School of Theology, Ash Wednesday, 2003

“When you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, so that your fasting may not be seen by others but by your Father who is in secret. . . .”

I. One of the short answer questions on the General Ordination Exams for the Episcopal Church in 2003 called for a response from a young person who wondered how the liturgical tradition of wearing ashes really fits with this gospel text. It’s a good question, and deserved more than a short answer, though a short and correct answer could be given. More on that later. But for now, How do today’s Ashes relate to today’s Gospel?

II. My own experience: I grew up in the Episcopal Church in a tradtionally “low church” diocese which certainly had no use for ashes on this day. I spent a year in England between high school and college, and in that year underwent my adolescent religion rebellion by becoming an Anglo-Catholic. Both at my school and especially, during Holy Week and Easter at the motherhouse of the Anglican Franciscans, I experienced the restored Lenten and Holy Week rites for the first time and fell in love with them. And fell flat into one of their traps. For many years I was guilty on Ash Wednesday of wearing my cross of ashes proudly, as a badge of honor saying to all “I’ve been to Church, have you?” It is still tempting to put a positive spin on this — think about the powerful witness of all of us going out into the community with our little ashy crosses visible, being very cool and saying nothing except when asked. But temptation it is. It is exactly what Jesus warns about in this gospel. It is for that reason that most churches of the Reformation abandoned the use of ashes on this day, and have only recently begun to bring the practice back. I approve of ashes on this day. Perhaps, as I said, too much. But what IS the relationship of these ashes to this Gospel?

III. All of which has led me to ask, what ARE we doing here anyway. What in heaven’s Name is Going On here today?

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Chapel of Theology, Propers for Wednesday, the 4th week of Lent, 2000

I. Can these bones live? Can this dear ruined city rise from the ashes and prosper? Is there any hope for the dead? These are the Lenten questions in our texts, and the resounding answer is “YES.”

II. The Isaiah passage is one of the most beautiful of the servant songs of second Isaiah. It affirms, in the face of the ruin of daughter Zion and the exile of her people that God is still God, and can never forget Zion, though a nursing mother forget her child. Israel is engraved on the palms of God’s hands (a Christian cannot help but see, with nail prints), and she cannot be lost for good. There must and will be hope. Her children will yet be gathered from all the corners of the earth; the nations will yet come to her to hear the Word of God, however bad the current disaster appears.

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School of Theology, 2000

On this day in 64 AD the two greatest of the apostles, the first among the twelve to be an eyewitness to the resurrection of Jesus, and the last Apostle to be such, were killed as a result of the persecution under the Emperor Nero. That is what we celebrate today.

Immediately, the Church had to begin to give thought for the problem we have come to call “Apostolic Succession,” and so must we. This will not, however, be a classic Anglo-Catholic defense of the historic Episcopate. Not Exactly.

The problem was this — Christianity and the other religions of the Book are historical faiths, not metaphysical or ethical systems. They depend on a specific narrative being remembered and proclaimed and lived. If that narrative were to be lost, it could not be rediscovered later, as might metaphysical or ethical truths. Until 64, the Church could depend for continuity in the narrative on the presence of the eyewitness Apostles. That was now threatened. What to do?

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Chapel of the Apostles,  Proper 29B, 2000

“King is your word for it!”

KING is YOUR word for it.

KING is your WORD for it.

KING is your word for IT.

I. What are we to make of Jesus’ Kingship in this time in which “Question Authority” has moved from a slogan to an obsession? Believe it or not, this was even a subject of some side discussions at AAR two weeks ago. One woman scholar was struggling with the dilemma of living in a community where all traditional symbols of Jesus’ authority, especially his kingship, were called into postmodern question, while recognizing in herself a deep commitment to God’s sovereignty. Is there still a Gospel word for us in this symbol of Christ the King? Or is it baggage it is time to dump? King is our word for IT, and, like all such words in our time, problematic.

II. Pilate had a different problem with Jesus’ Kingship ­ what am I going to do with this king Jesus? I sent him to the real King of the Jews, Herod, who serves as a vassal under me as the real power here, the viceroy of Caesar, King of Kings and Lord of Lords. But Herod dumped him back in my lap, though I suspect my move was a good one politically. I really think this guy is innocent ­ certainly the notion he is a king is a joke, except as a philosopher king, perhaps, with all his talk of “Truth,” whatever that is. But these messiah types have been trouble here before, and it is my job to make sure no so-called king runs around without license from Caesar, which, here and now, means me. I’ll try one last time to get him off, but I’m probably going to have to let the mob have him. “Shall I crucify your King?” King was Pilate’s word for it.

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Chapel of the Apostles, April 18, 2001

When I first got notice that today was my assignment for the semester, my initial reaction was, “There’s a real kiss-your-sister situation.” (Please forgive the now very un PC metaphor, but I could not come up with a substitute, escept for the original tie game.) The high drama has begun on Palm/Passion Sunday, and tomorrow we begin the intensity of the Triduum, the three holiest days of the year. But meanwhile, we just wait. Just like Jesus had to.

Digging into the propers, I came smack up against Judas, whichever Gospel I chose, and found that we are really at the heart of the story. The is the great drama of love, death, and betrayal; it is especially keen in John because he makes it so clear betrayal is not just by Judas, but also by Peter, and in some sense all the men and women disciples, in different ways. And finally, by us, too. And in John the two betrayals surround a reiteration of love as the great commandment. Judas and Peter were both Jesus’ friends, disciples, converts. As are we. Ah, Holy Jesus, I it was denied thee. I crucified thee.

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