First Blessings

The Book of Signs: Chapter 4

Apostles Anglican Church
Fr. John A. Roop

The Gospel of John, Chapter 4: The Samaritan Woman and the Official’s Son

The Lord be with you.
And with your spirit.
Let us pray.

KONTAKION OF ST. PHOTINI (Adapted)

Almighty Savior who poured forth water for the Hebrews from a solid rock: You came to the land of Samaria and addressed a women whom you attracted to faith in you, and she has now attained life in the heavens everlastingly. Grant that, with her, your Spirit may be unto us living water that wells up to eternal life. Amen.

Foreword

The book of signs, John 2-12, contains more than just the seven works of Jesus that uniquely fulfill the purpose of John’s gospel:

30 Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of the disciples, which are not written in this book; 31 but these are written so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in his name (John 20:30-31).

As Fr. Jack mentioned last week there is often a literary pattern in St. John’s narrative:

Jesus Event: An action or sign

Symbol: A central image associated with the sign that encodes its meaning

Teaching: An explanation of the sign and symbol

So, in addition to the signs that are central to John’s purpose, we have discourses, extended sections of teaching and explanation. And there are discussions, dialogues between Jesus and hosts of different people. All three of these — signs, discourses, dialogues — work together to generate belief. Jesus does something, then he explains it either by teaching or by conversation. Or, perhaps the conversation comes first followed by a sign that challenges people to respond in a certain way. The order is variable.

In the text today, we encounter both an extended dialogue — with the Samaritan woman — and a sign, the healing of an official’s son.

Background

You can’t fully understand the racial dynamics and tensions in our nation or the mutual suspicions and even antipathy between the northern states and the southern states without some knowledge of history: the institution of slavery, the Civil War and the Emancipation Proclamation, Reconstruction, Jim Crow and the KKK, Martin Luther King and the Civil Rights Movement, Affirmative Action and DEI and the recent pushback against those programs. Likewise, we won’t fully understand the dynamics of John 4, Jesus’ encounter with the Samaritan woman, without some knowledge of the history of Israel and Judah around the time of their exiles, and, in Judah’s case, its repatriation.

2 Kings 17 describes the fall of the northern kingdom of Israel, which is identified with its capital Samaria. The last king of Israel, Hoshea, acted treacherously against Shalmaneser king of Assyria; he refused to pay the required tribute and he attempted to make a political and military alliance with Egypt to escape Assyria’s demands. As a result:

5 Then the king of Assyria invaded all the land and came to Samaria, and for three years he besieged it.

6 In the ninth year of Hoshea, the king of Assyria captured Samaria, and he carried the Israelites away to Assyria and placed them in Halah, and on the Habor, the river of Gozan, and in the cities of the Medes (2 Ki 17:5-6).

This left the land of Samaria largely empty and non-productive for Assyria; probably only the elderly and infirm Israelites were left behind. So, the king of Assyria populated Samaria with other captured peoples from other lands to work this land and to pay tribute: people from Babylon, Cuthah, Avva, Hamath, and Sepharvaim. These people brought their customs and their foreign gods with them into the land of Israel. Here is how the situation is described in 2 Kings 17.

25 And at the beginning of their dwelling there, they did not fear the Lord. Therefore the Lord sent lions among them, which killed some of them. 26 So the king of Assyria was told, “The nations that you have carried away and placed in the cities of Samaria do not know the law of the god of the land. Therefore he has sent lions among them, and behold, they are killing them, because they do not know the law of the god of the land.” 27 Then the king of Assyria commanded, “Send there one of the priests whom you carried away from there, and let him go and dwell there and teach them the law of the god of the land.” 28 So one of the priests whom they had carried away from Samaria came and lived in Bethel and taught them how they should fear the Lord.

29 But every nation still made gods of its own and put them in the shrines of the high places that the Samaritans had made, every nation in the cities in which they lived. 30 The men of Babylon made Succoth-benoth, the men of Cuth made Nergal, the men of Hamath made Ashima, 31 and the Avvites made Nibhaz and Tartak; and the Sepharvites burned their children in the fire to Adrammelech and Anammelech, the gods of Sepharvaim. 32 They also feared the Lord and appointed from among themselves all sorts of people as priests of the high places, who sacrificed for them in the shrines of the high places. 33 So they feared the Lord but also served their own gods, after the manner of the nations from among whom they had been carried away.

34 To this day they do according to the former manner. They do not fear the Lord, and they do not follow the statutes or the rules or the law or the commandment that the Lord commanded the children of Jacob, whom he named Israel (2 Ki 17:25-34).

This is the origin story of the Samaritans: pagans who feared the Lord, but who did not worship him exclusively or purely, people in the land but not of the land. That’s one strike against them.

Nearly two centuries later, when the Judeans, the remnant of the southern kingdom, were allowed to return to rebuild Jerusalem following their Babylonian captivity, the Samaritans offered to assist in rebuilding the temple. This is how Ezra records it:

4 Now when the adversaries of Judah and Benjamin heard that the returned exiles were building a temple to the Lord, the God of Israel, 2 they approached Zerubbabel and the heads of fathers’ houses and said to them, “Let us build with you, for we worship your God as you do, and we have been sacrificing to him ever since the days of Esarhaddon king of Assyria who brought us here.” 3 But Zerubbabel, Jeshua, and the rest of the heads of fathers’ houses in Israel said to them, “You have nothing to do with us in building a house to our God; but we alone will build to the Lord, the God of Israel, as King Cyrus the king of Persia has commanded us.”

4 Then the people of the land discouraged the people of Judah and made them afraid to build 5 and bribed counselors against them to frustrate their purpose, all the days of Cyrus king of Persia, even until the reign of Darius king of Persia (Ezra 4:1-5).

Through intermarriage and adoption of some Israelite customs, the Samaritans considered themselves as children of Abraham, as worshippers of the one true God. The Judeans thought of them as gentile pagans. The rejection of the Samaritans’ offer of assistance became a point of conflict; Jewish scorn produced Samaritan opposition. This opposition to the Judeans was the second strike against the Samaritans. Memory is long in the Middle East. So, grudges were held five centuries later, in the time of Jesus. There was ongoing tension between the Judeans — the Jews — and the Samaritans. That doesn’t mean that there was no interaction between the two groups; there was, in fact. Geographically, Samaria lay between Galilee in the north and Jerusalem in the South so that Jews going from one region to another needed to pass through Samaria and probably overnight there or else add days to their journey using a longer, alternate route that bypassed Samaria. The Pharisees did not consider Samaria or its people inherently unclean. They could eat Samaritan food, for example, but they had to use their own vessels — plates, cups — to do so. It’s fair to say that the Jews and Samaritans eyed one another with a certain disdain and suspicion, if not hostility. But, they made do with one another as necessary.

Jesus was a Jew and, humanly speaking, he was formed by his culture. I don’t believe he was limited by cultural prejudice, but he knew of it. Certainly his disciples were products of that culture and they did exhibit its values for good and ill. That emerges in the well known text today, Jesus’ encounter with the Samaritan woman.

Jesus and the Woman of Samaria (John 4:1-45)

While ministering in Judea, Jesus begins attracting some unwanted attention from the Pharisees, and he decides to return to Galilee for awhile. He and his disciples take the short route through Samaria. They reach the town of Sychar around noon where Jesus stops at the town well — Jacob’s Well — while the disciples go off to buy food.

Jesus is weary from the journey, an interesting details in the text that emphasizes the true humanity of Jesus — not God in disguise as a man, but God truly incarnate. While he is resting beside the well, a woman of Samaria arrives to draw water. It is not the usual time of day to do that, so she appears to be alone as is Jesus. That already builds a bit of tension into the story. Jewish men were not to be alone with women other than their wives nor speak to them, and here we have a Jewish man and a Samaritan woman alone together. There are all kinds of social taboos at work here, and all of them broken when Jesus asks her for a drink.

7 A woman from Samaria came to draw water. Jesus said to her, “Give me a drink.” 8 (For his disciples had gone away into the city to buy food.) 9 The Samaritan woman said to him, “How is it that you, a Jew, ask for a drink from me, a woman of Samaria?” (For Jews have no dealings with Samaritans.) 10 Jesus answered her, “If you knew the gift of God, and who it is that is saying to you, ‘Give me a drink,’ you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water.” 11 The woman said to him, “Sir, you have nothing to draw water with, and the well is deep. Where do you get that living water? 12 Are you greater than our father Jacob? He gave us the well and drank from it himself, as did his sons and his livestock.” 13 Jesus said to her, “Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, 14 but whoever drinks of the water that I will give him will never be thirsty again. The water that I will give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.” 15 The woman said to him, “Sir, give me this water, so that I will not be thirsty or have to come here to draw water” (John 4:7-15).

To say the least, the woman is surprised by Jesus’ request: he shouldn’t be talking to her in the first place, and, by tradition, he couldn’t accept a drink from her — using her vessels — even if she offered him one. The discussion that follows resembles Jesus’ earlier discussion with Nicodemus. It takes place on two different levels with the Samaritan woman speaking of physical matters while Jesus is getting at things of the Spirit. It’s as if she is playing checkers while he’s responding with chess moves.

You should be asking me for water — living water, Jesus says. She replies with the obvious: You have nothing to draw water with, and there is no living water — running water from a spring — around here anyway — just this well.

I don’t know the proper tone of voice to use when reading the rest of the conversation. Was Jesus being playful? Was the woman serious or perhaps a bit sarcastic?

So, you think you’re greater than Jacob and your water better than his? she asks.

Well, if you get water from Jacobs’s well, you’re going to have to come back here tomorrow and do it again. I can quench your thirst forever. The living water that I can give will become a perpetual spring of living water in you.

I read a book in 2006 about a group of free church evangelicals who converted to Orthodoxy. I think about that book, and particularly its title, whenever I read this conversation: Thirsting for God in a Land of Shallow Wells. That describes very well what is going on here. This woman, though she doesn’t seem to know it, is thirsting for God and not just for water. And while Jacob’s well is sufficient to quench her bodily thirst, it is far too shallow — her entire life is too shallow — to satisfy her spiritually. That requires the living water — the Holy Spirit — that only Jesus can provide.

So, she asks for this living water:

15 The woman said to him, “Sir, give me this water, so that I will not be thirsty or have to come here to draw water” (John 4:15).

Again, I have trouble reading the proper tone of voice here. The following dialogue makes two things clear: this is an intelligent woman — so it seems unlikely that she thinks Jesus is really talking about well water or spring water — and this is a woman who has reasons to be suspicious of men — five husbands and a current illicit relationship. So, what in the world is this Jew babbling about and why should she trust him anyway? So, I can just about hear some sarcasm in her voice: Yeah, right, then give me this water so I can stop trudging to this well every day. But, perhaps there is some hope there, too: I don’t really know exactly what you’re talking about, but I am deeply thirsty, so give me whatever it is you are offering.

Now, Jesus seems to change the topic abruptly: “Go, call your husband, and come here.” Why might Jesus do that?

He is moving the conversation into deeply personal territory. He’s gone from preaching to meddling. Five husbands, and now a sixth man who is not husband. I know your life. I know the brokenness of it, the emptiness of it. I know the depth of your real thirst. That is what I am offering to quench.

This is too close to home for the woman, too raw, and she changes the subject to theology.

19 The woman said to him, “Sir, I perceive that you are a prophet. 20 Our fathers worshiped on this mountain, but you say that in Jerusalem is the place where people ought to worship.” 21 Jesus said to her, “Woman, believe me, the hour is coming when neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem will you worship the Father. 22 You worship what you do not know; we worship what we know, for salvation is from the Jews. 23 But the hour is coming, and is now here, when the true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and truth, for the Father is seeking such people to worship him. 24 God is spirit, and those who worship him must worship in spirit and truth.” 25 The woman said to him, “I know that Messiah is coming (he who is called Christ). When he comes, he will tell us all things.” 26 Jesus said to her, “I who speak to you am he” (John 4:19-26).

So, let’s talk theology, the woman says. We Samaritans worship on Mt. Gerazim but you Jews worship on Mt. Zion. What do you say about that?

Well, salvation is from the Jews and not from the Samaritans, but in forty years location is not going to matter anyway. The Romans will destroy the Temple in Jerusalem. What is important is not so much where we worship but how we worship, not geography, but Spirit and truth. And that — Spirit and not well water — is what Jesus is offering her.

She seems to dismiss Jesus’ response, to wave it off. Well, we’ll never sort this out between us, but, when Messiah comes, he will make it all clear.

There is scholarly debate about what Jesus claimed for himself in the Gospels, about his self-identification. But this much is clear: in response to this woman, Jesus claims unambiguously that he is the Messiah, the one through whom God will fulfill all the covenant promises to renew Israel and to bless all the world through Israel. He is the one in whom all God’s promises are answered yes. This is enough for the woman. She leaves her water jar and heads into town as an evangelist: “Come, see a man who told me all that I ever did. Can this be the Christ?” And the whole town came, and many believed that Jesus was the Savior of the world. He stayed with them for two more days before resuming his journey to Jerusalem.

So far, the disciples have been largely absent from the story. Now, they return from buying food just in time to catch the end of the conversation between Jesus and the woman. They are surprised by it, but they don’t bring it up. Instead, they turn to mundane matters: Here, Jesus, eat some lunch. His initial response — I have food that you do not know about — is confusing to them, so he explains after a fashion.

34 Jesus said to them, “My food is to do the will of him who sent me and to accomplish his work. 35 Do you not say, ‘There are yet four months, then comes the harvest’? Look, I tell you, lift up your eyes, and see that the fields are white for harvest. 36 Already the one who reaps is receiving wages and gathering fruit for eternal life, so that sower and reaper may rejoice together. 37 For here the saying holds true, ‘One sows and another reaps.’ 38 I sent you to reap that for which you did not labor. Others have labored, and you have entered into their labor” (John 4:34-38).

John is a subtle writer. While the synoptic evangelists — Matthew, Mark, and Luke — approach things head on, John comes at the same matters at an angle. For example, John does not include the institution of the Lord’s Supper directly as the synoptic writers do; instead, he has the great Bread of Life discourse in John 6: Unless you eat my flesh and drink my blood you have no life in you. That is the way John approaches the Eucharist. And, John does not include the Parable of the Sower as the others do. But notice how the same ideas emerge here. Look around here in Samaria. A sower has sown good seed and it has landed on good ground and borne fruit — thirty, sixty, a hundred fold. And it is now ready for harvest. That will be your job. Who would have thought the good ground would be in Samaria? Certainly not the disciples. But those reading John’s gospel careful shouldn’t be surprised; there were hints from the beginning, from the Prologue:

9 The true light, which gives light to everyone, was coming into the world. 10 He was in the world, and the world was made through him, yet the world did not know him. 11 He came to his own, and his own people did not receive him. 12 But to all who did receive him, who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God, 13 who were born, not of blood nor of the will of the flesh nor of the will of man, but of God (John 1:9-13).

That’s the account of the Samaritan woman. Now, just a few observations.

First, we are only in chapter four of the Gospel, and already water has figured as a major symbol of Jesus’ ministry four times, once in each chapter: the water of John’s baptism, which sets the tone for everything else; the water turned to wine at Cana; the water and Spirit of new birth that Jesus announces to Nicodemus; and the well water and living water in the conversation with the Samaritan woman. Baptism is the through-line of the symbol: baptism and the indwelling of the Holy Spirit.

Second this: there are at least three times in his gospel when John presents women as evangelists. The first is Mary at the wedding in Cana; she gives a great evangelistic message to the servants: Do whatever he tells you. The last is Mary Magdalene when Jesus sends her to tell the brothers (the Apostles) the news of the resurrection and of his coming ascension. The middle account is here, when the Samaritan woman tells the entire town of Sychar what she has seen and heard from Jesus. She sows the word among her people and a great harvest ensues.

Third: the Holy Spirit is always at work sowing the seed of the Gospel, sometimes in places that are quite surprising to us. Our task is to look out over the fields to see which ones are ready for harvest and then to get busy reaping what has grown there.

Fourth: no one is excluded from the Gospel — not a woman with a disturbing past and questionable sexual morals, not a people that we might deem as somehow unworthy of the Gospel or of our acceptance.

Now, we turn to the sign in this chapter, the second of those recorded by John, the healing of the official’s son.

Jesus Heals an Official’s Son

The account is short enough that we can read it.

46 So he came again to Cana in Galilee, where he had made the water wine. And at Capernaum there was an official whose son was ill. 47 When this man heard that Jesus had come from Judea to Galilee, he went to him and asked him to come down and heal his son, for he was at the point of death. 48 So Jesus said to him, “Unless you see signs and wonders you will not believe.” 49 The official said to him, “Sir, come down before my child dies.” 50 Jesus said to him, “Go; your son will live.” The man believed the word that Jesus spoke to him and went on his way. 51 As he was going down, his servants met him and told him that his son was recovering. 52 So he asked them the hour when he began to get better, and they said to him, “Yesterday at the seventh hour the fever left him.” 53 The father knew that was the hour when Jesus had said to him, “Your son will live.” And he himself believed, and all his household. 54 This was now the second sign that Jesus did when he had come from Judea to Galilee (John 4:46-54).

We noted earlier how John often has his own take on events recorded by the synoptic Gospels. This account may well be John’s telling of the healing of the Centurion’s servant (see Matt 8:5-13).

This is a story of life and death: the child is ill and at the point of death. Unless Jesus intervenes, the child will die. The official has heard of Jesus as a healer and learns that he is near. It isn’t likely that the official is interested in theology at all. Whether Jesus is the Messiah — and whether the official even knew what a messiah was — probably didn’t enter into the picture at all. The official is desperate and has nothing to lose — except pride, perhaps — asking Jesus for help.

In what follows, I am grateful to Lesslie Newbigin for these insights from his commentary on John, The Light Has Come. After the official’s first appeal Jesus seems dismissive. The text is interesting here. Jesus speaks to the official, but he speaks in the plural; so, Jesus is really speaking to all the people through his response to the official.

48 So Jesus said to him, “Unless you (plural) see signs and wonders you will not believe” (John 4:48).

This implies that their belief is conditional; it is on their own terms. Do us some signs, then we might believe. Notice how St. John turns this around to make an essential point for his own readers.

49 The official said to him, “Sir, come down before my child dies.” 50 Jesus said to him, “Go; your son will live.” The man believed the word that Jesus spoke to him and went on his way (John 4:49-50).

Here is the key: the official believed — and acted on — the word that Jesus spoke to him without having yet seen any sign. Later, when he learned that the child was healed in the same hour that Jesus pronounced the word, the official’s own belief was deepened and his household came to believe. But, it all started with the official believing Jesus’ word: with hearing, not with seeing.

Why is this important? John tells us near the conclusion of his Gospel.

24 Now Thomas, one of the twelve, called the Twin, was not with them when Jesus came. 25 So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord.” But he said to them, “Unless I see in his hands the mark of the nails, and place my finger into the mark of the nails, and place my hand into his side, I will never believe.”

26 Eight days later, his disciples were inside again, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were locked, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” 27 Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here, and see my hands; and put out your hand, and place it in my side. Do not disbelieve, but believe.” 28 Thomas answered him, “My Lord and my God!” 29 Jesus said to him, “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.”

30 Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of the disciples, which are not written in this book; 31 but these are written so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in his name (John 20:24-31).

Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed. John is writing to people — and we are amongst them — who have not and will not see the signs that Jesus worked. What we have is the word: the words spoken by Jesus and about Jesus, and the words written by John. Just as the word was sufficient to engender faith in the official it can be and must be sufficient for us. The word has its own authority and its own power independent of signs and wonders. This story of the official’s son is a resurrection story of sorts, a story of life from death. It is, in the true sense of the word, a sign pointing toward resurrection. It is a sign that links word and life. And that brings us right back again to John’s Prologue: Jesus the Word of God, became flesh and dwelt among us that we might have life. Jesus not only speaks but is the life-giving word. That is the nature of this second sign: the sufficiency of the word to engender faith. But these [words] are written so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in his name (see John 20:31).

Apostles Anglican Church
Fr. John A. Roop

Hands and Hearts: A Homily On the Canaanite Woman
(Isa 56:1-8, Ps 67, Rom 11:13-24, Matt 15:21-28)

“O woman, great is your faith! Be it done for you as you desire” (Matt 15:28b).

In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

This whole thing with the Canaanite woman started some time before with an accusation scantily cloaked as a question. It’s there in St. Matthew’s Gospel immediately before today’s reading. Now, you would think that by this point in his ministry Jesus’ skeptics and opponents would know better; putting Jesus to the test never ended well for any of them. Even his answers, such as they were, were rarely directed to the questions posed but rather to the hearts of those who posed the questions, often revealing the pride and hypocrisy so carefully hidden there. Still, they came. Still, they asked.

1 Then Pharisees and scribes came to Jesus from Jerusalem and said, 2 “Why do your disciples break the tradition of the elders? For they do not wash their hands when they eat” (John 15:1-2).

The Pharisees and scribes come at Jesus with a two-pronged attack, questioning first his affiliation and loyalty and second his purity.

Whose side are you on? they want to know from Jesus. Are you a Republican, a Democrat, or an Independent? Are you a Conservative, a Liberal, or a Centrist? Are you a Baptist, a Methodist, or a Catholic? Do you use the 1928 Prayer Book, the 1979 Prayer Book, or the 2019 Prayer Book? Are you this? Do you do that? The questions and divisions can be multiplied ad nauseum. For these Pharisees and scribes the divisions ran along these lines: Are you with us Pharisees and scribes, or with the Sadducees, or with the Essenes, or with a new messianic faction of your own making — something else altogether? Whose side are you on? Where does your loyalty lie? The litmus test of affiliation and loyalty they apply here is conformity to the tradition of the elders, a defining characteristic of the Pharisees and scribes. So they test Jesus: why do your disciples break the tradition of the elders?

We must now speak of Torah. Let us think of Torah — the Law, the teachings — as a fence that kept Israel from plunging off a precipice into covenant unfaithfulness. The Torah kept Israel away from the edge of spiritual and national disaster. Of course, one might reason that the farther from the edge the better. Perhaps we should build a second fence that keeps Israel from coming even as close to the edge as Torah allows. That would be safer, better, wouldn’t it? And, if a second fence, why not a third, a fourth even? And so it goes. Generation by generation newer, safer, more distant fences are built, the traditions of the elders accrue, until for the Pharisees and scribes keeping the traditions of the elders becomes synonymous with keeping the Torah itself. To break the tradition of the elders — to hop a fence, even one very distant from the edge marked by Torah — is to flaunt Torah, to be unfaithful to the covenant, to disaffiliate from the people of God as the Pharisees and scribes define the people of God, to exhibit disloyalty to Israel and to the God of Israel. And so, the Pharisees and scribes came to Jesus from Jerusalem and said, “Why do your disciples break the tradition of the elders?”

In all fairness, Jesus and his disciples did seem to sit a bit loose on the tradition. They consorted with tax collectors and sinners. They routinely skirted the Sabbath prohibition against work: Jesus healed on the Sabbath and told former paralytics to take up their beds and walk; the disciples plucked grain, threshed it in their hands, and ate it. Jesus acted very much as if he were Lord of the Sabbath; in fact, he even said so (see Matt 12:1-14). The Pharisees and scribes could have pointed to any of these infractions against the tradition — maybe fairly so — but they seized on something else entirely: your disciples do not wash their hands when they eat.

Now, let’s be clear; this has nothing to do with hygiene. It’s not mom or dad telling the kids to wash up before dinner. This is a matter of ritual purity, which means that, to the Pharisees and scribes, it is a matter of covenant faithfulness.

Here is why purity is so important: purity is the answer to the question of how the holy God of Israel can live among his less than holy people, first in the tabernacle and later in the temple. Purity lay at the heart of the sacrificial system including the great Day of Atonement rituals in which the tabernacle (or temple), the altar, the camp, and the people were purified with the sprinkling of blood. Much of the daily life of Israel was oriented toward purity: don’t touch this, don’t eat that, don’t go there, don’t do that; it is all there in the Torah. And, the remedy for infraction of the purity laws? Often, a ritual washing of body and clothes was required followed by a waiting period, just until the beginning of a new day at sundown. Then, what was impure regained its purity.

But, generation by generation, new fences of purity were built, new traditions of washings added. Eating bread? Hands must be washed, dirty or not: first a cup of water poured over the left hand, then a cup over the right — up to the wrists — followed by an elevation of both hands, a brief drip-dry, a blessing — Blessed are You Lord our God, King of the universe, Who has sanctified us with his commandments and commanded us on the washing of hands. — and finally a thorough drying with a towel. Without this ritual of purity, how could one dare to take bread into his hands and pronounce the blessing over it:

Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the Universe, Who brings forth bread from the earth.

Lest we think this ritual overly fastidious, lest we approach near to mocking, notice the last act of our priests before approaching the altar for the Eucharist today. It is called the lavabo: the washing. It is part of the great Tradition observed by Orthodox, Roman Catholic, and Anglican clergy. Amongst Anglicans, the deacon pours water over the priest’s hands for a ritual cleansing before the priest takes the bread into his hands and blesses it. If I were to see an Anglican Eucharist celebrated without the lavabo, I might well ask the priest afterwards — if I were feeling a bit curmudgeonly that day — Why do you not wash your hands before taking the bread and blessing it? And just so — only more so — the Pharisees and scribes asked Jesus, “Why do your disciples break the tradition of the elders? For they do not wash their hands when they eat.”

We don’t have time to fully parse Jesus’ response, I’m afraid. But, this much we must say, and this much must do for now. If, without being flippant, I may couch Jesus’ answer in words familiar from The Princess Bride: You keep washing your hands; I do not think it does what you think it does. The Pharisees and scribes were treating this ritual washing as sacramental, as an outward and visible sign of an inner and hidden grace, as the means by which one attained purity toward God, as if the washing of hands made one pure before God, and as if failing to wash one’s hands made, or left, one impure. Not so. Even if one eats bread with unwashed, “impure” hands, it is of no grave consequence. Eat, digest, eliminate: no harm, no foul, no impurity. What goes into the mouth doesn’t render one impure. Hear Jesus on this.

18 “But what comes out of the mouth proceeds from the heart, and this defiles a person. 19 For out of the heart come evil thoughts, murder, adultery, sexual immorality, theft, false witness, slander. 20 These are what defile a person. But to eat with unwashed hands does not defile anyone” (Matt 15:18-20).

Purity is about the heart, not about the hands. Did the disciples get it? Did they understand? No, not by a long shot as the next episode in this story makes clear — that whole thing with the Canaanite woman.

But, before that, one other notion about purity is needed if we are to get the story right. Ritual purity had a geographical or geometrical component about it; think of it as concentric circles of purity. You get the notion by looking at the Temple. The Holy of Holies is the smallest, inner circle, the purest of the pure. Only the High Priest is allowed in that circle, and that only once each year after careful cleansing. Moving outward, we enter the Court of the Priests, where the sacrifices were offered; as the name implies, it was restricted to priests who also had to purify themselves with ritual washings. Next was the Court of Israel, reserved for Jewish men as they participated in the religious ceremonies. The Jewish women came next; they were restricted to the Court of Women. Lastly — outermost — came the Court of the Gentiles — the great mass of the “unwashed” — where people of many nations could gather to pray. This was also the commercial center of the Temple, the court Jesus cleansed before his final Passover because it had become a den of thieves instead of a house of prayer. So much for purity in that court. Here’s the point of this Temple geography: the nearer one was to approach God, the purer one had to be. And some people couldn’t approach at all; some people were perpetually impure.

I’ll spare sensitive ears — you can read all the details in Deuteronomy 23:1-6 — but eunuchs were not allowed in the assembly. Nor were those born of illicit unions, not even their eighth great grandchildren. And don’t get me started on Moabites and Ammonites. It was fine to hold a grudge there; even for ten generations they are banned from the assembly. No amount of hand washing will make a eunuch ritually pure or cleanse a tainted bloodline: you can’t wash the Moabite off of yourself. Some people, so it seems, are perpetually unclean, perpetually distanced from God.

Now, back to the story. After his encounter with the Pharisees and scribes, after making clear that purity is a matter of the heart and not of the hands, Jesus takes his disciples into the district of Tyre and Sidon: into Gentile territory, into pagan territory, into an impure land filled with impure people. So the Pharisees and scribes thought. So Jesus’ disciples thought.

22 And behold, a Canaanite woman from that region came out and was crying, “Have mercy on me, O Lord, Son of David; my daughter is severely oppressed by a demon” (Matt 15:22).

There is nothing subtle in St. Matthew’s account: this is a Canaanite woman — certainly a gentile, likely an idol worshipper, absolutely unclean. And her daughter? Even worse than the mother: she is demonized. All of this is ritual impurity painted upon an enormous canvas for all to see. And the disciples saw it.

Jesus kept silent. We see him use silence to great effect on other occasions, as well. When challenged by the Pharisees and scribes to condemn the woman taken in adultery, Jesus at first said nothing; he just bent down and scribbled in the sand. And, in his own trial, when the chief priests and elders accused him before Pilate, Jesus gave no answer. Here? His silence gives his disciples a beat, a moment to think, to process what they’ve seen and heard recently. Did they understand about the washing of hands and the thoughts of the heart? Do they know where purity lies?

23b And his disciples came and begged him, saying, “Send her away, for she is crying out after us” (Matt 15:23b).

Bless them. They were slow of heart to understand. So, in his mercy to everyone, Jesus continues the lesson because this is important. This has to do with the in-breaking of the kingdom of God in his very person.

24 He answered, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” 25 But she came and knelt before him, saying, “Lord, help me” (Matt 1524-25).

Still, Jesus pushes back once more, answering her as the Pharisees and the scribes would do, as his own disciples would do.

26b “It is not right to take the children’s bread and throw it to the dogs.” 27 She said, “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table” (Matt 15:26b-27).

We can’t know this, but I like to imagine Jesus looking at his disciples with raised eyebrows as if posing the question: “Do you get it now?” Purity is a matter of the heart, not a matter of the washing of hands or the bloodline. Do you still not understand?

28 Then Jesus answered her, “O woman, great is your faith! Be it done for you as you desire.” And her daughter was healed instantly (Matt 15:28).

It is crucial for the disciples to understand this. It is faith that matters, faith like this gentile woman had. Yes, Jesus was sent to the lost sheep of the house of Israel as he said. But the disciples will be sent — Jesus will send them — to make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit (see Matt 28:19). They will be his witnesses in Jerusalem — yes — in all Judea — of course — but also in Samaria and to the ends of the earth (see Acts 1:8). The disciples must grasp this truth: there is no impurity that can separate one whose heart is filled with this faith from the love of God which is ours in Christ Jesus our Lord. It is this Canaanite woman and all those like her then and now and in whatever generations may come that Isaiah foresaw.

3 Let not the foreigner who has joined himself to the Lord say,
“The Lord will surely separate me from his people”;
and let not the eunuch say,
“Behold, I am a dry tree.”

4 For thus says the Lord:
“To the eunuchs who keep my Sabbaths,
who choose the things that please me
and hold fast my covenant,

5 I will give in my house and within my walls
a monument and a name
better than sons and daughters;
I will give them an everlasting name
that shall not be cut off.

6 “And the foreigners who join themselves to the Lord,
to minister to him, to love the name of the Lord,
and to be his servants,
everyone who keeps the Sabbath and does not profane it,
and holds fast my covenant—

7 these I will bring to my holy mountain,
and make them joyful in my house of prayer;
their burnt offerings and their sacrifices
will be accepted on my altar;
for my house shall be called a house of prayer
for all peoples.”

8 The Lord God,
who gathers the outcasts of Israel, declares,
“I will gather yet others to him
besides those already gathered” (Isa 56:3-8).

All these promises of God find their yes in Christ Jesus (see 2 Cor 1:20). That is the story. That is the Gospel.

Beyond rejoicing in the purifying and redeeming power of faith in our Lord Jesus, beyond exulting in the inclusive love of God that draws those from every family, language, people and nation into his kingdom through such faith, what are we to do with this story? Where are the Pharisees and scribes and disciples and Canaanite women among us?

Well, I would have made a good Pharisee; I still do. I like being right, and if pointing out that others are in the wrong highlights my own self-righteousness, well then, so be it. Are there those — like the Moabites and the Canaanite woman — that I consider so unclean, so impure that I count them intrinsically cut off from God, inherently beyond the reach of redemption? I would never say that! But, it’s what’s in my heart that matters. And my heart can be deceitful. Of whom am I suspicious without real reason? Toward whom am I dismissive without real consideration? To whom do I feel superior without shame at my own pride? Whose sins do I hold ever before me — and before them — without lamenting my own? From whom have I withheld forgiveness — because they are clearly unworthy of it — all while expecting God to forgive me my trespasses? Lord, have mercy. If not watchful, if not repentant, I can be a Pharisee washing my hands and saying my blessings and sending away Canaanite women whose great faith beggars my own.

I would have made a good Pharisee — I still do — but I want to be a good Canaanite woman. I want a faith like hers: humble, audacious, persistent. I want a faith that drives me to my knees before Jesus so that he may cleanse me of all impurity, a faith that is not presumptuous, not certain of its own righteousness, but certain only of Jesus whose character is always to have mercy. I want a faith content with the crumbs from the master’s table. I want my sinful body to be made clean by his body, and my soul to be washed through his most precious blood (see The Prayer of Humble Access, BCP 2019, p. 135). I want to evermore dwell in him and he in me. I want to hear one day — please, God — “Great is your faith! Be it done for you as you desire.”

Amen.

I have been in conversation lately with a heretic. I do not use the word “heretic” in a demeaning manner, but in the technical sense of one who holds and teaches heterodox ideas that have been formally anathematized by the Church. My interlocutor is a member of the Jehovah’s Witnesses, a group who denies the divinity of Christ and of the Holy Spirit, among other grievous errors. Many of their ideas are Arian in nature and were anathematized along with Arius at the Council of Nicaea. Each time we, in orthodox churches, confess the Nicene Creed, we denounce such heresy.

It all started when Ed — not his name, but a convenient pseudonym — sent a three page letter to the parish asking us to reconsider, and reject, “the Trinity Doctrine.” What followed was a congeries of biblical references, erroneous exegesis, spurious quotes, and a grand exercise in missing the point. I do not know what possessed me to respond. I have received such letters in the past and simply recycled them. But, this time I did respond, and I am glad I did.

Ed was surprised to receive my response, he wrote. For some years he has been sending this letter to churches — he mentioned Roman Catholic churches in particular but has now evidently expanded his reach to Anglicans — and only very rarely has he received any response. I suggested that an orthodox church receiving his letter would be like the chair of a university astronomy department receiving a letter from someone wanting to promote a flat earth model. That notion was debunked as early as the third century BC by Eratosthenes; there is no need to revisit or reconsider it or spend time debating it. The Trinity is established Church doctrine; there is no need to revisit it and we really have nothing new to add beyond the truth promulgated by the Creeds. So, I am not surprised that he receives few responses. That, of course, did not deter him in the least because he is convinced that the Church and the Creeds are in grave error. So, no appeal to orthodoxy, no appeal to the Church, no appeal to the consensus reading and understanding of Scripture will suffice. All these have been in error for nearly two thousand years, error finally discovered and rejected by the Jehovah’s Witnesses in the last hundred years. It is possible, I suppose, but it is a hard sell.

I was struck by the notion that Ed and I do not have the same Scriptures, and not just because the Jehovah’s Witnesses have their own translation worded specifically to support their heretical views. Even if Ed and I could agree on a common translation, we read Scripture so differently that we have, in effect, a different text. I read Scripture with the Church; Ed reads in opposition to the Church. Ed rejects the Trinity in part because the specific word “trinity” does not appear in the text. I accept the Trinity because I see Father, Son, and Holy Spirit throughout Scripture, in both Old and New Testaments. Ed ignores texts that clearly show the consubstantiality of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, and he is convinced that I ignore texts that identify the Son as a created being and the Holy Spirit as a “thing” and not a Person. We do not have the same Scriptures because we do not have the same way of reading our common texts. Nothing I say could ever convince Ed of orthodox doctrine. Nothing Ed says could ever convince me to abandon orthodox doctrine. We were at an impasse from the off. Finally, after three pleasant but futile exchanges, I told Ed that our conversation was stalled, and that I did not plan to continue it. His final response left the door open if I ever wanted to contact him again. It is not likely, and I’m sure he knows that.

What do I make of all this? Ed seems to be a nice guy, someone you would be happy to have as a neighbor. I learned that he is eighty years old, that he has been married for fifty-eight years, and that both he and his wife are former Roman Catholics. What led them to become Jehovah’s Witnesses I do not know. I think Ed is wrong — I’m convinced he is — but I have no reason to think him evil in an ethical sense. I generally close my letters with “Blessings.” I could not do that with Ed because I cannot bless his work, his mission of spreading the heresy of the Jehovah’s Witnesses. So, Ed falls in that interesting intersection of Heretic and Neighbor, a good guy in grave error, a good guy who can nonetheless do serious damage unintentionally.

I realize also that Ed and I could never have a true conversation on these matters simply because conversation requires the possibility of changing one’s mind. Any discussion of religious matters would not be honest conversation but veiled — perhaps thinly veiled — evangelism. We might agree to avoid certain topics, but once broached at all honest conversation is out the window, at least related to core matters of the faith, to matters of orthodoxy and heresy. I am happily closed minded with respect to orthodoxy. A mind should be open only ’till it has closed upon the truth. Both Ed and I would agree on that.

Apostles Anglican Church
Fr. John A. Roop

The Underlying Condition: The Law, Sin, and the Yoke of Christ
(Zech 9:9-12, Psalm 145:1-13, Rom 7:21-8:6, Matt 11:25-30)

In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

A sermon like this is something of a fool’s errand; that needs to be said and understood up front if for no other reason than to lower your expectations. Let me explain the difficulty by analogy. Imagine an extremely complex computer program running to a hundred thousand lines of code. Out of that, someone selects a small subroutine of some hundred lines, hands it to the programmer, and asks her to explain it. Well, the subroutine performs a certain function that, in theory, can be described straightforwardly. But, it does what it does and means what it means only in terms of the whole program. To really understand the part, you need the programmer to walk you step by step through all the hundred thousand lines of code so you see the subroutine in the proper context of the whole program. To focus only on the subroutine is probably to misunderstand both the part and the whole.

It is like that with St. Paul’s Epistle to the Romans. Paul is mounting a very dense and complex argument from start to finish. Each section of the text functions as a subroutine in the whole tightly nested theological “program.” Each part means what it means only in terms of the whole. To select a few verses, like our lectionary does today, to present them to a poor, hapless preacher, to expect him to make perfect sense of them in twenty minutes is, well, it is a fool’s errand. I’ll do my best, but don’t get your hopes up. As Lewis Grizzard titled one of his books, “Shoot low boys, they’re riding shetland ponies.”

There is a common plot line in television medical dramas from Dr. Kildare to Marcus Welby, M.D., passing through ER and House, showing up in Gray’s Anatomy and Brilliant Minds and The Pitt. There are as many variations on it as there are programs, but the basic theme is simple. A patient presents with a life threatening illness, one with strange and complex symptoms that make the diagnostic work particularly challenging. The patient continues to decline — death seems imminent — until the midpoint of the episode when the doctor or plucky intern finally discovers the obscure malady and administers the life-saving medication. Little does the doctor know what we know: the show is only half over; it is too early for the patient to recover. Oh, no: the patient crashes and starts lurching down the tunnel toward the bright light at its end right at the mid-episode commercial.

What’s wrong? Was the diagnosis in error? No, the clinical results are clear and compelling; there is no question about the diagnosis. Was the wrong medication given? No, there was no mixup at the pharmacy; the medication and the dosage were both correct. Could the medicine itself be contaminated with something? No, the manufacturer has an excellent quality control process. We viewers check the clock. We are forty-five minutes into the show now; they have to come up with something soon unless this is a two-part episode.

Just when all seems lost, one of the doctors asks, “What if there is some underlying condition — totally unrelated to the disease we are treating — that makes the medication ineffective or even toxic?” And, that’s the answer; that’s always the answer. As soon as the doctors discover and treat that underlying condition, the patient makes a miraculous recovery and all is well until next week. Cue the closing credits.

Now, to St. Paul and his epistle to the Romans. St. Paul lived at the intersection of two worlds: Jewish and Gentile. He insisted, in keeping with the vocation he had been given, that these two worlds belonged together in the Church — Jews as Jews and Gentiles as Gentiles and both groups together as one body in Christ — that to separate them was to pull the Church out of shape and ultimately to deform and even to deny the Gospel. If the Gospel were not powerful enough to reconcile the ancient enmity of Jews and Gentiles, how could it possibly be powerful enough to reconcile all men, indeed all creation, to God? This issue — the role of the Jews in the redemption of the world and the full inclusion of the Gentiles in that redemption — was never far from Paul’s mind, nor absent from his letters. We too often try to read Paul in terms of Reformation questions, in terms of our personal salvation. And while that is not wrong, it is secondary and too small; it is a subroutine of a much larger, more complex, far grander program — God redeeming, renewing, and reconciling all creation to himself through his faithfulness to the covenant he had made with Abram and his descendants. We are saved by God, in and through Christ, only because Christ is the fulfillment of that covenant.

God made the covenant first with Abram, and then renewed it through successive generations: with Abraham’s son Isaac and with Isaac’s son Jacob, whose name God changed to Israel. But, the most dramatic ratification of the covenant came some four hundred thirty years after it was first established, came when a not yet but soon to be nation of recently freed slaves gathered for the first time at Mount Sinai to appear before their God. It was there that God gave the Law to Israel as the nation’s covenant charter, not to supplant the covenant, but to embody it in faithfulness, obedience, and righteousness. The Law was given to a vast family who knew nothing but slavery, who had come of age in a land of foreign gods and foreign customs, who knew more of death than of life. They were sick — terminally ill — in ways beyond their understanding. Torah — the Law — was their medicine. Through it they would learn what it meant to be the people of God: to love God with all their heart, soul, mind, and strength and to love their neighbors — particularly the widow and orphan and stranger — as themselves. And in that, they would find life. In that, they would become God’s holy people — a kingdom of priests — and God would become their God.

But, when this medicine of the Law was administered, the people got worse, not better. Over generations, Israel turned from their God toward the idols of the nations around them. Over generations, Israel ignored the social imperatives of the Law to free slaves, to restore land to its ancestral owners, to care for the poor, to show mercy to widows and orphans and strangers. Over generations, Israel put their faith in faithless kings and in military and political alliances with the foreign powers that be — even Egypt — instead of in the God who had delivered them from slavery, given them their land, and promised to be with them forever. And there was turmoil inside their borders and threats outside their borders. The kingdom divided. The ten northern tribes were conquered, exiled, and lost. The two southern tribes held out a bit longer but were themselves conquered and exiled. They returned to the land later, in much diminished form, where their continued existence was always tenuous. The patient took the medicine of the Law and got sicker until the patient was near death.

Why? This is a historical and a theological conundrum that St. Paul grapples with in Romans. Was there something wrong with the Law? Did God make a mistake in prescribing it? Was it too much or too little, too strong or too weak? Did that which was intended to bring life actually bring death?

No, nothing is wrong with the Law: no mistake in prescribing it, no mistake in its administration and dosage. Then, just as in our medical dramas, the problem must be an underlying condition that is stirred up, worsened, and revealed by the Law — something that must be dealt with first before the Law can bring life. And there is. For Israel, the underlying condition is sin: sin that dwells in flesh and bone, in heart and mind, in thought and emotion; sin that stirs up passions that captivate and compel those under the Law to disobey the Law; sin that makes the medicine of the Law toxic to those who receive it.

This is what St. Paul says, writing in the first person — “I” — as the personified representative of Israel under the Law:

13 Did that which is good, then, bring death to me? By no means! It was sin, producing death in me through what is good, in order that sin might be shown to be sin, and through the commandment might become sinful beyond measure. 14 For we know that the law is spiritual, but I am of the flesh, sold under sin. 15 For I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate. 16 Now if I do what I do not want, I agree with the law, that it is good. 17 So now it is no longer I who do it, but sin that dwells within me. 18 For I know that nothing good dwells in me, that is, in my flesh. For I have the desire to do what is right, but not the ability to carry it out. 19 For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I keep on doing. 20 Now if I do what I do not want, it is no longer I who do it, but sin that dwells within me (Rom 7:13-20).

The Law is rendered powerless to make Israel righteous, not because the Law is bad, not because Israel thinks the Law is bad, not even because Israel does not want to follow the Law, but because Israel is united with Adam in the effects, power, and slavery of sin. Sin dwells in the very flesh and bone of Israel and renders the people incapable of obeying the Law. In fact, the Law stirs up sin so that it might become sinful beyond measure. What Israel wants to do, it cannot do. The medicine of life is bringing death. Sin is something akin to an autoimmune disease in which the body turns on itself, destroying itself from within. So, Paul cries out in the voice of Israel:

21 So I find it to be a law that when I want to do right, evil lies close at hand. 22 For I delight in the law of God, in my inner being, 23 but I see in my members another law waging war against the law of my mind and making me captive to the law of sin that dwells in my members. 24 Wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death (Rom 7:21-24)?

Unless sin is dealt with — unless the power, the toxicity of sin is destroyed — the prognosis will be death and the patient will surely die.

So, where have we gotten so far? Israel, whom God has chosen to be his holy people, the people through whom he will redeem the world, Israel is infected with the consequences of Adam’s disobedience and is subject to sin and death. The Law, which is good and life-giving, only stirs up those passions through Israel’s captivity to sin; Israel is powerless to resist. The Law, which is good, is bringing death because of sin. Sin must be dealt with and the Law cannot empower Israel to deal with it.

The medical metaphor has been useful to get us here, but to continue it would strain it beyond its capacity. With gratitude, we leave it behind now to speak more directly. Sin has to be dealt with. The Law cannot do it. So God himself intervenes to destroy the power of sin, to free Israel and to empower Israel for righteousness. God himself intervenes to deliver Israel from its body of death. God himself intervenes in the person of Jesus Christ our Lord. Thanks be to God!

To the Jews who were condemned to death by sin acting through the Law, St. Paul now proclaims:

1 There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. 2 For the law of the Spirit of life has set you free in Christ Jesus from the law of sin and death. 3 For God has done what the law, weakened by the flesh, could not do. By sending his own Son in the likeness of sinful flesh and for sin, he condemned sin in the flesh, 4 in order that the righteous requirement of the law might be fulfilled in us, who walk not according to the flesh but according to the Spirit (Rom 8:1-4).

This is the Gospel, that God has acted in Christ to set free those enslaved by sin and death to live not according to the law of sin and death but according to the law of the Spirit of life. God has done what the law could not do; God has done what nothing else and no one else could do. The only sinless son of Adam, the only perfectly righteous son of Abraham, the only-begotten Son of God drew unto himself in his very flesh all the sin of the world and there, in the flesh of his Son, God condemned sin, God broke its deadly power through the death of his Son. God condemned sin in the flesh of Jesus. God did not condemn Jesus, the archetype of all men, but rather sin in Jesus, so that all men might be free.

The toxic power of sin has been broken. Those enslaved to the passions have been emancipted. The Spirit of life and righteousness has been poured out. Those who set their minds on the Spirit — as it is now possible to do! — will know life and peace. This is the Gospel that Paul offered to the Jews and not to the Jews only, but also to the Greeks; for God is not the God of the Jews only, but also of the Greeks (cf Roman 3:39). This is not just the Jewish story, though it was first theirs. This is the human story. Though the Gentiles were never under the Law, they were — we were — bound under sin and subject to death. Though we knew God we did not honor him as God or give thanks to him. Instead, and therefore, we became futile in our thinking and our hearts were darkened and hardened. We spiraled downward into idolatry and perversity, we exchanged that which is natural for that which is unnatural, we embraced our passions and gave our approval to others who did likewise. We deserved to die and we made a covenant with death: all of us, every one of us, Jews and Gentiles alike. We labored like the dumb ox under the yoke of slavery to sin and death, a yoke on the neck that neither our fathers nor we have been able to bear (cf Acts 15:10). We labored under that yoke until there came the great good news of the Gospel, first to the Jew and also to the Greek:

1 For freedom Christ has set us free; stand firm therefore, and do not submit again to a yoke of slavery (Gal 5:1).

Though General John Stark meant something different when he penned the state motto of New Hampshire — Live Free or Die — the words ring true here. Christ has set us free from the yoke of the law and sin. We will either live in that freedom or else return to bondage under sin’s yoke and die. We will either live in that freedom or else be crushed under the load of sin’s yoke and die. As the general Confession at the Eucharist in our historic Prayer Book (1662) has us say:

We do earnestly repent, And are heartily sorry for these our misdoings; The remembrance of them is grievous unto us; The burden of them is intolerable.

The yoke of sin is grievous and intolerable. It will wear us out and then crush us if we continue to carry it or abandon our freedom and return to it. And so, our Lord Jesus, the one who bore the yoke for all creation and was indeed crushed under it, the one who fell under the weight of the cross, the one who rose again victorious invites us:

28 Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. 29 Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. 30 For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light” (Matt 11:28-30).

There is great paradox in this invitation. The yoke that Jesus bids us take up — the one he assures us is easy and light — is none other than the cross.

24 Then Jesus told his disciples, “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. 25 For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it. 26 For what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world and forfeits his soul? Or what shall a man give in return for his soul” (Matt 16:24-26)?

We have the choice between two yokes, and we must bear one or the other: the yoke of sin and death in the Law or the yoke of freedom and life in Christ. No matter which we choose, we die. But the difference between the two is great. Only in the yoke of the cross do we die in Christ. Only in the yoke of the cross do we rise again to new life in Christ. And in that assurance we find rest for our souls, the certainty that the law of the Spirit of life has set us free in Jesus Christ from the law of sin and death.

Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord! Amen.

WHAT WERE YOU THINKING ABOUT?

It was a lovely day at the park: hot, but shady and comfortable enough sitting on “Pumpkin” my favorite bench donated in honor of a good dog who loved the park. I had a new C. S. Lewis compilation with me — “A Mind Awake: An Anthology of C. S. Lewis” — but I wasn’t really reading it. I had just finished preparing a difficult lesson at church and I wanted to clear my head before heading home. The park is a good place for that I find.

Pumpkin is beside the greenway track that runs through the park and a few people passed by sporadically.

One young woman passed me, walked on a few yards, turned around and came back. “What were you thinking about when I passed by?” she asked me. “Honestly, I was praying,” I said. “What about you? What were you thinking about?” So began our conversation.

“I was thinking about how all humans are connected with one another,” she said, “but we never seem to notice. We don’t talk to one another, so I decided to stop and talk with you.” A fair bit of courage, that is.

I asked E. to tell me about herself. I will call her E., the first letter of her first name, though I actually asked her name only at the end of the conversation.

E. turned twenty-seven last week. I told her I turned sixty-nine yesterday and we wished one another a happy birthday. She told me that she is in AA and is three years sober. I congratulated her and gave glory to God for her sobriety; that is no small thing. She wanted to talk about God — that much was clear — but she didn’t quite know how or where to start. Knowing just a little about twelve step programs — knowing that they speak of a “Power greater than ourselves” (Step 2) and “God as we understood Him” (Step 3) — I asked her to tell me about that greater Power, about that God as she understood Him. E. spoke vaguely and hesitantly of God as an energy and then quoted Barry Taylor: “God is the name of the blanket we throw over mystery to give it shape.” In other words, sitting on this bench in a local park, I found myself amongst the Areopagus atop Mars Hill speaking to an honest seeker after the unknown god.

I am not very good at evangelism or apologetics. But, I can hold up my end of a conversation and I can mention Jesus now and again. E. had many questions. Now, this is the interesting part: many of her most pressing questions were about those issues I had spent the morning thinking about, praying about, and writing about. Kairos: I had started to forego time in the park this day, but something (someone?) had reminded me that I needed such time for my spiritual sanity. So I went. So I met E. So I could show her the Gospel in her twelve steps. So I could speak to her not about a vague energy or blanket but about the God who created her simply so that he might love her. So I could point her to Jesus.

There was no conversion, but there was a good conversation and we parted grateful for it.

Of your mercy, will you please take a moment to pray for E. and for her boyfriend. Both are in recovery — aren’t we all? — and both are looking for Jesus though they might not recognize it yet. And I know Jesus is looking for them.

Apostles Anglican Church
Fr. John A. Roop

Introduction To The Apocrypha: Sirach, Part II

The Lord be with you.
And with your spirit.
Let us pray.

40. FOR ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN

O God, the creator and preserver of all mankind, we humbly beseech thee for all sorts and conditions of men; that thou wouldest be pleased to make thy ways known unto them, thy saving health unto all nations. More especially we pray for thy holy Church universal, that it may be so guided and governed by they good Spirit, that all who profess and call themselves Christians may be led into the way of truth, and hold the faith in unity of spirit, in the bond of peace, and in righteousness of life. Finally, we commend to thy fatherly goodness all those who are in any ways afflicted or distressed, in mind, body, or estate, [especially those for whom our prayers are desired]; that it may please thee to comfort and relieve them according to their several necessities, giving them patience under their sufferings, and a happy issue out of all their afflictions. And this we beg for Jesus Christ’s sake. Amen.

Introduction

Last week, Fr. Jack gave a good overview of Sirach and explored with you three of the major themes in the first half of the book. Today, I plan to do something of a deep dive on a small body of text in the second half of the book: one complete chapter, Sirach 38, and a portion of another, Sirach 44. I want to do this because these passages are included in the Anglican lectionary readings and because I find them personally meaningful and pastorally helpful. I would like us to begin each of the major topics with a prayer.

Sirach 38:1-15 Physicians and Health

The Lord be with you.
And with your spirit.
Let us pray.

50. FOR THE MEDICAL PROFESSIONALS

Almighty God, whose blessed Son Jesus Christ went about doing good, and healing all manner of sickness and disease among the people: Continue in our hospitals his gracious work among us; console and heal the sick; grant to the physicians, nurses, and assisting staff wisdom and skill, diligence and patience; prosper their work, O Lord, and send down your blessing upon all who serve the suffering; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

You are at a dinner party or sharing a meal with friends at a restaurant. Frankly, the potatoes are bland and need a bit of salt. But, the salt shaker is out of reach. What do you do?

There are a few options, I suppose. You could eat the unseasoned potatoes or else leave them and turn your attention to the green beans instead. You could stretch out and reach for the salt shaker with a mumbled “Pardon me.” You could simply say to the one nearest the shaker, “Would you pass the salt, please?” Are there any other reasonable options?

What about prayer? Something simple would do: “Dear Lord, please season these tasteless potatoes,” or “Heavenly Father, please prompt Joe to ask if anyone would like salt and pepper.”

I have never offered such a prayer: have you? It’s not so much that I consider it trivial, but rather that I consider it unnecessary. I can get the salt for myself or through the agency of a friend; I do not need God’s direct intervention. That doesn’t discount God; rather it acknowledges that God seems to delight in working through human agents, in giving the agents powers of discernment and the ability to manipulate the world. God could accomplish everything directly, but he sets his image bearers to work instead: to tend and order the world, to create art and music and machines, to build buildings and dams and rockets, to help ourselves and to serve one another. Of course, even when using our God-given agency, we should pray for wisdom and skill, for the right use of our powers. We should pray that all we do would be to God’s glory and to the welfare of his people. And then, we should act as we are able. What we can do — provided it is good and right and God-honoring — generally we should do.

There are other situations, though, where the only real agency we have is prayer. I don’t say that at all to diminish prayer. We long for peace in Ukraine and in Iran, for justice and mercy in Gaza, for the sad divisions in the Church to be healed. We want the Ebola outbreak in the DRC to be quelled. We hope for rain for drought stricken farmland and for a dry, high pressure system to move in and spare the waterlogged areas in upper East Tennessee, Virginia, and Kentucky any further flooding. We make these matters the content of our prayers because they are out of our direct control and are in God’s hands. Our agency is prayer. We have influence, but not control.

But, there are many matters that lie somewhere between control (Pass the salt.) and influence (Bring peace in our time, O Lord.). A hurricane forms in the Gulf of Mexico and heads toward New Orleans. I would expect the residents to exercise a measure of control through boarding up windows, sandbagging houses, and evacuating flood prone areas. And I would expect the residents — certainly those who are Christian — to exercise influence through prayer and fasting, asking God to calm the storm or to divert it from populated areas. For reasons whose details are unknown to us, sometimes God answers such prayers and spares cities and sometimes he does not. Ours is simply to do what we can through physical actions and through prayer and then to commit all things to God.

The point of all this is that God has given us, his image bearers, real agency in the world: agency that sometimes involves a certain degree of direct manipulation and control, that sometimes involves almost solely the influence of prayer, and that most frequently includes both action and prayer.

What about health and illness? Where do they fall on this spectrum: more toward “pass the salt” or more toward prayer? Honestly, that seems to depend on the seriousness of the illness or injury, doesn’t it? If a get a splinter in my finger, I’m most likely just to pull out my Swiss Army knife and dig the splinter out, because I can. If the finger gets infected — hot, throbbing, painful — I might go to the doctor. If the infection spreads and enters the bloodstream, I might be hospitalized, and I’ll certainly put my name on the prayer list. In each of these scenarios, prayer is appropriate, from “Lord, thank you that this splinter is gone,” to “Lord, please ease my pain and heal this infection,” to “O God, make speed to save me; O Lord, make haste to help me.” And always, “Thank you, Lord,” because all healing comes from God. There are a range of appropriate responses to illness, and each of these responses is given to us by God to be used wisely, with discernment, and with thanksgiving. That is the topic of the first of the three sections of Sirach 38.

Let’s begin with the most fundamental notion: healing comes from the Most High (Sir 38:2a). It may come in various forms and through different direct agents — which is what this section explores — but all healing is ultimately from the Lord.

What/who are these other agents of healing? Read Sir 38:1-8.

A. Physicians: Sir 38:1-3

B. Medicine: Sir 38:4-5 (ref to Ex 15:23-25)

C. Pharmacists: 38:6-8

So, what are we to do when we find ourselves sick? Read Sir 38:9-15.

A. Pray to the Lord for healing: Sir 38:9

B. Repent and worship: Sir 38:10-11 (cf James 5:13-16)

C. Seek the physician: Sir 38:12-15

Of course, we face this reality: medicine doesn’t always work, physicians often cannot cure and certainly cannot do so indefinitely, God doesn’t always answer our prayers for healing as we’d like, and, those we love die. Sooner or later, we all face loss and grief. How do/should we respond? That is what Sirach deals with next in this chapter.

Sirach 38:16-23 Mourning for the Dead

The Lord be with you.
And with your spirit.
Let us pray.

Almighty God, Father of mercies and giver of comfort: Deal graciously, we pray, with all who mourn; that, casting all their care on you, they may know the consolation of your love; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

I need to acknowledge that this topic of mourning/grief is a sensitive one, especially because so many among us have suffered loss recently and are still grieving. We need to approach this reverently and compassionately because it is holy ground. In this portion of the lesson I am not attempting to offer pastoral care or grief counseling. It is not necessarily what I would say to those who are mourning at any given time or in any given circumstance, though I would likely draw from the wisdom of the text. It offers some good principles and general guidance that must be applied individually and pastorally. It is also pre-Christian, and does not reflect our hope of resurrection. Still, the church finds value in its teaching and commends it to us for our use.

Let’s read Sirach 38:16-23 and then consider its most basic themes.

What themes did you notice?

A. It is appropriate to grieve, to express pain through lament (Sir 38:16-17a).

B. It is appropriate to honor the body with proper ceremony and ritual (Sir 38:16b). As Christians, we are neither materialists (matter is all there is) nor Platonists (the body is disposable and only the immortal soul matters). Christians understand — or should do — the human person as the union of body and soul. The body matters and should be honored. We bury our dead with the rites of the church. And, our telos (end) is not to live as disembodied souls in heaven, but rather to live as a union of resurrected bodies and souls at the intersection of heaven and earth. Jesus is our model. Upon his death, his body was honored and laid out with the brief ceremony possible, with fuller reverence to follow. And, three days later, the women and the apostles didn’t claim that his soul had gone to heaven leaving his body behind, but rather that he — body and soul — had been resurrected. And that body was clearly continuous with his earthly body; it carried the scars. It was also transcendent beyond a human body; it could appear behind locked doors. When a Christian dies we honor the body, we lament its falling asleep, and we look for its resurrection in a way we cannot fully comprehend at this time.

C. So far, so good: grieve, honor the body with appropriate ceremony. But now this word: do not linger overlong in your mourning (Sir 38:17-18, 20). I might put the principle this way: do not prolong mourning, do not cultivate it or cherish it so that it becomes the core of your identity. It is appropriate and necessary to grieve, but then it is essential to begin to move through and beyond it to reestablish a life not centered on grief. Sadness will linger, of course, and will periodically strike unexpectedly perhaps for the rest of one’s life. But, it must come as an interruption of life and not become the basis of life.

Sirach 38:24-36 Trades and Crafts

The Lord be with you.
And with your spirit.
Let us pray.

O Lord Jesus Christ, in your earthly life you shared our toil and hallowed our labor: Guide those who maintain the commerce and industries of this land, and give to all who labor pride in their work, a just reward, and joy both in supplying need and in serving you; who with the Father and the Holy Spirit live and reign, one God, world without end. Amen.

In 1913, a young, poor, self-taught Indian mathematician named Srinivasa Ramanujan sent a sample of his mathematical work by letter to G. H. Hardy in England, the third finest mathematician in the world by his own estimate. He probably was. Ramanujan was seeking recognition of his work — which was absolutely original and astounding — and, just as importantly, he was seeking leisure. By leisure he meant a stipend, the financial freedom to spend all his time doing mathematics. He simply couldn’t do such work at that level if he had to devote his time to making money just to survive.

We see something similar in the musical Fiddler On the Roof, when the milkman Tevye sings his prayer to God, a prayer to become a rich man. Here’s an excerpt:

The most important men in town would come to fawn on me!
They would ask me to advise them,
Like a Solomon the Wise.
“If you please, Reb Tevye…”
“Pardon me, Reb Tevye…”
Posing problems that would cross a rabbi’s eyes!

And it won’t make one bit of difference if I answer right or wrong.
When you’re rich, they think you really know!

If I were rich, I’d have the time that I lack
To sit in the synagogue and pray.
And maybe have a seat by the Eastern wall.

And I’d discuss the holy books with the learned men, several hours every day.
That would be the sweetest thing of all.

But, Tevye couldn’t do those things; he was busy feeding cows and milking cows and delivering cows’ milk to the townsfolk. He didn’t have time to become a scholar of Torah and so no one would ask him for advice or judgment.

This is exactly the tension presented in Sirach 38:24-34. Let’s read those verses.

Wisdom, by which Sirach means knowledge of the holy books and the wisdom that comes from such study, depends on leisure. Those working with a plow all day or carving signets or hammering iron at the anvil or shaping pottery at the wheel — these simply do not have the time to devote to study, so they will not be sought out by the people for counsel, they will not attain public eminence, they will not sit in the judge’s seat, they will not expound discipline or judgment.

Before we move on, let’s contextualize this a bit. The labor and craftsmanship that Sirach mentions were essentially all-consuming; they simply did not permit leisure time necessary for study, so he is contrasting those people with leisure to those without. It is still that way in many places today, where the struggle for survival dominates everything else. I suspect this is true for many of the working poor in our country, for those who work two or three jobs, 80 plus hours each week, just to make ends not quite meet but at least to get them within waving distance of one another. But many professionals, those who work 40-50 hours/week have more leisure than Sirach could have imagined. And we have ready access to education, to books and podcasts and instructional videos. Even if we can’t become “experts” in the holy books, we can become proficient in them. We can’t use our occupations as an excuse for neglect of things holy. So, we temper what Sirach had to say with our different cultural context.

Back to the text. Sirach contends that the two occupations he mentions — scholarship and labor — are different, but he doesn’t elevate one over the other. This is, to me, the beauty of this section: the great value and dignity Sirach accords to work. Let’s read Sirach 38:31-34.

Without them — those who work with their hands — a city cannot be established; they keep stable the fabric of the world. When your toilet is clogged, who is more valuable to you, a plumber or a philosopher? When you are hungry, who has greater value, a farmer or a theologian? To elevate one group over another — scholars over laborers or vice versa — is a foolish and false dichotomy. Both occupations are honorable and necessary, each in its own time and way.

Sirach does close this section with a notion that is worth considering further. Sir 38:34 says this about those who work with their hands: their prayer is in the practice of their trade. What do you think about that sentiment that says essentially work is prayer? We might contrast that to the Benedictine motto Ora et Labora, prayer and work, which gives the twin poles of the Benedictine monastic vocation: not work is prayer, but work and prayer.

In what ways can work share the spirit of prayer? How can we make work more like prayer?

Sirach 44:1-14 The Honored Dead

The Lord be with you.
And with your spirit.
Let us pray.

125. FOR THE SAINTS AND FAITHFUL DEPARTED

We give thanks to you, O Lord our God, for all your servants and witnesses of time past: for Abraham, the father of believers, and Sarah his wife; for Moses, the lawgiver, and Aaron, the priest; for Miriam and Joshua, Deborah and Gideon, and Samuel with Hannah his mother; for David, King over Israel; for Isaiah and all the prophets; for Mary, the mother of our Lord; for Peter and Paul and all the apostles; for Mary and Martha, and Mary Magdalene; for Stephen, the first martyr, and all the martyrs and saints in every age and in every land. In you mercy, O Lord our God, give us, as you gave to them, the hope of salvation and the promise of eternal life; through Jesus Christ our Lord, the first-born of many from the dead. Amen.

Barack Obama officially opened the Obama Presidential Center on the South Side of Chicago on 19 June (Juneteenth) this year. Many former presidents have such “libraries” which seem to me about equal parts historical preservation and legacy building, not unlike the great civic works projects and monuments ancient emperors used to build for the sake of their names. This isn’t a critique of presidential libraries or those who build them; I visited the Carter Center in Atlanta several years ago and FDR’s Little White House in Warm Springs, Georgia; I found both places fascinating. I’ve never been to Chicago. If I get there one day, I’ll try to visit the Obama Presidential Center.

I mention this to get us thinking about honor and legacy. Who are the people that our culture honors? Whose legacy persists?

Now, let’s ask the same questions about the Church? Who are the people that the Church honors? Whose legacy persists?

On its calendar the Church honors those of “heroic virtue,” the universally recognized historic figures, saints, martyrs, defenders of the faith, theologians, writers, artists, poets — all those who have left behind a influential legacy of faith. It is good and right that the Church does this. These are our exemplars. These are the ones to whose witness we aspire. These are the ones we remember and honor on All Saints’ Day, when we “sing the praises of famous men, our ancestors in their generations” (Sir 44:1), and we read these words from Sirach 44:

44 Let us now sing the praises of famous men,
our ancestors in their generations.

2 The Lord apportioned to them great glory,
his majesty from the beginning.

3 There were those who ruled in their kingdoms,
and made a name for themselves by their valor;
those who gave counsel because they were intelligent;
those who spoke in prophetic oracles;

4 those who led the people by their counsels
and by their knowledge of the people’s lore;
they were wise in their words of instruction;

5 those who composed musical tunes,
or put verses in writing;

6 rich men endowed with resources,
living peacefully in their homes—

7 all these were honored in their generations,
and were the pride of their times.

8 Some of them have left behind a name,
so that others declare their praise.

These are the “somebodies” of the faith, the notable ones, and we bless God for them. But not many of us are or will be counted among them. We probably won’t appear on any Church calendar with a feast day. I’m a “nobody.” I just hope to live long enough for my granddaughter to remember me, but beyond that I’ll be a cipher, a name only if even that much. I will take my place among those mentioned in Sirach 44:9.

9 But of others there is no memory;
they have perished as though they had never existed;
they have become as though they had never been born,
they and their children after them (Sir 44:9).

What is the value of a life like that, one that will end as if it had never been at all? If Sirach ends here and there is not “but” that follows, this is a pretty gloomy take on life, isn’t it? Thankfully, he doesn’t end here, and, in what follows, he even seems to contradict his premise that one can perish as if one had never existed. He writes:

10 But these also were godly men,
whose righteous deeds have not been forgotten;

11 their wealth will remain with their descendants,
and their inheritance with their children’s children.

12 Their descendants stand by the covenants;
their children also, for their sake.

13 Their offspring will continue forever,
and their glory will never be blotted out (Sir 44:10-13).

It is not important that a person is famous. What is important according to verse 10? More important and lasting than fame is godliness and righteousness. I am convinced of this, that what we do matters. When we sin, we send ripples out through the spiritual cosmos that may have effects generations from now on people we will never see and in places we may never know. Our sin doesn’t stop with us. But, I am convinced that the same is true of righteousness. An act of faithfulness, a righteous deed, a bit of mercy given, a prayer offered: all these send tidal waves through the vast spiritual ocean and are preserved, multiplied, and used by God in the renewal of the world in ways we cannot begin to imagine. They affect our children, our children’s children, and generations of descendants and strangers to come. Such righteousness will never be blotted out. The unknown life matters as much as the life of the famous.

There is a song by Sara Groves that captures this well: Generations. Here’s a bit of it.

I can taste the fruit of Eve
I’m aware of sickness, death and disease
The results of her choices are vast
Eve was the first but she wasn’t the last

And if I were honest with myself
Had I been standing at that tree
My mouth and my hands would be covered with fruit
Things I shouldn’t know and things I shouldn’t see

Remind me of this with every decision
Generations will reap what I sow
I can pass on a curse or a blessing
To those I will never know

To my great, great, great grand daughter
Live in peace

To my great, great, great grand son
Live in peace (Sara Groves, on the album Conversations, 2004)

There are no insignificant lives and no insignificant acts within those lives. You may not be famous, but you matter, and what you do helps to shape the world.

Then Sirach closes this introduction to ancestors with this:

14 Their bodies are buried in peace,
but their name lives on generation after generation.

15 The assembly declares their wisdom,
and the congregation proclaims their praise (Sir 44:14-15).

This is the part that seems to run counter to Sirach’s assertion that he is speaking of those of whom there is no memory, of those who perished as if they had never existed. Perhaps it’s the case that Sirach has returned in thought to the beginning of the chapter and is talking about those famous men of great glory. But, I’d like to propose another possibility. What if the assembly, the congregation, that remembers and honors these “nobodies” is not the assembly of Israel at all, but rather the Communion of the Saints in which the “nobodies” have taken their place when their bodies are buried in peace? The Lord knows and remembers. The saints know and remember. Nothing good is ever in vain. Every work of righteousness, everyone who works righteousness is remembered and honored forever. This notion informs the prayer we offer for all the faithful departed.

The Lord be with you.
And with your spirit.
Let us pray.

114. FOR ALL THE FAITHFUL DEPARTED

Almighty God, with whom the souls of the faithful who have departed this life are in joy and felicity: We praise and magnify your holy Name for all your servants who have finished their course in your faith and fear; and we most humbly pray that, at the day of resurrection, we and all who are members of the mystical body of your Son may be set on his right hand, and hear his most joyful voice: “Come, you who are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world.” Grant this, O merciful Father, for the sake of Jesus Christ, our only Mediator and Advocate. Amen.

Closing

These two chapters are “apocryphal” texts that the Anglican Church has found worth reading in public worship for example of life and instruction of manners and also for pastoral care. Do not despise human agency in the world — medicine and doctors for example — but rather utilize them in conjunction with prayer, for all good things come for God. Mourn the dead and honor them; but don’t forget to live. Respect the scholars and the great men and women of the world; but remember that it is “ordinary folk” — plumbers and carpenters and secretaries and teachers and artisans and grocery store clerks — who keep the world running. Remember that during COVID theology professors were not essential personnel, but the checkout clerks at Kroger were. That is Sirach’s perspective. And lastly, remember that every good and righteous life matters, that every good and righteous deed matters; none will be lost in the great Communion of Saints.

IX. OF ORIGINAL OR BIRTH-SIN
Original Sin standeth not in the following of Adam, (as the Pelagians do vainly talk;) but it is the fault and corruption of the Nature of every man, that naturally is ingendered of the offspring of Adam; whereby man is very far gone from original righteousness, and is of his own nature inclined to evil, so that the flesh lusteth always contrary to the Spirit; and therefore in every person born into this world, it deserveth God’s wrath and damnation (The Thirty-Nine Articles of Religion 1571, BCP 2019, pp. 775-776, emphasis added).

Every person born into this world deserves God’s wrath and damnation? The only refutation needed of this Reformation (mis)understanding of human nature is a granddaughter.

EXORCISM IN BARNES AND NOBLE

I almost feel a bit guilty. Two young girls are sitting near me in the Barnes and Noble Cafe. Between them is a deck of tarot cards. They are talking and giggling as one consults the cards and a book and says to the other, “Well, either love will come your way or has already come your way — I can’t really tell.” In the recent past — well, at least in my lifetime — you had to go to Alcoa Highway to Miss Renee’s to get a psychic reading, not that I ever did. But I did pass by her place everyday for decades. Now, friends get together to pursue divination in the local bookstore.

I almost feel a bit guilty. Why? Sitting near them I made the sign of the cross and prayed over them the minor exorcism of St. Anthony of Padua both for their protection and for the cleansing of place:

Ecce Crucem Domini;
Fugite, partes adversae!
Vicit Leo de Tribu Juda, Radix David, alleluja!

Behold the Cross of the Lord;
Begone all evil powers!
The Lion of the Tribe of Judah, the Root of David has conquered, Alleluia!

I do not expect the “reading” to be successful.

MEASURING UP

I met a young man today who is searching for a church. In previous weeks he has visited both a local Orthodox and Roman Catholic church; today it was Anglicanism’s turn. Our meeting was brief and I did not have time to discuss his background or what he is looking for. But, I admit that I wondered during our service how we imperfect representatives of Anglicanism were measuring up. What boxes did we check? Which did we leave empty?

Our service today was a rather “ordinary” one here at the beginning of Ordinary Time. And yet, perhaps because of that brief conversation in the narthex, I was more aware than ordinary of the magnificent liturgical tradition of Anglicanism. It is not only that I believe the Anglican Church to be part of the one, holy, catholic and Apostolic Church. I also find it finely balanced between Word and Sacrament. I find its liturgy to be true to the ancient faith and beautifully expressed in both traditional and contemporary language. There is a majesty in Anglican liturgy rightly conducted that is reverent without being pompous and accessible without being vulgar (lacking in refinement). Anglicanism is a house built on the foundations of truth and beauty. Try as we might — and we have tried pretty hard — we Anglicans have not yet been able to pull the house off the foundations.

So, I am indebted to my young friend. I trust God will lead him to that place where he can worship truly and serve faithfully. I know God did that for me.

UNNECESSARY BEAUTY

The Apostles Anglican Church Flower Guild blesses me — not just me, but especially me I’m sure! — with beautiful flowers week by week, season by season, year by year. The flowers today (see photo) were strangely, weirdly magnificent. What was God thinking when he made that variegated, orange-red cross between a pineapple, an avocado and an alien being that we call a king protea?! And that surprisingly lovely purple explosion surrounding it — I do not know the name — is related to onion and garlic neither of which I can abide. But as a flower? Gorgeous. What a palatte of colors; what a variety of shapes. Even the “ordinary” carnations hold their own and enhance the more exotic offerings.

Why did God make such beauty? I am tempted to say that he did not have to and that it is all just gift. But I suspect that God did, after all, have to make beautiful things and nothing but beautiful things because creation and beauty are inherent in his nature. In God is light, we are told, and in him is no darkness at all. I suspect it is equally true that in God is beauty, and in him is no ugliness at all. That there is ugliness in the world — and there is ugliness in the world and in me — is good evidence of the fall. That we recognize ugliness and lament it is perhaps even better evidence. That we recognize and rejoice in beauty is not quite evidence of resurrection and the age to come, but it is at least a sign pointing toward it. If a fallen world has such strange and wonderful beauty as these flowers, imagine the world set to rights when heaven and earth are united.