Naming Death - Redeemer Episcopal Church

Mark 1:21-28 The Man with an Unclean Spirit

21 They went to Capernaum; and when the sabbath came, he entered the synagogue and taught. 22 They were astounded at his teaching, for he taught them as one having authority, and not as the scribes. 23 Just then there was in their synagogue a man with an unclean spirit, 24 and he cried out, “What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are, the Holy One of God.” 25 But Jesus rebuked him, saying, “Be silent, and come out of him!” 26 And the unclean spirit, convulsing him and crying with a loud voice, came out of him. 27 They were all amazed, and they kept on asking one another, “What is this? A new teaching—with authority! He commands even the unclean spirits, and they obey him.” 28 At once his fame began to spread throughout the surrounding region of Galilee.

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This sermon was originally preached to a certain people in a certain time and place. But we believe in a God who transcends time and space, so perhaps it might speak you to here and now. You can read the sermon here or watch the whole service at this link (the sermon starts around 23 min). 

Let us pray. God who speaks life into existence, be with us this morning as we reckon with the demons of this world. Grant us the authority of our Lord Jesus to cast out demons and preach the gospel. Amen. 

Throughout history and throughout the Bible, there seems to be a power in names and naming things. Last summer, we spent some time in Bible study focusing on the named and unnamed women in Genesis, always noticing what their names mean and how their names claimed authority. And when the women went unnamed, what that meant for the woman’s story. 

I recently watched the new adaptation of Anne of Green Gables called Anne with an E and I was struck by the first time the main character was asked to spell her name. She is an orphan and claims the little power that she has in that small act— “Anne with an E” she says, feeling proud and powerful by claiming her own name. Naming a child is sometimes the most difficult and precious piece of becoming a parent. There seems to be a gravity to a name— not only because it is somewhat permanent, but because it means something. 

In the story this morning, we hear that Jesus came to the synagogue to teach and people were amazed at his authority. But then he is confronted by some unclean spirits or demons who name Jesus and they sound like they are about to reveal more about who Jesus is and perhaps even demonstrate power over him. But then Jesus rebukes them and sends them out. “Be silent” Jesus says— stopping them from saying anything else about who Jesus is or what he might be doing. The people are amazed that Jesus commands the spirits with such authority. In Mark’s gospel, this is Jesus’ very first public act of ministry. 

In story of Harry Potter, much of the story revolves around the villain Voldemort knowing all about Harry, but Harry knowing very little about Voldemort because no one will talk about him! Finally, wise old Professor Dumbledore fusses at Harry when he refuses to use the villain’s name. He says, “Call him Voldemort. Harry. Always use the proper name for things. Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself.” 

When we refuse to name the demons in our midsts, we run the risk of fearing those demons or allowing those demons to continue speaking into our lives and to have authority over us. 

Here in Mark, Jesus demonstrates casting out demons— something that he will command his followers to do, two chapters from now in Mark’s gospel. Not only is this authority— to name and cast out the demons of this world— something Jesus possesses, but it is an authority and ability that he will bestow to his disciples. In fact, it will be expected of them, as Jesus appointed twelve to go and preach and have authority to cast out demons (Mark 3:14-15).  

So when we are able to name the demons of the world, to face them head-on without shame and with authority, we are able to have power over them and cast them out before they have power over us. 

Of course there are countless demons that we are afraid to name in our own lives like depression, anxiety, addiction and others that society has told us are even too shameful to name aloud. We will sometimes give them different names or euphemisms to avoid the truth of them in our lives. Or we will pretend they are demons that possess someone else, but don’t affect us. 

But one of the most pervasive and persistent demons in this world is the one that we have the most euphemisms for, it is the one we are most determined not to think about or name. And it is the demon we are faced with most frequently— death. 

We use euphemisms for death like “passing on” or “going to be with Jesus” or “earning their angel wings,” in order to avoid even the word “dead.”  

But in this time we can’t avoid death anymore, with over 425,000 deaths from the pandemic in the United States we are faced with death every single day. It’s in our headlines, our neighborhoods, and our families more often than we have ever experienced in our lifetimes. 

I believe that it is a demon that must be face head-on, a demon that we as Christians must name and declare authority over before it consumes us, before the grief is too much to bear and we are unable to move on from the incredible tragedy of this year. 

In a few weeks, we will be moving into the season of Lent. It is a season of deep reflection, beginning with Ash Wednesday, where we are marked with the sign of the cross in ash on our foreheads and we are reminded “remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return.” A euphemism again— it is a reminder that we are going to die. 

And all through the season of Lent in our liturgy and in our lives, we will have to have to reckon with the demon of death. We will be faced again and again with the reality that hundreds of thousands of people have died in our country from this pandemic and in the final moments of the Lenten season we will be faced with the reality that even Jesus could not and did not avoid death. 

We are only able to truly follow Jesus into discipleship when we understand where Jesus’ life leads— and it leads to death. It leads to the casting out of our own demons that we call sin and the death of some of our relationships. We must come face to face with this death as Jesus did and claim the authority that Jesus has given us over demons in our baptism. We must face death, knowing that death is not the end of the story. This is how we are able to tell the story, to proclaim the gospel. 

That is, after all, the good news of the Gospel— that death, the ultimate enemy, the most fearsome demon, has been defeated and resurrection is not only possible but promised. 

And what a word of hope that can be in this time. In this world that is ravaged with death, we have something true and hopeful to proclaim— that through Christ Jesus, in his life— a life full of naming and casting out demons, a life full of protecting people, caring for others, putting the needs of his neighbors above his own, a life full of miracles and deep deep love—, and through Jesus’ death and resurrection, we do have hope for tomorrow. It is in Jesus not only naming death, but confronting it head-on, that God brought salvation to the world. It is in Christ’s authority, Jesus’ power over death that we can hope for the resurrection in all the world and creation will be restored. Amen. 

Into the Unknown - Redeemer Episcopal Church

 John 1:43-51

43 The next day Jesus decided to go to Galilee. He found Philip and said to him, “Follow me.” 44 Now Philip was from Bethsaida, the city of Andrew and Peter. 45 Philip found Nathanael and said to him, “We have found him about whom Moses in the law and also the prophets wrote, Jesus son of Joseph from Nazareth.” 46 Nathanael said to him, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” Philip said to him, “Come and see.” 47 When Jesus saw Nathanael coming toward him, he said of him, “Here is truly an Israelite in whom there is no deceit!” 48 Nathanael asked him, “Where did you get to know me?” Jesus answered, “I saw you under the fig tree before Philip called you.” 49 Nathanael replied, “Rabbi, you are the Son of God! You are the King of Israel!” 50 Jesus answered, “Do you believe because I told you that I saw you under the fig tree? You will see greater things than these.” 51 And he said to him, “Very truly, I tell you, you will see heaven opened and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of Man.”

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This sermon was preached for a certain people in a certain place in a certain time. But we believe in a God who transcends time and space, so I hope that it might speak to you here. You can read my original manuscript below, or listen to the unedited audio at this link. 

Let us pray. God who knows us and has named us beloved, be with us as we move into the journey of hearing your call for us in your lives. Give us the courage to follow you, in the life of your son Jesus Christ. Amen. 

In any normal year, last week we would have celebrated the baptism of hundreds, maybe even thousands of people throughout the diocese and throughout the country in honor of the Feast of the Baptism of our Lord. It would have marked the beginning of a new life for those baptized, and a new beginning of new life in our own community as a people of God as we renewed and affirmed our own baptismal vows. 

Of course this year looked a bit different for many of our congregations— communities deciding it was too intimate to be baptizing babies and touching touching while a pandemic continues to ravage our country. 

But that does not stop God from reminding us this week that we are God’s formed, known, named, and called people. It does not stop God from reaching into the depths of our despair and calling us forth to say, “you are meant for more than just surviving.” You are meant for life and life abundant alongside God in Christ Jesus.  

In each one of the readings this morning, we hear about a God who calls people into a new vocation. Samuel is called into relationship with God and becomes an incredible prophet. And we hear about Jesus calling new disciples at the beginning of his ministry— Philip and Nathanael— to make a sacrifice and follow him.

In the Psalm, we hear about God who knows God’s people intimately even before they are born, God who knows everything about us, a la Santa Claus — he knows when we are sitting down and rising up, knows when you are sleeping and when you’re are awake. God who knows all of our words and our movements, even our inmost thoughts. 

On the one hand, we might find deep deep comfort in being so fully known by God. If no one else in the entire world knows us deeply and intimately, we can rest in the assurance that God knows all of the intimate parts of us. Not only that, but God has a wild and deep love for each part of us that God designed. 

But on the other hand, knowing that God knows us completely and totally can be really intimidating and even downright scary. That means that God knows all of the yucky, gross, mean, sinful inner parts of us too. God knows our past and our secrets and the stuff we wouldn’t share with even our closest friends and family. And knowledge of that can be enough to keep us running from God and God’s love for the majority of our lives. And all that running away can also mean that we might miss God’s call for us… thankfully, God is mighty persistent…

You might remember that we are parenting a two year old right now, and if you’ve ever had a two year old in your house, you might know that they can sometimes become fixated on things, almost to the point of obsession. It can be a certain toy, a song, a meal, or a TV show. For us right now, it’s the movie Frozen II. This means that I watch that movie in whole or in parts about three times a week and we are constantly listening to the soundtrack in the car. I know this movie and the songs pretty well by now. 

The first really big musical number that Elsa, one of the two main characters, sings is about being called by a strange, persistent voice. She has been hearing this voice for some time now, but she keeps ignoring it and ignoring it. Somehow she has the sense that this voice, knows her in some deep way and she continues to hear it until one night she can’t sleep because it’s ringing in her ears so loudly. Of course no one else can hear this voice, but she gets out of bed and begins singing back to it and it grows louder and louder. 

I know it might sound silly that I’m talking about a Disney movie in a sermon, but this song is, more or less, the calling of Samuel that we heard in the first reading this morning. If you haven’t seen the movie or listened to the music, I highly recommend both because they are fantastic in their own right— even if you don’t have small children around. 

But when we think about the implications of what Elsa is going through here— we understand that she is being called by a spirit, the Spirit, into something new and unknown, and ultimately her new vocation— just like Samuel was called by God and just like Philip and Nathanael were called by Jesus into a new life. 

The scary part, for Elsa, for the disciples, and for us— is that we had a life before this calling and we don’t know how being called into this next thing is going to change our lives. In Elsa’s song, she grapples with this idea of going from what is comfortable into something completely different and unknown. She sings:  

You're not a voice, you're just a ringing in my ear

And if I heard you, which I don't, I'm spoken for I fear

Everyone I've ever loved is here within these walls

I'm sorry, secret siren, but I'm blocking out your calls

I've had my adventure, I don't need something new

I'm afraid of what I'm risking if I follow you into the unknown.

Elsa is being called into a very dangerous place, where she will have to confront her weaknesses and faults, her past and what it would mean to move forward into the future. And this is all because the Spirit that is calling her knows her even more deeply and fully than she knows herself. And yet, this call is so strong that even with all of those fears she is unable to deny it and resist it— she must follow the Spirit into the unknown. 

This is the promise of new life in Christ. This is the promise of following God’s call in our lives. It could be a calm but urgent voice in the middle of the night, it could be a chance encounter with someone who seems to know us deeply, leading us on a new path. It could just be the beautiful reassurance of the psalm that God formed us and created us for a purpose and will continue to draw us into the purpose throughout our lives. 

Whatever form the call takes, we can be assured that it will lead us into a new, risky, and beautiful life in Christ Jesus. It is what we have been designed for from the very beginning— reconciliation and deep communion with ourselves, with one another, with all of creation, and with God. 

It will not be without risk or challenge. It will not always come easily or feel totally comfortable, but it is the way of following Jesus into the unknown of God’s incredible love for you. And it is the better way, the best way… and ultimately it is the only way to truly know ourselves and our God. Amen. 

The Good News of Christmas - Redeemer Episcopal Church

 The Escape to Egypt

13 Now after they had left, an angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream and said, “Get up, take the child and his mother, and flee to Egypt, and remain there until I tell you; for Herod is about to search for the child, to destroy him.” 14 Then Joseph got up, took the child and his mother by night, and went to Egypt, 15 and remained there until the death of Herod. This was to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet, “Out of Egypt I have called my son.”

19 When Herod died, an angel of the Lord suddenly appeared in a dream to Joseph in Egypt and said, 20 “Get up, take the child and his mother, and go to the land of Israel, for those who were seeking the child’s life are dead.” 21 Then Joseph got up, took the child and his mother, and went to the land of Israel. 22 But when he heard that Archelaus was ruling over Judea in place of his father Herod, he was afraid to go there. And after being warned in a dream, he went away to the district of Galilee. 23 There he made his home in a town called Nazareth, so that what had been spoken through the prophets might be fulfilled, “He will be called a Nazorean.”

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This sermon was originally preached to a certain people in a certain time in a certain context, but we believe in a God who transcends time and space, so I hope that this word might speak to you here. You can read the manuscript below or watch the sermon at this link. 

Merry Christmas! No? This doesn’t feel like part of the Christmas story? I’m going to be honest, this is not one of the stories I remember from the Christmas pageants of my youth. And I can pretty much guarantee that this story is not depicted in any of my two year old’s Christmas books. Yikes. 

There is a reason why many congregations forgo this Sunday’s gospel text and have a service of lessons and carols instead. This is not the jolly, peaceful nativity story we heard just a week ago. 

But I would argue that it is one of the most important parts of Jesus’ childhood. And this week especially, as we begin the new year, this story has so much to teach us about our God who choose to be with us in this world. 

King Herod was considered “King Herod the Great” by people in his time and for centuries afterwards, and if he didn’t exactly earn that title, he certainly seemed to insist upon it. He was an extremely powerful and wildly feared ruler. He was appointed by Caesar Augustus, and immediately upon taking office, he executed hundreds of Jewish leaders. 

He was hungry for power and it did not seem to matter much who was in his way or what consequences his actions might have, he held onto his power with a death grip. So much so that as his own sons got older he accused two of them of high treason and had them sent off to be murdered. Can you imagine a ruler feeling so threatened that he would endanger and kill those closest to him? 

The 1st Century historian, Josephus, even writes that Herod was so worried that no would mourn his death that he orchestrated for a large number of men across Judea to be executed at the time of his death so that everyone in the kingdom would mourn. He was, as history tells it, a violent, murderous, jealous, feared king.  

He ruled out of his own fear and fragility. And although he seemed to wield incredible amounts of power in the kingdom, he also always seemed to be grasping for more. Even if it meant killing innocent people and those who would never present a real threat to him. 

 

So this most powerful man in the empire hears rumors that a new king was born in Bethlehem, to the house of David. More than that, he hears that this baby might be the messiah. Talk about a threat to his kingdom! He felt so threatened by a tiny baby and the possibility of losing his power that he would weaken his entire kingdom by killing an entire generation of baby boys in Bethlehem. 

Of course, we skip over that tragic part of the story told in the three verses between the holy family fleeing to Egypt and coming back to Galilee. We wouldn’t want to be too depressing during Christmastime. And I think we do that on purpose so that we can focus more on how God delivers the holy family through an incredibly violent situation and keeps them safe. And that is important— it is especially important to our gospel writer Matthew, who wants to be sure that all of the old prophesies are clearly fulfilled in the telling of the story. 

But what I think is even more incredible in this story is that it gives us a very jarring contrast between two kings, two kingdoms, and two rulers. 

Herod’s power, as we can see, is rooted firmly in his own fear and then projecting that fear onto others and making people afraid of him. He does not hesitate to sacrifice many innocent people, including babies, to hold onto his fabricated power. 

But the opposite of Herod’s fragility is vulnerability— which is exactly what God uses for God’s purposes in God’s kingdom. God’s power is seated in incredible vulnerability. So much so that God was vulnerable enough to come into this world— the world where a violent Herod was ruler, where Jesus would be in danger from the very start— yet God decides that it is worth it to live among God’s people. 

This is the broken world, the very time and place and manner in which God chose to show up. That God chose to take on flesh. These are the people and the situation in which God chose to dwell. To grow up. To learn. To live among. To love. 

God decides that vulnerability is worth the risk of even death. Unlike Herod, who quickly sacrifices many to save himself, God chooses to sacrifice Godself for the sake of the world. 

I think this story is also a proclamation of hope to the world today as we confess the very sad, but real ways in which are still fractured, broken, and desperate for healing.  Still today, power is abused at every level of authority and people suffer.  War rages and families are torn apart.  

And yet we cling to hope. Hope in a God who promises to dwell among and chooses to be with us.  Hope in a God who made a home not in the highest of towers or the lineage of earthy royalty, but hope in a God who chose to be among the suffering, the vulnerable, the lost, the forsaken, the discarded, the dying, the victim, and the hopeless.

The good news of Christmas and the reminder this day is that God chooses to be in the world - the deep, dark, dangerous cracks of a fractured world.  Because that’s what God does and has always done. And continues to do today.

 

God is steadfast, and in the Emmanuel, God is with us— in the raw, unprepared, unwelcome moments— God is with us.  God has been there and will go there again, to lead us to the promise of new world, a world of deep holy vulnerability, fully healed.  Merry Christmas, indeed.

Amen.