The Scripture readings can be found on the Lectionary Page.
Sermon for Christ the King Sunday ~ Lectionary Year C ~ November 20, 2022
It’s hard to believe the end of the calendar year is fast approaching, isn’t it? Today is the last Sunday of the church year. Like the journey of life, the liturgical year moves through different stages. Next week, we begin to wait with joy for the very beginning of Jesus’ earthly journey: his entry into our world as a tiny, beautiful infant. Today, we remember the bitter, pain-soaked end of that journey.
There is much irony in the name the church chooses for this day: Christ the King Sunday. The Gospel retells a section of the Passion story which recalls a portion of Jesus’ time on the cross. He is as far from the halls of power, as far from kingship as He could possibly be. Viewed as an insurrectionist by the Roman state and a heretic by the religious authorities, He was given the most shameful punishment imaginable. But that was only one aspect of the unending pain, continual suffering which frequently took days to come to its inevitable end. Those responsible for hanging Jesus on the cross and those who saw him there called Him King, not because they believed it but because they were mocking Him. Not only was He as far from kingship as he could possibly be, He was viewed as barely human. Inarguably, it was the lowest moment of Jesus’ life.
Few of us will ever know the extreme physical pain of crucifixion. But there is still much in the story of the Passion to which we can relate. Fear. Loneliness. Uncertainty. The frailty of our physical bodies and the heartrending grief when they fail. The Divine gained this firsthand knowledge of our experiences only by risking everything in the incarnation.
Jesus lived in a frail body and knew the same heartrending grief we do. He lived a life of service, showing us a better, more loving way. It was that risk, and the choice to live a life of service, loving those the world refused to even see, which are the marks of a true king. To the world, Jesus' kingship was – and is – an irony. He’s not the kind of king the world expects to see or understands. The world expects to see someone surrounded by material wealth and wielding power over others. But God’s logic is not the logic of the world. Jesus was and is a true king, one who gave up worldly comforts to live a life of service. Jesus is the King with power to heal the world in ways the world cannot comprehend – and who was willing to give up Everything to see it done.
~the Rev. Erin Rath
There is much irony in the name the church chooses for this day: Christ the King Sunday. The Gospel retells a section of the Passion story which recalls a portion of Jesus’ time on the cross. He is as far from the halls of power, as far from kingship as He could possibly be. Viewed as an insurrectionist by the Roman state and a heretic by the religious authorities, He was given the most shameful punishment imaginable. But that was only one aspect of the unending pain, continual suffering which frequently took days to come to its inevitable end. Those responsible for hanging Jesus on the cross and those who saw him there called Him King, not because they believed it but because they were mocking Him. Not only was He as far from kingship as he could possibly be, He was viewed as barely human. Inarguably, it was the lowest moment of Jesus’ life.
Few of us will ever know the extreme physical pain of crucifixion. But there is still much in the story of the Passion to which we can relate. Fear. Loneliness. Uncertainty. The frailty of our physical bodies and the heartrending grief when they fail. The Divine gained this firsthand knowledge of our experiences only by risking everything in the incarnation.
Jesus lived in a frail body and knew the same heartrending grief we do. He lived a life of service, showing us a better, more loving way. It was that risk, and the choice to live a life of service, loving those the world refused to even see, which are the marks of a true king. To the world, Jesus' kingship was – and is – an irony. He’s not the kind of king the world expects to see or understands. The world expects to see someone surrounded by material wealth and wielding power over others. But God’s logic is not the logic of the world. Jesus was and is a true king, one who gave up worldly comforts to live a life of service. Jesus is the King with power to heal the world in ways the world cannot comprehend – and who was willing to give up Everything to see it done.
~the Rev. Erin Rath
Sermon for Pentecost Proper 28 ~ Lectionary Year C ~ November 13, 2022
The language of poetry is deep and multi-layered. In Isaiah 65, the poet’s words offer hope in the darkest, most difficult days of a nation. Today, God uses the lips of the poet to promise not only return to safety but joy-filled renewal. And God won’t stop there. Not only the city but every heart will be filled with inexpressible joy. To create a lasting joy, God promises security. No longer will they build and not reside. No longer will they plant only to have another enjoy the fruit of their labors. In Isaiah 12 (also a canticle in our Morning Prayer tradition), the people respond to the blessings they received. Unlike the poems of individual thanksgiving often found in the Psalms, here a nation gives their collective thanks. On behalf of the people, the poet expresses renewed confidence. Not only are they confident in God’s provision, they are confident in themselves and their abilities. Not only is their future very secure, it’s also very bright.
When the future is bright, life is good. In happier times, it’s easier to praise God. (It’s also easy in those times to forget to praise God.) But you and I know life isn’t always that way. We share many of the same struggles as the ancients plus a few of our own creation. Grinding poverty. Violence, illness, death. Grief, loss, loneliness. The cry of distress we heard about today (another translation uses the more visceral screams of pain and anguish) remains real. What will carry us through our darkest, most difficult days?
In the midst of words of joy, the poet Isaiah reminds us about the strength of God. It’s a Power which brought forth creation, which gave each of us breath and sustains us. It’s a power which is unchanged whether the world is dark or light, joy-filled or grief-filled. God’s strength is like the most powerful tree – able to withstand the mightiest of storms.
The bristlecone pine is among the world’s long-lived trees. It’s a metaphor for persistence and strength, surviving in spite of steep odds. The oldest specimens are found in Great Basin National Park near the border of Nevada and Utah. These hardy trees can grow at a variety of elevations. The hardiest and oldest grow near the top of the mountain's tree line where few other plants can. Most of these mountain groves are found in limestone, but one took root in granite. Careful analysis of individual trees discovered one which was over five thousand years old. But – research is ongoing and the possibility of still older trees exists. In the harshest years in this difficult climate, no rings form. Still, the trees remain standing, “twisting [their] way through thousands of years…overseeing the rise and fall of…empires…thriving in the impossible.”
We, too, can survive – even thrive – through the impossible if we choose to root ourselves in the strength of God. We can trust the God who created us, the God who loves us, will shield us and protect us, and will always walk with us – no matter what the world brings.
~the Rev. Erin Rath
When the future is bright, life is good. In happier times, it’s easier to praise God. (It’s also easy in those times to forget to praise God.) But you and I know life isn’t always that way. We share many of the same struggles as the ancients plus a few of our own creation. Grinding poverty. Violence, illness, death. Grief, loss, loneliness. The cry of distress we heard about today (another translation uses the more visceral screams of pain and anguish) remains real. What will carry us through our darkest, most difficult days?
In the midst of words of joy, the poet Isaiah reminds us about the strength of God. It’s a Power which brought forth creation, which gave each of us breath and sustains us. It’s a power which is unchanged whether the world is dark or light, joy-filled or grief-filled. God’s strength is like the most powerful tree – able to withstand the mightiest of storms.
The bristlecone pine is among the world’s long-lived trees. It’s a metaphor for persistence and strength, surviving in spite of steep odds. The oldest specimens are found in Great Basin National Park near the border of Nevada and Utah. These hardy trees can grow at a variety of elevations. The hardiest and oldest grow near the top of the mountain's tree line where few other plants can. Most of these mountain groves are found in limestone, but one took root in granite. Careful analysis of individual trees discovered one which was over five thousand years old. But – research is ongoing and the possibility of still older trees exists. In the harshest years in this difficult climate, no rings form. Still, the trees remain standing, “twisting [their] way through thousands of years…overseeing the rise and fall of…empires…thriving in the impossible.”
We, too, can survive – even thrive – through the impossible if we choose to root ourselves in the strength of God. We can trust the God who created us, the God who loves us, will shield us and protect us, and will always walk with us – no matter what the world brings.
~the Rev. Erin Rath
Sermon for Pentecost Proper 26 ~ Lectionary Year C ~ October 30, 2022
Today, we hear the story of the turning of Zacchaeus. This is the second consecutive week we encounter a tax collector in the lectionary. For those who may have missed what we learned…tax collectors were in the employ of the Romans, who terrorized the people under their rule with an iron fist. This included the ancient Jews, of whom Jesus was a part. The Romans hired members of the groups they controlled to collect taxes on their behalf. These collectors were given carte blanche to gather the base tax – and whatever additional fees they saw fit, by whatever means they chose, with impunity. The result was what you might expect. Tax collectors were viewed by their own people with contempt. The Jews were no exception.
That’s what makes both stories so surprising – and, I think, compelling. Instead of acting like the haughty normally do, flaunting their power in public ways, both tax collectors act with humility. Last week’s tax collector stood mumbling in the Temple, acutely aware of his sinfulness. Today, we meet Zacchaeus. Not only is he a tax collector, he’s the tax collector for Jericho and the surrounding district. Not only is Jericho a well-known town, it’s a popular trade center, making the potential income of a tax collector even greater. This makes Zacchaeus’ offer to Jesus even more dramatic. Not only will he repay what he’s taken, he’ll repay four that amount four times over! It was a promise which would have cost him much – possibly everything.
This, I think, is the beginning of Zacchaeus’ turn. His repentance, his choice to give up his wealth and right past wrongs came with a hefty price. It was a price he accepted without hesitation. His community surely took note! So did Jesus. Zacchaeus’ honest, genuine nature was apparent at first glance. Jesus had likely declined many other dinner invitations on his way through town. His response to Zacchaeus’ genuine and deep turning – and the risks it implied – is immediate. The tax collector is forgiven fully, without hesitation, symbolized by Jesus choosing to share a meal in his home.
This makes me wonder – what are we (both corporately and individually) willing to give up in order to fully turn towards Jesus? Are we, like Zacchaeus, willing to give up material wealth and prestige, and the comfort those things bring?
Are we willing to stretch ourselves further and sacrifice more than we thought possible?
~the Rev. Erin Rath
That’s what makes both stories so surprising – and, I think, compelling. Instead of acting like the haughty normally do, flaunting their power in public ways, both tax collectors act with humility. Last week’s tax collector stood mumbling in the Temple, acutely aware of his sinfulness. Today, we meet Zacchaeus. Not only is he a tax collector, he’s the tax collector for Jericho and the surrounding district. Not only is Jericho a well-known town, it’s a popular trade center, making the potential income of a tax collector even greater. This makes Zacchaeus’ offer to Jesus even more dramatic. Not only will he repay what he’s taken, he’ll repay four that amount four times over! It was a promise which would have cost him much – possibly everything.
This, I think, is the beginning of Zacchaeus’ turn. His repentance, his choice to give up his wealth and right past wrongs came with a hefty price. It was a price he accepted without hesitation. His community surely took note! So did Jesus. Zacchaeus’ honest, genuine nature was apparent at first glance. Jesus had likely declined many other dinner invitations on his way through town. His response to Zacchaeus’ genuine and deep turning – and the risks it implied – is immediate. The tax collector is forgiven fully, without hesitation, symbolized by Jesus choosing to share a meal in his home.
This makes me wonder – what are we (both corporately and individually) willing to give up in order to fully turn towards Jesus? Are we, like Zacchaeus, willing to give up material wealth and prestige, and the comfort those things bring?
Are we willing to stretch ourselves further and sacrifice more than we thought possible?
~the Rev. Erin Rath