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Palm Sunday, 2019 — 14 Apr 19

Palm Sunday, 2019

RCL Year C Palm Sunday
Saint Luke 19:28-40;
Isaiah 50:4-9a, Psalm 31:9-16, Philippians 2:5-11, Saint Luke 23:1-49

We have just made the choice of our lives. As I said last Sunday, it’s the choice in which our entire biography is written. We’ve just demanded that Pilate release for us a murderer and an insurrectionist, Barabbas, instead of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

It’s true, you may say, that we didn’t actually do it. We weren’t in Jerusalem that day when Pilate hands Jesus over to his soldiers to be crucified. But the choice that the people in Jerusalem made they were able to make, because they are like us. The sin that lived in them finds a home in us as well. We are powerless to control that sin even minimally. Our power and our strength run out before they can tame that wildness and the perversity of a creature turning on its creator. We can turn shockingly easily. We can do it, we have just done it, almost effortlessly. It’s our second nature.

We are trapped, it is true, but we have hope. We have the hope spoken of in the reading today from the Prophet Isaiah: “The Lord God helps me…and I know that I shall not be put to shame; he who vindicates me is near.”[1]

Amen, brother. Amen, sister. From the very beginning, God made it so. God made it so, that salvation and redemption are only a half-step away. For the One we’ve turned on is Himself our Savior. The One we’ve turned on reaches out for us every minute and every day of our lives. He reaches out for you today in this Eucharist. Take his hand. Let him lead you home.

The Psalmist, I think, experienced these extremes. He knew the power of his sin when he said, “I am as useless as a broken pot.”[2] But a few breaths later, a mere half-step, if you will, he was also able to demand, “Make your face to shine upon your servant, * and in your loving-kindness save me.”[3] That this may be so is why we are here.


[1] Isaiah 50:7-8a.

[2] Psalm 31:12.

[3] Psalm 31:16.

The Fifth Sunday in Lent, 2019 — 7 Apr 19

The Fifth Sunday in Lent, 2019

RCL Year C Lent 5
Isaiah 43:16-21; Psalm 126; Philippians 3:4b-14; Saint John 12:1-8

The Gospel jus proclaimed has been a Sunday Gospel in the Episcopal Church for only a few years. It has long been the Gospel on Monday of Holy Week.  It prepares us to celebrate the Lord’s death and resurrection despite its charming homeliness.  This Gospel causes us to bring to mind our response to him who is the resurrection and the life.

Mary, Martha, and Lazarus of Bethany—they’re a family worth getting to know through the Scriptures.  You remember that Jesus raises Lazarus from the dead, in the chapter before this one, after Jesus has a long discussion with Martha, which includes, “I am the resurrection and the life; he who believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and whoever lives and believes in me shall never die.  Do you believe this?”  And Martha says, “Yes, Lord; I believe that you are the Christ, the Son of God, he who is coming into the world.”[1]

Now at a supper, after Lazarus was raised, Mary has her turn.  While her sister Martha is serving and Lazarus is sitting at table, Mary takes a pound of costly ointment of pure nard and anoints the feet of Jesus.  Martha made her profession of faith in words; Mary now makes hers in a deed of striking symbolic importance.  Jesus understands and proclaims the symbolism.  Mary anoints Jesus’ feet before dinner.  But symbolically, she anoints his body for burial.  He who is the resurrection and the life has to die in order to be the resurrection and the life.  Martha’s profession of faith doesn’t capture this.  But Mary’s does.  Together, Martha and Mary give us examples of how to respond to Jesus.

You can respond with thoughts and words, as Martha does.  Or you can respond with a deep symbolic devotion, as Mary does.  It doesn’t matter which response you make.  The kingdom is for everyone, everyone of good will, whose engagement with the Lord may be like Martha’s or like Mary’s.

Palm Sunday and Holy Week stretch before us.  Now we know that our response counts, whether it is like Martha’s or like Mary’s, thoughtful or heartfelt.  But we should remember that Jesus who dies and lives, who died and lived, doesn’t give us every option.  We cannot ignore him or be indifferent to him.  Next Sunday, on Palm Sunday, we shall call either for him or for Barabbas, and in that choice our whole biography will be written.


[1] Saint John 11:25-27.

The Fourth Sunday in Lent, 2019 — 31 Mar 19

The Fourth Sunday in Lent, 2019

RCL Year C Lent 4
Joshua 5:9-12; Psalm 32; 2 Corinthians 5:16-21; Saint Luke 15:1-3 and 11b-32

The parable we have just heard, the Prodigal Son, could be made into a great movie, one that could be nominated for Best Picture, don’t you think? Although there’s no love interest, the parable is very well known, and viewers would want to see how we handled it and developed its themes. Next to the Parable of the Good Samaritan, the Parable of the Prodigal Son probably has more people that know it than any other passage in the New Testament. We know it so well, we probably save ourselves from the sharper side of its meaning for us.

For my movie of the Prodigal Son, I think I would cast James Coburn as the Father, rough and gruff enough to explain the Prodigal Son’s running away from home but capable of melting and showing the equal and unlimited and unconditional love he has for both sons. For the Prodigal Son, you would want someone better-looking than bright, maybe Brad Pitt or, a few years ago, Robert Redford or, even longer ago, Montgomery Cliff. In this role, the emphasis should be on the stupidity of running away with a nod toward the cunning involved in his speech prepared for his Father.

For the Elder Brother, the working stiff who stays at home and turns his honesty and his hard-working approach to life with his sense of responsibility into a crusty, self-pitying weapon in the warfare of sibling rivalry, how about Robert DeNiro, Sean Penn, or Al Pacino? They are all capable of the angry self-pity which motivates his jealousy at the end. Alas, in this parable, I cannot find work for Sandra Bullock or Tom Hanks though you know, doubtlessly, how versatile they are. For the director, Kenneth Lonergan, who directed Manchester by the Sea, about a grief almost impossible to overcome. A grief like that exists in the Prodigal Son until he perceives that forgiveness may overwhelm the stupidity of his choice to take his money and go. And a grief like that lives in the Elder Brother who glimpses not the forgiveness that both his brother and he need. That’s an important element because the Parable of the Prodigal Son is played out in households and congregations across the country.

The fundamental role is that of the Father. His steadfast love, his unconditional and unending love, for both of his sons pushes the sons into the foreground where they are shown to need repentance and reliance upon the steadfast love of the Father. The Prodigal Son so mistrusts his Father’s love that he runs away. And when he runs through his Father’s money, he creates his possibly genuine, possibly just manipulative, speech about sinning. The Father doesn’t even let him get the speech out—the Father’s love just overwhelms it and renders it unnecessary: the Prodigal is back, and that’s all that counts. And, similarly, the Elder Brother so mistrusts his Father’s love that stays at home, never risking himself and never really enjoying and accepting his Father’s love. He makes himself, in his own words, his Father’s slave so he will be protected from becoming his Father’s Son. He so mistrusts his Father’s love that he cannot bear to see that same love shared with his brother, so we get that self-serving speech about never even asking for a party with his friends. But the Father’s love overwhelms his speech, too. His Father makes it clear that the Elder Brother could at all times have accepted his Father’s love the way the Prodigal Son is accepting it and now enjoying it.

Both brothers are amazingly like us. For we have the Father’s love, too. And the Father’s love will overwhelm all of our pretty speeches, all of our self-pity, all of our resistance to grow up into the full stature of God’s children.

You heard in the Old Testament reading from Joshua how the Israelites entered the promised land and celebrated the Passover. And when they entered the promised land, the Lord stopped feeding them with manna. In the promised land they had to eat the “produce of the land.”[1] We’ve made it to the promised land too. Through the Resurrection of Jesus Christ we have been guaranteed eternal life if we obey and trust him. All we have to do is to eat the produce of the land. All the two brothers have to do is to eat the produce of the land. And I take this to be the produce of the land: to give and to receive the Father’s love, and share it with one another. Neither brother finds that easy. And it may not be easy for you. That’s why the Father’s role is fundamental to the movie. His love overwhelms all our excuses and our weaknesses. We just have to give and to receive the Father’s love, and share it with each other. That’s a tall order, but so is making a movie, and so is observing Lent. But with God’s help and with the Father’s love, we can do it, and we can thrive while we do.


[1] Joshua 5:11.

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