First Blessings

Apostles Anglican Church
Fr. John A. Roop

The Story Doesn’t Always Go the Way You Had in Mind
(Isaiah 61, Psalm 119:49-72, Luke 18:31-19:10)

Collect for the Third Sunday in Advent
O Lord Jesus Christ, you sent your messengers the prophets to preach repentance and prepare the way for our salvation: Grant that the ministers and stewards of your mysteries may likewise make ready your way, by turning the hearts of the disobedient toward the wisdom of the just, that at your second coming to judge the world, we may be found a people acceptable in your sight; for with the Father and the Holy Spirit you live and reign, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

Collect for Ember Days
Almighty God, the giver of all good gifts, in your divine providence you have appointed various orders in your Church: Give your grace, we humbly pray, to all who are [now] called to any office and ministry for your people; and so fill them with the truth of your doctrine and clothe them with holiness of life, that they may faithfully serve before you, to the glory of your great Name and for the benefit of your holy Church; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

Our King and Savior nows draw near;
O come, let us adore him.

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

Fifty-two years ago this month, Warner Brothers released the Robert Redford film Jeremiah Johnson about a Mexican-American War veteran who leaves civilization behind for a life as a mountain man: a trapper, hunter, and a trader when he is forced to come into town. He has had enough of people and enough of killing; now he wants a solitary life. The film was shot in the mountains of Utah, and the imagery is stunningly beautiful. The soundtrack is a perfect marriage of music and story. But, the lyrics of the main ballad, written by Tim McIntire, announce from the opening scene that all will not be well:

Jeremiah Johnson made his way into the mountains
Bettin’ on forgettin’ all the troubles that he knew
The trail was wide and narrow
And the eagle or the sparrow
Showed the path he was to follow as they flew.
A  mountain man’s a lonely man
And he leaves a life behind
It ought to have been different, but oftimes you will find,
That the story doesn’t always go that way you had in mind.
Jeremiah’s story was that kind. . .
Jeremiah’s story was that kind.

I cannot help but hear echos of the biblical and prophetic in these lines:

It ought to have been different, but oftimes you will find,
That the story doesn’t always go that way you had in mind.
Jeremiah’s story was that kind. . .
Jeremiah’s story was that kind.

The Jeremiah in the lyrics is the Jeremiah Johnson of the film, of course, but it could just as well be Jeremiah the prophet or Isaiah the prophet or any of the other biblical prophets, and the story that doesn’t go the way you had in mind could be the story of Israel or Judah or the story of all humanity. How many times hearing these stories have we thought, it ought to have been different?

Adam and Eve dwelt in Paradise with all their needs met, with a grand vocation, with the very source of life at their ready access, with God in their midst, and yet they listened to the tempter and embraced his lie. They became subject to death, to sin, to the fallen powers as they were exiled into a world of their own desecration. It ought to have been different, but the story doesn’t always go the way you had in mind.

God called Abram to head a people through whom God would redeem the mess Adam and Eve had created and each subsequent generation had exacerbated. And in just three generations this family found itself doing slave labor for the Egyptians and found its male babies being sacrificed to the gods of Egyptian power. It ought to have been different, but the story doesn’t always go the way you had in mind.

With a mighty hand and an outstretched arm, God judged the Egyptians and delivered the Hebrews only to have them return to Egypt in heart and mind and to fall prostrate before a god of their own making. That generation wandered in the wilderness for forty years until their bodies littered the desert; only three adults survived the trek. It ought to have been different, but the story doesn’t always go the way you had in mind.

God led this second generation — the sons and daughters of slaves — into the land of promise and empowered them to dispossess the indigenous inhabitants whose cup of iniquity was full. But the third generation, and several following, forgot God. They did what was right in their own eyes, and God gave them up to oppressors. When they finally remembered God and called to him for deliverance, God raised up Judges to free his people from oppression. And then the cycle started again, round after round: deliverance, forgetfulness, idolatry, oppression, repentance and back around again. It ought to have been different, but the story doesn’t always go the way you had in mind.

Finally, and prematurely, the people demanded a king and God acquiesced. But this united kingdom lasted only three generations — through kings Saul, David, and Solomon — with mixed results. Then, when Solomon’s son demonstrated arrogant foolishness and a total disregard for God’s standards of rule, God divided the kingdom: Israel in the north, which immediately became apostate, and Judah in the south which remained somewhat faithful somewhat longer. God delivered Israel up to the Assyrians, and Israel — ten tribes — was dispersed through the nations and lost from the story. Judah fared a bit better, but they, too, put their faith in the wrong things — treacherous political alliances, wealth, false gods — until God removed himself from their midst and delivered his temple and his people over to the Babylonians. It ought to have been different, but the story doesn’t always go the way you had in mind.

And this is where we find the story as we read Isaiah 61: Judah in exile in Babylon with its story stalled, if not derailed entirely. And there is no way to move forward, no way out, humanly speaking. Only a deus ex machina will do: a god from a machine. A deus ex machina is a theatrical device from ancient Greek and Roman dramas used to resolve a hopeless plot line, a stalled and derailed story. An actor representing a god was lowered to the stage by a crane or similar device — hence, god from a machine — and the god used his/her powers to do that which was humanly impossible, to put the story right again, to get it moving in the right direction. In fiction, I find the deus ex machina absolutely detestable, the mark of a totally incompetent author. In history, I find the deus ex machina absolutely essential, the mark of a totally compromised humanity and a God absolutely devoted to their redemption.

In Isaiah 61 we have not a deus ex machina but rather the Deum de Deo, lumen de Lumine, Deum verum de Deo vero: God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God. It is not some actor using a feeble literary plot device who can set the story of Judah on its feet again, but rather the Author himself entering the story as the protagonist, as the only one who who can bring the story to its proper end. That is Isaiah’s proclamation; that is God’s proclamation through Isaiah. It ought to have been different, and it will be; God will make it so. The story doesn’t always go the way you had in mind, but this one will do; God will make it so.

Isaiah 61:1–4 (ESV):

The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me,

because the Lord has anointed me

to bring good news to the poor;

he has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,

to proclaim liberty to the captives,

and the opening of the prison to those who are bound;

2 to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor,

and the day of vengeance of our God;

to comfort all who mourn;

3 to grant to those who mourn in Zion—

to give them a beautiful headdress instead of ashes,

the oil of gladness instead of mourning,

the garment of praise instead of a faint spirit;

that they may be called oaks of righteousness,

the planting of the Lord, that he may be glorified.

4 They shall build up the ancient ruins;

they shall raise up the former devastations;

they shall repair the ruined cities,

the devastations of many generations.

Notice how down-to-earth the story is. It begins moving again in the right direction only when the poor get some good news. And what would that look like? Your debts have been paid off; you’re flush with all your creditors. You even have a little bit of cushion so that you no longer have to worry where you next meal is coming from or where you’re going to sleep tonight. The story begins moving in the right direction only when the brokenhearted get some relief. And what would that look like? Those who have been rejected and cast out are welcomed home again. Those who have lost everything find themselves restored and renewed. Those who have been vilified are now vindicated. Those who went out weeping, carrying the seed have returned with joy, bringing their sheaves with them (Ps 126:7). The story begins moving in the right direction again only when the captives have been set free. And what would that look like? The convicted are pardoned. The hostages are freed. The refugee camps are dismantled and emptied because they are no longer needed; the exiles are on their way home. This is what it looks like when God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God enters the stalled story and starts it moving again in the right direction. This is what was promised to Judah in the midst of Babylonian exile, promised by the prophet Isaiah.

But, it was also promised again in a synagogue in Nazareth. The return of the Judean exiles was just a signpost pointing toward the putting to rights of an even greater story — the story of fallen man and cursed creation.

Luke 4:16–21 (ESV):

16 And [Jesus] came to Nazareth, where he had been brought up. And as was his custom, he went to the synagogue on the Sabbath day, and he stood up to read. 17 And the scroll of the prophet Isaiah was given to him. He unrolled the scroll and found the place where it was written,

18 “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,

because he has anointed me

to proclaim good news to the poor.

He has sent me to proclaim liberty to the captives

and recovering of sight to the blind,

to set at liberty those who are oppressed,

19 to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”

20 And he rolled up the scroll and gave it back to the attendant and sat down. And the eyes of all in the synagogue were fixed on him. 21 And he began to say to them, “Today this Scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”

What the Father did in part for Judah, the Son — the anointed one — will do in full for all men and women, for all creation. It was still at this point only a proclamation of the good things to come — still only good news, gospel — but it was and is coming at last in its fullness. No longer will we need to say:

It ought to have been different, but oftimes you will find,
That the story doesn’t always go that way you had in mind.

It will be different. The story will reach its proper end.

That is the way Isaiah 61 works in the grand narrative of redemption. But, perhaps it can be personalized, as well? Each of us inhabits a story. And sometimes our stories stall out; sometimes they derail. Sometimes we become acutely aware that it ought to have been different, that it hasn’t gone the way we had in mind, and that there is no way for us to put it right ourselves. We find ourselves in some way deeply impoverished, brokenhearted, captive, bound. We are stalled, stuck; we can’t move forward. Then all we can do is listen for the word from outside, from Deum de deo, God from God:

18 “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,

because he has anointed me

to proclaim good news (Luke 4:18).

The anointed one has come, is coming to us again and again, and will come on the last great day to put the story fully to rights. In the meantime, he gets our stalled stories moving again, perhaps not precisely in the way we had in mind, but always in a better way, in the right way. We may see that now and we may not, but we live by faith and not by sight. It is the year of the Lord’s favor, this year and every year for those who have heard and received the proclamation of the good news.

There is one other aspect of Isaiah’s proclamation that we cannot overlook:

Isaiah 61:6 (ESV):

6 but you shall be called the priests of the Lord;

they shall speak of you as the ministers of our God.

A minister is a representative, one who acts on behalf of another to accomplish the other’s purpose. If it is God’s purpose to give good news to the poor, to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives and the opening of the prisons to those who are bound — and it is — then that must become our work, our ministry. God moves our stalled stories forward so that we might become his agents in the world to get other stories moving again in the right direction. In so doing, we become priests of the Lord: those who mediate God to the world and who gather up the pain and suffering and hope and praise of the world and offer it all back to God. As Jesus for Judah, so, too, the Church for the world: the ones anointed to bring good news.

Isaiah 61:11 (ESV):

11 For as the earth brings forth its sprouts,

and as a garden causes what is sown in it to sprout up,

so the Lord God will cause righteousness and praise

to sprout up before all the nations.

Amen.

Apostles Anglican Church
Fr. John A. Roop

The Lord Rebuke You: A Reflection on Luke 4:31-end
(Isaiah 33, Psalm 52, Luke 4:31-end)

Collect
Stir up, O Lord, the wills of your faithful people, that bringing forth in abundance the fruit of good works, they may be abundantly rewarded when our Savior Jesus Christ comes to restore all things; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

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

When I first started teaching there was a bit of professional folk-wisdom making the rounds, something passed down from veteran teachers to novices to help the newbies prepare and deliver a lesson. It went like this:

Tell them — the students — what you’re going to tell them. Tell them. And then tell them what you told them.

The Tennessee Department of Education couched that in fancy terms. The lesson should have a set, a preview to motivate the learning and to give a scaffold on which to hang the new content. Having told the students what you’re going to tell them in the set, the lesson moved to the body, the core content for the day. The lesson then ended with closure in which you led the students in summarizing the main points of the lesson. Essentially you told them or they told you what you had told them in the lesson. Fancy edu-babble aside, it all boils down to this:

Tell them what you’re going to tell them. Tell them. And then tell them what you told them.

It is really good, sound advice; there are many preachers — and their blessed and long suffering parishioners — who could benefit from it.

Purveyors of the written word have long followed this scheme also. Books have forewords, introductions, tables of contents. Academic articles have abstracts. Technical or business reports have executive summaries. All of these are ways of telling the reader beforehand what the author is going to tell them in the text following. Tell them what you’re going to tell them.

This is true not just in popular or technical writing. We see this play out in the Gospels, too. In some cases, the Evangelist offers the preview. In other cases it is Jesus himself who provides the executive summary of his coming ministry. The latter is the case in the Gospel according to St. Luke; at the beginning of his ministry, Jesus tells those in the Nazareth synagogue what he is going to tell the Jews, not in word only, but in sacred, prophetic action throughout his coming ministry. This is the beginning of Jesus’ first sermon as recorded by St. Luke.

Luke 4:14–21 (ESV):
And Jesus returned [from his temptation] in the power of the Spirit to Galilee, and a report about him went out through all the surrounding country. And he taught in their synagogues, being glorified by all.

And he came to Nazareth, where he had been brought up. And as was his custom, he went to the synagogue on the Sabbath day, and he stood up to read. And the scroll of the prophet Isaiah was given to him. He unrolled the scroll and found the place where it was written,

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,
because he has anointed me
to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim liberty to the captives
and recovering of sight to the blind,
to set at liberty those who are oppressed,to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”

And he rolled up the scroll and gave it back to the attendant and sat down. And the eyes of all in the synagogue were fixed on him. And he began to say to them, “Today this Scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”

Here, quoting Isaiah, Jesus tells the hometown crowd — and Luke tells us — what Jesus is going to tell them and what he’s going to do in his ministry over the next three years: to proclaim good news — gospel — to the poor, liberty to the captives, and sight to the blind; to set free those who are oppressed; and to announce the Year of Jubilee in which debts are forgiven, slaves are emancipated, and the ancestral land is returned to its hereditary owners — in short, to redeem and renew Israel.

Did the people understand that set? Hardly, but that didn’t stop Jesus. He went about saying and doing exactly what he had said he would say and do. If some didn’t get it, so much the worse for them. But some, as we’ll see in today’s text got a glimpse, however faint and fuzzy, of Jesus’ agenda. And all heard it and saw it enacted again and again.

We begin hearing and seeing it fulfilled immediately as today’s Gospel lesson shows. It takes place hard on the heels of the sermon in Nazareth. I want to read a portion of the text again. There is a theme in it, a recurring word that is characteristic of Jesus’ ministry from the very start. Let’s listen for it.

Luke 4:31–41 (ESV):
And [Jesus] went down to Capernaum, a city of Galilee. And he was teaching them on the Sabbath, and they were astonished at his teaching, for his word possessed authority. And in the synagogue there was a man who had the spirit of an unclean demon, and he cried out with a loud voice, “Ha! What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are—the Holy One of God.” But Jesus rebuked him, saying, “Be silent and come out of him!” And when the demon had thrown him down in their midst, he came out of him, having done him no harm. And they were all amazed and said to one another, “What is this word? For with authority and power he commands the unclean spirits, and they come out!” And reports about him went out into every place in the surrounding region.

And he arose and left the synagogue and entered Simon’s house. Now Simon’s mother-in-law was ill with a high fever, and they appealed to him on her behalf. And he stood over her and rebuked the fever, and it left her, and immediately she rose and began to serve them.

Now when the sun was setting, all those who had any who were sick with various diseases brought them to him, and he laid his hands on every one of them and healed them. And demons also came out of many, crying, “You are the Son of God!” But he rebuked them and would not allow them to speak, because they knew that he was the Christ.

Did you notice what Jesus did three times in this brief text? Twice Jesus rebuked demons and once he rebuked a fever. Let’s put these two Gospel texts together, the set and the body of Jesus’ lesson. It seems that in order to proclaim good news to the poor and liberty to the captives, to give sight to the blind, to set free all who are oppressed, to end Israel’s exile and to renew God’s people, Jesus must rebuke all those powers — specifically all those spiritual powers — that stood athwart the will of God.

This rebuke of the powers is a theme not just in the Gospels, but throughout Scripture. The flood was a rebuke of the evil powers that had subjugated the entire world, save one family. The confusion of tongues at Babel was a rebuke on the spirit of pride and idolatry that unified the people in their willful disobedience to God. The Exodus was a rebuke of the Egyptian gods who lent their power and legitimacy to the brutal dynasty that enslaved God’s people and refused to acknowledge God’s sovereignty. The conquering of Canaan and the destruction of some of its indigenous tribes was a rebuke of their idol worship, child sacrifice, and other acts of iniquity — a cup of evil full to overflowing. The exile was a rebuke of faithless priests, false prophets, wicked kings, idolatrous and self-absorbed people and the evil powers that stood behind them all. It seems that rebuke is an inherent first step in redemption and renewal.

So, we see Jesus engaged in a Gospel ministry of rebuke, not just in this passage, but throughout his ministry. In the midst of a storm on the Sea of Galilee, when roused from his nap by the terrified fishermen:

[And] he awakened and rebuked the wind and said to the sea, “Peace! Be still!” And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm (Mk 4:39).

When Peter rebuked Jesus for saying that he must soon suffer many things, be rejected, and killed, Jesus turned to the disciples and to Peter and,

…he rebuked Peter and said, “Get behind me, Satan! For you are not setting your mind on the things of God, but on the things of man” (Mk 8:33).

And though the word “rebuke” is not used explicitly in the woes that Jesus pronounces on the scribes and Pharisees in Matthew 23, it is rebuke nonetheless, rebuke of a corrupt religious system that serves itself rather than God.

It is true that Jesus went about healing and doing good. It is equally true that Jesus went about rebuking the powers, demonstrating his authority over them, and announcing that their days were numbered. Based on 1 John 3:8, the collect we prayed last week (Proper 27) gets the dual nature of Jesus’ ministry just right:

O God, whose blessed Son came into the world that he might destroy the works of the devil and make us children of God and heirs of eternal life: Grant that, having this hope, we may purify ourselves as he is pure; that, when he comes again with power and great glory, we may be made like him in his eternal and glorious kingdom; where he lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen (BCP 2019, p. 622).

Notice the order of things in the collect: destroy the works of the devil and make us children of God — rebuke and then redeem.

I want to suggest that it actually was the fallen powers that Jesus rebuked. That is clear in the case of the demons. But what about the fever, the storm, the scribes and Pharisees, Peter? I think we are intended to see behind all these things and perceive in them the work of the devil, just as Jesus saw through them. Anything that stands athwart the will of God is complicit with the devil, perhaps only as a pawn is complicit with the chess master wielding it, but caught up in the opposition to God nonetheless.

There is a fresco by 16th-century Italian artist Luca Signorelli called The Preaching of the Antichrist. In this outdoor scene, crowds are milling about a man elevated on a pedestal preaching to the them, the figure of the Antichrist. The devil is standing close behind the preacher. He is whispering in the preacher’s ear and his arm is inserted through a fold in the preacher’s robe, so that it is unclear whether it is the preacher’s hand or the devil’s hand emerging from the sleeve and pointing toward the people. So, what is the perspective of the painting and the point of it for us? Behind anything that stands in opposition to God, there lurks the power of the devil, and the devil and his influence are often cleverly disguised, hiding in plain sight and rarely noticed or questioned. And yet, that is what we are called to see and called to rebuke.

Our call to rebuke the powers comes with a caveat from St. Jude, servant of Jesus Christ and brother of St. James. He wrote to challenge the behavior of ungodly people, people who were perverting the grace of the Lord Jesus into sensuality, and even denying the Lord. It is tempting to feel our spiritual superiority over such people, to rise up in opposition to them and to say, “I rebuke you!” But hear what St. Jude says:

But when the archangel Michael, contending with the devil, was disputing about the body of Moses, he did not presume to pronounce a blasphemous judgment, but said, “The Lord rebuke you” (Jude 9).

If not even the archangel Michael would rebuke the devil by his own authority, then perhaps we should be cautious of over-zealous pride ourselves. It is the Lord who rebukes, sometimes through his agents like angels and humans, but always by his authority and in his name. Unless we know the Lord’s mind on a given issue, unless we can say with confidence, “The Lord rebuke you!” then we should guard our own tongues, as St. James cautions.

So, I want to suggest that the best way for us to rebuke the fallen powers is not necessarily through a verbal censure, but rather through the quality of our lives. Every remembrance of our baptism and the identity it conferred upon us as children of God is a rebuke of the fallen powers of tribalism, racism, nationalism, sexism or any other and every other “ism” that roots our identity in anything other than Christ. Every act of sacrificial giving is a rebuke of the power of Mammon. Every instance of repentance or forgiveness is a rebuke of the power of pride. Every act of true worship is a rebuke of idolatry. Every honoring of sabbath is a rebuke of the gods of usefulness and productivity. Every embrace of peace-making is a rebuke of Mars, the god of war and violence. Every act of marital fidelity or unmarried chastity in the face of temptation is a rebuke of Eros, the god of lust. Every proclamation of the truth is a rebuke of the father of lies. Every act of unity is a rebuke of the powers that would pit us against one another and divide us. Every act of neighbor-love and especially every act of enemy-love is a rebuke of hatred. And we could extend this list almost indefinitely. We are constantly being called to rebuke the dark powers that vaunt themselves against God and stand athwart his purposes. These rebukes are good and right because they are done with the authority of and in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ. And, if we rebuke the dark powers in this way, what is true of the Lord, will be true of each of us:

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,
because he has anointed me
to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim liberty to the captives
and recovering of sight to the blind,
to set at liberty those who are oppressed,
to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”

Amen.

Apostles Anglican Church
Fr. John A. Roop

Elections, Baptism, and Sainthood
(Deut 6:1-9, Ps 119:1-16, Heb 7:23-28, Mark 12:28-34)

Hear what our Lord Jesus Christ says:

You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself.

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

Two days hence, and the long national nightmare of the 2024 presidential campaign will be over, news which calls for the liturgical response:

Let us bless the Lord.
Thanks be to God.

During the past several months of this political torture, I have re-evaluated my commitment to The Thirty-Nine Articles of Religion, specifically to Article XXII which asserts that “The Romish Doctrine concerning Purgatory…is a fond thing, vainly invented, and grounded upon no warranty of Scripture, but rather repugnant to the Word of God” (BCP 2019, p. 780). While I believe that repudiation to be theologically sound, this political season has nonetheless felt like purgatory but without the spiritual benefits of purification. All politics and politicians seem as before: crass, crude, tribal, narcissistic, proud, power hungry — nothing to indicate that purgation is substantially underway and that the bliss of heaven might be anywhere near.

We have been assured by candidates, surrogates, and pundits that this is the most consequential election in history: the most consequential for the economy and the environment, for human rights and the right to life, for immigration and foreign policy, for war or peace, for democracy or totalitarianism or socialism or marxism, the most consequential for the free world and even for the planet — everything expressed in superlatives, written in title font and boldface, punctuated with multiple exclamation points. For over six decades Smokey Bear has pointed to me from posters and television screens reminding me that only I can prevent forest fires. Only me: that’s a heavy burden — one I didn’t sign up for and one that I don’t know that I can bear! The same is being said about this election. Every single vote matters, which means my vote matters supremely. Only I can prevent an existential crisis for these United States. Not only do I have to prevent forest fires, now I also have to decide the future of the world, and all on Tuesday next, barring early voting. That yoke is hard, and that burden is heavy.

The antithesis of this political fear mongering is the utopian political vision. Each candidate has promised the dawning of a new and golden age if only he or she is elected, a time like none before: economic prosperity, corporate justice, world peace, and personal freedom hitherto unknown.

All this is a lie; all this false propaganda, all these empty promises, all this weighty anxiety, all this tribal division, all this visceral hatred comes from the father of lies who wants our vision to be cast no further than the next four years; who wants our vices to dominate our virtues; who wants our hopes to be anchored in party or program or person; who wants us to see our tribe, our agenda, our society, our country as the ultimate good for which all else must be sacrificed. All this is a lie. Decades ago C. S. Lewis offered a different perspective, the true perspective:

Nations, cultures, arts, civilisations — these are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat (C. S. Lewis, The Weight of Glory, HarperOne (2001), p. 46).

I do not want to trivialize any of the things Lewis mentioned, nor did he: nations, cultures, arts, civilisations, nor even our own upcoming presidential election. I do not want to trivialize them, but I do want to relativize them, because Scripture does, because the Gospel does. I want to put them in their proper, relative place in the great narrative of redemption, to dethrone them and to make them subservient to the Gospel. Either Donald Trump or Kamala Harris will be elected President of the United States on Tuesday, and either way Jesus will still be Lord. Our democracy will likely survive the election and the next four years, but, even if it does not, the Kingdom of God will stand. Our nation is built upon a Constitution written by exceptionally brilliant but still fallible men and now governed by men and women not so obviously brilliant but certainly as fallible; but the Church is built upon the Rock of Jesus the Christ, the Son of the living God, and upon his delegated Apostolic authority, and nothing, not even the gates of hell, will prevail against it.

Nations, cultures, arts, civilisations — these are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat (C. S. Lewis, The Weight of Glory, HarperOne (2001), p. 46).

Brothers and sisters, what will happen on Tuesday next is important, but it is also as nothing compared to what will happen here this day. Here in this place on this day, the word of God is proclaimed and is “living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing to the division of soul and of spirit, of joints and marrow, and discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart” (Heb 4:12). Here in this place on this day, we will humbly confess our sins to Almighty God, who is “faithful and just to forgive our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness” (1 John 1:9). Here in this place on this day, the prayers of the saints, the prayers of the people, will rise before God to be offered with much incense on the golden altar before God’s throne, will rise before God from the hand of the angel to be answered with the power of thunder and lightning and the rumbling of an earthquake, as fire from that altar is cast down to earth, prayers offered and answered (see Rev 8:1-5). Here in this place on this day, the Last Supper in the Upper Room on the last Passover of the Old Covenant and the Wedding Supper of the Lamb yet to come on the last, great day come rushing together from past and future into our present, and we stand at the intersection of what was and what is yet to be, at the intersection of heaven and earth and we feast on the bread and wine of the Kingdom of God, on the Body and Blood of the Lord Jesus Christ given for you and for me and for us all.

In describing what happens in this place — in any little church — on this day, Frederica Mathewes-Green writes:

In a few hours heaven will strike earth like lightning on this spot. The worshippers in this little building will be swept into a divine worship that proceeds eternally, grand with seraphim and incense and God enthroned, “high and lifted up. The house was full of his glory” (Isaiah 6:1). The foundations of that temple shake with the voices of angels calling “Holy” to each other, and we will be there, lifting fallible voices in the refrain, an outpost of eternity. If this is true, it is the most astonishing thing that will happen in our city today (Frederica Mathewes-Green, At The Corner of East and Now, Prologue).

Is this more astonishing, more consequential, more existentially important than the upcoming election? Oh, yes: more than any election anywhere, anytime. We have come this morning not to a mere polling place to cast a mere vote:

Hebrews 12:22–24 (ESV): 22But [we] have come to Mount Zion and to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, and to innumerable angels in festal gathering, 23and to the assembly of the firstborn who are enrolled in heaven, and to God, the judge of all, and to the spirits of the righteous made perfect, 24and to Jesus, the mediator of a new covenant, and to the sprinkled blood that speaks a better word than the blood of Abel.

We have come to enter the presence of God with confidence through the mediation of Jesus the eternal high priest who is able to save to the uttermost those who draw near to God through him, since he always lives to make intercession for them (see Heb 7:23-25).

Is this more astonishing, more consequential, more existentially important than the upcoming election? Oh, yes! But, let us make no mistake, brothers and sisters; this, too, is all about election.

Ephesians 1:3–14 (ESV): 3Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in Christ with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places, 4even as he chose us in him before the foundation of the world, that we should be holy and blameless before him. In love 5he predestined us for adoption to himself as sons through Jesus Christ, according to the purpose of his will, 6to the praise of his glorious grace, with which he has blessed us in the Beloved. 7In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses, according to the riches of his grace, 8which he lavished upon us, in all wisdom and insight 9making known to us the mystery of his will, according to his purpose, which he set forth in Christ 10as a plan for the fullness of time, to unite all things in him, things in heaven and things on earth.

11In him we have obtained an inheritance, having been predestined according to the purpose of him who works all things according to the counsel of his will, 12so that we who were the first to hope in Christ might be to the praise of his glory. 13In him you also, when you heard the word of truth, the gospel of your salvation, and believed in him, were sealed with the promised Holy Spirit, 14who is the guarantee of our inheritance until we acquire possession of it, to the praise of his glory.

From before the foundations of the world, God the Father chose to have a people for himself in and through his Son Jesus Christ: an elect people who would themselves become his sons, an elect people upon whom to shower the riches of his grace of redemption and forgiveness, an elect people upon whom to bestow an inheritance of hope, an elect people upon whom to place the seal of his Holy Spirit to guarantee that inheritance. This, brothers and sisters, is the most consequential election of all time, when God voted for you and for all who have and who will confess that Jesus is Lord to the glory of God the Father.

This election has nothing to do with a new, temporal, political administration in Washington, but rather with the in-breaking of a new kingdom, with the Kingdom of God making itself manifest in the midst of this fallen world. It is not new administration, but rather new creation.

If anyone is in Christ — new creation. The old has passed away; look, the new has come (2 Cor 5:17, author’s translation).

Brothers and sisters, new creation will burst upon us this day in this place as we bring four children to the water of baptism: four children who through their own faith and the faith of their parents, the obedience of the Church, the love of God the Father, the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit will this day in this place join the elect sons and daughters of God. If anyone is in Christ — as these four soon will be — new creation! This new creation is witness to the world of the sovereignty of God. This new creation is witness to the Church of the faithfulness of God. This new creation is witness to you and to me of the redemptive, sacrificial, saving love of God by which we are sealed with the Holy Spirit and guaranteed our inheritance.

On the day when Jesus came from Galilee to the Jordan to John, to be baptized by him, in the moment Jesus came up out of the water:

Matthew 3:16–17 (ESV): the heavens were opened to him, and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and coming to rest on him; 17and behold, a voice from heaven said, “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased.”

On this day in this place, when we bless the water of baptism, it becomes for us sacramentally the water of that same Jordan, so that those baptized in it are washed with the water Jesus himself sanctified by his baptism, so that they may indeed “be cleansed from sin, be born again, and continue for ever faithful in the risen life of Jesus Christ our Savior…[to whom with the Father and] the Holy Spirit, be all honor and glory, now and forever” (BCP 2019, p. 168). On this day in this place, with the eyes and ears of faith we too see the Holy Spirit descend as each newly baptized child of God is signed with the cross and sealed as Christ’s own forever, and we hear the declaration of the Father, “This is my beloved child in whom I am well pleased.” Brothers and sisters, remember your own baptism and rejoice. Remember that you are part of and testimony to new creation and give thanks. Remember that you are elect among the people of God and praise God — the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit — for the wonder of that, for the wonder of his love.

These four children soon to be baptized will become infants in Christ. As wonderful as that is, they must not remain so. Nor can we. Hear St. Paul:

Ephesians 4:11–16 (ESV): 11And [Christ] gave the apostles, the prophets, the evangelists, the shepherds and teachers, 12to equip the saints for the work of ministry, for building up the body of Christ, 13until we all attain to the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to mature manhood, to the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ, 14so that we may no longer be children, tossed to and fro by the waves and carried about by every wind of doctrine, by human cunning, by craftiness in deceitful schemes. 15Rather, speaking the truth in love, we are to grow up in every way into him who is the head, into Christ, 16from whom the whole body, joined and held together by every joint with which it is equipped, when each part is working properly, makes the body grow so that it builds itself up in love.

We are — these four and all of us — to grow into the stature of the fullness of Christ: a tall order, a high calling, yes. French novelist Léon Bloy expressed it this way in his work “The Woman Who Was Poor:”

The only real sadness,

the only real failure,

the only great tragedy in life,

is not to become a saint.

In baptism, these four will be made saints, just as we were, all of us, made saints. Now, moving on from baptism, the vocation given to all of us, the task before all of us, is to become saints, to become truly what we truly are. We do this to the degree that we pierce to the heart of things:

Mark 12:28–31 (ESV): 28And one of the scribes came up and heard them disputing with one another, and seeing that [Jesus] answered them well, asked him, “Which commandment is the most important of all?” 29Jesus answered, “The most important is, ‘Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one. 30And you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.’ 31The second is this: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no other commandment greater than these.”

The saint is not one who is sinless, not one who works miracles, not one who has prophetic powers, not one who understands all mysteries and all knowledge, not one who gives away all his goods and who even gives up his life (see 1 Cor 13:1-3). Saints may indeed do all these things, but that is not the essence of sainthood. If they do all these things but do not have love, they gain nothing. The saint is the one who loves the Lord with all his heart, with all his soul, with all his mind, and with all his strength and who loves his neighbor beyond all constraints of self-interest. Our high calling is to become such saints ourselves and to help others — not least to help these four children soon to be baptized here — to become such saints.

Go vote on Tuesday if your sense of civic duty compels you, if the Spirit convicts you, and if you haven’t already voted early. Vote with prayer, perhaps with a prayer of national repentance for the mess we have made of the blessings God has given our nation. Two weeks ago I commended my ballot to God and the scanner with the sign of the Cross, not knowing then or now whether I made the right decision, but trusting, as Thomas Merton prayed, that my desire to please God does, in fact, please him. I voted with the faith that whomever is elected, however the nation fares under the coming administration, the Kingdom of God will prevail. I voted with an eye toward this day, toward these baptisms, toward this act and proclamation of new creation in which we “let the whole world see and know that things which were cast down are being raised up, and things which had grown old are being made new, and that all things are being brought to their perfection by him through whom all things were made” (BCP 2019, p. 646), even Jesus Christ our Lord, to whom with the Father and the Holy Spirit be honor and glory now and unto the ages of ages. Amen.

Apostles Anglican Church
Fr. John A. Roop

Hugh Latimer and Nicholas Ridley, Bishops and Martyrs
(1 Cor 3:5-17, Ps 142, John 15:20-16:1)

Collect
Keep us, O Lord, constant in faith and zealous in witness, that, like your servants Hugh Latimer and Nicholas Ridley, we may live in your fear, die in your favor, and rest in your peace; for the sake of Jesus Christ your Son our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

Now if anyone builds on the foundation with gold, silver, precious stones, wood, hay, straw — each one’s work will become manifest, for the Day will disclose it, because it will be revealed by fire, and the fire will test what sort of work each one has done (1 Cor 3:12-13, ESV).

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

The Church calendar is replete with commemorations of martyrs. Today is no exception; on 16 October the Anglican Church honors two of its most noted martyrs, Bishops Hugh Latimer and Nicholas Ridley. Along with Archbishop Thomas Cranmer these three are known as the Oxford Martyrs for the place of their public execution.

Persecution and martyrdom have been the reality for the Church from its inception. As with the head, so with the body: just as Jesus was treated as a blasphemer by the Jews and an insurrectionist by the Romans and was unjustly executed, so too were his followers treated. Persecution is a recurring theme in the Acts of the Apostles: Peter and James called before the Jewish Council and threatened for healing and speaking in the name of Jesus; the Apostles beaten by the Council and ordered not to speak again in the name of Jesus; Stephen stoned by the Council for doing signs and wonders in the name of Jesus and for contending powerfully for Jesus against the Jews in synagogue debates; Christians throughout the region and even into Damascus seized and arrested by Saul of Tarsus; Paul and his companions beaten repeatedly in town after town, jailed in not a few, and finally executed by Roman officials. The Church has never shied away from persecution and martyrdom, but rather has embraced it as a grace, sometimes embracing it too readily, sometimes even seeking it out.

Persecution and martyrdom have remained constant from the beginning of the Church until now. But the nature and the context of it has changed throughout the years. In the first few decades of the Christian era the persecution came primarily from the Jewish authorities or was instigated by them and implemented by the civil power of Rome; that is what we see in Acts. But, after 70 A.D., with the destruction of Jerusalem and the temple, the Jews were no longer the primary antagonists against Christians. That dishonor fell to the Roman Empire. Christians were seen by Rome as a threat to the civic order — as what we might call today “unpatriotic” — because they refused their civic duty of emperor worship and by so doing they showed disloyalty to the empire. And, the Christian social ethic was so out of step with Rome — treating men, women, children, and slaves with equal human dignity; insisting upon sexual purity and the sanctity of marriage; eschewing abortion and infanticide; caring for the poor, the sick, the abandoned — so out of step with Rome that Christianity was viewed as disruptive to social order. And, as the empire declined and imploded, the powers that be needed a scapegoat; the Christians were conveniently at hand.

With Constantine, the nature of persecution changed yet again. Christianity, in rapid succession, went from being illegal and persecuted, to tolerated, to preferred, to official. Now, instead of the power of the government being arrayed against the Church, the Church had the power of the government behind it. Instead of being persecuted, the Church could now persecute those — both those inside and outside — who disagreed with its official doctrines: heretics, apostates, infidels. The Western Church — the Roman Catholic Church — crowned emperors and exercised authority over nations and peoples and accumulated vast holding of land and wealth; the Church ruled the Holy Roman Empire through its proxies and dealt harshly with those who fell afoul of it. Persecution became a politico-religious weapon used by the Church to ensure a type of orthodoxy and political fealty.

There are great dangers when the Church obtains this kind and scope of power, when the zeal of the Church is enforced by the power of the state, when the persuasive appeal of the Gospel is sublimated to the coercive demands of empire. This cautionary history raises very modern questions and concerns about Christians seeking to use the power of government to implement social agendas rather than the power of the Gospel to change hearts. Without going further down this path, suffice it to say that this is a matter for concerted prayer and discernment during our upcoming election. Is the Church putting its faith in political power or in the power of the Gospel?

This complex and — I think highly questionable — alliance between Church and State brings us to the martyrs the Anglican Church remembers this day: Bishops Hugh Latimer and Nicholas Ridley (d. 16 October 1555). The English Reformation was a messy and bloody affair not least because of the relationship between Church and State, between the monarchy of England and the Church of England and the hostile and complex relationship of each of those with the Pope and the Roman Catholic Church. And all of this was made more convoluted by Henry VIII’s dysfunctional marital and family dynamics, the resulting instability of his dynasty, and the struggle for power upon his death. Add to this the fact that within the Church of England there were diverse and contradictory opinions about which direction the Church itself should go: from nearly Catholic but without the Pope to more reformed than the Continental Reformers to antiseptic, anti-traditional Puritanism. And caught up in the whirlwind of all this were the ordinary worshipping folk of England who probably just wanted to be left alone to worship as they always had.

Throughout these tumultuous years the pendulum of power swung first one way and then another. Sometimes the traditionalists were ascendant, sometimes the Reformers, sometimes the Puritans, and sometimes even the Roman Catholics. Those who were not in power, were certainly in danger, perhaps never more so that when Mary I, daughter of Henry VIII, became Queen of England and Ireland. She was a staunch Roman Catholic and was determined to reverse and eradicate every vestige of the English Reformation and return the English Church to Rome. That put the leaders of the English Reformation in her crosshairs. In her five year reign she had more than two hundred eighty reformers in the Church of England burned at the stake, earning her the moniker “Bloody Mary.” It was only two years into her reign when she martyred Bishops Latimer and Ridley.

What were their offenses? Let’s leave aside the political answer to that question, not because it’s unimportant but because I’m not well versed enough in the political history of England to answer it. Let’s focus instead on the theological answer. On the Anglican spectrum from Reformed, those who embraced the Protestant faith and practice of Luther and Calvin, to Anglo-Catholic, those who tended toward the sacramental faith and practice of the Roman Catholic Church, both Latimer and Ridley were very far toward the Reformed end of that spectrum, that end which Mary sought to eradicate.

What were some of the major theological issues for Latimer and Ridley? Both men were charged with and convicted of denying the real presence of Christ in the Eucharist, in other words, of denying the Roman Catholic doctrine of transubstantiation in which the bread ceases to bread and becomes instead the actual, physical body of Christ “hidden” under the appearance of bread. Instead, in the Oxford Disputations of 1554, Ridley wrote:

“The true Church doth acknowledge a Presence of Christ’s body in the Lord’s Supper to be communicated to the godly by grace…spiritually and by a sacramental signification, but not as a corporeal Presence of the body of his flesh.”

Latimer and Ridley maintained that Christ was spiritually — but not bodily — present to the godly as the bread was eaten. So, to these men, when Christ said in the words of institution, “This is my body,” he meant it only in a spiritual sense, but not in a corporeal, physical, sense. The bread does not cease to be bread, but becomes also the sacramental means by which the faithful feed spiritually on the body of Christ. The Anglican Articles of Religion say:

The Supper of the Lord is not only a sign of the love that Christians ought to have among themselves one to another; but rather is a Sacrament of our Redemption by Christ’s death: insomuch that to such as rightly, worthily, and with faith, receive the same, the Bread which we break is a partaking of the Body of Christ; and likewise the Cup of Blessing is a partaking of the Blood of Christ.

The Body of Christ is given, taken, and eaten, in the Supper, only after an heavenly and spiritual manner. And the mean whereby the Body of Christ is received and eaten in the Supper is Faith (BCP 2019, p. 783).

All of these distinctions are subtle. Both Anglicans and Roman Catholics agree that the Eucharist is a sacrament, a physical means by which God imparts spiritual grace. Both agree that the bread is more than bread and the wine is more than wine. Both agree that the Eucharist is a real participation in the Body and Blood of Christ. Latimer and Ridley were martyred because they would not specify the mechanism by which this is true; they would not affirm that the bread and wine cease to be what they were before the words of institution and become physically the body and blood of Christ afterwards. Would you be willing to be burned at the stake for that distinction? What doctrine is important enough for you to die?

In addition, Ridley, particularly, was an iconoclast, a destroyer of images. He would have been appalled and scandalized by our nave with its processional and altar crosses, its stained class windows, its icons. These weren’t matters of indifference to him, but matters of idolatry associated with the Roman Catholic Church. Most Anglicans today disagree with him. Certainly our use of these images has nothing to do with idolatry; they are beautiful and meaningful aids to worship but never objects of worship. We think — I certainly think — that Ridley was simply wrong, that he was over-reacting against all Roman practices. And yet, he was willing to die for that belief. Again, that raises the question: What doctrine is important enough for you to die?

Our appointed text for today from 1 Corinthians is for me both fitting and ironic. It has nothing directly to do with martyrdom, but it does relate to a final testing by fire, to the possibility of loss and to the hope for gain.

1 Corinthians 3:10–15 (ESV): 10 According to the grace of God given to me, like a skilled master builder I laid a foundation, and someone else is building upon it. Let each one take care how he builds upon it. 11 For no one can lay a foundation other than that which is laid, which is Jesus Christ. 12 Now if anyone builds on the foundation with gold, silver, precious stones, wood, hay, straw— 13 each one’s work will become manifest, for the Day will disclose it, because it will be revealed by fire, and the fire will test what sort of work each one has done. 14 If the work that anyone has built on the foundation survives, he will receive a reward. 15 If anyone’s work is burned up, he will suffer loss, though he himself will be saved, but only as through fire.

St. Paul is not speaking here of the fire of martyrdom, but rather the fire of judgment, of the fiery test of one’s workmanship. Latimer and Ridley were willing to suffer the fire of martyrdom in the flesh so that they would not suffer loss in the fire of judgment on the last Day. This much is clear: everyone’s work will be tested and its quality revealed by fire. This much is opinion: one’s work may be tested here — as was Latimer’s and Ridley’s — or it will be tested in the day of judgment. The important thing either way is that one’s work is built on the foundation of Christ and that one builds to the best of one’s ability, using the best materials available: faith, hope, love — especially love, because St. Paul reminds us that while these three abide, the greatest is love.

As the fire was kindled around them, Ridley said to Latimer, very reminiscent of the three young men in the furnace, “Be of good heart, brother, for God will either assuage the fury of the flame, or else strengthen us to abide it.” A moment later, in response, Latimer said, “Be of good comfort, Master Ridley, and play the man; we shall this day light such a candle by God’s grace, in England, as I trust shall never be put out.”

Mary hoped to destroy them in her fire, but God was simply testing their work. It passed through the fire and it survives to this day, just as Latimer hoped. May their reward be great in heaven. Amen.

Apostles Anglican Church
Fr. John Roop

Hebrews 5-8: The Superiority of the Melchizedekan Priesthood and the New Covenant

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

Holy and gracious Father: In obedience to your will, our Lord Jesus stretched out his arms upon the Cross and offered himself once for all, that by his suffering and death we might be saved. By his resurrection he broke the bonds of death, trampling Hell and Satan under his feet. As our great high priest, he ascended to your right hand in glory, that we might come with confidence before the throne of grace. Accept, we pray, the mediation he offers for us that you might be our God and we might be your holy people; through the same Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Introduction

What is the greatest challenge facing the Church today? If not the greatest, what are some of the most pressing challenges?

Roman Catholic Bishop Robert Barron, the founder of Word on Fire Ministries, is likely the most widely known and influential of the modern Roman Catholic evangelists. He has a large online presence; through it and his Word on Fire Institute he seeks to educate a new generation of lay apologists and evangelists. He considers this one of the most pressing needs in today’s Church because of what he calls the “dumbing down” of the faith in the post-Vatican II generation.

In an interview following World Youth Day 2023, Barron said:

“Young people don’t want an uncertain trumpet. They don’t want a vacillating message. They want something clear. … We’ve dumbed down the faith for way too long. My generation got a dumbed-down Catholicism and it’s been a pastoral disaster,” (https://www.ncronline.org/opinion/ncr-voices/bishop-barrons-fear-dumbed-down-catholicism-isnt-very-smart).

He sees a causal relationship between that “dumbing down” and the rise of the “nones,” those who identify with no religion. He thinks that when those young people asked probing questions of the faith, they received simplistic, and sometimes no, answers from the Church and they became disenchanted and ultimately disaffiliated.

I’m not qualified to speak to that issue in the Roman Catholic Church, but in a broader cultural sense, I think Bishop Barron is spot on. The critics of our faith in this last few generations have asked serious questions of the Church, and the Church has been caught flat-footed. How many of the Church’s children — of our children — have been led astray and ultimately away from the faith by the New Atheism of Dawkins and Hitchens or the pervasive materialism of the West or the metanarrative of individual autonomy simply because the Church was caught up in cultural relativism and had forgotten its own story or failed to tell it compellingly and in a intellectually credible manner? It isn’t that our Tradition doesn’t have the answers — we have two thousand years of humanity’s greatest intellectuals in our ranks — but rather that the Church has failed to plumb the depths of its own teaching. We haven’t always grown up into doctrinal maturity.

Where Bishop Barron may miss the mark a bit is in his conviction that this is a modern problem. It is not. It is precisely part of the problem that the author of Hebrews grapples with in the first decades of the Church:

Hebrews 5:7–6:3 (ESV): 7 In the days of his flesh, Jesus offered up prayers and supplications, with loud cries and tears, to him who was able to save him from death, and he was heard because of his reverence. 8 Although he was a son, he learned obedience through what he suffered. 9 And being made perfect, he became the source of eternal salvation to all who obey him, 10 being designated by God a high priest after the order of Melchizedek.

11 About this we have much to say, and it is hard to explain, since you have become dull of hearing. 12 For though by this time you ought to be teachers, you need someone to teach you again the basic principles of the oracles of God. You need milk, not solid food, 13 for everyone who lives on milk is unskilled in the word of righteousness, since he is a child. 14 But solid food is for the mature, for those who have their powers of discernment trained by constant practice to distinguish good from evil.

6:1 Therefore let us leave the elementary doctrine of Christ and go on to maturity, not laying again a foundation of repentance from dead works and of faith toward God, 2 and of instruction about washings, the laying on of hands, the resurrection of the dead, and eternal judgment. 3 And this we will do if God permits.

Two millennia earlier, the author had the same complaint as Bishop Barron: I want to move on to the deep matters of the faith, the deeps matters of Christology, but I can’t because you haven’t yet grasped the basics of the catechism. And that, just as Barron observes, can lead to a falling away from the faith.

Hebrews 6:4–8 (ESV): 4 For it is impossible, in the case of those who have once been enlightened, who have tasted the heavenly gift, and have shared in the Holy Spirit, 5 and have tasted the goodness of the word of God and the powers of the age to come, 6 and then have fallen away, to restore them again to repentance, since they are crucifying once again the Son of God to their own harm and holding him up to contempt. 7 For land that has drunk the rain that often falls on it, and produces a crop useful to those for whose sake it is cultivated, receives a blessing from God. 8 But if it bears thorns and thistles, it is worthless and near to being cursed, and its end is to be burned.

This is a difficult passage, but its main point, taken in context of the purpose of the epistle is clear enough. If you, having been baptized into Christ (enlightened), having tasted the heavenly gift (perhaps figuratively the gift of grace, perhaps tangibly the Eucharist), and having received the gift of the Holy Spirit then abandon the faith and return to Judaism, know this: there is no repentance there in Judaism, in its sacrificial system, for you — no sacrifice for your sins, no efficacious priesthood for your sanctification, nothing.

But, the author maintains hope about those to whom he writes:

Hebrews 6:9–12 (ESV): 9 Though we speak in this way, yet in your case, beloved, we feel sure of better things—things that belong to salvation. 10 For God is not unjust so as to overlook your work and the love that you have shown for his name in serving the saints, as you still do. 11 And we desire each one of you to show the same earnestness to have the full assurance of hope until the end, 12 so that you may not be sluggish, but imitators of those who through faith and patience inherit the promises.

In his hope then, the author explores some necessary and encouraging Christology; he presents an argument for the superiority of the priesthood of Christ over the Levitical priesthood and the superiority of the New Covenant over the Old Covenant.

The Priesthood of Christ

If the author intends to make the case that Christ’s priesthood is superior to the Jewish priesthood, he has a major initial obstacle to overcome. Can you spot the problem? The Jewish priesthood is hereditary and restricted to the tribe of Levi, and the high priesthood to the house of Aaron. But what of Jesus? He is the Lion of the tribe of Judah, and has no right to the Levitical priesthood. How might the author have addressed this objection — not how did he, but how might he have?

He might simply have said that God is God and is free to make whomever he wishes a priest. Why would that not be a satisfactory argument? It would place Jesus outside the story of Israel, almost as a usurper and disrupter of the story, rather than being the fulfillment of it. That answer won’t do.

No, the author chooses a more subtle and fundamental approach, and one we also see St. Paul use in Galatians to show the superiority of faith over the works of the Law. Let’s see how St. Paul marshals his argument.

Galatians 3:15–19a (ESV): 15 To give a human example, brothers: even with a man-made covenant, no one annuls it or adds to it once it has been ratified. 16 Now the promises were made to Abraham and to his offspring. It does not say, “And to offsprings,” referring to many, but referring to one, “And to your offspring,” who is Christ. 17 This is what I mean: the law, which came 430 years afterward, does not annul a covenant previously ratified by God, so as to make the promise void. 18 For if the inheritance comes by the law, it no longer comes by promise; but God gave it to Abraham by a promise. 19 Why then the law? It was added because of transgressions, until the offspring should come to whom the promise had been made.

So the Galatians’ question is this: Are we justified by faith or by the works of the Law? Paul’s response is to return to the story of Israel, which means to return to the story of the first Patriarch, Abraham. God made a covenant with Abraham through which and by which Abraham was justified by faith. It wasn’t until four centuries later that the Law was given. Even so, the Law did not nullify the covenant. It was instead a temporary constraint on the people due to their sin until the one offspring of Abraham — Jesus Christ —would come to perfectly fulfill the covenant of faithfulness and inherit the promise for all those in him. Here is the essence of the argument: there is something earlier and more fundamental than the Law which finds its fulfillment in Jesus.

Now, that is the same reasoning that the author of Hebrews applies to the priesthood. There was a priesthood earlier — four centuries earlier — and more fundamental than the Levitical priesthood, one related to Abraham, one that pointed toward and finds its fulfillment in Jesus Christ. The Levitical priesthood was a temporary constraint on the people due to their sin at Sinai (see Ex 32:25-29). But, it did not abrogate the earlier priesthood; it simply provided for the people until the true high priest of the earlier and more fundamental priesthood arrived. The true high priesthood is not Levitical, but Melchizedekan. Here is how the author of Hebrews tells the story.

Hebrews 7:1–10 (ESV): 7 For this Melchizedek, king of Salem, priest of the Most High God, met Abraham returning from the slaughter of the kings and blessed him, 2 and to him Abraham apportioned a tenth part of everything. He is first, by translation of his name, king of righteousness, and then he is also king of Salem, that is, king of peace. 3 He is without father or mother or genealogy, having neither beginning of days nor end of life, but resembling the Son of God he continues a priest forever. 4 See how great this man was to whom Abraham the patriarch gave a tenth of the spoils! 5 And those descendants of Levi who receive the priestly office have a commandment in the law to take tithes from the people, that is, from their brothers, though these also are descended from Abraham. 6 But this man who does not have his descent from them received tithes from Abraham and blessed him who had the promises. 7 It is beyond dispute that the inferior is blessed by the superior. 8 In the one case tithes are received by mortal men, but in the other case, by one of whom it is testified that he lives. 9 One might even say that Levi himself, who receives tithes, paid tithes through Abraham, 10 for he was still in the loins of his ancestor when Melchizedek met him.

First, let’s establish that Melchizedek was at least a signpost pointing toward Jesus, and possibly a pre-incarnate appearance of Jesus in the Old Testament. Melchizedek is without father and mother and had neither beginning nor end of days; he is eternal, and his priesthood is eternal, just like the Son of God. His name identifies him as king of righteousness and king of peace, two qualities that find their ultimate expression and fulfillment in Jesus.

Second, the author shows that Melchizedek was superior to Abraham. What are the two indicators or this? That Melchizedek blessed Abraham and that Abraham paid a tithe to Melchizedek. This notion of tithes is particularly important in making the case of the superiority of the Melchizedekan priesthood over the Levitical priesthood. It is an argument that might seem foreign to our ears but which would have entirely reasonable to those reading Hebrews, to those in a patriarchal, hierarchical culture. The core notion is this: the patriarch acts on behalf of the family; whatever is true for the father is true for the children. So, if Abraham paid tithes to Melchizedek, then through him his children paid tithes to Melchizedek. Since Abraham was the father of all Israel, then all his offspring — even the Levitical priests — paid a tithe to Melchizedek. And that shows the superiority of the Melchizedekan priesthood over the Levitical priesthood. Since Melchizedek pointed toward Jesus, Jesus is the fulfillment of the superior priesthood. The author concludes:

Hebrews 7:15–19 (ESV): 15 This becomes even more evident when another priest arises in the likeness of Melchizedek, 16 who has become a priest, not on the basis of a legal requirement concerning bodily descent, but by the power of an indestructible life. 17 For it is witnessed of him,

“You are a priest forever, after the order of Melchizedek.”

18 For on the one hand, a former commandment is set aside because of its weakness and uselessness 19 (for the law made nothing perfect); but on the other hand, a better hope is introduced, through which we draw near to God.

So, there we have the conclusion of the argument; Jesus is a priest forever after the order of Melchizedek, and his priesthood is superior to the Levitical priesthood. Now, we see how that argument fits with the author’s purpose, the purpose of emphasizing the superiority of Christianity over Judaism with the goal of keeping Jewish-Chrisitian converts in the fold. But, why do we care — we Gentile-Christians?

Well, we might start our answer to that question by returning to Galatians. The major premise of the epistle is that Gentiles do not come to Christ through the works of the Law, but rather through the promise of the Covenant: not through Moses, but through Abraham. So, it is not quite accurate to say that Gentiles come to Christ as Gentiles but rather as the adopted (in-grafted) children of Abraham.

Galatians 3:7–9 (ESV): 7 Know then that it is those of faith who are the sons of Abraham. 8 And the Scripture, foreseeing that God would justify the Gentiles by faith, preached the gospel beforehand to Abraham, saying, “In you shall all the nations be blessed.” 9 So then, those who are of faith are blessed along with Abraham, the man of faith.

Our faith brings us into the covenant, and that covenant has a priesthood which mediates our access to God. The argument is not that the priesthood has been abolished, but that it has been fulfilled in Christ. The argument is not that we don’t need a mediating priest, but that Christ, the great high priest, is our mediator. And that applies to Jews and Gentiles alike, of the first century and of the twenty-first century. We — all of us — need a priest-mediator, and that is precisely what we have in, and only in, Jesus Christ.

The author is not finished demonstrating the superiority of Christ’s priesthood.

Hebrews 7:18–28 (ESV): 18 For on the one hand, a former commandment is set aside because of its weakness and uselessness 19 (for the law made nothing perfect); but on the other hand, a better hope is introduced, through which we draw near to God. 20 And it was not without an oath. For those who formerly became priests were made such without an oath, 21 but this one was made a priest with an oath by the one who said to him:

“The Lord has sworn and will not change his mind, ‘You are a priest forever.’ ”

22 This makes Jesus the guarantor of a better covenant. 23 The former priests were many in number, because they were prevented by death from continuing in office, 24 but he holds his priesthood permanently, because he continues forever. 25 Consequently, he is able to save to the uttermost those who draw near to God through him, since he always lives to make intercession for them. 26 For it was indeed fitting that we should have such a high priest, holy, innocent, unstained, separated from sinners, and exalted above the heavens. 27 He has no need, like those high priests, to offer sacrifices daily, first for his own sins and then for those of the people, since he did this once for all when he offered up himself. 28 For the law appoints men in their weakness as high priests, but the word of the oath, which came later than the law, appoints a Son who has been made perfect forever.

So, what are the advantages of Jesus’ priesthood?

First, he is the priest of a better covenant. Each week in the Words of Institution, as he consecrates the wine, the priest says, “Drink this, all of you; for this is my Blood for the New Covenant, which is shed for you, and for many, for the forgiveness of sins.” In the first covenant, God elected and then created a people through whom he would ultimately deal with the problem of sin. In the New Covenant — which is the fulfillment of the old — God finally deals with sin, destroys the power of sin and forgives our sin — through the blood of Jesus. We will return to the characteristics of this better covenant in a moment, but for now we simply note that Jesus is the priest of a better covenant.

Second, he is a priest forever — a perpetual priest — which means he makes continual, eternal intercession on our behalf.

Third, he is a blameless, perfect priest: holy, innocent, unstained, separated from sinners, and exalted above the heavens. Why is this important? Because as we will see next week, Jesus is not only our great high priest, but also our sinless sacrifice.

Hebrews 8 continues the contrast between the priesthoods — Levitical and Melchizedekan — by emphasizing that one is earthly and partial, while the other is heavenly and complete. To introduce this notion, let me ask a question based on our liturgy. In the Eucharistic Prayer the priest says:

Therefore we praise you, joining our voices with Angels and Archangels and with all the company of heaven, who for ever sing this hymn to proclaim the glory of your Name:

and then the Celebrant and People together sing:

Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord God of power and might,
heaven and earth are full of your glory.
Hosanna in the highest.
Blessed is he who comes in the Name of the Lord.
Hosanna in the highest (BCP 2019, p. 115).

Why do we sing that? Why do we sing at all, and why do we sing those words? Because we have been given a glimpse of heavenly worship and we copy that here on earth (see Is 6:3): as in heaven, so on earth.

Each Sunday when we gather, we always include readings from Scripture, our fellowship with one another and with God, the Eucharist, and our common prayers. Why do we do these things? Because that was the pattern the Apostles established for the Church (see Acts 2:42).

Why do we have an altar, a credence table, priests in vestments, incense (at least on “Special” occasions), and all the bells and smells associated with Anglicanism? Because that’s what we see when we read Scripture.

My point in all of this is that we aren’t — or at least we shouldn’t be — making up worship as we go, according to our preferences or the latest trends advocated by church growth experts. We are following a Biblical pattern that God has established; God tells us how he wants to be worshipped.

Where do we get this idea, that there is a heavenly pattern of worship that we are to observe? Let’s return to the Exodus account, to Israel at Sinai.

Exodus 24:15–18 (ESV): 15 Then Moses went up on the mountain, and the cloud covered the mountain. 16 The glory of the Lord dwelt on Mount Sinai, and the cloud covered it six days. And on the seventh day he called to Moses out of the midst of the cloud. 17 Now the appearance of the glory of the Lord was like a devouring fire on the top of the mountain in the sight of the people of Israel. 18 Moses entered the cloud and went up on the mountain. And Moses was on the mountain forty days and forty nights.

So what was Moses doing for the forty days and nights? I want to suggest that he was learning how to worship in the heavenly sanctuary and how to replicate that on earth. Let’s continue the text.

Exodus 25:1–9 (ESV): 25 The Lord said to Moses, 2 “Speak to the people of Israel, that they take for me a contribution. From every man whose heart moves him you shall receive the contribution for me. 3 And this is the contribution that you shall receive from them: gold, silver, and bronze, 4 blue and purple and scarlet yarns and fine twined linen, goats’ hair, 5 tanned rams’ skins, goatskins, acacia wood, 6 oil for the lamps, spices for the anointing oil and for the fragrant incense, 7 onyx stones, and stones for setting, for the ephod and for the breastpiece. 8 And let them make me a sanctuary, that I may dwell in their midst. 9 Exactly as I show you concerning the pattern of the tabernacle, and of all its furniture, so you shall make it.

Exactly as I show you…you shall make it. Much of the rest of Exodus consists of instructions for the tabernacle, its furniture, the priests’ vestments — all the necessary accoutrements of worship. Moses was to copy heavenly worship on earth.

Now, with that in place, let’s return to Hebrews. How is Christ’s priesthood superior to the Levitical priesthood?

Hebrews 8:1–7 (ESV): 8 Now the point in what we are saying is this: we have such a high priest, one who is seated at the right hand of the throne of the Majesty in heaven, 2 a minister in the holy places, in the true tent that the Lord set up, not man. 3 For every high priest is appointed to offer gifts and sacrifices; thus it is necessary for this priest also to have something to offer. 4 Now if he were on earth, he would not be a priest at all, since there are priests who offer gifts according to the law. 5 They serve a copy and shadow of the heavenly things. For when Moses was about to erect the tent, he was instructed by God, saying, “See that you make everything according to the pattern that was shown you on the mountain.” 6 But as it is, Christ has obtained a ministry that is as much more excellent than the old as the covenant he mediates is better, since it is enacted on better promises. 7 For if that first covenant had been faultless, there would have been no occasion to look for a second.

What is the major distinction between the priesthoods here? The Levitical priests served a copy — and thus a shadow — of the heavenly things set up by men, but Jesus, our great high priest, serves in the heavenly tabernacle, in the true tent that the Lord set up. Jesus, our high priest, sits at the right hand of the Majesty in heaven, which is to say that he is in the position of authority and that he exercises that authority not least in his high priestly role. To go back to the Levitical priesthood, then, would be to prefer the copy to the original, the shadow to the reality.

And, as the high priest of heavenly realities, Jesus is thereby the priest of a new and better covenant:

Hebrews 8:10–13 (ESV): 10 For this is the covenant that I will make with the house of Israel after those days, declares the Lord: I will put my laws into their minds, and write them on their hearts, and I will be their God, and they shall be my people. 11 And they shall not teach, each one his neighbor and each one his brother, saying, ‘Know the Lord,’ for they shall all know me, from the least of them to the greatest. 12 For I will be merciful toward their iniquities, and I will remember their sins no more.”

13 In speaking of a new covenant, he makes the first one obsolete. And what is becoming obsolete and growing old is ready to vanish away.

It is Jesus’s priesthood that makes it possible for us to know God, to have his law written in our hearts (by the indwelling Holy Spirit), and for us to be the people of God. That is what would be lost in the return to an inferior priesthood and an old covenant: not that the Levitical priesthood and the Old Covenant were bad, but that they were partial and temporary. The perfect and eternal is found only in Jesus.

Lastly, what has this to do with us? It was always God’s intent to have a holy people, a kingdom of priests. The Old Covenant, the Law, and the Levitical priesthood pointed the way toward that, but could not accomplish it. But Jesus changed all that according to St. Peter:

1 Peter 2:1–5 (ESV): 2 So put away all malice and all deceit and hypocrisy and envy and all slander. 2 Like newborn infants, long for the pure spiritual milk, that by it you may grow up into salvation— 3 if indeed you have tasted that the Lord is good. 4 As you come to him, a living stone rejected by men but in the sight of God chosen and precious, 5 you yourselves like living stones are being built up as a spiritual house, to be a holy priesthood, to offer spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ.

1 Peter 2:9–10 (ESV): 9 But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for his own possession, that you may proclaim the excellencies of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light. 10 Once you were not a people, but now you are God’s people; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy.

We now share in the royal priesthood of Christ. It is our priestly duty and joy to offer spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ and to proclaim the excellencies of him who called us out of darkness into his marvelous light. The priesthood of Jesus is superior in no small part because it embraces us and invites us to share his life and mission.