The Last Sunday after Pentecost, Year A. (2017)

Proper 29 :: Ezekiel 34: 11–16, 20–24; Psalm 100; Ephesians 1: 15–23; 25: 31–46

This is the homily by Fr. Gene Tucker that was given St. John’s, Huntingdon, on Sunday, November 26, 2017.

“OUR DAILY WALK WITH GOD, LIVED IN THE SIGHT OF ETERNITY”

(Homily text:  Matthew 25: 31–46)

We wrap up the current Church Year this Sunday, ending the year (as we always do) with the theme of “Christ the King”. Our old Church Year ends where the new one will begin in the season of Advent, with our eyes firmly fixed on the here-and-the-now, but also on the “great, big picture” of God’s eternal purposes.

Today’s Gospel focuses in on the here-and-the-now, as Jesus tells us about some very concrete, everyday steps that Jesus’ followers are to follow as they live out their calling as disciples of Jesus.

Before we look in depth at Jesus’ teaching, let’s remind ourselves of the outlook of God’s people in Jesus’ day. To do so, we will begin with a Hebrew lesson.

The Hebrew word in mind here is halacha. The word comes from the Hebrew verb “to walk”, which is halach.

To the ancient Jews, their relationship with God involved a daily walk, a halacha.

The word itself indicates a methodical, everyday way of living. It isn’t a sprint, nor is it a race which focuses only on the finish line. It is way of completing the course of life which values and infuses every step along the way with importance and care.

That seems to be Jesus’ focus, as well.

The specific actions Jesus outlines each involve helping someone who is in some sort of distress:  Someone in prison, someone who lacks proper clothing, someone who is hungry, someone who is sick. Especially in the society in which Jesus moved and worked, these things were (unfortunately) fairly commonplace predicaments that people found themselves in.

Now, as we reflect on the broad sweep of Christian history, it becomes apparent that Christians have had a difficult time keeping the everyday, commonplace ways of living out the Christian life in balance with the “great, big and final picture” of God’s purposes for the world and for those who live in the world.

At times in Christian history, the focus of Jesus’ followers has been squarely on God’s “great, big plan”. Surely, that was the case in the Thessalonian church, where Paul has to warn its members against sitting around, looking up into the heavens, waiting for the trumpet call which would announce Jesus’ return to sound. Paul specifically warns these early Christians not to be sitting around, doing nothing, waiting for the end to come.

But, the reverse is true, also. At times in Christian history, Jesus’ disciples have gotten caught up in “doing good things”, seemingly with the goal of making the Church into some sort of a social service agency.

Today’s Gospel text calls us to keep both aspects of God’s plan in view: We are to be about doing concrete, observable actions that give witness to the faith that is living within. St. James will pick up on Jesus’ theme in his letter, “What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if someone says they have faith, but does not have works? Can that faith save them? If a brother or sister is poorly clothed and lacking in daily food, and one of you says to them, ‘Go in peace, be warmed and filled,’ without giving them the things needed for the body, what good is that? So also faith by itself, if it does not have works, is dead.” (James 2: 14 – 17)

Jesus’ teaching reminds us that the everyday, often inconsequential things we do in Christ’s name are being done in God’s view and with God’s knowledge. (It is worth saying, at this point, that in Matthew’s Gospel account, God’s final judgment is never far from view….it permeates Matthew’s entire account.)

Knowing that the little things we do are important to God, and are done in God’s sight and with God’s noticing casts an entirely different light on our everyday lives. Suddenly, everything takes on a different scale of value, suddenly nothing is unimportant or of little value.

Christians are called to live lives that have one foot squarely planted in the here-and-the-now, and with the other foot securely planted in the kingdom of heaven which is to come.

May we be counted worthy to bear Christ’s name to the world around us, knowing that everything we do – whether of great or of little importance – is precious in God’s sight.

AMEN.

Pentecost 24, Year A (2017)

Proper 28 :: Zephaniah 1: 7, 12–18; Psalm 123; I Thessalonians 5: 1–11; Matthew 25: 14–30

This is the homily by Fr. Gene Tucker that was given at St. John’s, Huntingdon, Pennsylvania on Sunday, November 19, 2017.

“BEING A CITIZEN OF THE KINGDOM: RISKY BUSINESS”

(Homily text:  Matthew 25: 14–30)

This morning, we hear the last of Jesus’ parables that the Gospel writer Matthew provides to us. The Parable of the Talents is a teaching about the taking of risks.

The parable before us this morning is the middle of three teachings that Jesus provides which all have to do with the nature of the kingdom of heaven. Last week’s parable, the Parable of the Wise and the Foolish Maidens, dealt with the need for those in the kingdom to be ready for the Lord’s coming at any moment. Next week’s teaching will put before us some concrete ways in which the citizens of the kingdom can bring the kingdom into being. This week’s parable is all about taking risks for the kingdom.

Before we look at the parable in some detail, it’s worth noting that this parable is responsible for the use of the word “talent” in the sense of being something a person is either naturally gifted at doing, or is skilled at doing. Originally, the word “talent” was a unit of monetary measure, a considerable measure of money (one estimate is that a talent was worth about fifteen years’ salary of a common laborer). The word “talent” appears in both the Old Testament, and in the New, as well, so it is a word with a very long history.

In this morning’s parable, Jesus tells us about three servants[1] who are entrusted with some of the master’s wealth. One person is entrusted with five talents, another with two, and one is given only one talent. The servants with five talents and with two go out and double the master’s money. An important point in Jesus’ teaching is the fact that each servant is given the amounts they received, “each according to their abilities”.[2] But the one who is given only one acts out of fear and buries the one talent in the ground.

(I can’t resist making a point about the interpretation of parables: Usually, a parable has one main idea or point. There are, quite often, ancillary aspects to parables, and it may be tempting to try to ascertain just what the meanings or importance of these secondary parts of a parable are. But I think it’s important to keep our focus on the central meaning of the teaching. For example, in today’s parable, we might ask questions about the ways in which the first two servants are able to double their master’s money…did they do it by unethical or underhanded means, for example. And, as well, we might ask just what was the basis upon which the master decided to give differing amount of money to each servant. But those questions, though they are intriguing and though they may stir some interest, are beside the main point that Jesus is trying to get across.)

This is as a good a place as any to uncover a cultural aspect to the parable which clarifies its meaning: In Jesus’ day, the best way to safeguard something of value was to go out and find a place to bury it. In a time when there were no safes, no safety deposit boxes, and no banks as we know them, that was the commonly accepted way of being sure that something that was important or worth something could be kept safe from loss.

So Jesus’ point is that the first two servants were willing to take risks, while the third servant was risk-averse and did the commonly accepted thing. Jesus’ point seems to be that, in order to bring the kingdom of heaven into being, its citizens will need to be willing to take risks.

Whenever we read a passage of Holy Scripture, it’s a good idea to ask ourselves about its meaning and applicability for its first hearers or readers. For Matthew’s church, whose members, many biblical scholars believe, were living in what is modern day Syria sometime late in the first century, their situation as disciples of Jesus was somewhat precarious: They were under increasing persecution not only from the Jews in their area, but also from the Roman authorities. They didn’t follow the pagan customs of the society in which they lived, so their behavior and attitudes made them distinct from that society. Life for these early Christians was risky.

Being a disciple of Jesus, in the first century and in the twenty first century, is a risky business.

Today’s parable encourages us to ask, “Just what are the risks involved in being a disciple of Jesus Christ?”

Perhaps we could draw up a list of some of them. By way of suggestion, here are a few ideas:

• ·       Entering the waters of Holy Baptism involves a dying to self, a saying of “goodbye” to the ways of the world, and a turning to Jesus Christ as Savior and Lord. In so doing, we are saying – in essence – “Lord, I am unable to live the way you want us to live, but – with your help – I can live according to your righteous and holy ways”. That’s risky stuff.
• ·       In Baptism, we surrender ourselves to God. Letting go and letting God is risky business. But the truth is, unless we are willing to take this essential step, something critical and absolutely essential in our walk with God is missing. Allowing God to lead us may seem like risky stuff, but, in truth, it is the only way to the fulness of life.
• ·       It’s risky to live by the values of the kingdom of heaven, and not by the contemporary culture’s values.
• ·       To make Jesus Christ the central and most important part of our lives is risky stuff. To do this is to allow ourselves to be fashioned into a people whose lifestyles and manner of living are distinctive, just as these things made the first century Christians distinctive in the culture and society they lived in.
• ·       To live out our baptismal vows to value each and every individual person is risky stuff. Living this out involves working to overcome the polarities and outright dislike and disdain for others who are different in some way that is so common in our society today. Doing so just might put us in the risky spot of being agents of reconciliation, seeking to build bridges by those who oppose one another.

Perhaps this short list can serve as a starting point for our own, individual reflection on the risks involved in being a Christian in the day, the time and the culture we live in today.

That would be my prayer, at least.

AMEN.

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[1]   The New Revised Standard Version (NRSV) of the Bible uses the word “slaves”, although the Greek word may mean either “slaves” or “servants”.

[2]   Jesus’ linkage of the amounts given to each servant’s ability is the basis for the contemporary meaning of the word “talent”.

Pentecost 23, Year A (2017)

Proper 27 :: Amos 5: 18–24; Psalm 70; I Thessalonians 4: 13–18; Matthew 25: 1–13

This is the homily by Fr. Gene Tucker that was given at St. John’s, Huntingdon, Pennsylvania on Sunday, November 12, 2017.

“HOW DOES THE KINGDOM COME?”

(Homily texts:  Amos 5: 18-24 & Matthew 25: 1–13)

Whenever I read or hear this morning’s passage from Amos, this question almost always arises in my mind: “Wouldn’t it be great if Amos could have been just a little more clear in his meaning?” Of course, the question arises with a considerable touch of humor, for the truth is that Amos is bluntly, abundantly clear in his warning to the people of the Northern Kingdom of Israel, sometime in the eighth century before Jesus’ coming.

As I read Amos’ warning, and hear Jesus’ teaching about the way in which the kingdom of heaven comes, I think we can make a case for connecting the two passages. The connection, it seems to me, has to do with the warnings that are present in Amos’ pronouncement, and – in Jesus’ case – to the warnings that have preceded today’s parable. In Amos’ case, it is God’s coming judgment on the people of the Northern Kingdom. I the case of Jesus’ parable, the coming of the kingdom calls for all of God’s people to be alert and ready whenever the kingdom comes. In each case, there is a warning against complacency.

Let’s unpack each passage a little to aid in our quest to connect these two passages.

We begin with Amos.

Amos was a shepherd and a dresser of sycamore trees, as the beginning of the book which bears his name tells us. He was from an area not far from the town of Bethlehem, which is located in the Southern Kingdom of Judah. But God sent him north to warn the people of the Northern Kingdom of Israel that their wicked ways were sure to bring about God’s judgment.

So Amos already has one strike against him, for he is – in essence – a foreigner, a resident of another country, Judah.

But Amos utters God’s warnings, anyway.  “Why do you desire the day of the Lord,” he asks, adding that the “day of the Lord is a day of darkness, not light.” Amos goes after the empty sort of religion that puts great emphasis on fine, liturgical practice, but which is coupled to everyday practices of deceit. While the rich in the Northern Kingdom lie on beds of ivory and drink wine, the poor are cheated by the rich with the false weights that were being used in business. No wonder that the king’s priest tells Amos to go back where he came from, and to prophesy there. In the days in which Amos labored, there was great complacency among the inhabitants of the Northern Kingdom. From all outward appearance, things were going well, for the rich, at least. The kingdom seemed to be economically secure, politically stable and militarily secure. But all that would change when the Assyrians swept in from the north and the east and conquered the Northern Kingdom, scattering many of its inhabitants into exile.

Just as Amos’ pronouncement is coupled to words of warning, so, too, is Jesus’ parable coupled to warnings. In the chapters just preceding our reading of the Parable of the Ten Bridesmaids, Jesus utters warnings against the leaders of God’s people 2,000 years ago. They – like the rich of Amos’ day – were complacent, sure of their favored place in the society of the Jewish people. They cared not for the poor among them, and were quick to parcel out God’s people according to those who were clean by the reckoning of the Law of Moses, and those who were unclean. And, so at the beginning of chapter 23 (beginning with verse 13) of Matthew’s gospel account, we read Jesus’ seven warnings to the scribes and the Pharisees.  This phrase begins most all of them: “Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites!”

In each case, in the situation Amos faced, and in the situation that Jesus faced, those who benefitted from the structures of society felt secure in their position in the scheme of things then pertaining. No doubt the rich and the powerful of the Northern Kingdom felt that God’s kingdom was to be found in their very midst. Meanwhile, the scribes and the Pharisees looked to bring about God’s kingdom by their scrupulous observance of the requirements of the Law of Moses. When the kingdom came, they were sure, it would be brought in with great pomp and fanfare, as the promised Messiah would re-establish the kingdom that they had heard about in the days of King David.

All of this brings us to the question: How does the kingdom come?

Does the kingdom of God come with great and observable events? Or, does the kingdom come in everyday words and actions?

The answer seems to be that the kingdom comes in both ways.

Certainly, Jesus’ eventual return in glory, which is a theme of our Advent observance, is an example of the dramatic inbreaking of the kingdom into human affairs. We affirm this eventual reality whenever we recite the Nicene or Apostles’ Creeds, which affirm the truth that Jesus will return in great glory someday, in some way.

But the kingdom also comes quietly, silently, prompting us to be vigilant (as our parable this morning admonishes us) and to look for its coming. It is found whenever justice rolls down, as Amos said. It comes whenever we, acting in God’s love, care for the least of those around us.

The powerful of Jesus’ day missed the coming of the kingdom because they were looking for some great, big event to herald the coming of a future Messiah. But the Messiah came according to God’s plan, not according to theirs. And so the Messiah was born in a stable, and the Messiah was from the “other side of the tracks”, from Galilee, and the Messiah wound up on a cross outside the walls of the Holy City. But then, that same Messiah rose from the dead, quietly, silently, but with His flesh and His life intact.

And so, the kingdom comes by the action of this risen Messiah, and the kingdom is revealed to those to whom God chooses to reveal it. And oftentimes, God chooses to reveal His kingdom to the least and the lost, but not to those who are full of their own pride and place in the world.

AMEN.

All Saints' Sunday, Year A (2017)

Revelation 7: 9–17; Psalm 34: 1-10, 22; I John 3: 1–3; Matthew 5: 1–12

This is the homily by Fr. Gene Tucker that was given at St. John’s, Huntingdon, Pennsylvania on Sunday, November 5, 2017.

“SAINTS: THOSE WHO BRING HEAVEN TO EARTH”

(Homily texts:  Revelation 7: 9–17 & Matthew 5: 1-12)

This past week, I attended a wonderful lecture on the reformer, Martin Luther, which was given at Juniata College.

As part of the lecture, Luther was presented as an “Agent of Change” (the title for this presentation, which was one of a series of similarly entitled offerings on the campus).

Though the lecturer told us, more than once, that he wasn’t a theologian, it is impossible to talk about Luther’s work without delving - at least a little bit - into theology.

I was struck by how much Luther pondered the matter of predestination. Predestination is that theological concept that understands that God, in God’s infinite wisdom and freedom, deliberately chooses those who will be in communion with Him. (I think this is a fairly-stated definition.)

Luther’s understanding of the concept of predestination is often neglected today. Instead, we more often think of Luther’s important work in reminding us that our salvation is dependent on God’s grace alone (Luther’s phrase, given in Latin, was “sola gratia”).

The lecturer this past week correctly described the sometimes heated exchanges between Luther and the theologian, Erasmus. These two men couldn’t have been more different in some respects:  Luther was convinced that human nature is so tainted by sin that we human beings are totally incapable of affecting our own salvation. Erasmus, on the other hand, elevates human nature to a higher place.

As I listened to the lecture, I began to think about the divine and human roles in the interaction between God and people. Down through history, Christians have wrestled with this question. St. Paul addresses it head-on in his letter to the Romans. If I may summarize Paul’s argument, we might say that Paul maintains that though God has revealed His righteous nature, we human beings have failed to meet God’s righteous standards. As a consequence, God must act to bring about our salvation, sending Jesus Christ to open the way to God.

St. Augustine, that wonderful fifth century bishop and brilliant theologian, follows in St. Paul’s footsteps. In his tenure, Augustine was dealing with a movement called Pelagianism. Pelagianism maintained that we human beings have all the tools we need to bring about our own salvation. God has shown us the way, the Pelagians said, and we human beings, by being created in the image and likeness of God, are equipped to do God’s will and to bring about our own righteous standing before God. (Again, I think this is a fair summary of Augustine’s position.)

So it’s clear that Luther is siding with St. Paul and with Augustine in his view of the human state.

Concerning the idea of predestination, today we associate the reformer John Calvin with this concept. But Luther adhered to it, as well.

All of this brings us to a central question:  Just what and how much does God do, and what and how much do human beings do in interacting with one another?

As we said a moment ago, Christians have tended to fall on one side or the other in this debate. Some Christians, even today, emphasize God’s omnipotence, God’s omniscience, and God’s prerogatives in dealing with humankind. Still others, however, put great weight on human beings’ abilities to effect change in the world, often even to the extent (at least it seems to me), in some cases, of excluding God’s empowerment to do the work at hand.

What can be said about God’s role and our role in our relating, one to another, and in the work that is set before us to do?

Perhaps this truth is quite evident: God possesses the power, insight and wisdom to guide His people. And we human beings are graced (as we said a moment ago) with having been created in the image and likeness of God. This second fact makes it clear that we are given tools to do the work set before us. It is also abundantly clear that we human beings were not created to be automatons or robots.

So, we can safely conclude that God has a role to play, and human beings also have a role to play.

Speaking personally, I believe that God is the initiator, the prime mover, the inspirer, and the One who empowers us to do all that He has in mind for us to do. So we humans draw our power, insight, wisdom and abilities from God. We cannot draw these things from within ourselves (here we come back to St. Paul’s, Augustine’s and Luther’s basic position). Not only do we draw these things from God at the outset of whatever it is that God has in mind for us to accomplish, but we are in need of continually going back to God for course corrections, fresh instructions, and so forth.

On this All Saints’ Sunday, we hold in our thoughts and present to God our prayers of thanksgiving for the saints of God who have gone before us, and for the saints of God who are present among us today. In one sense, the saints hold in mind that wonderful image that we read in this morning’s reading from the Book of Revelation, where the saints are gathered around God’s heavenly throne. Saints are those who hold this image ever before themselves, and who hold this same image before the world. They live by the standards that Jesus gave us in the Beatitudes, which we hear in our Gospel reading for this day. 

All of this is by way of saying that a saint is a person who has cultivated a close and personal relationship with God, having been inspired and guided by the Holy Spirit in the first place. A saint is one who then turns around and exhibits those qualities to those around about. As St. James says in his wonderful letter, “….faith by itself, without works, is dead. But someone will say, ‘You have faith and I have works. Show me your faith from your works, and I will show you my faith by my works.’” (James 2: 17, 18)

James’ description of the relationship between believing and doing is just about as good a definition as I can think of of what a saint is.

Put another way, doing God’s will, and believing and relying on God’s leading, is a wonderful definition of sacramental living, for with the saints, their inner and spiritual reality is confirmed by their outward and visible actions, bringing heaven down to earth, that God’s Name may be glorified and that God’s work may be done.

AMEN.