Desolate and Forsaken

2 Epiphany, January 20, 2019

St. Mark’s, Burlington, Massachusetts (cancelled because of weather)

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

Isaiah 62:1-5
1 Corinthians 12:1-11

John 2:1-11
Psalm 36:5-10

            I wonder if you, like me, have ever felt forsaken and desolate. The first time that I can recall feeling this way was when I was in elementary school. Perhaps it was my first experience of a baby sitter, I’m not sure; but what I do remember was that particular night when my parents went out for the evening. It was similar to my feelings on another night in college, when my parents had temporarily separated. Both nights were dark and stormy, and I was really sad. In the first scene, I was a child standing on my bed, looking out the window at the pouring rain, and crying. In the other scene, I was a young adult, kneeling outside the college chapel, with tears falling onto the ground as steadily as the rain. At both times, I felt desolate and forsaken.

            The prophet Isaiah often described the nation of Israel in human terms, telling their story of judgment and vindication, of grief and joy. They are a people who had felt desolate and forsaken by God, especially when their holy city of Jerusalem was destroyed in war, which Isaiah interpreted as God’s judgment upon them. Many people had been sent into exile, or had run to another country, or acquiesced to the power and culture of their new rulers, and in doing so, forsaking their identity as God’s chosen people.

As a prophet, Isaiah refused to keep silent whenever he saw injustice, or when he thought the people of Israel had strayed from their faithful ways. As their chief advocate, Isaiah railed against their nation’s enemies, refusing to rest or keep silent, as they fought to protect their own people. Isaiah exhorted them to stand firm in their faith, and promised them that they would eventually no longer be termed Forsaken or feel Desolate. God would vindicate them and their salvation would be like a burning torch for everyone to see.

            Our feelings of desolation and being forsaken come to us both personally and communally. A beloved friend or family member dies. We lose a job. We wonder how we can dig ourselves out of a hole, perhaps even of our own making. We wonder if an argument or a sermon or the government shutdown will never end. When despair overwhelms us, when we cannot hear a voice of faith telling us that this too shall pass, what should we do? When there seems to be no light in the dark nights of our soul, how do we get up off our knees or out of our beds, and walk?

            I often turn to scripture at times like these for direction; and yet I must admit that running out of wine at a wedding feast is no cause for such despair. Yes, the barrels have come up empty, but it’s still a party. Certainly the bride and groom, who are surrounded by their family and friends, must be feeling pretty happy. Indeed I imagine this bride the way Isaiah describes Jerusalem, a crown of beauty, and of especial delight to her husband.

And yet, the mother of Jesus, like Isaiah, cannot keep silent. She points to the unhappy fact that there is no more wine. Do something, she tells her son. At first he replies, “It’s not my concern” - perhaps because he's not the groom and this isn't his party; and yet his mother still believed Jesus would do something. Even when we get “no” for an answer or the solution is not yet obvious, we can have faith like the mother of Jesus. Even when it's not “our” problem, we can change our minds and offer to help.

            How do you turn water into wine, I wondered? Let me begin with the obvious. It’s not easy. Often missed in this first miracle story is the difficulty and labor that was involved in the production process. John tells us that there were six stone jars, each holding 20 or 30 gallons of water; and that Jesus told his disciples, who numbered no more than 12, to fill these empty jars with water up to the brim. In those days there were no spigots of running water in the house. No hoses hooked up to city water lines. Just empty buckets, carried one at a time, passed from hand to hand until the mission was accomplished.

            Joanna Harader wrote, “It turns out that even miracles can be hard work. Not just for the person performing the miracle, but for anyone who happens to be in the general vicinity and gets drafted into service. The servants have to fill up the jars. The disciples have to hand out food to more than 5,000 people—and pick up the leftovers. Those who love Lazarus have to push the stone from his tomb’s entrance and remove the grave cloths from his resurrected body. Miracles may be inspired and holy and wonderful, but they are not easy.” December 19, 2018 Christian Century

            Good things take time to brew or ferment or develop. Miracles are moments in our lives, like shooting stars that streak across the night sky, but a steady diet of them would be difficult to bear or become nothing special. Miracles are like those precious minutes after the birth of a healthy child, when we’re exhilarated by the miracle of a new life, and grateful that our labor of love for nine months has borne fruit.

Curiously, Jesus also responded to his mother with the words, “My hour is not yet come.” John is telling us right at the beginning of his gospel that it was not Jesus’ special moment to be glorified; rather this was the bride and groom’s special day. It was only a moment in time for Jesus: a shooting star in the night before the bright sun of Easter morning. At this wedding feast, Jesus’ disciples began to believe that God had sent their messiah, and so their journey together was just beginning.

For us to believe in Jesus as the son of God who came into the world as our Savior is no easy task. It takes time. It needs development. It is a journey of a lifetime that includes hours of desolation and jubilation, of judgment and vindication. From the very start of our lives, we will fill ourselves with bucket after bucket of water, praying that God will turn them into wine.Time and again we will seek refuge under the shadow of God’s wings, trusting that Christ's light will shine in the darkness of our stormy nights. With faith and hope in God’s love, we can trust the daily production process of our own salvation.

My husband Paul and I recently watched the movie Green Book. It is based upon the true story of a gifted African American pianist, who in 1962 hired a white, Italian man to drive him through many southern states for his performances. How do you turn water into wine? By playing beautiful music under the most difficult of circumstances. By traveling down the road with people who are very different from you. By facing times of desolation with dignity and standing tall with courage, even when feeling forsaken. And by keeping family, friends, and God close by, even expecting a miracle. On this Martin Luther King Jr. weekend we remember him and others like him.

            How do we turn water turn into wine? By becoming servants and helping others. By looking beneath the outward appearances of human life for the Christ within each of us. How do we, who feel forsaken and desolate, suddenly come to feel as delightful and precious as this bride on her wedding day?

Simple. Love. God’s Love. And by giving and receiving the love of others.  Even when we endure the cross, or find ourselves stumbling in the dark, when our jars are empty, and we're running scared, God’s promise remains. “I will never forsake you nor abandon you,” said Jesus.

God’s love is priceless. When the cruelties of this world threaten to leave us feeling forsaken and desolate, we will discover that God’s righteousness is like strong mountains. God’s justice is like the great deep; and God’s love saves both man and beast. God’s love reaches not only to the heavens but comes to us on earth, in the person of Jesus and in you and me.

            God’s love was evident on the cross when Jesus spent his last breath being glorified, when His hour finally had come, and God's mission of Love was completed. In Christ, we can see a light in the window that shines brightly on dark and stormy nights. In Christ, we can find a deep well of water that never runs dry. In Christ, God’s grace will never fail us.

There is the story of a woman who always ate dessert first. When questioned about her eating habits, she asked, “Why would you want to save the best for last?” At the wedding feast in Cana, Jesus saved the best wine for last. Today, we share another wedding feast with Christ, who is our bridegroom and the Church is His bride. Happy are those who are called to the marriage supper of the Lamb.  Amen.

Sing with Joy

3 Advent, December 16, 2018

Cathedral Church of St. Paul, Burlington, Vermont

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

Theologian in Residence

Zephaniah 3: 14-20

Canticle 9

Luke 3: 7-18

Let us pray: Clothe your ministers with righteousness; let your people sing with joy.        

Some of my favorite memories revolve around the Christmas season, perhaps most especially when I was a child. I’ll never forget the year when I peeked down the stairs a little too early and saw what I thought was a man with a bag on his back. Scared, I ran back to my bed! Later, I discovered that I hadn’t inadvertently caught Santa in the middle of his visit, but rather it was my Christmas gift. It was a bird cage on a pole, and the cover over the cage looked very much like Santa’s bag filled with toys.

            In the bird cage was a sleeping canary, who I named Christopher on that Christmas morning. He was a lovely, soft colored yellow bird and sang with a beautiful clear voice. He was easy to please and easy to feed. The only problem was that after a few short months, Christopher died. And so, in the Spring of that same year, I carefully buried him in our garden, with twigs for a cross. Christopher 2 soon replaced him and unfortunately met the same fate. Christopher 3 was no different. And so that Easter, I asked for a pony and got a rabbit instead. I named her Hoppy.

            We often assume that our childhood memories are filled with good things and fun memories; and yet, you and I know that isn’t always the case. Like the infancy narratives of Jesus, we tell the truth as we recall it, and yet it’s a story told by many people. The Advent season is traditionally marked with the colors of blue, purple, and pink, which are intended to remind us visually of a time for both penitence and joy. I find that joy is an odd combination of both happy and sad: a recognition that weeping may spend the night but joy comes in the morning.

            The prophet Zephaniah has only 3 chapters in his book in the Old Testament, and the first two chapters are full of doom and gloom. Jerusalem had been captured and defeated by the Babylonian empire and many of the Jews had been exiled to Babylon. Far away from their Temple, separated from their family and friends, and longing for the good old times, they could not sing in this foreign land. They hung up their harps and by the waters of Babylon, they sat down and wept, which is why some churches during Advent offer a liturgy called “Blue Christmas.” It is a time when we remember our losses and look forward to the future with hope.

On this 3rd Sunday in Advent, many churches, families, or individuals light a pink candle in their Advent wreaths to symbolize this hope and a lightening of the Spirit in the dark days of winter. Today is known as Gaudete (gow DEH eh) Sunday, named from the Latin word “rejoice.” St. Paul, in his letter to the Philippians, encouraged them to “rejoice in the Lord always; for the Lord is near!” Isaiah invited us to “Sing the praises of the Lord, for the Lord has done great things, and this is known in all the world.” Even God exults over us today, said the prophet Zephaniah, with loud singing as on a day of festival.

If there is any one thing that I have learned while I have been your theologian in residence for these past 6 weeks is that you are a community that loves music. Whether it’s in concerts or a choir, with voices or instruments, you are eager to sing, as well as listen to others. Boston is similar; and so I read with great interest a story in the Boston Globe this past week, about an 89 year old woman who loves music. She had attended a concert at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church in Brookline, Massachusetts, which was called the “Walk to Paradise Garden.”

After only three pieces, the co-director saw that this elderly woman had slumped into the man who was seated next to her. Halting the concert, the music director asked if there were any medical people in the church, and like here, four doctors immediately responded. After two very tense minutes, the 89 year old woman was resuscitated, and it was determined that her pacemaker had temporarily failed.

            An ambulance was called, and yet she protested. “For two minutes she kept saying, ‘But I don’t want to go to the hospital! I just want to stay at the concert! I just want to hear the music!’ Members in the audience later told the co-director that the concert “was something they’d never forget.” There were ghoulish jokes about the music being “heart -stoppingly beautiful” like it is here! But more importantly was the idea that if she had stayed at home that night, she would have died. Today, I’m glad that you’re here in this community, and I hope to see you later this evening at O Antiphons!
            Advent messages usually include images and songs about both death and birth, of judgment and salvation, of repentance and promise. In today’s gospel, John the Baptist continued his own prophetic warnings, using the vivid imagery of vipers, trees being cut down, and thrown into fires. With many exhortations, he told his followers to bear fruits worthy of repentance. Do not rely on the good deeds of others, or on what your Mommy or Daddy has done. Your faith is “on you”, John the Baptist declared; and so in a panic, his followers asked him what they should do. Share what you have, be satisfied with what you receive, and give to others. You never know when that ax will fall.

            Transitions are times of grief and loss, times of joy and sadness, times of hope and possibilities for new life. Your cathedral has been through multiple transitions over these many years and you will enter into a new kind of transition in January, when the Rev. Laura Bryant will join you as your long-term interim. Minnie Louise Haskins once offered this meditation, “I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year ‘Give me a light that I may go into the unknown. But he said ‘Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the hand of God. It shall be better than a light and safer than the known way.’”

 “Joy requires us to sidestep sentimentality and cynicism alike.” Debie Thomas wrote. “It requires that we hold onto two realities at once: the reality of the world's brokenness in one hand, and the reality of God's love in the other. Joy is what happens when we live into the belief that God can and will bridge the gap between the world we long for and the world we see before our eyes.” (Christian Century 10/13/17) Or as  theologians in residence will say, “God is now here, and God is not yet.”
            For those of us who have had the privilege of pregnancy and childbirth, we know that the transition of a baby through the birth canal is hard work and intense, a journey from darkness to light. My last story has particular meaning for me this year, and comes from the late Henri Nouwen, who lived with the L’Arche community in Canada, and comes from a book entitled, Our Greatest Gift. In the run-up to Christmas, I think it bears repeating, like some of our best Christmas hymns.

“Twins are speaking to one another in the womb. The sister said to her brother, ‘I believe there is life after birth.’ Her brother protested vehemently, ‘No, no, this is all there is. This is a dark and cozy place, and we have nothing else to do but cling to the cord that feeds us.’ The little girl insisted, ‘There must be something more than this dark place. There must be something else, a place with light where there is freedom to move.’ Still she could not convince her twin brother.”

“After some silence, the sister said hesitantly, ‘I have something else to say, and I’m afraid you won’t believe that either, but I think that there is a mother.’ Her brother became furious. ‘A mother!’, he shouted. ‘What are you talking about? I have never seen a mother, and neither have you. Who put that idea in your head? As I told you, this place is all we have. Why do you always want more? This is not such a bad place. After all, we have all we need, so let’s be content.’”

“The sister was quietly overwhelmed by her brother’s response, and for a while she didn’t dare to say anything more. But she couldn’t let go of her thoughts, and finally said, ‘Don’t you feel these squeezes once in a while? They’re quite unpleasant and sometimes even painful.’ ‘Yes, he answered. ‘What’s so special about that?’ ‘Well”, the sister said, ‘I think that these squeezes are there to get us ready for another place, much more beautiful than this, where we will see our mother face-to-face. Don’t you think that’s exciting?’”

Today, we rejoice as we prepare for the birth of Jesus, and remember his mother Mary. Some day, we too shall see them face to face, when we join that heavenly chorus, and move into the everlasting light of Christ. There is life after birth, and something new and exciting is in store for all of us next year. In preparation for Christmas, what then should we do? John the Baptist answered, “Share what you have, be satisfied with what you receive, and give to others.” And I say, even when the feathers get stuck in your throats, and tears are part of your silent nights, sing aloud; for not only is Santa Claus coming, but the Easter bunny is not far behind, and God is here with us right now.

Sing out, good people of St. Paul’s, ring out your joy to the world; for our greatest gift is coming, and the One who is more powerful than death, will come again. Amen.

Refining Fires

Advent 2, December 9, 2018

Cathedral Church of St. Paul, Burlington, Vermont

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

Theologian in Residence

Malachi 3: 1-4

Canticle 16, The Song of Zechariah

Luke 3: 1-6

Since 1989, Paul and I have shared parts of our stories as witnesses to new life in Christ.

Let us pray:

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference. So help me God. Amen.

In the fifteenth year of our marriage, when my husband Paul and I lived in Newtown, Connecticut, and the President of the United States was George Herbert Walker Bush, when William O’Neill was the governor of Connecticut, and Joseph Lieberman was United States Senator from Fairfield County, during the high priesthood of Bishop Arthur Walmsley, and the Rev. Frank Dunn was our priest and rector, the word of God came to Paul in the wilderness. The wildman of locusts and honey, whose name was John Barleycorn, went into our region, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.

At that time in our lives in 1989, Paul was one of the owners of the oldest manufacturing company in Connecticut. As president and CEO, he liked to tell people that he made chicken wire. At least that’s what he did during the day; but at night time, when darkness descended into our lives, he found his courage in a bottle. No one knew these things, of course, except me, and our young elementary school-aged children, who witnessed the arguments that escalated around his drinking.

Faced with the growing awareness of his illness, and a courage found from God, with the support of family, friends, and our Church, Paul decided to seek help for his disease at the Hazelden/Betty Ford Treatment Center in Minnesota. After calling family and friends, informing our children’s teachers, and writing a letter to all his employees, Paul spent the whole month of December in Minnesota. As for me and our children, our Advent season was one of waiting, preparing, and expectation.
Our adult daughter and her husband now live in Minnesota, and so I am particularly fond of this state. Last December, Katie Hines-Shah (December 8, 2017, Xian Century) wrote, “My great-grandfather came to Minnesota to build a railroad—a railroad that was never finished. Almost certainly the trouble resulted from problems of terrain, because between those 10,000 lakes is a whole lot of swamp.”
“Any engineer would tell you what my grandfather learned: it’s no small thing to build a highway, let alone through a wilderness. High places have to be made low, the rough places a plain. In the process, some people will lose and some will gain. For some the highway will seem like salvation. Others aren’t going to like the way things turn out. And yet, we still build highways.” (end quote)

When someone is suffering from any kind of addiction, it is no small thing to ask for help. Shame runs through that wilderness, and although recovery from this disease can be 100%, rebuilding one’s life and sustaining one’s recovery is a full-time job, one day at a time. Some people win. Some people lose. The road to hell is paved with the best of intentions, and the path to salvation is a winding and uphill climb, one step at a time. I am grateful to Paul for his courage and commitment.

Malachi told the Israelites that God was about to send a messenger who would reunite and purify all of Israel. He spoke about John the Baptist, as the one who would prepare the way of the “Lord, the Lord whom we seek.”  But faced with the day of the Lord’s judgment, Malachi wondered “who can endure the day of his coming, and who can stand when he appears?” With help, ninety-five-year-old former Sen. Bob Dole stood to salute former President George Bush, who was lying in state in the Capitol Rotunda last week. Throughout our lives and at times of death, we all need help to stand up and endure the challenges we face.

When I left St. James’ Church in Glastonbury, Connecticut, in December of 2012, I knew it was time for me to leave, and yet I didn’t know exactly what was next. Christmas Day was my last Eucharist, after which Paul and I flew to Denver to visit our daughter Megan, and to do some skiing. Megan had graduated from the University of Vermont Medical School the year before, and was in her first year of pediatric residency at Colorado Children’s Hospital. She was on a steep learning curve with time pressures, and I suddenly had none; and so it was an anxious time for both of us. I hadn’t been downhill skiing in decades, and unlike Paul and Megan, I was not particularly skilled at skiing.

Did I tell you that I am afraid of heights? One day, the three of us joined another person on the chair lift in Breckenridge, which we thought would take us halfway up the mountain. At that point, I was ready to try skiing on a little steeper learning curve; and yet as we passed the “get off point” midway, the chairlift kept going, and I began to panic. My words of fear bounced off the heights of the peaks all around us. Unfortunately, Paul had told the person next to him that I was a priest, and my daughter kept quietly reminding me that I was not using holy language. There was no Fuller’s soap to be had, and there was no way down the mountain except by going up.

The level plains below me were growing increasingly distant, and I saw only high peaks, which were jagged with rock. Who can stand up when you’re shaking in your ski boots? Not me. As soon as we arrived at the top of the mountain, and lowered our skiis onto the snow, the other three people moved easily off the chair, and down the mini-slope. On the other hand, I was just barely off my seat when I immediately fell into a heap, and Paul had to drag me away from the next arrivals.

Fear and anxiety are part of our human condition, especially at times of transition and challenge.These feelings are infectious and can be debilitating. Like many viruses, they can run through communities, family systems, churches, and individuals if left unchecked. Some people use scripture to feed our fears by threatening us with the great day of Judgment. While John the Baptist proclaimed a baptism of repentance, Malachi argued that we need a refining fire to purify ourselves.

Our refiners’ fires come in various sizes and shapes, and at different times in our lives, don’t they? Once on a pilgrimage to the Borderlands Camp in South Dakota, I experienced a Native American ceremony in a sweat lodge. In the middle of a tent, our youth and I sat on blankets in close quarters, while the fire in the center grew increasingly hot. As sweat and impurities poured out from our skins, our fears and anxieties rose to the surface. We were being baptized in a ceremony of repentance, with fire and water, being made presentable for our thank offerings to God, which we made later that night.

There is a story about a group of women who “wondered about the nature and character of God, and how God might “refine us”; and so they decided to find out about the process of refining silver, and made an appointment with a silversmith to watch him work. He held a piece of silver over the fire and let it heat up, explaining that one needed to hold the silver in the middle of the fire, where the flames were the hottest, in order to burn away all the impurities. They learned that if the silver was left too long in the flames, it would be destroyed. One woman was silent for a moment and then asked, ‘Well, how do you know when the silver is fully refined?” The silversmith smiled at her and said, ‘Oh, that’s easy - when I see my image in it.”

Perhaps our fears and anxieties come from particularly hard times like we had in 1989,  when we’re faced with a life changing event, a particular illness, or a significant change. Or perhaps they are as simple as learning a new thing, like how to downhill ski in Colorado, or how to be a theologian in residence in Burlington. Either way, being refined and purified is part of the human journey, when we hear a voice crying out in the wilderness, ‘Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.”

God does not intend to destroy any one of us, no matter who we are or what we have done. Rather the God who created us, loves us and saves us. Every single one of us. We will all stray from the straight and narrow path, and fall off our chairs on the slopes or off the wagon; and yet God promises that the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough ways made smooth. God promises that those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death will be guided into the way of peace.

God’s rebuilding process is never finished, even in swamps and rough terrains. “Things happen in the wilderness,” wrote the Rev. Deon Johnson. “In the wilderness, the needs are raw and real, and sweet words and hollow sentiment are not enough. We need prophets especially when we neglect to see the orphan, the refugee, the migrant, the widow, and the stranger. We need prophets to call us back to God, back to a place where hope is found not only in church, but in the world around us” and in twelve-step communities. (The Rev. Deon Johnson serves as Rector of St. Paul’s Episcopal Church in Brighton, Mich.)

We are all made in God’s image, and through these refining fires, that image can emerge. Can we build a railroad through a swamp, or get down the mountain without the need for a stretcher? You betcha! With God’s help, we can. Today, repent, and prepare yourselves for the coming of our Lord; for in the tender compassion of our God, the dawn from on high shall break upon us. Salvation is God’s Christmas gift to us every year, indeed every day, and new life is just around the corner.

Creation Cares

1 Advent, December 2, 2018

Cathedral Church of St. Paul, Burlington, Vermont

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

Theologian in Residence

Jeremiah 33:14-16
Luke 21:25-36
Psalm 25:1-9

Let us pray: The earth is the Lord’s for He made it; come let us adore Him.

            As I mentioned in a previous sermon, Paul and I have a family home on Cape Cod. Protected by the national seashore, our house sits on a little knoll overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. Memories are everywhere. Pictures of generations of family and friends capture sacred moments. New experiences are still being created; and even as we watch places and people disappear from our lives, our hope remains.

Over the years, we’ve witnessed the landscape change. Aside from the natural beauty of the four seasons, the hurricanes and northeasters have seemed particularly harsh. Last year the tidal flooding was so bad that it destroyed Liam’s Clam Shack, a local favorite. This restaurant was known widely for its onion rings, although truth be told, Moose Tracks ice cream was my personal favorite. Today four food trucks have replaced this one icon; and it’s just not the same.

The marsh area in front of our house is often covered with beach grass, and is filled with birds of many colors. After last year’s storm, it suddenly looked like a moonscape. Accustomed to watching birds dive, and beachgoers sneaking over the dunes for various activities, we suddenly saw that there was no place to hide nor even to nest. Our view of the ocean became dangerously close, and the reality that parts of Cape Cod might someday be reclaimed by water began to sink in.

Cape Cod, like many places throughout our world, has become overpopulated. Our water has become polluted and our landfills overflow.

In California, where wildfires burn out of control, and forest management is questioned, people have growing concerns about what’s happening to creation. Jesus said, “There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, and on the earth distress among nations, confused by the roaring of the sea and waves. People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken.”

What we are seeing, hearing, and experiencing in many areas of our lives echo these warnings. We are being shaken as a church, a nation, and a world. What used to be predictable is not. Uncertainties about our future distress us and confuse us. With fear and foreboding, we wonder, what will happen to this fragile earth, our island home, when inconvenient truths suggest that our appetites far exceed our good stewardship?

Apocalypse now. Such visions were common during the centuries before and after Jesus, when there was a great deal of social, religious, and political unrest. Often these apocalyptic visions began with a judgment, when inconvenient truths were spoken. Warnings were made about certain people or particular issues. If course corrections were not taken, said the prophets, then God’s kingdom would break into their current reality, and it would not be pretty. Like those billboards that say “Don’t make me come down there, says God.” Or like those early birds in red hats outside our windows this morning, you can run but you can’t hide!

Some of you have told me that you like history. Now Jeremiah was not only a bullfrog of some notoriety, he was also one of the major prophets during the time when the land was divided into two kingdoms. The northern kingdom was called Israel, and the southern kingdom was called Judah. The Jews often found themselves caught between competing powers, not only among and within themselves, but also from the east, west, north, and south. Enemies wanted their land and at this particular time, the Babylonian empire (current day Iran) was threatening their capital city of Jerusalem.

Jeremiah had a reputation for being a whiner, a coward, and an opponent of the Temple priests. He was a man who followed the lineage of Moses, emphasizing that obeying the commandments of God was far more important than the work of the Temple priests. Fearing that the Babylonians would destroy Jerusalem, if the Jews fought back, Jeremiah argued that it was better to negotiate with the enemy than to lose everything to a military power greater than themselves. Welcome to our current world of geo-politics and land grabs.

Like many other prophets, Jeremiah first offered a warning about how things had gone wrong, how the eco-balance of their spiritual lives had tilted, how people were misbehaving, and being unfaithful to God. Likewise, Jesus warned his disciples to be on guard, so that their hearts were not weighed down with “dissipation and drunkenness and the worries of this life.”  “Look” said Jesus. These things are happening and they will continue to happen. You will see signs of judgement, and you must pay attention to them. “Be alert at all times, praying that you may have the strength to escape these things.”

 As historians, we may wonder if things will ever change. Are we doomed to repeat history over and over again, like a never-ending story of ceaseless repetition, like Groundhog days in eternity. Father Alfred Delp, a Jesuit priest, wrote“The Shaking Reality of Advent”, shortly before he was hanged in 1945, condemned as a traitor for his opposition to Hitler. He said, “There is perhaps nothing we modern people need more than to be genuinely shaken up.” ( Watch for the Light, p 82) This shaking up, however, is intended to move us to change, to speak up, to act for justice, to show mercy, and to pray, as the psalmist once did, “Show me your ways, O Lord, and teach me your paths.”

Fortunately, prophets balance their messages of judgment with hope, offering images of how God will save us. For instance, Micah talks about the fidelity of God despite human betrayal. Amos speaks about a return to Paradise. Ezekiel imagines a new Temple, and Isaiah a new Jerusalem. Jeremiah declares that the restoration of land is a part of God’s promise. In what is called his ‘Book of Consolation’, from which today’s reading is taken, Jeremiah says, “For the days are coming, says the Lord, when I will restore the fortunes of my people, and I will bring them back to the land that I gave to their ancestors. I will fulfill the promise I made to the house of Israel and the house of Judah.”

Today, we light the first candle in our Advent wreath, a candle that symbolizes hope. According to Richard Rohr, “Advent is, above all else, a call to full consciousness and a forewarning about (its) high price. The theological virtue of hope is the patient and trustful willingness to live without closure, without resolution, and still be content and even happy, because our Satisfaction is now at another level, and our Source is beyond ourselves.” (Preparing for Christmas, p5) Despite our fears about our lives, our church, our nation, and our world, despite the shaking that’s going on all around us, there is a Source of new life that is ever present and never ending. No longer trapped in cycles of boredom or self-destruction, we are set free to dive and soar, to rest and nest, as birds of many colors in the freedom of God’s new creation. “Hope, unlike optimism, is independent of people’s circumstances. Hope is grounded in the faithfulness of God,” wrote Miroslav Wolf.  

In the beginning, when the waters flooded God’s creation, there was a single ark, built by human beings, who carried the seeds of new life. The dove eventually returned with an olive leaf, indicating that dry land lay ahead. Miroslav Wolf wrote,  “If darkness has descended upon you and your world, you need not try to persuade yourself that things are not as bad as they seem, or to search desperately for reasons to be optimistic. Remind yourself instead of a very simple fact: the light of God shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” Advent is a time of waiting for that dove, knowing that there is dry land ahead, even in dark nights and stormy seas, even when the ocean rises dangerously close, and beloved people and icons disappear from our lives.

Jesus spoke of God’s promise. He pointed to the fig tree and said. “Stand up and raise your heads, with confidence. Your redemption is drawing near.” Translated in Latin, confidence means “with faith.” Yes, we have warnings and judgments, but we also have promises and hope. Trust God; for our salvation rests in the heart of God; and in God’s hands are the caverns of the earth, and the heights of the hills are His also. Written on our own hearts, sealed in His own blood, God, through the person of Jesus, has given us His Word.

This Land is God’s Land, and we are God’s people and the sheep of His pasture. The sea is His for He made it and His hands have molded the dry land. When you see these things, you will know that the kingdom of God is near; and you have nothing to fear. Today, be conscious of God’s creation and hearken to God’s voice. Enter into the world of Advent, which is a world filled with beauty, hope, and love.

King Baby

Christ the King Sunday, November 25, 2018

Cathedral Church of St. Paul, Burlington, Vermont

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

Theologian in Residence

Revelation 1:4b-8

John 18: 33-37

Let us pray:

            Come, Lord Jesus, and speak truth.

            For four years, I was part of a program called Education for Ministry, which was held weekly for nine months in the rector’s office. In his closet was the picture of a puppet, whose head was in a guillotine, and the words below it said, “The truth will set you free; but first it will make you miserable.”

I don’t know about you, but transitions and holidays can stir up a lot of feelings in me. At times like these, we can easily get emotionally out of whack, lashing out at others with angry and resentful words, overreacting to people rather than responding to them, and stuffing our feelings as well as our faces. Some of us refuse to talk about certain issues, or with certain people, or we just avoid them altogether. And yet, as a recent FaceBook post related, “Of course your family pushes your buttons…..they installed them.”

There is a description of a certain personality type called King Baby. It describes someone who thinks he (or she) is the center of the universe and expects everyone to do as they want. Like a king, they rule with single authority. Like a baby, they are emotionally undeveloped. Take for instance the young crown prince in Saudi Arabia. Mohammad bin Salman is only 33 years old and has been accused of ordering the murder of journalist Mr. Kashogghi. He has made unilateral decisions about changes in their culture and spent millions of dollars on questionable items. One might call him a King Baby.

I’m sure you can think of others just like him. What seems especially egregious is the use and misuse of power. And the responses of people around them. Presumably, the crown prince had ordered the death of this journalist, primarily because he did not like his public criticism. If true, the crown prince thought that because of his power, position, and wealth he could order someone to be murdered, and without consequences. Despite layers of denial and self-protection, cries of protest have echoed throughout the world.

The emperor of Rome ruled his empire from a distance, and with similar characteristics. Governors, like Pontius Pilate, were appointed over regions like Judea in order to extend the emperor’s rule. Pilate’s job was to prevent revolutions and maintain firm control over people of diverse cultures and faith. He also had the power to execute someone. Such was the case in Jerusalem at the time of this gospel writing.

The Jewish people in Palestine had a governing council they called the Sanhedrin. The “Jews”, often referred to in the gospel of John, were actually the Jewish leaders, the chief priests of the Sanhedrin, who ruled over their people with religious laws, and the power of their positions. They had a small police force, mainly for keeping order in the Temple. (HSB, p2027)

During the time of Jesus, the Jewish people often chafed at the high taxes of the Roman government and the demands of their own religious leaders; and so when they gathered together in large numbers, they would often protest. Some, like Barabbas, became well-known criminals. Others were known as prophets. During religious festivals tensions would run especially high, and so Rome would send more troops into the city to keep potential riots under control. Think about troops being sent to the borders of our country, or to major cities when racial tensions erupt.

Jesus had often angered the religious leaders because, like the crown prince, they did not like being publicly criticized. Jesus was part of those crowds that came for the Passover in Jerusalem, and when he arrived, people did not cry out, “Look! He is coming with the clouds” but rather “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.” Threatened by his power, the chief priests sent the Temple police to arrest him, but they were prevented by the crowds. And so they solicited Judas to betray him secretly, and then they accused him unjustly. Caiaphas, the chief priest, said, “It is better that this one man die than for him to cause trouble for all of our people.”

Truth-telling can make people angry, especially if it threatens their power or their image of themselves. And speaking truth to power can get you killed. Jesus was one of those prophetic messengers. Giving voice to the powerless, He spoke truth to the people in power, and the powerful people did not like it. “Truth that is pure and simple is the luxury of the zealot,” wrote Katherine Grieb, who teaches New Testament at Virginia Theological Seminary. And Jesus was zealous for God - for God’s power, not his own.
            Did you ever play truth or dare? It’s an old and classic party game when people take turns asking each other “truth or dare”? When someone chooses truth, they must answer the question truthfully regardless of how embarrassing it is. When someone chooses dare, they are given a task to complete. But I wonder, how do you know if someone is telling the truth?

“Baby boomers might also remember the TV show called Truth or Consequences, which started out as a radio program in 1940. Contestants are asked a thorny question, and if they get it wrong, which was typically the case, they had to participate in a stunt—which was the consequence.” (Claudia Gryvatz Copquin)

Enter Pontius Pilate and Jesus. Of the four Gospels, John provides the most detailed account of the encounter between Jesus and Pontius Pilate.           Jesus was caught in a game of truth or consequence between the religious leaders of the Temple and the Roman political leaders in Jerusalem. He dared to speak truth to power. And so, Roman soldiers and Temple police arrived on the Mount of Olives in the middle of the night to arrest him, his consequence for speaking truth. Despite Peter’s attempts to defend Jesus, he refused violence. “My kingdom is not of this world,” Jesus said. “If it were, we would fight against you.”

 Jesus was first taken to Annas, the previous high priest, who privately questioned Jesus. “Why do you ask me,” Jesus said. “I have spoken the truth and I have spoken it openly.” Transferred then to Caiaphas, and later, to Pontius Pilate, and not wanting to defile themselves, the chief priests waited outside, accusing Jesus of treason, and demanding the death penalty.

Unlike the other gospels, the gospel of John emphasizes that Jesus claimed to be a king, in opposition to the Roman emperor. Publicly ridiculing Jesus about his kingship, Pilate challenged the Jews to declare the Roman emperor as their one and only king. Soon after Jesus’ death, “Pilate was recalled to Rome for his own trial, facing accusations for cruelty and oppression. His callousness was legendary: if you could choose your judge, you would not want Pontius Pilate,” said Katherine Grieb. (November 10, 2015)

Pilate is famous for his question, “What is truth?” Here in the United States, when we’re brought to trial, people will raise their hands and swear on Bibles, promising "to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth." So help them God. But as Katherine Grieb reminds us, "the truth is rarely pure and never simple. Not one of us sees with the eyes of God. Our truths are often partial, incomplete and biased.”

In scripture union on-line this week, Paul Oakley wrote, “ St. Paul describes a society in which it is difficult for truth to have a fair hearing. Similarly, the concept of truth does not sit well in twenty-first-century Western culture. It does not matter whether a statement made by a public figure is factually accurate or not – what matters is that it is repeated loudly and frequently so that people believe it and act on it. Ultimately, truth is not a statement but a person: Jesus. Our strategy is not to shout loud and long, but to reveal Jesus by integrity of word and life.” Paul Oakley (wordlive@scriptureunion.org.uk)
            “The Gospel of John uses the word "truth" more than any other book in the Bible. In the beginning, we remember that "the Word of God became flesh, full of grace and truth." And "for this Jesus was born and came into the world, to testify to the truth." Jesus said, “I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life. If you listen to me,” Jesus said, “you will know the truth and the truth will make you free.”

We now officially begin our run-up to Christmas, when we remember that Jesus is our true King Baby, the Son of God, who came into the world as a powerless infant, who spoke truth to power as one of us. He is our Crown Prince, not of war and violence, but of Peace. Today, listen to the One whose words testify to the truth and so we pray, “Mercifully grant that the peoples of the earth, divided and enslaved by sin, may be freed and brought together under His most gracious rule.”

Living Stones and High Crosses

Cathedral Church of St. Paul, Burlington, Vermont

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

Theologian in Residence

November 18, 2018

Psalm 16
Hebrews 10:11-14 (15-18) 19-25
Mark 13:1-8

Let us pray:

           Be our light in the darkness, O Lord, and the leaven in our spirits.

Paul and I have a family home on Cape Cod. Looking for something to do one summer, I decided to make a small pathway with stones from the beach. Every day, I would walk down to the beach with cloth bags, pick up heavy stones, and carry them back to the house. Like my thoughts and prayers, I would pick them up and put them down. I walked slowly, methodically, and patiently. Except one time, when a snake slithered right in front of me, and my pace improved. Fear of another such encounter slowed my building program for a few days.

During this same time in my life, I served at Christ Church Cathedral in Dublin, Ireland. It is a large stone Cathedral built on a small hill in the city, where they welcome visitors and tourists from all around the world. They have a faithful community that worships every Sunday morning; and at noon during the weekdays, they pray for peace. There, in Ireland, I found the Celtic Way of spirituality to be alive and well, in the people, in the churches, and in their land.

Margaret Silf wrote a book called Sacred Spaces. In one chapter devoted to touchstones and high crosses, she wrote, “in Celtic times the standing stones and high crosses were the village’s library, its pulpit and its art gallery, watching over the community, focusing the people’s gaze always to something beyond themselves.” I think that this Cathedral here in Burlington is like that. You have a high cross standing on these stones of concrete on a small hill in Burlington. You are a living library, a moving art gallery, and a community that watches with love.

Perhaps you know the story of The Stone Soup. In it, a traveler passes through a village with no food or shelter. When she asks villagers for something to eat, they decline for various reasons. And so, the traveler goes to a river, takes a large stone, and begins to cook it in a pot. When villagers pass by and ask her what she is doing, she tells them that she is making stone soup, and how much better it would taste if it had a potato, or some meat, or a vegetable. Soon enough, villagers were bringing one thing or another, and then together they enjoyed a very different kind of stone soup.

In Sacred Spaces, Margaret Silf, describes human beings as islands of disconnection; and yet, underneath all of our individual islands there is a bedrock that connects us all. This bedrock is where creation is held in unity, and reminds us that there is something and Someone far greater than all of us combined. In these times of turmoil and unrest throughout our world, when it seems as if nations are rising against nations, when earthquakes, famines, and fires are as frequent and as devastating as mass shootings and gun violence, it is comforting to hear Jesus say, “Do not be alarmed” even as he issues his own prophetic warnings.

Easy for Jesus to say, I thought to myself. “Little old me” who has a fear of snakes, setting off alarm systems, bursting pipes, and dark nights of the soul. Little old me that is reminded in daily news about climate change and nuclear powers, viruses at Wake Robin, shameful ownership practices at Pillsbury Manors, and tent cities in California. We live in fearful and anxious times; and fear and anxiety are contagious. We are constantly being told to “beware” of this or that, of being led astray by false prophets or fake news. Apocalyptic visions and warnings generate fear; so too does the reality of our lives.

 Stephen Fowl wrote about a time when his priest asked a question from the pulpit, ‘Do you know what the antidote for fear is?’ The answer jumped into my head immediately, wrote Stephen. “Perfect love casts out fear” (1 John 4:17, NASB). But then (he added) since it’s generally frowned upon for a member of the choir in an Episcopal cathedral to shout out answers to rhetorical questions, I kept quiet.”
            “By the time you read this, Stephen continued (which was in November of 2012) “the presidential election will be over. No matter what the result, no matter which candidate we elect, many people will be angry, anxious and fearful. Although I am neither a prophet nor a prophet’s son, (he said) I predict that the traditional media outlets will be full of apocalyptic visions that will stoke those anxieties and fears. Without love, fear can truncate and focus our vision so narrowly that it renders us almost blind.”

Jesus was a prophet who challenged the political and religious leaders of his time. This chapter in Mark’s gospel is known as a mini apocalyptic vision.  As Jesus foretold the destruction of the temple, and warned his disciples about wars and rumors of wars, he also comforted them. The end will come, he said; but this is only the beginning of the birth pangs. He is using the imagery of birth not death. The antidote to our fear is Jesus, whose birth we’ll celebrate very soon.

Like the disciples, we too may wonder when the end will come, and how it will happen, whether it’s our own personal end of life or something more universal. Stephen Fowl claims that, “Fear is the enemy of faithful living in apocalyptic times. Fear narrows our vision so that we fail to see the good in those who disagree with us. Fear-induced blindness causes us to fail to see the great host of witnesses that surround, support and sustain us.The onset of apocalyptic times calls not for split-second judgments but for clear vision, faithful insight and patience.” I think this Cathedral community has those gifts.
            There is a bike trail on Cape Cod that I often use for prayer and exercise, when I’m not picking up stones off the beach. At one stopping point along the trail, I found a box with stones in it, each painted with a word or a phrase, and a sign inviting us to pick one up or drop one off. I took one that said, “Pray for Peace.”  In a town in Kansas, I learned that “little painted river rocks had started turning up, among tree roots and under park benches, with messages like “You’re beautiful. “ Have a nice day!” and one that said, “Survive.” (Christian Century, October 9, 2018)

Author Brad Roth claims that sometimes we need that kind of ‘grit your teeth’ encouragement in the face of worrisome events. He also argues that we “want more than survival. We long for meaning, purpose, and a sense that our lives contribute to a good greater than ourselves.” (Christian Century, October 24, 2018) Succinctly put, we want to thrive, not just survive. We need places like this Cathedral Church that point to a higher power and a greater purpose. A place that makes meaning out of the meaningless, that makes sense out of the senseless, that builds community, and helps us to focus our gaze on Someone and something beyond ourselves.

On the side of the road to the beach, there is a long mound of stones, and at the head of these stones is a wooden cross and the words: Here lies Chester. Our burial sites, often marked by stones, are sacred spaces that point to Life and Love beyond this world. Our churches today are built upon the foundation of apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the chief cornerstone, and the bedrock of our faith. This brutal stone Church stands on a little hill in Burlington, watching over this community, acting as a library, a pulpit, and a center for the arts, and as a witness to people from our past, present, and future.

As I listened to violin and piano music on Tuesday afternoon, I looked at the altar behind me. The letter to the Hebrews reminds us that Jesus is our great high priest, who sits at the right hand of God, and who has made a footstool of all his enemies. Unlike the priests of the Temple in Jerusalem, Jesus offered himself once for the sins of the whole world. As disciples of Christ, we are living stones who are following his pathway to heaven. Do not be alarmed, Jesus said; for perfect love casts out fear.

Cathedral Church of St. Paul, hold fast to your confessions of hope without wavering. Provoke and encourage one another to deeds of love.  Pray for peace and bless those who curse you. Be a high cross on this little hill in Burlington and be a touchstone of Eternity for all to come.

In God we Trust

Cathedral Church of St. Paul

Burlington, Vermont

The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling

Theologian in Residence

1 Kings 17:8-16
Psalm 146
Mark 12:38-44

Let us pray: Lord show us your love and mercy; for we put our trust in you

Today, I want to talk about something very fundamental in our relationships. It is often taken for granted, until it is lost. It is often assumed, until it is broken. It is so important that we even put the words on our money. In God we trust.

            I think life is a process of giving ourselves away. Our bodies are like beautifully crafted vessels of water, jars of meal, and jugs of oil which have been filled with abundant gifts from our Creator. Throughout our lives, we offer the contents of these vessels, sometimes dramatically emptying them in intense moments of love; more often consciously controlling the speed of our flow. Unaware of the tiny cracks in our vessels, we leak.

            This process of life, of giving ourselves away, involves some choices on our parts. We decide to whom, and to what, and for what we are willing to give our time, talents, and money. We raise our voices and cast our votes, depending upon our passion for the people or the issue. Sacrificially, we offer ourselves, “This is my Body given for you.” And hopefully, we make last wills and testaments as our final gift.

In today’s passages from scripture, we hear about two widows making choices and sacrifices. One widow gives part of her last meal to a stranger; the other drops “everything she had” into the Temple treasury. There were no pledge cards in those days, only duties to be paid, laws to be obeyed, and certain expectations of everyone. The Temple was Israel’s religious and political center and the scribes and the chief priests were their leaders.

            Harper’s Study Bible says that the “status of widows in ancient Israelite society was precarious. They often had no means of economic support, and if they were not sustained by the king or by the religious community, they were quickly reduced to poverty and forced to become scavengers and beggars. Having no inheritance rights and often in want of life’s necessities, they were exposed to harsh treatment and exploitation.” (p. 547 and 1132) This kind of treatment was not limited to widows however; not unlike today, children, minorities, people with mental, physical, and emotional disabilities, immigrants, the poor, sick, weak, and lonely are all vulnerable people. Thank you for your involvement with STEPS, JUMP, Cathedral Square, migrant workers, refugee resettlement, and other Jubilee Ministries.

“Beware of the scribes, who like to walk around in long robes, and to be greeted with respect in the marketplaces, and to have the best seats in the synagogues! They devour widows’ houses and for the sake of appearance say long prayers.” These scribes were the legal experts of the Temple, keeping and making sure that Jews obeyed their religious laws, and enjoying the benefits of their positions. Their long robes indicated that they were men of leisure and honor. Although they were expected to work for a living, people thought it was their duty to keep their rabbis in comfort. They also felt entitled to the financial support that they received from others, often at the expense of vulnerable people. Unfortunately, women and especially widows, were most likely to be exploited.

            The widow and her son were preparing to die when Elijah arrived. She had only a handful of meal in a jar, and a little oil in a jug, and was gathering sticks so that she could prepare a final meal for them. Then Elijah arrived and basically said, “Give me your last supper.” Was this an example of a powerful person exploiting someone who was powerless, of a religious leader feeling entitled to her support, of a man who felt his needs and life were greater than hers? Or just used to getting what he wanted?

Understandably, this widow initially demurred, explaining to Elijah that she really had nothing to give him except some meal in a jar and a little oil; but Elijah insisted. “Give me this and go get that,” he said to her. “After you’ve made my cake, then you can make one for yourself and your son.” Now, I know neither the tone nor the intent of his words, and yet once again, I wondered, did he not care?  Was he making false promises in the face of his own need? To maintain his own exalted position? Did he value his life more than hers and her son?

Many years ago, our house was broken into, and the door was violently pried open, which reminds me of a favorite joke. “A burglar got into a house one night. Shining his flashlight on the floor in the dark, he heard a voice saying, “Jesus is watching you.” The burglar nervously looked around, shook his head, and kept on looking for valuables. He again heard, “Jesus is watching you.” This time he shone his light all over the room, where it finally rested on a parrot.”
            “The burglar asked, ‘Did you say that?’ The parrot admitted that he had, saying, ‘I’m just trying to warn you, that’s all.’ The burglar said, ‘Warn me, huh? Who are you? What’s your name?’  ‘Moses’, replied the parrot. ‘Well, what kind of stupid person names a parrot Moses?’ the burglar asked.  And the parrot replied, ‘I don’t know. I guess the same stupid person who named his Rottweiler, ‘Jesus.’”
            The gospel says that Jesus was watching people put money into the Treasury. And from what I know about the gospel of Mark, to the delight of the crowds, Jesus was watching the scribes and chief priests and making them nervous. In fact, upon arriving in Jerusalem, the first thing that Jesus did was to cleanse the Temple, accusing their leaders of exploiting the poor for their own self-serving ends, and making the Temple into a ‘den of robbers.’ Then, he publicly denounced the scribes and warned his disciples. From then on, the political and religious leaders kept looking for a way to kill Jesus.

Beware of these people, Jesus told his disciples, and then he pointed to the widow. “Look at what she has done.” Both widows gave freely and faithfully, indeed sacrificially. There was something almost reckless in their actions, perhaps because they thought that they were at the end of their lives and had nothing left to lose. Despite their vulnerability and fragility, they were being dutiful, displaying deep trust in God and trust in their religious community.

The psalmist reminds us that the nature of God is to feed the hungry, care for the stranger, sustain the orphan and widow, and frustrate the way of the wicked. In Christian Century, Brad Roth writes, “This widow puts her money where Israel’s mouth is, choosing to believe that the people will step up to the writ of the law and provide for those who have no allotment or inheritance. Whatever the abuses of the temple hierarchy, this is her sacrifice, freely given to God.”

In Meditations for Women who do Too Much, the author suggests that there is a direct correlation between trust and control. The less trust we have, the more we will try to control the people and events in our lives. The less trust we have in God, the more we will look to ourselves for self-sufficiency. The more we hunger and thirst for God, the less we will hunger and thirst for material things. Paradoxically, indeed counter-intuitively, the more we give, the more we get. The more we give, the more we grow. The more we give, the more we trust God to provide.

 There is a great deal of mistrust, harsh treatment, and entitlement in our country these days. Jesus walked the talk: This is my body given for you. Ever the teacher, he reminded his disciples that it is not about getting something but giving something. To obey God’s commandments, does not mean being legalistic, but being faithful to God and finding ways to be of service to others.

Our giving is not necessarily measured by the amount that we give, but rather by the spirit in which we give it. We can be grumpy or cheerful, giving from our poverty or abundance, fearful or faithful. Do not be afraid, Elijah said. For with God, the jar never empties; indeed it is often re-filled to overflowing. And despite the failings of our religious and political leaders, and ourselves, and the fluctuations in our bank accounts, ultimately it is in God that we trust.

Saints in Transition

Sunday after All Saints’ Day
Cathedral Church of St. Paul, Burlington, Vermont
The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling. Theologian in Residence

I am delighted to be with you this morning at St. Paul’s Cathedral in Burlington, Vermont, although I must say, it is a hard act to follow your recent Dean Jeanne, and a Bishop with a lovely British accent. To Bishop Ely and your wardens, Lisa and Paul, as well as your Canon Precentor Mark, and Deacon Stan, I am most grateful for their invitation to be among you during this time of transition, and for your wonderful and warm welcome. To the vestry, thank you for the “oh so good” Vermont food basket. Our daughter graduated from medical school at the University of Vermont, and Megan has told me that Burlington is the best place in the whole world to live! And here I am! Loving, exploring, and serving with you today.

 I have a long and checkered past history, both with cathedral ministries and with people and places named Paul; and so it seemed a good and right and joyful thing for me to be with you at your cathedral of the same name. I am also delighted to be here on this particular Sunday morning, when we celebrate the major feast of All Saints’ Day and the recent ingathering of your stewardship offerings.

I must confess to you at the beginning of our short relationship of two months, I am a person who loves content more than process, and so I am someone who is often thanked for my “full and thoughtful” agendas, or my sermons that give you “lots to think about.” In fact, I was once accused of being like a fire hydrant on a hot summer afternoon. And so, like you and your own discernment process, I try to remember space, pace, and grace. Besides, it’s almost winter in Burlington.

In preparation for today, I started with a question for God. Oh Lord, where do I begin, and what do I say, with such a cornucopia of blessings  spread before me, with such a beautiful feast to behold in this special place, and my temptation to do too much? I decided to start, and maybe even limit myself (ha ha) to focus on the feast of All Saints; and yet I have to start with that beautiful name of Paul.

I've have been married to Paul Gossling for 44 years, and because of him, the churches in which I have served, and the author of so much of our new testament scripture, many of my sermons have involved thoughts about St. Paul. Despite his sometimes unfavorable ratings, I do love St. Paul. In his theology of the cross, he claims, along with Martin Luther of the Reformation, that we are both sinners and saints, simultaneously condemned and forgiven. Through our God named Jesus, whose home was among mortals, we become justified, that is made right with God. We are sanctified through the Holy Spirit and in baptism, we are raised to new life. In Christ, we all become saints, new creations, reclaiming the inner landscape and beauty of our goodness.

Now, there’s my “theologian-in-residence” message for the day, maybe even for the next two months, although I sincerely doubt it! So back to St. Paul and all those saints that we remember today. My particular Paul, that is my husband Paul, loves the hymn, “I sing a song of the saints of God” in which different kinds of saints are named: one was a doctor, and one was a queen, one was a shepherdess on the green, one was a soldier, one was a priest, and one was slain by a fierce wild beast.

As a doctor in the newborn intensive care unit, our daughter sees death at the very beginning of life, which is heart-wrenching, and grief-producing. Our son, who works with homeless communities in Boston, sees lives that end far too soon because of addiction, mental illness, and poor health. Both of our children attended Sandy Hook School, long before the tragic shooting in December of 2012, when so many young lives were slain by a fierce wild beast. My father, God bless and rest his soul, left a legacy of both faithfulness and humor, when nearing his own death at age 86, quipped, “Only the good die young.”

Understandably, we often console ourselves with images of saints in heaven, imagining them singing songs of joy under the able leadership of someone like your canon precentor. We console ourselves with words, saying that they’ve “gone to a better place”, and yet, why is it that no one is in a rush to get there? We describe these saints through many hymns. They are watchers and holy ones, angels and archangels, patriarchs and prophets, first-responders and martyrs, who now from their labors rest. In the wake of yet another tragic shooting in Pittsburgh, today we sing a song of the saints of God with tears streaming down our cheeks.

 People were weeping in today’s gospel. Jesus was disturbed in spirit, not only once but twice, because he loved, explored, and served with all God’s people. Grief is grief. Understandably, and realistically, we are sad when someone dies, regardless of their length of time here on earth, and most definitely with tragic endings. Often times we complain as Mary did, "Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died." Like the Jews in today’s gospel, we might ask, "Could not he, who opened the eyes of the blind man, have kept this man from dying?"

In self-reflection or outward blame, we may ask, “Was there anything else I could have done? Or the doctors? Or the politicians? Or the schools or the faith communities or our law enforcement to help protect us from these untimely deaths? Is God just a distant king of glory, riding his horse around heaven, like a certain bare-chested president in a foreign country, aware of human suffering, and yet doing nothing about it? Or is God now here, at home among us mortals?  And if so, is God wearing a flak jacket too?

Saints have many vocations, not just doctors, priests, queens, and soldiers; and these vocations are as diverse and beautiful as our humanity. Indeed, every vocation is equally important to our health and our well-being as a society, and we need to celebrate and honor all vocations with equal voice and song. Together, as sinners and saints, we can love, explore, and serve in Christ’s name; for baptism is our primary vocation. Through discernment, we can ask, “What part will I play in this unfolding drama of life?”

Vocare: Latin, to call. When I was called to serve as the rector of St. James’ Episcopal Church in Glastonbury, Connecticut, their  #1 goal was mutual ministry. In Connecticut, Bishop Ely was known as a forerunner of collaborative ministries among small parishes there. Around the city of Hartford, we were a cluster of saints, from various church communities, who were committed to serving God in different locations and through various vocations, sharing our resources for the greater glory of God. The Cathedral Church of St. Paul is called by God to love, explore, and serve. How will you continue to do that now and into the future as an urban cathedral?

As you know from these current political and ecclesiastical times, transitions of any kind can bring out the worst and the best in ourselves. Like transitions at childbirth and at death, and every transition in between, whatever size or shape, however big or small, transitions are hard and holy work. Especially during this time in your cathedral, I encourage you to name and claim your gifts, both as individuals and as a cathedral community. During this time of stewardship ingathering and outpouring, you become a visible witness to the love and power of God. With a variety of gifts and the same Spirit, you are the saints of God past, present, and future. We are saints alive! Imagine that!

As Paul and I grow older, we are ever more aware of the fragility and shortness of this life. Long ago, I attended an adult formation offering based upon a book entitled “Ready to Live. Prepared to Die.” When we are living our lives consciously and faithfully, and fully prepared to die, we are ready to live. I recently spoke with a friend from Connecticut, who is, as she describes it, “on her way out”, because of a tumor that has spread throughout her brain. She spoke to me about the importance of her legacy to her children and grandchildren. She wants to faithfully model her transition from this life into the next with courage and grace. Despite the cruelty of this disease, and the impact on her family, I am amazed at the legacy that she is living and giving right now. I know that our memories will fade; and yet I trust that the bonds of our love, and God’s love, are stronger than death. See how Jesus loved Lazarus. See how Jesus loves us.

In a meditation for young adults, Chris Roberson writes, “There’s nothing fun about pain and suffering. If we could avoid it most of us would, choosing instead to live in a world with nothing but unicorns, rainbows, and butterflies. But unfortunately, that’s not how life works. Everything belongs: good and bad, light and dark, hope and despair, heaven and hell. It’s all there, right in front of us, all around us. And so is God, which is why we have nothing to fear.” (www.d365.org 10/28/18)

"See,” explains the author of Revelation, “God will be with us. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more.” Babies are born, people get married, new clergy are called, and people will die, and yet, each day is a new beginning. Ruth Casey writes, “I’ve come to believe in the ‘Sacrament of the Moment’ which presupposes trust in the ultimate goodness of my Creator. Each breath we take is Spirit-filled. This moment and all moments are sacred.” (Each Day is a New Beginning, July 16)

On this Sunday after All Saints’ Day, it’s a time to reflect upon our own developing sainthood and the transitions in our lives. Sinners and saints of the Cathedral Church of St. Paul, YOU are sacred, YOU have gifts to share, and YOU have legacies to leave. YOU are saints alive! So unbind yourselves, and let your selves go. For the One who is seated on the throne is making all things new, and did Jesus “not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?”


Psalm 24: 1-10
Revelation 21:1-6a
John 11:32-44