The Eve of the Nativity (Christmas Eve) and Christmas 1 – Year B (2020)

Isaiah 9: 2–7 / Psalm 96 / Titus 2: 11–14 / Luke 2: 1–20

This is the homily prepared for St. John’s, Huntingdon, Pennsylvania, by Fr. Gene Tucker for Christmas Eve, December 24, 2020, and for Christmas I, December 27, 2020.

“FROM A THEOLOGICAL PERSPECTIVE”

(Homily text: Luke 2: 1-20)

Preparing a sermon or homily on the major festivals of the Church Year can be a challenging task to undertake. Part of the challenge lies in the fact that so many of the listeners or readers of the homily or sermon will already know the key ingredients of the text that’s been chosen.

Since we are celebrating Christmas, let’s consider the appointed Gospel text for this festival, the second chapter of Luke’s Gospel account, which tells us about Mary and Joseph’s trip to Bethlehem, where Jesus is born. Many, if not most, of us can list the key ingredients of this very familiar passage. (Perhaps many of us could recite the text, word-for-word, and some of a “certain age” might be able to do so in the King James (Authorized) Version.) My own list of the key ingredients of the account would include: Mary and Joseph make their way to Bethlehem from Nazareth; they do so at a point when Mary is pregnant (nearly full term) and is about to give birth; there is no room in the inn, so Jesus is born elsewhere and is laid in a manger; shepherds are keeping their sheep out in a field; an angel appears to the shepherds and announces great, good news to them about Jesus’ birth; a large, heavenly host joins in celebrating the news; and the shepherds go to Bethlehem, where they confirm what the angel had told them.

Now, let’s take an alternative way to understand the importance of these ingredients. Let’s look at each of them to see what they tell us about God’s activity in these things. In other words, let’s look at them from a theological perspective, for theology has to do with understanding God’s nature and God’s activity in human affairs in the world.

An admission is in order before we begin: These interpretations are strictly my own. I invite you to consider each one. Perhaps you’ll gain an additional or wider understanding of them.

The trip to Bethlehem:  It’s a long way from Nazareth, in Galilee in the northern part of the Holy Land, to Bethlehem, which is located a few miles south of Jerusalem. It’s an even longer trip if it’s taken on the back of a donkey, which seems to be the likely mode of travel available to Mary and Joseph.

Mary is nearly full term in her pregnancy:  Such a trip is difficult enough under normal circumstances, but it’s even more difficult when one is about to give birth.

·         Theological interpretation: God protects Mary and the baby, since the possibility of miscarriage is probably high, given the circumstances of travel and the point at which Jesus is about to be born.

No room in the inn, so Jesus is lain in a manger:  Luke tells us that there was a census going on, one that would have caused many people to travel. Perhaps that was the reason there was no room in the inn. Jesus is then born elsewhere and is lain in a feeding trough for animals.

Theological interpretation: Jesus comes into the world in humble, lowly circumstances. Perhaps that sort of a beginning to His earthly journey will foretell His concern for the lowly, the downtrodden, and the outcasts of the world into which He came. We could also say that such circumstances confirm God’s concern for the least of those in the world. Some also see in the reality that there was no room for Jesus to enter the world because the inn was full, foretells a rejection (by many) of His message once His ministry begins.

Shepherds in the fields:  The great, good news of Jesus’ birth is announced to ordinary people. In fact, shepherds were, in that society, not highly regarded. They fell among the lower echelons of society. But it was to just such people that the good news was given. And, in the fullness of time, it was the ordinary people of the world who responded best to Jesus’ work and message. Kings, highly placed persons, priests, Pharisees and scribes largely rejected Jesus and His message.

·     Theological interpretation:  Perhaps God’s will and work is best received by those who have the least to lose. Perhaps having a lot to lose is an impediment to being able and ready to receive God’s message. After all, knowing God and having a relationship with Him is a “zero-sum” game, in which we admit we are helpless to be able to help ourselves. Only then can God begin to work with us, really.

The angel’s message and the heavenly host:  Angels are God’s messengers (that’s the root meaning of the word “angel”, coming to us from the Greek).

·         Theological interpretation:  The difference between God’s emissary (the angel) and the heavenly host of angels and the shepherds probably couldn’t be greater. Godly things and activity meet ordinary people doing ordinary things. Here, God is at work. God’s agency and God’s hand at work in the birth of the Savior are visible in the angel’s message, which is confirmed by the opening of heaven and the large number of angels, who sing praises to God.

“To you is born in the city of David, a Savior, which is Christ, the Lord”:  This is the essence of the angel’s message.

·         Theological interpretation:  God is informing humankind that a new era, a new epoch is dawning. How is this so?  By identifying the newborn child as the “Christ”, the “Messiah”, the angel is saying that the person that so many of God’s people were anxiously awaiting for had come. This child would prove to be the saving agent, by God’s appointment, for people. What is a surprise is, that the expectations of many of God’s people in those days were fulfilled in a radically different way than they expected, for the Christ, the Messiah, didn’t come riding into Jerusalem on a white horse, but instead, came in riding on a donkey.  The Christ, the Messiah, didn’t come to restore Israel and God’s people to the earthly glory that had been theirs a thousand years before when David was king. Instead, a new sort of kingdom was about to unfold before their eyes.

Confirmation of the angel’s message:  The shepherds go to Bethlehem, were they find the child, wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger, just as the angel had told them.

·       Theological interpretation:  It isn’t the fact that Jesus was wrapped in swaddling cloths that is significant here, for that was the standard practice for a newborn baby in that time and place. More significant, I think, is the fact that Jesus was lying in a manger, a feeding trough for animals. Perhaps that practice was commonplace, if the circumstances of the household were such that animals were housed in a part of the structure, nearby to the living quarters of the family. We don’t know for sure. Perhaps we can take from this aspect of the account the idea that what God indicates, will come to pass, and will be confirmed in due time. But sometimes we have to look beyond the immediate, even commonplace aspects of a situation, to see God’s hand at work.

In conclusion, the events we recall at Christmastime changed the course of world history forever. I submit to you that they continue to do so, one heart at a time. Individual lives are forever changed, forever brightened, when the Lord Jesus Christ takes up residence in the human heart, for there is the place where God seeks to dwell, within.

AMEN.

       

       

       

Advent 4, Year B (2020)

 II Samuel 7: 1–17 / Psalm 89: 1–4, 19–26 / Romans 16: 25–27 / Luke 1: 26–38

This is the homily prepared for St. John’s, Huntingdon, Pennsylvania by Fr. Gene Tucker for Sunday, December 20, 2020.

“A HOUSE AND A HOME”

(Homily texts: II Samuel 7: 1–17 & Luke 1: 26-38)

Ever think about the difference between a house and a home?

For example, when we think of a house, we might think of a structure, one that has an address, one in which much of our daily living takes place, a space we might share with others in the same household. If we’ve moved from one house to another in our life’s journey, oftentimes we carry with us memories of significant events that took place during the time we lived in those locations.

What transforms a house into a home?

When we think about a what makes a home, it’s much more (usually) than a physical structure, even one we might have lived in for a long time. Emotions and emotional attachments (loving relationships, in other words) are part of the ingredients that change a house into a home. We invest ourselves in a home, we share our lives (perhaps) with others in the same home. It is from home that we go forth to interact with the world, to go to work or to other tasks. But we want to return home. Home allows us to form an identity. Forming an identity is a critical part of our wellbeing as human beings.

Perhaps there might be other things we could add to the observations here.

Our Old Testament reading from Second Samuel, and our Gospel reading for this morning, the angel Gabriel’s announcement to the Blessed Virgin Mary, have a great deal to do with house and home.

Let’s explore this idea a bit.

King David’s desire is to build a house for God, Second Samuel tells us. Up to the time of David’s reign, God’s people had provided God with a visible place to call home among God’s people, the Tabernacle. It was a moveable tent, appointed with various spaces within it for various assigned duties, furnishings and so forth, all of which enabled the worship of God to take place, and above all, it was the place where the Ark of the Covenant resided. The Tabernacle moved with God’s people during their time of wandering in the wilderness, and then it took up a permanent place at Shiloh once the people of Israel had taken possession of the Holy Land.[1] The Tabernacle served as a visible reminder of God’s abiding presence among His people. 

It wasn’t God’s plan for David to build a permanent house, a home, for God. That task fell to David’s son, Solomon. The Temple in Jerusalem became the permanent replacement for the Tabernacle. The temporary and moveable home for God became the permanent one in Jerusalem.

The Temple’s function, like the Tabernacle’s function before it, was to provide God’s people with a tangible place that served as God’s home among them, as we’ve noted a moment ago. Having a place that they could see, a place they could come to for worship, allowed the reality of God’s unseen nature to be seen in tangible form. Emotionally and spiritually, the Temple and the Tabernacle were “home” for God’s people. It was the place to which they went for sustenance, for worship, for connection with God. From it, they went out into their daily lives to carry with them the blessings and the benefits of their connection with God, their spiritual home.

Turning now to our Gospel text from Luke, we can understand this very familiar passage from the perspective of house and home.

In the fullness of time, God’s son came to take up residence with us. Our Gospel reading, appointed for this morning, relates God’s plan to the Blessed Virgin. God intended to “tent” with humankind. (Yes, that’s the exact word that John uses in John 1:14, as the Greek would be literally translated.) God came in tangible, visible form in the person of Jesus, the Christ.

And it is to this new, spiritual home that we come. We come to worship, to be sustained in our earthly journey, to go forth from this new way of connecting with God to face the daily tasks and challenges of life.

Yet, this new spiritual home of ours is transportable, just as the Tabernacle of old was. We take our connection with Jesus Christ with us, wherever we are. We are emotionally and spiritually grounded because of this way of maintaining our home with God, through Christ.

You and I, created in the image and likeness of God, need the visible, the tangible, the observable, to serve as reminders of God’s continuing presence with us. To that end, our church building seeks to serve those ends, pointing beyond itself to the unseen reality of God’s abiding presence with us. As we come to this house of God, we are surrounded by reminders of God’s holiness, for everything inside the church building and outside of it is designed to evoke within us reminders of the holy.

Then we go out from this spiritual home of ours, like God’s people in ancient times did, to live our lives in godly ways, showing by what we do and by what we say that we are seeking to be living reminders of God’s presence, dwelling within. We might say that this is sacramental living, providing the world with outward and visible reminders of the unseen presence of God in our hearts and minds and bodies.

AMEN.

---

[1]   In I Samuel 2:22, the tent at Shiloh is called the “tent of meeting”. Yet, the structure at Shiloh is also called a “house” (see I Samuel 1:7), so it’s unclear what the exact nature of the center at Shiloh was. To be sure, it wasn’t the permanent structure that took shape in the time of Solomon in Jerusalem, the Temple.

Advent 3, Year B (2020)

Isaiah 61: 1–4, 8–11 / Psalm 126 / I Thessalonians 5: 16–24 / John 1: 6–8, 19–28

This is the homily prepared for St. John’s Church, Huntingdon, Pennsylvania, by Fr. Gene Tucker for December 13, 2020.

 “A CAUSE FOR REJOICING: SEEING BEYOND THE IMMEDIATE”

(Homily text: John 1: 6–8, 19-28)

In the midst of the wonderful introduction (often called the Prologue) to his Gospel account (the first eighteen verses), John squeezes in a mention about John the Baptist’s ministry. (Actually, though, there are two such interpolations, the other is found at verse fifteen of the introduction.)

Building on his first two brief mentions about the Baptist’s purpose and work, John then goes on to tell us more detail about John’s activity in the wilderness in verses eighteen through twenty-eight. He says that John’s purpose was to point the way to the coming of the Promised One, the Christ. “I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandals,’ John says.

Notice the expectation in the voices of those who had been sent from Jerusalem to check John out: They say, “Why are you baptizing, if you are neither the Christ, nor Elijah, not the Prophet?” Obviously, there was some degree of expectation that God might be about to do something wonderful.

But you wouldn’t get the impression that God is about to move into action if the appearance of John in the wilderness is any clue. After all, John was somewhat of a renegade, an outsider, an outsider who’d previously been an insider, as we noted last week. John’s appearance wasn’t particularly impressive either, for he wasn’t wearing the garb of a priest. No, instead, he wore a garment of camel’s hair, bound with a leather belt. Moreover, he was operating outside of the accepted and authorized means of approaching God. Those means were to be found in the Temple in Jerusalem, where the requirements of the Law of Moses were observed. Baptizing people in the Jordan river fell outside of those bounds.

John’s voice calls us to look beyond the immediate and the observable. Oftentimes, that’s where we find God at work, unseen, yet moving to bring hope and renewal to the human condition. The primary locus of God’s concern and God’s work is in the human heart.

For if God can affect a change in the human heart, in the unseen inner reaches of human identity and desire, then what we can see, those things that happen between God and humankind, and between one human being and another, can change. In fact, that’s the only way things will truly change, for if we use our own limited resources to try to bring about change absent God’s help, what we will be able to create won’t endure. Whatever success we might think we’ve created will, in time, decay and return to its former state.

Advent is a season in which we look inward. We look into the inner recesses of our own hearts. There, we may well find that God desires to be at work within us, remaking and reforming us into His image, so that they things we do that others can see will, in truth, change.

Come then, Lord Jesus Christ, take up residence within, causing us to be formed into your image, that we may rejoice in your power and your presence.

AMEN.

 

         

Advent 2, Year B (2020)

Isaiah 40: 1-11 / Psalm 85: 1–2, 8–13 / II Peter 3: 8–15a / Mark 1: 1–8

This is the homily that was prepared for St. John’s, Huntingdon, Pennsylvania, by Fr. Gene Tucker for Sunday, December 6, 2020.

 “THE INSIDER WHO BECAME AN OUTSIDER”

(Homily text: Mark 1: 1-8)

When we hear Isaiah’s words, “The voice of one crying in the wilderness, ‘Prepare the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway for our God,’”, we must surely have arrived at the Second Sunday of Advent. For in each year of the three-year lectionary cycle of readings (this year being the second of the three, Year B), we focus in on John the Baptist’s work and ministry, for it is John the Baptist who becomes the focus for today. Our appointed Collect for this day also captures the theme, as it reminds us to heed the voice of God’s messengers, the prophets, and to “forsake our sins”.

That one crying in the wilderness, John the Baptist, was one who had begun his life as an insider, but who became an outsider, one who was (quite likely) a thorn in the side of the chief priests and the other Temple authorities.

This last comment deserves some explanation.

John was the son of Zechariah and Elizabeth. His father was a priest, serving in the Temple. Since his father was a priest, John was also expected to follow in his father’s footsteps, for the priesthood under the old covenant was a matter of one’s blood line and lineage. (There was no need, under this system, little need for people to sense a call to the service of God as a priest. There was, also, little need for screening bodies and committees, such as we have today in order to select suitable persons for ordained ministry.) In John’s case, he would have been expected to be schooled in what was involved in serving in the Temple. And at the proper age (usually, the old covenant stated, at age 30), he would have assumed his duties in there.

But along the way, something happened. We don’t know for sure, and we can only guess, but at some point John departed from the usual, customary and expected path he was supposed to take, and he went out into the wilderness, preaching a message of repentance and forgiveness of sins, accompanied by a water baptism.

Maybe John had seen too much during his growing-up years in the Temple. Again, we can only guess, we can only surmise, we don’t know for sure. Perhaps he had seen too many priests and too many worshipers who were simply “going through the motions” of serving God. Maybe he had seen too many people take the ritual bath (called the mikvah) that was required prior to entering the Temple’s precincts, a ritual washing which was just that, a ritual, and nothing more. Maybe he had seen too many people undergo the mikvah, and, after having done their duty under the Law of Moses, those same people went out and lived lives that showed no sign of genuinely different behavior than that which the Law required. Maybe he had come to the conclusion that the Temple, its priests and its worshipers, were manifestly corrupt, living by the wrong set of values.

All of what’s just been said is, at least, plausible.

What we do know for sure is that John had chosen an entirely different career path, that of outsider.

We find him, then, in the wilderness, calling people to a genuine confession of their wayward ways, a confession – by the way – that was surely oral and which may have been, at times, embarrassingly frank to hear. (I think we forget that this may have been a real possibility.)

John had chosen to hang out with the troublemakers, those who lived on the fringes of society out in the wilderness, those who often caused unsettling reminders to come to the attention of the insiders, people like those who ran the Temple in Jerusalem. (It’s worth recalling that one of the factions among the Jewish people at that time were the Essenes, those who had founded the Dead Sea community at Qumran, who also regarded the Temple as being manifestly corrupt, so corrupt, in fact, that they, too, had decided to abandon the Temple and even the society in which it was situated.)

John’s voice speaks with the authority of knowing his subject well. It’s possible he drew on his firsthand observations of what was going on in the Temple, and it could well be that he had come to the conviction that what went on there didn’t really make much of a difference in people’s behavior or lives. Perhaps he had had enough. Perhaps he had to speak out, to challenge the status quo.

The Baptist’s voice calls to us today. His voice calls us to genuine repentance, to a unification of intent with outward, liturgical function. No “going through the motions” are permitted, if we hear John’s voice correctly. His voice calls us to a “zero sum game”, in which we empty ourselves before God, admitting that we’re in such a mess that we can only, at best, be a little bit aware of how big our mess is. (I suspect that Augustine of Hippo, that great fifth century bishop and theologian, would wholeheartedly agree with this assessment.)

And perhaps our confession can wind up being embarrassingly frank, and it might even be oral. Such is the character of the emptying-out we are called to do.

But if God is the God who is holy and righteous, God is also the merciful and loving God, that God who is more ready to hear than we are to pray, and more ready to forgive than we are to ask for forgiveness.

Thanks be to God!

AMEN.

Advent 1, Year B (2020)

Isaiah 64: 1–9 / Psalm 80: 1–7, 16–18 / I Corinthians 1: 3–9 / Mark 13: 24–37

This is the homily prepared for St. John’s, Huntingdon, Pennsylvania by Fr. Gene Tucker for Sunday, November 29, 2020.

 

“COULDN’T WE JUST SKIP THIS ONE?”

(Homily text: Mark 13: 24-37)

Life often presents us with unpleasant occurrences. Just think about how we welcome a difficult medical procedure. Or how about that task we’ve been putting off for a long time, or the bills we have to pay, or the ticket we got for speeding last week, which requires either the paying of a fine or a court appearance.

OK, I’m probably going a bit too far with that last example (the one about the ticket we got.)

But, in truth, each of the examples I’ve offered are ones we’d just as soon skip. We’d just as soon avoid having to do them or to take care of them.

Our Gospel text for this First Sunday of Advent is one we’d just as soon skip, I think. Who among us welcomes God’s judgment? That is, after all, what Jesus is describing with that troublesome language about the darkening of the sun and so forth: God’s judgment. The Lord is using traditional biblical language to describe judgment. And, as if the Lord’s warning about God’s coming judgment isn’t enough, then we get to hear more troubling news: The Son of Man is coming, and when He comes, He will gather his chosen ones (the biblical language is “elect”).

But the disturbing news continues: Jesus says that none of us knows when these things will take place. So, He says, “Stay awake!”

I don’t know about you, but when I read or hear those words, I get the sense that the pages that contain them must heat up a little. And perhaps that’s the Lord’s intent, to get our attention, to roust us out of our day-to-day concerns and our habits which might make us a little calloused toward the things of God.

For judgment is coming. God’s judgment is coming. At some point in the future, these things will all take place. That’s one of the major themes of Advent: To keep in mind the great, big plans of God, things like the coming of the Son of Man, in judgment.

But, in truth, what happens between those great and awesome events and what happens today matters. To God, those everyday things matter a whole lot. So just in case we thought it’d be OK to simply sit around, looking up into heaven for signs of the Lord’s return, then the Lord tells us that just won’t do. For, He says, in the meantime, it will be “like a man going on a journey, when he leaves home and puts his servants in charge, each with his work….” Did you notice that in the text: “Each with his work”?

That means you and I had better be doing the Lord’s work in the here and the now, in everyday life. For the Lord takes note of what we have done for the advancement of the kingdom, and what we haven’t done to bring that kingdom into reality in this present world. Liturgically, when we confess our sins, we acknowledge those things we shouldn’t have done, but we also offer our confession for the things we’ve left undone.

Talk about news we’d just as soon skip….wouldn’t we much rather go about our usual and customary tasks without remembering that all we do is being done in God’s sight? I would, I know. Don’t we adopt an attitude that says, in essence, “Lord, things are going OK down here, I don’t think I need your involvement just now, but I’ll call you if something comes up that I can’t handle?” Isn’t that our attitude? I suspect it is, much of the time.

In truth, however, the Lord comes to us, not just at the end of time or at some point in the future, but He comes every day, bringing with Him judgment for those things we’ve done amiss, and those things we’ve failed to do. But He also comes, bringing blessing for those things we do that bring credit to His name.

The Lord’s daily coming to us changes things, it changes everything. If the Lord we love and serve was simply that thunderbolt-throwing God, all of us would cower in the nearest safe place we could find. But because the Lord’s character isn’t just one of judgment, but is also one of mercy, forgiveness and love, we would do well to remember those qualities our Lord possesses. Maybe that’d help us to get over our inclination to simply want to skip news like today’s Gospel puts before our eyes.

Happy Advent, everyone!

The Last Sunday after Pentecost, Year A (2020)

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

This is the homily prepared for St. John’s, Huntingdon, Pennsylvania by Fr. Gene Tucker for Sunday, November 22, 2020.

“PRACTICAL CHRISTIAN LIVING”

(Homily text: Matthew 25: 31-46)

Ours is a society which values cleanliness. We sell hand cleaner of the high strength variety to allow those who work with machinery to get the grease and the grime off of their hands once the work day is through. We value regular showers or baths, and if we are to engage in a task that involves getting messed up or dirty, we value the opportunity to clean up afterward.

The Pharisees, the scribes and the chief priests, who are often the opponents that Matthew has in mind when he wrote down his Gospel account, valued cleanliness, as well. The Law of Moses (Torah) valued cleanliness. It also valued keeping things separate that ought to be separate. The world of the Torah was one of separation, of clean and unclean.

But the Pharisees and their allies took the requirements of the Torah many steps further, adding additional requirements that went far beyond the actual requirements of the Law.

And, they viewed those who had fallen into some sort of difficulty or illness as being unclean, unfit for God’s attention and love, people who should be avoided because they were guilty (obviously) of some gross moral failing. Sin, in other words.

Into such a situation our Lord comes, and in this morning’s Gospel text, tells those who would be followers to minister to just such untouchable types as those the Pharisees and the others would walk a country mile to avoid. Go, He says, to the sick, those in prison, those who hunger, those who lack clothing.

Jesus’ instruction means that we’re going to have to get our hands dirty, if we’re going to live out the Gospel imperatives. Jesus’ instruction means that we’re going to have to take risks as we bring the kingdom of God into being. We’ll have to be willing to deal with people who are in some sort of distress. We’re going to have to go into difficult situations to bring hope and God’s love to those for whom such things are in short supply.

In the process, we who have been cleansed by the blood of our Lord Jesus Christ will have the opportunity to say to those who are in need of such a cleansing that God can accomplish that feat for anyone, no matter how far they have fallen into the cracks of life. New life, new hope, that is the message we carry with us as we minister to those for whom there is no sense of a new life, and little chance for hope in the future.

Beginning with the simple acts of kindness our Lord outlines in today’s Gospel text, acts that are  offered to someone in distress or need, such acts are often the very way by which God can reach into someone’s life, changing things for the better and for eternity.

We are, therefore, God’s hands to do, and God’s heart to love.

AMEN.

         

Pentecost 24, Year A (2020)

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

This is the homily given at St. John’s, Huntingdon, Pennsylvania by Fr. Gene Tucker on Sunday, November 15, 2020.

“THE CHOICE: RISK-TAKING OR NOT”
(Homily text: Matthew 25: 14-30)

We admire risk-takers. We cheer when the wide receiver leaps up, hand outstretched, and catches the “Hail Mary” pass. We watch with baited breath as the high-wire walker walks across the wire in the circus. And if the wide receiver fails to catch the ball, or if the high-wire walker falls into the net, we still admire the attempt and the risk they’ve taken to succeed.

Our Lord’s Parable of the Talents is cut from the same cloth: In the parable, three servants are entrusted with their master with talents. No, in this case – and in the original meaning of the word “talent”, we aren’t talking about an ability or gift a person possesses – we’re talking about a measure of money, a large sum of money.[1]  The three servants are faced with the prospect of success or failure. Though they’re given a large sum, they aren’t given any instructions about what to do with it. The choice is theirs to make, to succeed, or to fail.

Two of the servants go out and take a risk. They double the amount they’ve been given.

The servant who’s been given one talent plays it safe, burying the talent in the ground. (In biblical times, that’s what the usual and prudent method of protecting something of value dictated….after all, there were no safe deposit boxes or bank vaults.)

Being a disciple of Jesus, a follower of Christ, involves risk. For the early Christians in Matthew’s Church, theirs was a risky situation which demanded bold and discernible action. They faced opposition from the Jews among whom they lived and worked, and they faced increasing levels of hostility from the Roman authorities. Moreover, they witnessed to Gentiles who had little or no knowledge of the accounts of God’s mighty acts in the Old Testament.

If the Gospel was to be heard, if the Gospel was to spread throughout the world (as our Lord instructed His disciples in the final verses of Matthew’s account, Matthew 28: 19-20), then playing it safe wasn’t to be an option for those early believers. Risk-taking was the only option.

It’s been said that “everything old is new again”. I believe that is certainly true for us as twenty-first century believers, for we find ourselves in very similar circumstances to those that pertained to those first century believers in Matthew’s Church. This comment deserves some explanation: Culturally, our modern situation has much in common with the Greco-Roman world of the first century. For one thing, many people lived lives that didn’t seem to have much meaning or much purpose. For another, life seemed unpredictable and capricious. Hedonism – the idea that enjoying the various pleasures that life could offer – seemed to be a reasonable response to the hardships and challenges of life, and it was often the preferred option for many. Put another way, we could say that hedonism is summed up in the phrase, “The one who dies with the most toys, wins.”  Then there was the religious situation in the first century: Many Gentiles admired and worshiped various pagan gods. (The choice was theirs to make, from a variety of various options.)

If all of this sounds familiar, it ought to.

Consider how many people live today. Since life seems to be unpredictable and capricious, why not grab for all the enjoyment possible? That’s the choice for many, isn’t it? Hedonism, coupled with an indulgence in possessions, becomes the god for many. Moreover, we are living among and witnessing to a culture in which many people have no knowledge whatsoever of the accounts that are to be found in the Bible, or of God’s working in times past.

But we, as Christian believers, are called to live by another set of standards. And that involves taking risks.

Playing it safe, either by quietly living out our faith life, or by withdrawing into our church buildings where we hold services on Sunday, but without the expectation that people will be drawn into our midst, isn’t an option. If we are to take the lesson of today’s parable to heart, then we must engage those we encounter in our daily lives, demonstrating by the things we do and the attitudes we possess that we live another way, as followers of Jesus Christ.

Living as a disciple of Jesus offers true meaning of life, a depth of meaning that God alone provides. Risk-taking offers the possibility that those we encounter will see the difference and will want to have that meaning and that depth themselves. After all, it’s been said that “Christianity is caught, not taught”.

AMEN.

 

---

[1]   It’s been estimated that the value of a talent, in current terms, was worth about $600,000.00.

Pentecost 23, Year A (2020)

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

This is the homily given at St. John’s, Huntingdon, Pennsylvania by Fr. Gene Tucker on Sunday, November 8, 2020.

“HEEDING THE CALL”

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

The story is told that – many years ago - when the horses that were used to pull fire apparatus were retired from the fire departments, they would spend their retirement on farms. But when the dinner bell rang on the farm calling the farm hands in to eat, they would get excited, stomping their feet, neighing and showing signs that they knew that sound meant that there an alarm had sounded.

The point of this story is that, although the horses had little to get excited about in their retirements (except perhaps when they found some new grazing area on the farm), they knew that when they heard the alarm, they knew what they used to do. So although their outward life was quiet, their ears were attuned to the sound of the bell.

Our Gospel text, appointed this morning, portrays much the same sort of an idea. It is known by the title “The Parable of the Ten Virgins”, and our Lord depicts ten young women who were waiting for the bridegroom to arrive so that the wedding may proceed. The waiting is quiet, and the waiting goes on well into darkness, but suddenly, the call goes out that the bridegroom has arrived. Though it is night when the arrival takes place, five of the women are prepared to meet the bridegroom. The other five are not.

Our Gospel might prompt us to think that the season of Advent is near. Indeed, it is, just three weeks away. For the Advent season calls us to “wake up”, to be ready when the Lord’s call comes, just as in the parable.

Oftentimes in the season after Pentecost, the Old Testament reading which is listed as Track Two shares a theme in common with the appointed Gospel for the day. Today’s choice follows in this pattern. The prophet Amos warns God’s people not to be complacent in their worship of God. For, he says, “Why do you desire the day of the Lord?” That day won’t be a welcome day, it will be a day of judgment, one in which God will call His people to account for their sinful and wayward ways. Put in the terms of the image we began with with the old fire horses, Amos’ call is to wake up, to stir, to begin to amend their ways as the alarm sounds.

In both the Parable of the Ten Virgins and in Amos’ call to repentance and amendment of life we see the everyday, quiet and ongoing nature of life, set against a call to action.

In our own lives, it could be easy to get wrapped up in the everyday tasks and responsibilities of life. But we are called to be ready to answer God’s call, whenever and however it comes.

A collect in our Prayer Book addresses this truth quite well:

“O heavenly Father, in whom we live and move and have our being: We humbly pray thee so to guide and govern us by thy Holy Spirit, that in all the cares and occupations of our life we may not forget thee, but may remember that we are ever walking in thy sight; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”[1]

---

[1]   A Collect for Guidance, from the Daily Office (Morning Prayer), Rite I. Book of Common Prayer, 1979, page 57.

All Saints’ Sunday, Year A (2020)

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

This is the homily give at St. John’s, Huntingdon, Pennsylvania by Fr. Gene Tucker on Sunday, November 1, 2020.

“SAINTS: LIVING IN THE PRESENT AND IN THE FUTURE”

(Homily texts:  Revelation 7: 9–17, I John 3: 1-3 & Matthew 5: 1-12)

On this All Saints’ Sunday, as we consider what it means to be a saint (and, by extension, as we ask ourselves if we qualify to be saints), let’s ask ourselves this question: Does a saint live in God’s world, or does a saint live in the everyday world?

The short answer to the first part of the question we’ve just posed is “Yes, a saint lives in God’s world.” The obvious answer to the second part of the question is a bit more challenging, for we may well say, “A saint lives in the everyday world, but not by the values of the everyday, secular world.”

Our appointed texts for this day describe the relationship between God’s world and the everyday, secular world, well.

The writer of the First Letter of John describes God’s initiative in reaching out to us in love. Notice the prominence of the word in the Bible: “Love” is everywhere in Holy Scripture! In response, those who have received God’s love, respond by living by godly values. In other words, they strive to live (with God’s help) holy lives which reflect God’s ways and God’s values, not the values of the secular world in which they are immersed. There we have the answer to the second part of our question, in a nutshell. But we also have the answer to the first part of our question, for saints maintain an orientation to God, living in God’s world, we can say with certainty. Saints make it their aim, therefore, to turn to God to be reminded of what it means to live saintly lives, but then to turn toward the world, demonstrating those values to the world. Back and forth, turning to God, then turning to the world, that is the life of the saint.

Turning to our Gospel text, Jesus’ description of the values by which God’s people will live is found in what we call the Beatitudes. Every one of the Lord’s sayings describe a radically different way of being. His instruction was radical in the time, place and culture in which they were first spoken, and they remain so today. In a sense, the values described in the Beatitudes form a filter for the saint which allows God’s values to flow into the world, but which block out the harmful ways of the world which seek to corrupt the ways of God.

Saints are called to maintain a broad, all-encompassing vision for God’s plan for them and for all who come to faith. Such a comprehensive view folds into its purview the living of a holy, pure and godly life in this life, but it also holds in view the destination toward which our life in God is moving: Eternity. That is the wonderful description we find in our passage from Revelation. There, the writer describes the saints of God, gathered around the heavenly throne, praising God for the ongoing relationship that began with our entry into this world, but from which, now, the saints are no longer constrained. What a glorious vision! No wonder this text is often used at funerals. It describes the Christians’ fondest hope and guarantee.

AMEN.

Pentecost 21, Year A (2020)

Proper 25 :: Leviticus 19: 1–2, 15–18 / Psalm 1 / I Thessalonians 2: 1–8 / Matthew 22: 34–46

This is the homily given at St. John’s, Huntingdon, Pennsylvania by Fr. Gene Tucker on Sunday, October 25, 2020.

“BLENDING DETAILS WITH THE WIDER PICTURE”

(Homily text: Matthew 22: 34-46)

With today’s Gospel text, the arguments and disputes that the Lord has been having with His adversaries, the chief priests, the Pharisees, the scribes and the Herodians, come to an end. Today’s text describes the back-and-forth with, this time, the Pharisees, one of whom is described as a “lawyer” (who would have been, most likely, a scribe).[1]

Our text this morning divides into two parts: The first part describes the Pharisees’ question about the Law of Moses. They want to know which is the most important commandment to be found there. Then, Jesus turns the tables on His questioners, and asks them about the identity of the Messiah.

In both cases, it seems to me, the Lord works to widen the focus of the Pharisees, for these Pharisees are the sort of people who focus in on minute details, but who manage to miss the wider picture as they do so.

Let’s explore this idea a little.

The Pharisees’ question may have come from their preoccupation with the details of the Law. After all, they are the ones who seem to be preoccupied with the smallest bit of those requirements. For example, they are concerned that no one should walk further on the Sabbath than the Law allows. They are concerned, also, with numerous other, added, requirements, requirements of their own creation, like the washing of pots and so forth.

Perhaps, then, we could surmise what they might have been thinking as they ask the Lord to tell them which is the greatest commandment of the Law. Maybe their thinking went like this: “Our estimation is that the greatest commandment is the proper and faithful observance of all the ceremonies that take place in the Temple.” Or, perhaps they thought, “Our concern is that people observe the Sabbath in every way, for that is one way that we exhibit our identity as Jews, those who are faithful descendants of Abraham.”

We don’t know for sure what their answers to their own question would be, but we can guess with some certainty about their thinking, based on the responses that Jesus offers to their thinking and their behavior in different circumstances.

Jesus’ response quotes Deuteronomy 6:5, and it summarizes all the requirements of the Law, casting those requirements in terms of love: Love for God, and love for others.

So, for example, one would want to faithfully worship in the Temple out of love for God. One would want to give generously to the poor out of love for one’s neighbor.

But that sort of thinking and that sort of doing seemed to be a foreign idea to the Pharisees, for the picture we get of them is that they are into judgment and hate, not love.

But these Pharisees should have been motivated by the requirement to love, for Deuteronomy 6:5 was required to be recited twice a day, every day. The text would have been, no doubt, familiar to them.

Jesus recasts the requirements of the Law, seeking to get these recalcitrant Pharisees to see things from a larger, more comprehensive perspective.

In the same way, Jesus turns the tables on the Pharisees, asking them about the identity of the Messiah.

In so doing, Jesus challenges them to see the Messiah in a much larger context, and eternal context, the sort of context that God challenges us to see.

Again, we can speculate about the Pharisees’ concept of the Messiah might have been, but I think our guess might be somewhat reflective of reality. Perhaps those Pharisees were waiting for a charismatic figure would ride into Jerusalem on a white horse, leading a large army whose work would be to throw out the occupying Romans and restore the kingdom to Israel in the same way that it had existed a 1,000 years before under Kings David and Solomon.

Many Jews in that time harbored such an image and expectation of the Messiah.

But Jesus recasts their vision, reforming it into a timeless plan, a plan which emanates from God himself.

The vehicle for Jesus’ reformed vision is Psalm 110:1, and Jesus uses this verse to inform the Pharisees that David, writing so long ago, calls the coming One his “lord”. How then, Jesus asks, can the Messiah be David’s son (as the Pharisees have just claimed) if David calls the Messiah “lord”?

I think the point here is that time is erased when David’s pronouncement and the Messiah are considered. God’s timing, God’s plan, come into view, and the purview which results is much wider than the narrow conceptions of the Pharisees.

What might all of this prompt us to consider?

Perhaps this: Life is often lived in and among the details of things. Everyday stuff consists, oftentimes, of details. But it’s possible to get lost in the weeds of the details, only to lose sight of the big picture of things.

For we live our lives in the sight of God, every single detail of life being known to Him. That tells us that the details are important, they matter. But so does the great, big picture of God’s will and God’s intent for our lives and for the world.

Mature Christian living requires seeing both the details and the big picture, all at the same time, incorporating one into the other.

AMEN.

---

[1]   Since this final showdown takes place with the Pharisees and with a scribe (lawyer), today’s text leads naturally into chapter twenty-three, which records seven of Jesus’ “woes”, which are directed against the scribes and the Pharisees.