and marked as Christ’s own forever.  Amen



Today, as you no doubt are aware, is Veterans Day – a day set aside to honor and express our gratitude to and for those who have given of themselves to the service of our nation in the Armed Forces.  Thinking about Veterans Day brought to mind an essay I recently read, an essay occasioned by the posthumous awarding of the Congressional Medal of Honor to Navy Lt. Patrick Murphy, who, with great courage and full understanding of what he was doing, laid down his own life to save the lives of the Navy Seals in his squad, high in the mountains of Afghanistan.  After detailing Lt. Murphy’s heroic acts, the author – a captain in the 82nd Airborne, as it happens – had this to say:
What makes men like Lt. Murphy do such extraordinary things? In the U.S. military, we often say, “Drive on.” We say this in myriad settings to convey in two simple words that difficulties must be overcome. It means that you never quit, that you keep going, that you always find the will to accomplish your mission. The military teaches and endlessly develops the will of its members to drive on. Combat is hard—much, much harder than most people ever realize. . .  The only way to win is to drive on, even—and even especially—when you don’t think you can go any further.
So today we are grateful for our veterans who found the courage and the will to “drive on,” even – and even especially – when it didn’t seem possible to go any further.  Considering this kind of will and courage gives us perhaps a bit of insight into this morning’s epistle lesson, in which St. Paul writes to the young church at Thessalonica, encouraging them, essentially, to “drive on.”  He writes because they are down, discouraged, even despondent; they are losing hope.  So much so that some are abandoning their new faith in Jesus Christ, the faith they had received from St. Paul and his fellow missionaries.  But Paul encourages them; he urges them to hold on, to “drive on,” and not to give in to doubt and despair:  So then, brethren, stand firm and hold to the traditions you were taught by us.  But Paul’s ringing “Stand firm” is not just more hollow encouragement, and it some grim stoic incentive to bear up manfully under difficult circumstances.  No, he gives them something they can use, a truth they can hold on to that will fill them with confidence and courage and even joy, despite all that is arrayed against them.
Before looking at the content of that encouragement, it’s worth looking at what it is that stands against the Thessalonian church, at the forces pressuring them into abandoning the cause of Christ.  
Well, if you were to sit down this afternoon and read both these epistles to the Thessalonians, which wouldn’t take more than half an hour, several of problems would be apparent.  For instance, it seems that some from the local Thessalonican synagogue had questioned Paul’s credentials and integrity.  In that day, as in our own, there were any number of huckster preachers and teachers who sought to enrich themselves by pulling in the gullible with wise-sounding but specious words.  Some apparently charged that this new faith in Jesus as God’s messiah was simply the product of Paul’s fevered and fertile imagination.    Beyond that, following Christ meant a new and different way of life, adhering to a higher and stricter moral code, and so there was considerable pressure to return to a more lax pagan sexual lifestyle.  And beyond this cultural pressure, they had doctrinal questions as well, and not due solely to the distortions of false teachers.  Indeed, they were confused by some of the teaching of Paul himself – certainly we can relate!  Paul had told them the return of Christ in glory was imminent.  Well, where was he?  What was the hold up?  And what about those brothers and sisters who had died?  Having died prior to Christ’s return, what would become of them?  What could it possibly mean to have a resurrection body?  And finally, there is evidence of some persecution of this young church, and this is not surprising.  Flannery O’Connor paraphrased Jesus and said, “Ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you odd.”  Knowing the truth – knowing Jesus – had made these first generation Christians, among other things, odd.  And anyone who has lived through middle school knows what the odd are in for.  There is incredible pressure – implicit, explicit, and sometimes violent – to conform.  Following Christ then as now meant living against the grain, swimming against the tide.  
In short, this church 2,000 years ago felt all the same pressures we do.  They had all the same reasons to give in, to ease their own way by conforming to the world rather than being transformed by the Gospel.  And to them and to us, Paul doesn’t give hollow encouragement but real help.  He gives a job to do, but also the tools to do it with.  
So what does Paul give them?  Well, he does not give them a discipline to practice; he does not give them a mantra to repeat – “All is well, all is well.”  Instead, he gives them a short course in theology.
I used to look occasionally at a magazine called Credenda/Agenda.  We all know what an “agenda” is.  “Agenda” is just a Latin word that means “things to be done.”  Similarly, “credenda” just means something like “things to be believed.”  And the magazine title got the order just right, the same order that St. Paul always used.  First comes the credenda – that which is to be believed – and only then comes the agenda – that which is to be done.  
And the theology, the credenda, that Paul gives doesn’t just tell us what to do, it actually gives power to do it.  Remember what Paul says:  “So then, brethren, stand firm.”  That phrase we have translated as “so then” in Greek always introduces a logical necessity, an inescapable conclusion.  What Paul has just told them leads, and leads necessarily, to stability of life and faith despite all the pressures brought to bear by the world, the flesh, and the devil – if we will believe and live it.  
So, what did Paul tell them?  He gives thanks for the Thessalonians, because, he says,
“God chose you from the beginning to be saved, through sanctification by the Spirit and belief in the truth.  To this he called you through our Gospel, so that you may obtain the glory of our Lord Jesus Christ.”  
Now there is a lot there.  In two sentences, Paul has given us an entire system of theology.  A system of theology that teaches us that God has destined his faithful people for glory.  All that we have been through, all that we are going through, all that we ever will go through, God is bending and using and redeeming for this purpose:  that we might “obtain to the glory of our Lord Jesus Christ.”  It is for this that God has chosen and sanctified and called us by the Gospel.  
Now, how does this work?  How does this bedrock truth, this bit of theology, this credendum, lead, and necessarily lead, to stability and fixity of purpose?
It does so because it allows us to take our eyes of ourselves, off of our own wavering and faltering faith, and to focus them steadily on our God who is faithful, in whom there is “no variableness, neither shadow of turning.”[ii]  It teaches us to see our emotional highs and lows for what they are –temporary, subjective states, which do not alter the objective reality of what God is doing and where he is taking us.  It teaches us to see that the circumstances in which we find ourselves are the arena in which, and the means by which, God is working out his purpose, “so that you may obtain to the glory of Christ.”  Our circumstances, our struggles, our problems – and also our triumphs and joys – are real.  Paul is not encouraging some Eastern-style detachment that says suffering is an illusion and evil unreal.  Rather, while our circumstances may, and at some point certainly will, involve us in deep suffering and real evil, Paul would have us remember that our circumstances are not ultimate; instead, they are means which God is using to prepare us to share in the eternal life of the Blessed Trinity.  Suffering is not the last word.  Glory is.  
In his wonderful little book The Screwtape Letters, C.S. Lewis gives us a wise insight in the form of some advice from a very senior, experienced devil giving advice to a younger, rookie devil in how to tempt a man to hell.  The man in question has fallen in love, and the junior devil wants to know how to make use of this circumstance for his diabolical ends.  But Screwtape cautions his advisee.  He tells him that the circumstance of being in love, “like most of the other things the humans are excited about, such as health and sickness, age and youth, war and peace, it is, from the point of view of the spiritual life, mainly raw material.”[iii]
“Mainly raw material.”  In short, Paul is telling us to keep our eyes on the big picture, on the end game.  Remember who called you – your loving Father.  Remember who you are – his beloved child.  And remember your loving Father’s plan and purpose – “that you may obtain to the glory of Christ.”  And, then, stand firm.  +++
________________________________________
http://www.firstthings.com/onthesquare/?p=888
[ii] James 1.17
[iii] Screwtape Letters, Ch. XIX

+ + +
Proper 25c
October 28, 2007
Dedication Sunday
Father Sanderson

Last Thursday evening, the Church of the Holy Communion was honored to host the Charleston Christian/Jewish Council.  The President of the Council, Rabbi Anthony Holz of Kahal Kadosh Beth Elohim over on Hasell Street said a few words of welcome, and then, turning to me as the host, introduced me as the Pastor of this synagogue.  He quickly corrected his slip of the tongue, but not before we had all had a good laugh.
But you know… having heard our parish called a synagogue by the Rabbi of the oldest Jewish congregation in the country has prompted me to do a little thinking…
…If we have been called a synagogue, maybe we can learn a few things that will improve how we operate around here.  Since this is also Stewardship Sunday, this has given me a great idea. In the Synagogue, they don’t have a voluntary system.  They just tally up all the expenses, divide them equally over the number a members, and send out a bill.  Wouldn’t that be convenient?   I have passed it on to the vestry.  I’ll let you know when you can start calling me Rabbi.

152 years ago, the Bishop of South Carolina dedicated this church building to the honor and glory of Almighty God.  We all know the story of how God used Anthony Toomer Porter, our first rector, to accomplish great things.  He envisioned a parish that was a haven to all.  …A parish with a generous heart.  …A parish where the ancient liturgy of the One, Holy Catholic and Apostolic Church was celebrated decently, and in good order.  …A parish where the Gospel was preached and lived.
And we have all heard his words from his final sermon, read year after year from this pulpit, as a reminder of the legacy that he passed on to us.  He charged us, not only to maintain its physical beauty, but its spiritual vitality as well.  A charge that has been lovingly received, and faithfully carried out for a century and a half.
Fittingly, we have as our epistle reading this morning, St. Paul’s parting words to young Timothy… as he also imparts to the next generation, the content of the Catholic Faith, the substance of the Apostolic Succession.  Having suffered prison, shipwreck, physical abuse, and every possible hardship.  St. Paul knows that his days on earth are short.
Sacred Tradition tells us that he and St. Peter were martyred on the same day.  Peter, crucified upside down, and Paul, beheaded outside the walls of Rome.
St. Paul describes his leaving simply as a departure, using language that suggests a ship whose bow line is loosened, quietly slipping with the tides into the deep sea.  The clear, confident trust in the resurrected life promised by his savior is clearly evident.  There is no fear, no terror.  But expectant faith… Neither things present, nor things to come… nor even death itself could separate him from the love of God which was his in Christ Jesus.
Blessed Paul also speaks of himself as being sacrificed.  His life is a libation poured out as an offering to God.  Jesus is the perfect sacrifice, of course, but every member of the baptized Body is called to share in his sufferings.  Each of us, in our small and individual way, witness to Christ by our willingness to share the Way of the Cross with him.  It was, in fact, the willingness of the early church to suffer incredible hardships that made the church impossible to stop.  The more the mighty Roman Empire tried to destroy them, the more the church grew and prospered.  They blood of the martyrs was the seed which was planted in the earth.  It grew and prospered, and the Gates of Hell could not prevail against it.
And then, using the imagery of an athlete, St. Paul tells us that he has fought the good fight… He has finished the race…  He has kept the Faith.
We hear in this an invocation of the parables of Jesus.  Faith that is planted in poor soil will not endure.  It is he who perseveres who wins the crown.  Faith that is but a fleeting infatuation is not Faith at all.
And keeping the faith means transmitting it intact.  There is no greater treasure that Paul could have given Timothy.  It was not the Gospel of Paul or of Apollos or of any other mortal man.  If you hear anything other than the Gospel I pass on, even if preached by an angel, it is anathema!   The substance of the Gospel may never be changed.  No matter the time. No matter the culture.  No matter the circumstance.  Countless martyrs for two millennia have poured out their last drop of blood rather than deny one article of faith…  And how dare any in subsequent generations,   arrogantly mock their legacy.
St. Paul in the First Century.  Blessed Anthony Toomer Porter in the 19th.  From one hand to the next, with countless saints in between, We preach Christ crucified.  The Power of God, and the Wisdom of God.
Today, we remember that this building has been dedicated to God.  Yes, it is beautiful.  Yes, it is has been loved and cared for… even though the roof still leaks, and the ravages of wind and rain continue to take their toll.
But it is what we do here that is to God’s Glory.
Week after week.  Year after year.  We gather.  We proclaim. We eat the Lord’s Body and Drink His Blood.  We weep.  We dry tears.  We rejoice.  We welcome the stranger.  We baptize.  We anoint…
Until the time of our departure…  We run the race.  We fight the good fight.  We keep the faith.
+++AMEN

+ + +
Proper 23c
October 14, 2007
Father Sanderson

It would have been unthinkable under any other circumstances… Nine Jews and one Samaritan, roaming the streets in one little band.
The hatred that existed between these two groups is not something we can rationally get our minds around.  It just wasn’t the “done” thing.  You didn’t hang around with that sort of person.
But it was their common misery that brought these ten men together.
…A misery that transcended ethnic and religious animosity.
For they… were lepers.
It would have been unthinkable under any other circumstances… Nine Jews and one Samaritan, roaming the streets in one little band.
The hatred that existed between these two groups is not something we can rationally get our minds around.  It just wasn’t the “done” thing.  You didn’t hang around with that sort of person.
But it was their common misery that brought these ten men together.
…A misery that transcended ethnic and religious animosity.
For they… were lepers.  
Every child in Sunday School has learned about them.  We know all the miserable details… Lepers were banished from all social discourse.  They were segregated from their religious communities… the assumption being that, if they had contracted this dread disease, they must have done something to deserve it.
If a leper came unexpectedly upon an uninfected person, he was required to shout out “Unclean!”  …and stay as far away as possible.
It would have been a miserable existence….   And if you were that miserable anyway, it didn’t matter if you were Jew or Samaritan, rich or poor, high born or a slave.   You were soul-mates in misery. United in a comradeship defined by the fear and hatred of everyone else.
It’s no wonder, then, that these men should have come to Jesus as he entered the village, crying out Jesus, Master, Have mercy upon us!
********************************
Now, it is interesting to note just how Jesus went about healing people.  There were times when he touched the afflicted.  On another occasion, he  made an ointment of clay for a blind man’s eyes.  Sometimes he spoke in a formulaic prayer.  At other times, just a word was spoken.
But in this case, he simply says, Go, show yourselves to the priest.
The lepers would have understood this reference, because Jewish law required that one who thought himself cured must be certified by the priest before he could re-enter society.
In other words, Jesus was telling them to anticipate their healing.
And by their faith, in the very act of being obedient, their prayers were answered.  They were healed, literally…as they walked.
Now, of course, Luke could have ended the story here.  It has all the right ingredients.  A human need.  A hero.  A miracle performed.  A happy ending.  It would have been a fine addition to chapter 17 without any more detail.
But remember Luke’s agenda.  He is the Gospel writer of radical inclusion.  He tells us that Shepherds, those low-born fellows, were the first to worship Jesus.  

He reminds us of Mary’s revolutionary words in the Magnificat:  He hath exalted the humble and meek…. And the rich, he hath sent empty away.
Luke’s story includes parties for Prodigal sons…
Good Samaritans (as if there could be such a thing)
Redeemed Tax Collectors…
And if we know Luke, we know that he just can’t resist giving us one   more  little   detail  …  
All ten lepers were healed.  They asked… and they received.  But only one came back to express his appreciation.  And which one was that?  You guessed it… the outcast.  …the half-breed…  the Samaritan.
Jesus, as we might expect, raises the question:  Where are the other nine?  Were not ten cleansed?  
It is a reasonable question.
The irony in this story is that it begins with ten people joined in a community united by a common misery.  … Just as people with addictions or dysfunction often seek out each other’s company….
The nine Jews who were lepers could, after they were healed, blend right back into polite society.  They could go their way as if nothing had ever been wrong.
Not so a Samaritan living among Jews.  He could not pretend an identity he did not possess.  Healed or not, he was yet an outcast… and he knew that Jesus alone could bridge the gap, could heal the wounds and hurts of his life.
I use the word ironic because it is the Church, of course, which is supposed to unite us as a community.   And it can… and does, of course.
But all too often, Christians who have been touched by Jesus behave much more like the nine Jews than like the one Samaritan.  
We are afraid to show our wounds.  We act as if we are better than others.  Having no outward blemishes, we pretend an identity not our own.
That is the great benefit that the Samaritan received.  He not only got healed.  He also got a relationship.  As he ran back to Jesus and fell down at his feet, Our Lord said to him: Arise. ( Don’t accept a modern translation here.  Get up won’t cut it.  Arise.. as if from the dead.  Arise, your faith has made you well.  Your faith has saved you.
This morning, as we baptize this beautiful little girl, we ought again be reminded that we are saved by a wounded healer… that there is power in weakness.  That, small as we are, Our Lord comes to us in great humility.
And we need to dedicate ourselves again to the transparency that the Christian vocation requires.  Do we dare have the courage to live as those who have been touched and healed by God?  To boast, not of our own abilities, but to allow his loving redemption to be seen… even in our human failings?
Isn’t it sad that people often find more authentic community in bars or in AA meetings than they do in Church.
Those who come to Christ honestly, admitting that they are powerless, lost and broken, will always be healed.
And the gratitude of a healed sinner, showing forth Christ in our lives, even in our weakness… will not only fill hearts, but churches as well.
It is a hard first step sometimes… But think how liberating it can be.  We spend so much time and effort “projecting” some image of perfection to others because we are certain that we would not be loved if anyone knew us for what we are…
And all the while every other soul we meet is in precisely the same predicament.
But we need not pretend.  We need only return to the feet of the Savior.
And to hear again his consoling words:  Arise.  Your Faith has saved you.
+++AMEN.

+++
Proper 21c
September 30, 2007
Fr. Sanderson

One of the dangerous things about reading the parables of Jesus is that we sometimes see them as a manual of instruction, extrapolating from them that we are to apply each minute detail to our everyday lives.
When we read the parables in such a way we are tempted always to identify with the hero… and as such we create an idealized “super Christian” with virtues than haunt us by being unattainable.
If I could just be more like the Good Samaritan…we think to ourselves…if I were a sheep and not a goat…if our parish did as much outreach as the one down the street… if only we could achieve ALL the United Nations’ Millennium Development goals… THEN the world would be complete.
But in truth, the Parables of Jesus are not intended as instruction manuals, but as rich and vivid pictures of the Kingdom of God…  We can never perfectly attain such virtue in this life… and the parables will drive us to misery if we see them in such a way.  Rather, they point us to a completely different reality… a different way of seeing and approaching the world and all that is in it…  
The Parables are to help us establish radically different priorities than those of this sinful and broken world… and as our vision grows clearer, our natures begin to be transformed…
But these moments of transformation are not an “instantaneous repair” of all our ills… rather, they are achieved through a lifetime of sanctifying grace.
The parable we have heard this morning certainly is presented in language we can understand.

We know all about the great paradoxes and contrasts of our day-to-day lives…The Rich and the Poor… The Powerful and the Helpless… The Well-fed and The Starving… Winners and Losers… Heaven and Hell… and a great chasm fixed for all eternity.
These are the hard and fast rules by which the world has played since it was very young.  And as Jesus told the story for the first time, we have no doubt that his audience sat with riveted attention.
There was a rich man clothed in purple and fine linen… and he feasted sumptuously every day…
Already we want to know more!  This was an early version of Entertainment Tonight… or Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous…
Tell us more, please!  We can’t get enough!
And as the story progresses, we find that this man is not just rich, but extravagantly rich.  His life is centered on pleasure and “self”…  and the poorest wretch right on his very step is someone he doesn’t even see.
We are not much moved to sympathy for the rich man.  We like to cheer for the underdog.  We like it when Robin Hood steals from the Rich  for the sole purpose of easing the plight of the suffering.  It doesn’t take much for us to press the button in our hearts and place him in the category of “villain”.
But I think Jesus wants us to have another look.  And to see that we are more like this man than we would like to admit.  Haven’t we trained ourselves not to make eye contact with the person standing on Spring Street with the “homeless” sign?  Don’t we secretly pray that the traffic light will be “green” so that we don’t even have to slow down?
Deep inside, we feel guilt that we are fed and others are not.  …That we have shelter when others do not.  But who are we among such need?  Didn’t Jesus himself tell us that the poor would always be with us?  Are not their needs always greater than our resources?
But you see, we at least “feel” that something ought to be done about suffering and poverty…  
And so did the Rich Man… at first.  But there is something amazingly transformative about selfishness.  We feed it, and it grows stronger.  We nurture it ever so slightly… and it rewards us mightily.  Our god is our belly. We Glory in our Shame.  With minds set on earthly things.
The point of this parable is that the Kingdom of God is a completely different reality.  In God’s economy, the hungry are always fed. The Outcasts are always welcome.  The humble and meek are exalted.
Jesus is telling us to look.  To see.  To open our eyes.  Because there  apparently  IS a place of no return.  A stage of  “becoming”  after which our destiny is set.  We can feed our selfishness with hellish food only so long before we become hellish creatures… fit only for hell.
So how are we saved?
The answer that we might mistakenly make is that we should stop everytime we pass the homeless man with the sign… that we should feed every beggar.  That we should work harder and grow  spiritually stronger.
But that would take us back to the danger with which I began.  
Jesus is not giving us an instruction manual.
Rather, he is giving us a mirror.
For you see, we put on our purple linen, and we think we are well-dressed indeed.  But in God’s mirror, we are covered in sores.  We are beggars.  We have only the stray dogs as companions…  and no matter what our station in life, we are poor Lazarus.
And it is NOT the philanthropists of this world who rescue us… but the Lord Jesus Christ himself …  who binds our wounds.  …Comforts our afflictions.  …Feeds us heavenly food.
That’s the Kingdom.  That’s what we must know. That’s the point of this Parable  And only when we have known the extent of God’s mercy… can we ever hope to be merciful.
Slowly, daily.   Prayer by prayer. Eucharist by eucharist.  Heavenly food and heavenly work fit us for heaven.  We are transformed by His grace.  And there is no chasm that can ever separate us from that love.
+++Amen

9/23/07
Father Clarke
"You cannot serve God and mammon.”
In † Nomine Patris

During my journey to Baltimore this week for the S.S.C. Snynod meeting, I stumbled on the greatest money-making scheme I’ve ever had.  My idea is the invention and Marketing of the CLARKE IN-CAR DASHBOARD MOUNTED DEEP FAT FRYER so that NO WHERE between Miami & Seattle would you have to be without delicious fried chicken or perhaps even some crispy, deep fried Oreos!  
Just THINK how the tedium of I-95 would be reduced!  The fear of traffic jams eliminated!  When some heavily-breaded deep-fried pork chops were only minutes away, right in the comfort of your own automobile.  I think this is a no-fail scheme, & it will guarantee my future.
And OF COURSE:  Just as soon as I make my first 12 million dollars I’m going to give HALF to the Church of the Holy Communion.  I’m talking HALF!  But my half has to come first.   The money, you see is the important part:  my portion first, God’s portion 2nd.
It is probably well-know that WE BECOME WHAT WE WORSHIP.
We should be very careful what we allow to OCCUPY the Altars of our Hearts,  because THAT is the image and LIKENESS in which we are bound to remake ourselves.
We will become what we worship – our Deity is our future, and we can know exactly what we will be by looking directly into the face of our God.
Today Jesus offers us one of those moral moments when we must RE-EVALUATE the Occupant of our Inner Temples, and learn whom or what we are serving.  
“You cannot serve God and mammon,” he said, and thus BLUNTLY confronted the DEMON most likely to try taking CENTER POSITION in my inner being.  That demon is MONEY, “mammon” in our text.
Money is, in our minds, the way we get things that we need:  pleasures, security, friends a good time – in short, happiness.  
The problem lies not in having enough in order to LIVE, but letting the GOODS become GODS.  We all remember the rich man who had abundant harvests repeatedly, and when he re-evaluated his situation he said to himself:  “Soal, you have ample goods laid up for many years.  Relax, eat, drink, and be merry – I will do this; I will tear down my barns and build bigger barns to store all my grain & my goods.”
One suspects that perhaps this rich man may have grown up in a Depression-Era household, like my mother, who lives in a little house where china dishes are stacked under beds and sofas because there aren’t enough sideboards or closets to contain it all.  
At St. Stephen’s Church, North Berkeley County, in the 1970s the altar guild saved Bama Jelly Glasses – boxes of them – for liners for the flower vases.  And Mom has come home to rinse out the Styrofoam hamburger boxes from B.K. “because they would make a good soup bowl if you needed one.”  I cite these examples to you as humor, of course, because the WORSHIP OF MONEY is not the problem here – YET.  What is at work is the fear of want, and it taught our parents or us to be frugal and to save, virtuous qualities to be sure.  But what BEGINS as a VIRTUE can grow into a vice if I allow even my VIRTUES to become the center of my being.  
The desire to have, the need to have, is INNATE in us.  We are born DESIRING –
       WARMTH
        MILK
        MOMMY’S ARMS AROUND ME
And all this desiring is good.  But later, is my desiring now for the kingdom of God, or am I still focused on the MORE I can get for me?
The desire for God is an outwardly – flowing desire:  to make friends for yourselves by means of unrighteous mammon.  
Invest in a future with the angels and the saints now, even before your get-rich-quick scheme matures, or your lottery ticket pays off.
Jesus does not want your 6 million later –
He wants your worship today, He wants to guarantee your future himself, and he awaits you in Bread and Wine to do so.

+++
September 16, 2007
Proper 19c
Fr. Sanderson

I suppose that it is possible, though not likely, that some of you in this church are as impatient as I am.
-I don’t like to wait.
-I am unhappy in lines of traffic.
-I will go without a breakfast biscuit before I will stand in line behind a busload of high school kids who always seem to have just pulled into the McDonald’s parking lot moments before me.
-And you should see the way I purse my lips when everyone else’s coffee arrives at the table except mine.
My affliction is even of the sort that I am impatient with patient people.
Last Saturday, the curate rode with me to the deacons’ ordination.  He left in my car, a piece of painted wood, left over from the reredos construction, a bottle of aspirin, and a lemonade can, which spilled microscopic (albeit significant) drops of lemonade on my upholstery.  His intention was to remove these things… eventually.  My reaction was to make comment… immediately.
Not many days ago, I walked into my parents’ house and saw my father comfortably stretched out on the sofa.  His own mantra is that he can do nothing better than anyone, so  I knew for a fact that the only muscle in his body that had moved in an hour was the finger on the remote control....   I therefore said to him cheerfully, I see the medication for your restless leg syndrome is working!  He did not think that was nearly as funny as I did.
So yes, I am indeed impatient.  And being married for 25 years to a dear soul who is quintessentially “Type B” has done nothing to make my spirit more- shall we say-  “mellow”.
So imagine my discomfort when I saw the recent title of an article in a theological journal which stated, IMPATIENCE IS SPIRITUAL ARROGANCE.
And, of course, it is.   We impatient people like having things done our way.  We forget that the blessings we have are unmerited gifts from God.  We forget his graciousness.  We forget that he always gives us more than we deserve.
In our first lesson from Exodus this morning, we could not have a better example of this sort of spiritual arrogance.
Few people could have seen more direct evidence of God’s loving intervention in human history than the Hebrew people of the Exodus.
Plagues, pharoahs, rumbling chariots, and miraculous deliverance at the Red Sea…
They had seen it all, with eyes filled with awe and wonder.
And yet, the moment Moses was out of sight.  The moment that he seemed to tarry more than their patience could stand… they quickly fell into the most egregious kind of idolatry.  Up, they said to Aaron, make us gods who shall go before us; as for this Moses, the man who brought us up out of Egypt, we do not know what has happened to him.
In our Thursday Bible Study, we have been studying the book of Judges, and it is the same story.  God delivers the people, and the moment the crisis is over, they turn from true worship, and again and again fall into idolatry and the worship of false gods.
What is wrong with us, that we are so fickle?
How is it that we can, with our own eyes, witness the graciousness of God, and yet so quickly turn from following him?
The truth is, we are always spiritually hungry.  But if our commitment to the true and Living God is not fed, nurtured, and sustained, we prostitute our hearts time and again with every tawdry imitation.
I must confess to you that a few weeks ago, I stood in stupefied amazement before the television screen as Priscilla Presley escorted Larry King, and all the rest of us eager goobers through each gaudy room of Graceland.  I watched with rapt attention as she showed us the closet where the King’s clothes still hung… almost every nook and cranny was left undisturbed so as to give the impression that a warm RC Cola and a half-eaten moon pie might yet rest on the kitchen counter, as a sacramental remembrance.
And in addition to having the cultural swoon over the 30th anniversary of Elvis’ departure of this mortal life, we got in the same month the 10th anniversary of the death of Princess Diana.
The syndicated columnist George Weigel recently wrote a fascinating article on the Diana cult, a few sentences of which I’d like to share with you this morning:
The (spiritual) emptiness that had helped wreck the Royal marriage was embodied, with unintentional irony, in the decision to have Elton John sing at Diana’s funeral in Westminster Abbey, scant yards from the mortal remains of Edward the Confessor.   An historic Christian nation that has abandoned, culturally, its biblical heritage confronts a public tragedy, and what happens?  The quiet courage of the Battle of Britain gives way to mass hysteria.  An entire country becomes – for a week at least – a front-page tabloid wail.
You see, when our commitment to Christ is merely superficial,  when comfort and convenience have the upper hand, when we give a nod to our faith and the occasional gift of our attendance at mass… whether individually or as a people and nation… then we are well-primed for idolatry… and the slope is oh so slippery.
When crisis comes, the center will not hold because there is no center.
The good news this morning… and isn’t it a blessing that there is always Good News,  is that our impatient and fickle hearts are brooded over by the most patient Lord and Savior of the whole world.
When our cavalier behavior takes us over the cliff and down into the gully, he leaves the ninety and nine to search for us relentlessly.
When we callously toss aside our greatest treasure, he sweeps the whole house until he finds the smallest coin.
When prodigal sons and daughters rebel against his love, reviling and sneering, even as we take a fistful of money and a heart full of pride on our sinful romp… he waits patiently and lovingly, and embraces us in his tender arms at the first sign of repentance.
What stupendous love.
What gracious patience.
What rejoicing in heaven before the angels of God.
Amen+++  

Proper 18c
St. Luke 14.25-33
9 September 2007
The Rev’d Fr. Patrick Allen
+ + +

I have a very specific childhood memory, and I'll bet many of you share one similar. It is of being taken to
the Fair as a young boy - I think it must have been the Strawberry Festival in Plant City, Florida - and
approaching a particularly exciting looking and possibly vomit-inducing ride. And there where the line
formed was a cartoon figure cut out of wood, holding out a hand a certain distance above the ground. And on
the figure was a sign saying, “You must be at least this tall to ride.” I can remember approaching with
apprehension, fear that I would not, literally, measure up.
In the Gospel lesson we have read this morning our Lord effectively holds out his hand as a measuring rod.
He lays down criteria for true, genuine discipleship. And he's very clear about the consequences of failing to
measure up; thrice he tells us in disturbingly blunt terms:
You cannot be my disciple; You cannot be my disciple; You cannot be my disciple.
Three times Jesus tells us who is not invited to the party, who is not eligible for the E-ticket ride of life in the
Kingdom of God.
It’s not the sort of thing we like to hear from Jesus; I much prefer "Consider the lilies of the field" and "Come
unto me all ye that travail and are heavy laden." And it's not the sort of thing we’re used to hearing in the
Church. We prefer, “Join us!”, “Y’all come!”, “The Episcopal Church welcomes you!” But here Jesus sets
out three criteria for genuine discipleship:
1. Hate your family (and your own life as well).
2. Follow Jesus in the way of death.
3. Renounce all that you have.
The southern writer and devout Catholic Christian once explained her use of grotesque figures and startling
violence in her fiction this way; she said
When you can assume that your audience holds the same beliefs you do, you can relax a little and use
more normal ways of talking to it; when you have to assume that it does not, then you have to make
your vision apparent by shock ~ to the hard of hearing you shout, and for the blind you draw large
and startling figures.i
Well, Miss O’Connor learned it from Jesus. He is telling us, his dim-eyed, muffle-eared followers – “we of
little faith” – that our discipleship cannot be half-hearted. If we’re going to play his game, we’ll have to go
“all-in.” The commitment of our wills to him must be such that it will take priority over and relativize even
the basic, natural, and good relationship between child and parent; that we will follow him even to Calvary
and death; and that we will hold the things of this world so lightly that all our possessions - our financial
resources, our property, our influence, our time, all of it - will be at the service of his Christ and his coming
Kingdom.
Now, what might that look like? And what might the fruit of such a life be?
In 1942 a young Albanian nun named Agnes Bojaxhiu made a vow, a vow “to give God anything he asked,
[and] not to refuse him anything.” Years later, the world would come to know this simple nun as Mother
Teresa of Calcutta.ii And she indeed did give everything, even – as we have heard in the news media these
past few weeks – her own need for an internal sense of God’s Presence and even of God's reality, and of
those spiritual consolations which had buoyed her through the first years of her call to serve Christ in the
poorest of the poor, enduring decade upon decade of the soul's dark night.
But see what grace came to others through Blessed Teresa’s self-renunciation, through her willingness to,
like John the Baptist, decrease so the Christ might increase in her and through her.
Hate your mother and father. Take up your cross. Renounce all that you have.
These are, no doubt, hard sayings from Jesus. But when we begin to hear his words this way, through the
filter of the lives of his saints – when we see them actually lived out in the flesh – we begin to see the grace
hidden in them; that is, the dynamic of the disciple’s emptying and God’s filling.
There’s a scene that plays out in any number of cop shows and movies. A thief has committed a robbery and
is being chased by the police across the rooftops of Manhattan. Eventually the thief is not able to make it
across to the next rooftop and finds himself dangling by his finger tips twenty stories above the pavement
below and certain death. With one hand he barely clings to the ledge, with the other he holds on tightly to the
loot, to whatever he has stolen. Finally the breathless police officer arrives and leans down from the roof top
to offer a life-saving hand. And then the thief finds himself on the horns of a dilemma. The thief can reach
up, take the officer's hand, and live - but only if he first empties his own hand, only if he will let go of his
loot, of his treasure.
Is not this what Jesus is calling us to in these hard words? To renounce all that we have, to empty our hands
so that we may then receive the good gift he has to give – the Gift of Himself in love, of his blessed Body
broken, his precious Blood poured out for us. He calls us to empty our hands of everything that keeps us
from holding on to him and only him.
As it happens, Mother Teresa’s namesake for her religious life was St. Therese of Lisieux, the French
Carmelite nun who died of tuberculosis at the age of 24. St. Therese also took a vow to refuse nothing to
Jesus. Here she is toward the end of her short life reflecting on this process by which the disciple empties
herself and God fills:
Even if I had performed all the deeds of St Paul, I would consider myself an UNPROFITABLE
SERVANT. I would notice that my hands are empty. But that is precisely the cause of my joy: since I
have nothing, I shall expect everything from the good God.
. . . Yes, it is needful, when we have done everything we believe we have to do, to confess that we are
unprofitable servants, at the same time hoping that God, out of grace, will give us everything that we
need. This is the way of spiritual childhood.
Lord, I do not want to gather merit for heaven … in the evening of this life I will appear before You with
empty hands. For I do not ask you, O Lord, in any way to count my good works. Rather, I will clothe myself
with Your justice and receive from Your Love the eternal possession of Yourself.iii
+ + +
i Flannery O’Connor. Mystery & Manners.
ii Material re Mother Teresa: Carol Zaleski, “Mother Teresa’s Dark Night.” First
Things. May, 2003
iii http://feastofsaints.com/sttheresegrace.htm

September 2, 2007
+++
Proper 17c
Fr. Sanderson

For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted.


As we hear again this verse from today’s Gospel, I wonder if it might be a helpful exercise for us to ponder for a moment the ways in which we exalt ourselves on a daily basis.
I’d be happy to share with you some of my more superficial sins:
-I exalt myself when the car next to me at the traffic stop plays music on the radio so loudly that it can be heard in Colleton County.
-I exalt myself when the car in the distance decides to turn right on red just as I approach it, causing me to slam on brakes, and am suffered to follow behind at 40 miles an hour for the next six miles on a two lane road with double yellow lines.
-I exalt myself when I encounter people who have multiple “piercings” in places God did not intend and clearly could not find attractive.
-I exalt myself when the woman in micro shorts in the grocery store line has failed the test of proportionality by having on the outside 100 times more than that which is actually covered.
Now I say, these are my superficial sins.  Only my Father Confessor knows the more serious ways in which I exalt myself.  We haven’t even gotten into pronouns in the wrong case.  That alone is worth ten years in purgatory.
But I can share some of my sinfulness with you this morning in the confidence that you have your own lists.
And we also know that we as a society of people are afflicted with more serious forms of racism, class-ism, and a myriad of ways in which we judge and reject others.   I read just this past week that in a report recently released, it was found that, even though we Americans claim to value diversity and multi-culturalism,  the truth is that in our most diverse cities, volunteerism and community cooperation actually go down, and crime, illiteracy and drop-out rates actually go up.    And the opposite is true in more homogenous cities.  
Clearly, in spite of our claims to value diversity, we have a long way to go as a society.  How else can we explain the fact that our pundits have asked whether the female candidate for president is feminine enough?  …The Black candidate Black enough… or any of the candidates Christian enough…?
So what is it in the human condition that causes us to judge others more harshly than ourselves?  Why do we exalt ourselves?  Why are we comfortable marching right in and taking the best seat at the table?
I think there are at least two reasons.  First, we do so to mask a deep-seated insecurity.  Deep down, we don’t always believe our own press reports.  We know the demons that lurk, the secret thoughts that wound and distort.  And so we project to the world the image of ourselves we believe is expected of us.
And secondly, when we have attained a modicum of success, we convince ourselves that it is because of our own good work, talent and abilities.  We are educated and polished and confident.  Our banking account is of a size that we feel immune from almost any danger.
But what happens when catastrophic illness comes?
What happens when the flexible rate second mortgage becomes unaffordable?
What happens when the company in which all our retirements benefits have been invested fails?

Most of us have been blessed not to have suffered such things, but we can well imagine how humbling it would be to suddenly find ourselves vulnerable and dependent.
Did you read the story in the Post and Courier a week or so ago about the woman who, even with a steady job, walks her daughter to school and then looks through her neighbors’ garbage, hoping to find cans to recycle for a few extra dollars?

The Parable that Jesus has shared with us this morning is a reminder, in the midst of our confidence and security,   that if it is possible to have such a catastrophic reversal of fortune in business and financial matters, it is also possible in the Spiritual realm of our lives.
When we “take the best seat” exalting ourselves over others, we are actually moving away from God.  When we act as if others sins are worse than our own, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us.
Even in the pews and at the altar, we are susceptible to this besetting sin.  We see someone walk through the doors of our church whose behavior we have not approved of… and in an instant, we have puffed ourselves up…
Bishop Salmon calls the collect for purity the “great equalizer”
Almighty God, unto whom all hearts are open, all desires known, and from whom no secrets are hid…
If we believe that to be true, it is very hard to judge anyone.  Rather, we have no choice but to fall on our knees and beg, Lord have mercy upon us.
There is a wonderful line from the little book Lesser Feasts and Fasts concerning St. Francis of Assisi.  It states:  He is among the most admired of Saints… and the least imitated.
The world does not encourage us in our humility.  The social Darwinism of the elementary school playground… and of the corporate board room speaks more loudly.
But Jesus reminds us today that we do have a better choice.
If we want to live a happier, blessed and more godly life…
If we want a Church that displays more holiness…and less worldly ambition…
If we want to change to world… we have no better example than  the One who exchanged a Throne of Glory for the lowest seat among us…
A manger…
A Towel and a Basin of Water…
A Crown of Thorns and the hard wood of the cross…
For he who exalts himself will be humbled, but he who humbles himself shall be exalted.
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Amen.